(121-04-09) As the Rose Turns Part 3
As the Rose Turns, Part 3
Summary: The drama never ends at Garden Isle manse!
Date: 9 April 2014
Related: continues from Part 2

Continues from As the Rose Turns, Part 2


Grand Hall - Garden Isle Manse

The first floor's main hall is grand, open room dominated by a massive fireplace and high-arched windows facing the street, protected by heavy iron bars. The white walls and polished white marble floors make it seem airy and bright. The starkness of the walls is softened by three long tapestries, depicting fantastical hunting scenes, while the marble floor is cushioned by rich Myrish rugs.

Down the center of the hall is a long, wide dining table, able to seat thirty comfortably. At the head of the table is an enormous chair of elaborately carved rosewood, with a door behind flanked by two high windows, giving a view of the sunlight gardens. Near the fireplace are smaller chairs, cushioned benches, and small tables for more intimate conversations.

Alcoves and doors at either side of the great hall lead to servants quarters, kitchens, and smaller sitting rooms. At the northwest and southeast corners of the building are square towers holding the stairs up to the floor above, where the bedchambers and other sitting rooms are found.

Garvin lets out a wistful sigh as he watches Arion leaving, at least until Laurent is blocking the view. "What? Oh. Yes, of course." He moves back to sit in his chair, sipping his wine and pointedly not looking at anyone. Armand the page flinches at Jacelyn's bark, quickly bowing, then scurrying back to the kitchen. Once his goblet is empty, Garvin looks around for the page, then frowns. "Where'd the wine go?" he asks, then finally makes eye contact with someone — Jacelyn, it seems. "As for Tellur, I'm sure he knows how to hold his tongue. Don't you, lad? After all, who would he tell?"

"Blasphemy." is cautioned to Laurent by Jacelyn, not that he ever says anything better. However now he is working on shooing the poor boy with the wine. "You've got your brains addled too much, by cock, by cum, and by wine." Jacelyn says from over the shoulder of Laurent-though not passionately. "I swear by the Seven and their shiny arseholes-you are drunk on hedonism-and utterly not giving a proper fuck." Though voice is controlled there is a glance back towards Tellur. "Lad, I hope you don't mind giving us a moment of privacy." by the tone, it would seem more order than request.

He'll not wait to see if Tellur lingers or not, before he is turning back towards Garvin, and now moves to help Laurent flank him in as if in a pincer movement. "I pray, this has no bearings on your betrothal to House Targaryen. The Dragons may fuck their sisters, but somehow I doubt they will stomach a catamite."

"Who would he tell?" And there's a laugh. "His Lord, or perhaps someone in an ale shop. Our own help speaks, if I am to count where some claim to have heard rumors." And there a glance back towards Tellur. "I do hope you take no offense. I am working on a point."

Tellur looks at Garvin, with a very bland expression "I train animals, lord, I don't presume to speak for humans." Whether one believes him or not is a different thing. Nevertheless, he inclines his head to Laurent, and moves clearly and obviously to the far side of the great hall. If he hears Jacelyn, there is no sign, because apparently they are being given privacy. Tellur is very interested in some decorations over there. Mmm. Yes.

"All men know how to hold their tongues, Cousin," Laurent growls at Garvin. "The trouble is that few men do. That one will tell his lord, and the page will tell a stableboy, and your love will brag to his sister, and all the Reach will know." His face darkens further as he adds, "Your lord father will know." Now there's a piece of information that doesn't sit well with Laurent, or rubs something that was already raw. He downs a gulp of the Arbor red in his goblet, then throws the thing — still half full — into the fire place. It makes a bit of a mess, wine splashing about, but he doesn't pay it any mind.

Garvin weathers the storm with as much grace as he can muster…at least until Laurent mentions his father. His face drains of color then, a shudder running up his spine. "I will not come to that," he says softly, then swallows hard, eyeing the empty goblet in his hand. "Smallfolk are wont to talk and spread tales, but surely there are more important things to occupy their minds just now. The Dornish, your trial, whatever mischief the Targaryens are up to." That reminds him of something, and he looks again to Jacelyn. "I am no longer betrothed to Princess Dragonrider. By her wish, not my own, though I cannot say I am unhappy about it. My lord father already knows, nor is he overly concerned. As I said, we all have more pressing concerns than who shares my bed. Now then." He glances between Jacelyn and Laurent a couple times. "How are we going to stop this farsical trial? Why aren't we simply expelling all the treacherous Dornish from the Reach, rather than pandering to their childish lies?"

