(121-03-31) Justice to Be Served
Justice to Be Served
Summary: In which the Master of Laws passes a warrant to Laurent.
Date: 03/31/2014
Related: First Night Not Right
Players:
Olyvar..Laurent..

It is evening, just after dinner and the city for once is in some relative peace. Right now within the Hightower, men whom have been on edge are relaxing and the cool summer night allows for a sense of serenity. The only place that is currently seeing action is the council room. Here, Ser Olyvar Hightower has set up his office. Before him are a few warrants, some of arrest and a couple of execution, which have been passed to the hulking scribe to his left.

"Tommas, place these in the records, and then store the originals. If there is one thing we always need, it's record of all we do." A signature given and sealed before he is leaning back in his chair.

When the page announces Ser Laurent Tyrell, this time he waits before walking into the room. Less bluster than his last visit, and a more neutral mien, are the order of the day. The tall Tyrell knight greets Ser Olyvar evenly, with a nod. "Your summons came yesterday, Ser." Still not one for small talk, that will have to suffice for the Thorn's greeting. He walks slowly into the council chamber, eyeing the warrants — because they're difficult to ignore, rather than because he's nosy. It's an idle look their way, and his attention is easily diverted back to the Master of Laws, should the man speak.

Looking up, Ser Olyvar raises a hand back to the page, motioning for him to close the door behind him. "Well good, I am glad to see you chose to come and see me today." Olyvar murmurs before he is motioning for the scribe to get back to his table- and his ink. "Tell me Ser Laurent…" The Hightower begins, "..before we begin. How was your hunting trip?" A slight smile there before he is looking down to pick at a nail. Apparently he will allow the knight to speak before getting to the matter of it.

Laurent's eyes narrow at the question — a clear tell, perhaps, though he won't be as forthcoming with words. "Diverting," he says, once he has gathered himself. "A relief. For everyone who went, I think." His dark eyes drift about the room as he speaks. Laurent Tyrell is not a gifted liar, though he might be a stubborn one. He won't admit any guilt, but it's easy to see that he's dissembling.

"May I ask if any of my family attended? We're often coped up here.." he says softly, before he is looking back towards Laurent. The tell is noted, though there is nothing to say right there. Instead there's a glance to Tommas, and a nod is given. "Ser, you wrote to me about Two Inchfield men. Can you tell me the incident in question in which one of them attacked Ser Daevon-and why the fight began in the first place?" Olyvar, raises a brow there-a motion is made for the knight to sit down.

"I'm afraid I was drunk for much of the trip," Laurent lies, and doesn't bother to try to do it well. "So many of the faces are blurry, Ser Olyvar. I apologize." He comes to stand before the table when Olyvar comes to business though, leaning forward to put his weight onto his hands on its top. "Of course," he says, nodding. "We rode out in search of Princess Visenya, you'll remember. My cousin's betrothed. She was on some fool's errand, and her trail led us to an inn where we found a pair of smallfolk being married." His voice is an almost monotone growl as he relates the incident. "The Inchfield lordlings I mentioned, Petyr and Cragar, had ridden out to the wedding to claim First Night — they admitted as much. I identified myself and the group, and they named me a liar at first. Ser Daevon," Laurent shakes his head, his sudden grin wolfish. "The Maiden's Knight took offense at the notion of First Night, I think. He had words with Cragar, and the damned fool drew steel and rushed a Targaryen prince."

"I see." Olyvar replies dryly, with a simple stare right at Laurent. "You need to be better at this." he adds hastily with a grumble before he is shifting in his chair. Apparently Olyvar doesn't care for bullshit or lies-though at this juncture he cannot say or do anything about that. Instead the Master of Laws leans back into the chair before he is nodding. "So I heard, dragons and madness. Things that follows our royal friends.." added without pause before he is motioning for the knight to continue. "Wine, Ser?" asked idly, interrupting before he is clearing his throat. "Petyr and Cragar are both sons of Ser Roger Inchfield, Lord of the same house." he notes before he looks back. "Well, First night is outlawed in our lands." Olyvar states. "So, Ser Daevon instigated the fight-even though both of the Lordlings were already in the wrong."