"Do you think he doesn't know or hasn't heard something already?" Jacelyn states from where he is. His eyes focused down to where he set his drink. A lick of his lips and he looks back up towards where Garvin is standing. "And you'd be wrong that your father doesn't care." Now there is some steel to Jacelyn's voice as he looks back up towards Garvin. "That bloody loss of a dragon? Well won't that make you look like a godsdamned prize." He almost spits out his laugh.

"We don't." Jac will be the first to answer that. "We don't because if we do, then the whole bloody region will erupt in war. And the reason we aren't expelling anyone from the Reach, is because our sovereign King, would like peace-and would like to not have to worry about his borders burning." A narrowing of his eyes there. "Do you understand the enormity of what is occurring with this trial, boy?" Not Lord, not Cousin, but boy.

Tellur is interested in the walls, yes. But as Laurent says 'That one will tell his lord', there is a slight inclination of the head. Because. Yes. Well, there you go. For the rest of it, he is Not Hearing things. He does manage to corner one of the serving lads to get another glass of wine, because, really - let this fine stuff go unattended? Tellur will give you a home. Only the comment of 'trial' has him glancing back, a light frown on his face.

"You're not…" Laurent trails off, his eyes narrowing. "Lord Tyrell knows, and isn't demanding recompense?" Laurent's face darkens, anger shading his cheeks. And now it doesn't matter if Tellur is paying attention, because anyone in the hall can hear Laurent. "It's a godsdamned farce if he doesn't, isn't it?!" He stalks toward the fireplace, his eyes on the flames there. "No, this trial will proceed, and I'll stand in it." He barks an angry laugh into the flames, and his heavy brow lifts as he adds, "Mayhaps I'll die in it, and that will be the end to my troubles."

Garvin pushes himself to his feet again, holding up a hand. "Calm yourselves, both of you. Yes, Lord Lorant knows. I had a letter from him, and what's more, he sent me a fine, lovely cloak of green velvet, embroidered with pansies and edged in ermine. Now would he have sent that if he was angry with me?" He shakes his head and tries to sip from his goblet, but of course, it's still empty. Scowling, he lowers it again. "As for recompense, I'm letting him handle that side of things. His orders were for me to concern myself with the playhouse and not worry about politics." He turns to Laurent with another frown. "And to keep you alive. What if the craven Dornes select Prince Maelys as their champion? I can't allow you to duel with him, Laurent. I won't!"

"He sent you a fine cloak. Surely that shows his fucking favor." Jacelyn says before laughing and then he is shaking his head. "Your father sent me." And he will let that stand. "Should you feel like questioning if he is pleased with the rumors he has been getting." He won't even start in on Laurent in this. As for the rest of Garvin's statement, there is a groan, before he is looking back towards Laurent. "You can't demand that of a knight. Not in this instance, as it would speak of cowardice. We are not cowards."

"You've no say in the matter," Laurent snarls, coming 'round to face Garvin now. "I pray the Dornish do convince Ser Maelys to fight. I'll face the bastard by the week's end then, and not have to wait." His tone is savage, and his voice carries to the upper floors now, no doubt. "If you don't care for not having a say in the matter, Cousin, then find a way to repair your reputation. Step into politics as a man, and wield the power your name grants. Elsewise, leave off your attempts at ordering around folk as already know what they're about."

Given the volume, Tellur has given up pretending to be elsewhere, and is now watching, with a thoughtful, guarded expression. His very pale, almost animal eyes, are intently focused. The glass of wine is useful, it gives his hand something to do so he can seem relaxed. He is too wise to comment, it seems, waiting until addressed.