Laurent waves for a glass of wine, nodding. But his words go toward the pronouncement, instead. "So it's your ruling, Ser, that I would be well within my rights to attack any knight as insulted me?" His dark eyes narrow, and he shakes his head, almost a 'too good to be true' expression. "I hardly think that's what you mean by this, is it?"

Olyvar nods, and allows for one of the servants to come over and serve Laurent. He will be getting a cool Arbor red. And there he crosses his booted leg, over the other, as one hand props his head up. Carefully he is watching Laurent before he is shaking his head. "No. What I am saying is that Ser Daevon should not have likely gotten involved, unless he was enforcing the law-which was your task, and you did. That being said, I am not going to punish anyone over that." a wave. "Continue, how was the situation resolved?"

Laurent makes no show of being satisfied by the answer, scowling into the wineglass. He takes a sip of the arbor red, but only a small one, and then lets it rest. "Ser Daevon disarmed the boy and let him flee along with his brother. He asked that I see the matter resolved when we returned to Oldtown." His jaw clenches and he fights to control his breathing as his face reddens, clearly in the expectation that nothing will be done to punish the young Inchfield lord.

"The Inchfield boy was an idiot." Olyvar adds, before he is looking back towards his papers. One is plucked up and the servant is snapped at with his other hand. Paper passed over to be given to Laurent. "Still-next time, I expect you to do your job as a Paramount man." a slight admonishment. "There is the Warrant for Cragar's arrest, and his release of his heirdom to be given to his brother. He will be brought here for justice to be served as a raper-and given the chance to join the black after receiving fifteen lashes." A raise of brows. "You, Ser Laurent are to execute this warrant-take some men if you think it needed."

"I deferred as a courtesy to you," Laurent says, reaching out to snatch the warrant away. "Not out of any lack of will, Ser. I'll not have it said otherwise." There's more than a hint of challenge in the look he gives Ser Olyvar, though he has at least the good grace to glance the warrant over and nod. "I'll see this done with all haste, then. If you've no further concerns, I should make ready."

"And for that I thank you, Ser. Next time if I am not able and you are there, please bring them with you, and we'll hear out your charges. I know you to be a blunt-if not honest man. And so I would trust if my own Liegelord was telling me about a crime." Olyvar says before he is rising up. "Good." And then he is motioning for his men to head out. "I trust you, you shouldn't need many men.." he adds, waiting for Tommas and the servant to exeunt before he looks back.

"Now that we are alone-please tell me a Hightower went? Otherwise I will think I had the poor curse to be born into an impotent house."

"An overcautious house, perhaps," Laurent allows with a grin to the Master of Laws, "But not an impotent one, Ser. As worthy as any, when roused — moreso than some." That's said grudgingly, though the Thorn looks Ser Olyvar in the face as he says it. He may be uncouth, but he can at least own his words. For all his railing against the lords Hightower, he is willing to show them respect when he believes it is due.

Olyvar nods. That is enough for him and it shows with the sudden shift of weight from his shoulders. "Seven's good." Likely the reason the Hightowers have become over mighty is because of their cautious nature. And there one hand moves up to run through his short hair. "Thank you Ser." he offers after what seems like a moment of emotion. "I trust the next time I see you, you will have Inchfields in tow?"

Laurent nods, turning to make for the door. "A pair of fine young ones," he says as he goes, "And as many others as care to join them. Ser Roger will want to see it done, if he's half a man. Doubt their lady mother will join us for the trip, though. Good evening to you, Ser Olyvar."

"He's an inch field." Olyvar quips. "I think he's at least an inch of a man." there the joke given he nods, a hand up in dismissal before he is rising up from his seat, to stalk towards the windows.

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