Garvin flinches back from both men's growling, looking into his cup again. Dammit, why is it empty? "Very well, very well," he concedes, sitting once more. "I hate this though. They're not men, they're savages. No one with any sense believes a word they say, so why should it matter what they accuse you of? But if you feel you must carry out this trial, there's nothing I can do to stop it." He takes a deep breath, lets it out again. "Father told me to concern myself with the playhouse and stay out of all the politics, and that is what I shall do. As for my reputation…Honestly, can either of you say anyone gives a damn, with everything else that's happening? For the love of the Seven, Visenya rode naked on the neck of a dragon, right over Oldtown! Anything I do would pale compared to that infamy." He turns his head toward the kitchen and shouts, "Whoever took away the wine had better bring it back if he doesn't want to have a horsewhip taken to him!"

Jacelyn remains quiet as Laurent rages. And with that, he clears his throat once before he is looking towards the Thorn. "T'en Ser, I believe you and I need to discuss the next step here as regards to the Garden Isle." There's a look back towards Garvin and one hand is raised before a rather stern. "Hush. You've had enough to drink. You may have tea." and like that, Jac's focus is right back towards Laurent. "I do not hope or expect you to die, but let's be ready either way." A motion is made for Laurent to sit, as Jac himself is moving for a seat.

Laurent waves off the invitation to sit, leaning against the fireplace for now. "People give a damn, Garvin. If you don't mean to make a difference, then they don't give a damn. But if you do, then your reputation matters. Just as surely as hers does," he agrees, of Visenya. He crosses his arms over his chest as his dark eyes drift toward Jac, then. "I'm just beginning to hope for it myself," he claims with a snort that might be humor. "What do you need from me, first?"
Long distance to Carolis: Garvin laughs!

Annnnd finally the servant-slash-guest of the north comes back, uneasily. He is looking around for his lost quill and book, the notes he was making on Southern Heraldry. Finally finding the book and the velvet ribbon in it, he takes a seat and opens it once more. His hand writing is rather horribly _good_ for a serving-lad, to be honest.

Armand peeks tentatively from the kichen, flagon in hand, but when he hears Jacelyn's words, he ducks back again. Garvin gives a dramatic pout, lower lip extended, as he looks up at the mean knight who's keeping him from his recommended daily allowance of booze. "I don't want tea," he complains, then looks at Laurent. "And you will absolutely not die! I may not be able to command you out of this stupid duel, but I am ordering you to live through it, do you understand me? You have a wife and son to think about. Or daughter, whatever. You are not leaving them to me. You can't do that to Harry!"

"The list of duties, that I will be taking over in this House, and whom answers to me." Jacelyn states as he is now picking back up his wine cup, and taking a sip from it. A shake of his head and he is keeping his focus solely on Laurent, for now. "Second, I'll need to know or a list of your trustworthy men that will be staying with us, as opposed to joining you in the Sound." Or where have you near by that the Thorn will be taking over.

Garvin is finally given a look back. "I know, but if we're to make you a Tyrell-a rose instead of a Pansy, then you will have tea now." And then he is back looking to Laurent. "I can see to your wife and child if it comes to is, coz."

"The duties are few enough," Laurent says with a grin that doesn't fit his face well. There's no humor in it, and it's an ugly thing besides. "Elsewise it wouldn't have fallen to me. You've a pair of knights in your charge, and two dozen good men-at-arms, all of whom I'll leave with you when I go. And with those resources, you're to protect this household and its members," he says, and with a sidelong look at Garvin adds, "And keep my lord cousin from further damaging his reputation. Ser Fulk the Subtle will be your man for that."

"You've another… Nearly three score, perhaps, men-at-arms who don't live at the manse, but answer to Lord Garvin, and therefore to you." He looks from Jac to Garvin there, and even to Tellur for a moment, before he adds, "I'll see a roster into your hands on the morrow, and I thank you for your kindness in offering to see to my wife. Though if she weren't so comely, I doubt you'd make the same offer."

Tellur just raises his eyebrows mildly at Laurent, before he finally says "Lord Carolis is inclined to look favourably on anyone who can support his quest in learning the ways and systems of the South in more detail. He is a studious man and cautious."

Garvin falls silent, letting the knights discuss duty and honor and whatever else it is knights go on about. Once Armand returns with a mug of tea for him, Garvin takes it with a frown and settles in, blowing over the tea as his eyes move back and forth between Laurent and Jacelyn, like a spectator at a tennis match. He glances briefly to Tellur in surprise, only then remembering the Northerner is still here. "And like you, he knows how to hold his tongue, correct?"

Jacelyn nods towards Laurent. "Aye, leave it at my door and I'll grab it." And with that he is rising up with a queer enough smile plastered to his face. "Your Lady wife, is a bit of a piece. I will admit. Though I have my eyes on a lass of a different hair color." A faint grin there before he is stretching himself out. "Very good then, we can work on the transition." And there's a brief pause. "I was in a trial of combat once before, Coz. If there are any hints or help I can give you, let me know?" He knows of the stress there now.

Carefully he looks back towards Tellur and there is a brief nod. "I am sure someone can and would be willing to help from our House." Silent there for a moment. "I'm t' retire…But My offer stands, Laurent."

"Best hope I die then," Laurent says with a shake of his head, "And you can convince my wife to teach you the error of your ways — the woman has a mouth like a Lysene whore." The Thorn is nothing, if not crass. He pushes away from the fireplace, nodding his thanks. "I may come looking for you," he allows, though there's a doubtful tone to the words. "I don't know what your lord is looking to learn," he goes on as he wanders toward Tellur, "But if there's aught that I could teach him…" He trails offen, the says with rough humor, "Then I pity the bastard."

"We are both born from Starks," Tellur says in response, simply "He's a Lord, I'm a Bastard, but idle gossip is unworthy. The Winters are cold, and the sky is bleak, men get killed for less than unkind rumours in the North." And he rises, himself "For me, these things are irrelevant - compared to your honour to your _House_ and your _Family_. _Those_ are the _only_ things in life worth having." He adds "But if you want to scotch any rumours, you need to marry and get an heir fast, Lord Garvin. You don't have your hand paused like Lord Carolis does, surely, with an unmarried older brother to account for. Marry, and get a few sons, and be honourable in public. There are plenty of pretty girls who don't want to be ruined by constant childbearing, who would love a warm life with a kind man." As Laurent speaks, Tellur grins, suddenly, and says "Perhaps, milord, some deftness with the local language of colour. He'd appreciate that." He would _not_. But Laurent does not need to know. Tellur adds "My apologies, I must go."

As the others take their leave, Garvin sips his tea and turns his attention to his cousin. After a long moment, he finally manages a tiny, soft, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Laurent asks, his laugh completely humorless. "I can't imagine where either of us might start, Cousin, so it's best we both save our apologies."

Garvin sighs and sips again. "We are a pair, aren't we? If you're not secretly slaughtering desert animals, I'm not-so-secretly sleeping with a fox." He grins then, eyes lighting up. "I really do think I love him, you know. He's so sweet and gentle and…well, until we're in bed. Then he's more like a wolf than a fox, if you know what I mean." He gives his brows a waggle, though his cheeks color again. A moment later, he's back to serious. "But I meant what I said. You're not allowed to die in this stupid Trial of the Seven. You're too important to too many people. You're a proper lord now, with lands and men, not to mention a wife and baby on the way. And me, of course. Ser Jacelyn seems all right and all, but no one can ever replace you."

"I do know what you mean," Laurent laughs, glancing up the stairs as if he might see his own love there. "It's the same with Harry, and if it's not love then it will pass for it." That draws a soft rumble of laughter from him. "Lay off the thoughts of me living or dying, Cousin," he says with a shake of his head. "I'm a strong sword arm and a black reputation. Anything else I am starts with that, and that comes with risks. So if I do die, you have my apologies.But if I do," he says, looking up from the fire at Garvin, "Then you take care of Harry and the baby. Jac's a bastard."

Garvin can't help but giggle just a bit. "In more ways than one," he agrees, holding up his teacup. "You'd never deny me wine. Why in the world did Father send him down here? You're the only protection I need. I'm still alive, aren't I?" He grins then, sipping the tea. "As for Lady Harry, here's incentive for you to win your duel and return home safely: if you die, I will take her as my wife and raise that baby as my own. You don't want that, do you?"

"I might have suggested the same, had it come around to it," Laurent counters wryly. "It would be a fair enough match, though Harry's a woman as will want fucked now and again." He shrugs it away, laughing. "It would hardly be my problem, would it?" The laughter fades as quickly as it sprung up, and leaves Laurent in the same sullen mood in which he entered the conversation. "Your father sent Jac because I cocked up the job, Cousin. It might take a sterner hand than mine to see to you. We shall see, I suppose." «re»

Garvin harumphs, sipping once again. "So long as he remembers that I'm the lord, and he's the bastard. Not that bastardry's ever mattered to me before. Blood is blood, after all. Still, I don't want his hand being so stern that I never have any fun. So…what do you know about him? I think I've heard a name…Black Rose?"

"The Black Rose," Laurent says with a nod. "Or Black Jac. Made a name for himself in Dorne, and a bloody name at that. It's said he's as good with a blade in his hand as any man in the Reach, or in Dorne." Laurent shrugs as he delivers that pronouncement. "Brave, some might say foolhardy. He was my father's squire," Laurent finishes, "And closer to the man than I ever was." That's said with no regret at all, and no hing of ill-will or grudge.

Garvin ohs, nodding then. "Arion's a squire. Ser Abram's, now. Remember when I tried to squire for Matrim?" He giggles at the memory. "Barely lasted a day before he sent me packing. Father wasn't at all amused." He lets out a long sigh. "Laurent, have any of us ever had a good relationship with our fathers? I know I'm a disappointment to mine, always have been, but I never understood why your father…." He lets that thought drift off, biting his lower lip. No sense opening old wounds at a time like this. "Anyway, I suppose I'll give Black Jac a chance. But he's no Thorn, no matter how much he tries to scowl. Fist thing I plan to do is get him to shave off that beard. What does he think this is, Winterfell?"

"I might have thought it was myself, all the northerners you see here," Laurent complains. "Your Stark lad, his man there," he says with a nod to where Tellur was sitting, "Harry," who apparently still counts, when it's convenient for him. "You're being overrun, Cousin. There are bound to be beards."
<Public> Tytos has disconnected.

Garvin rubs fingers against his chin, frowning. "I've never been able to grow one. Nor would I want to. I think beards look…filthy." He wrinkles his nose, head shaking. "But truth be told, I'd rather be overrun by Northerners than the Dornish. What are we going to do about them? His royal Grace may want to surround himself with the sand crawlers, but why do we have to? What about that Hightower man you know? Ser Olyvar, is it? Can't you talk to him about getting the Dornish expelled from the city or something?"

"I've met Ser Olyvar," Laurent says, shaking his head. "Twice now. But don't think that means I have any sway with him. So long as the crown urges peace with Dorne, Hightower will do nothing to threaten it. They are too comfortable in their power just now. They'll not take risks with it."

Garvin snorts then, giving his eyes a roll. "Worst thing our fathers did was allow the King to marry that Hightower woman, rather than a proper Tyrell. I would have thought letting a Hightower be Hand would be enough. But Queen?" He shakes his head. "For years, Father warned me that it was the Florents who wanted to supplant us, but I think his hatred for that family blinded him to the real danger lurking here in Oldtown."

"It's as you say," Laurent agrees with a nod. "The Hightower is grown too bold. Would that we could rein them in, Cousin, but I don't see a way just now."

Garvin sips his tea again. "And the Targaryens. Why are they so friendly with the Dornish, all of a sudden? Those desert dwellers have never really been part the Seven Kingdoms, they've always been so…foreign. Their dress, their food, that horrible, sweet wine of theirs. And they're nothing but savages! Look what they did to Wickham's Nest." He pauses then, biting his lower lip for a moment, then lowers his voice. "Just what did happen on your hunting trip, Cousin? You can tell me."

"It was us as burned The Red Rookery," Laurent says, when asked. "Killed the castellan and his guards, his squires, a handful of other folk." He is chuckling as he says, "I threw the master-of-ravens from the top floor of the tower. You should have seen the look on his face." A shake of his head and he adds, "And then we rode back to The Reach."

Garvin sucks in his breath, lower lip caught between his teeth. "As I'd feared. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad justice was served, but…well, this Trial. The Father Above will be judging you over this. How can you expect to win, if the accusations are true?"

"What we did was justice," Laurent says with a shake of his head. "What they did was murder. The Seven will see the right of that, or what use are they?"

Garvin nods then, though he still looks worried. "If you all live through this, I'm going to give the Starry Sept a dozen barrels of my own reserve of mead."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License