(121-04-12) FOR THE LAST TIME
Summary: Kevyn and Keyte. FOR THE LAST TIME. (Maybe.)
Date: Date of play (12-04-2014)
Related: Death Trial ones, etc

Keyte's a little sombre today, dressed in a dark forest green gown and some simple gold jewelry — which, considering she's a Tyrell, is still rather fancy. There is a method she uses to find Kevyn, tried and true, and her search always begins in the Sept. She arrived some time ago, and is now moping around at the foot of the Warrior's tribute, holding an unlit candle. She's having a conversation, with the statue it seems, and it goes a little bit like this:

"If I light this candle, you have to bestow favour upon my lords."

"No, really. That's how this works."

"Well alright then. I'm going to light it now."

"This better work."

Kevyn is dressed in Cockshaw colors. One of which is black, perhaps very fittingly. He comes to the Sept, of course. He's a predictable lad, in many ways. In he steps, eyes circling the statues, as if trying to decide which one might be best to pray to, in his current circumstances. Though it's Keyte his eyes fall upon, and there they rest. He just watches her for a moment, standing still and not speaking. In part not to interrupt her kind-of prayer, in part because he's not sure what to say.

"Angharad's pregnant, just so you know."

"I'm sure you knew that but I just wanted to remind you."

"And cousin Quill's already married to a Dornishwoman. That's got to count for something."

Keyte continues her little conversation as she holds the candle over another's flame, wax droplets running down before it catches alight. As she sets it down, she offers a final few words.

"And Kevyn's not even a knight yet. You pay extra attention to his sword, I mean it."

Kevyn smiles, just a little. It's both touched and amused, at the manner of her praying. Though he doesn't laugh, of course. He does clear his throat. Softly, but it should be audible.

Who dares to interrupt her threatening the Gods? Keyte twists a look over her shoulder sharply, ready with a frown. She doesn't often frown. "Oh." Abashed, she glances back down to her candle, and gets up from her knees. "I suppose you heard that," she says to Kevyn, a smile tugging stubbornly at the corners of her mouth.

Kevyn also looks abashed when the Tyrell girl nearly frowns at him. "Uh…excuse me, my lady. Umm…" He considers denying having heard it for a moment. But, ultimtely, doesn't. "It was…it was very sweetly said. With you on our side, I'm sure the gods will favor us." He doesn't sound sure, but it seems a gallant thing to say.

"I don't think that's how it really works," Keyte replies, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "But if you all are insisting on fighting, there's not much more I can do." She's quite clearly vexed, doing her best not to smile as she stares at the squire. "You look very handsome today, my lord."

"It's my duty to my family, Keyte." Did he forget and use her name instead of her title? It doesn't sound like forgetting. "Besides…what happened at the Rookery…if the gods think it wrong, or righteous…in either case, they can judge me for it as they will." Kevyn doesn't bother with the 'off hunting' nonsense between them. "And…uh…thank you."

"I understand that, Kevyn," retorts the Tyrell girl, her arms still very tightly crossed. "But there's little comfort for the rest of us to find in your duty. Just so you know." Is she pouting? Perhaps slightly. A very little bit. Ok, no, she's pouting. "You're welcome." It doesn't sound so.

"I…I'm sorry," Kevyn says. And he does sound it. He watches her a moment longer, and then his eyes go to the statues. Flit briefly over to the Stranger's shadowy corner, before they focus on the Warrior. Who seems much safer, even violent as he is. He steps forward, a candle in his hand, and places it at the Warrior's feet. "I wonder if the Dornish are praying in the same manner today?" It's unclear if the question is to her. It doesn't sound like it's to anyone in particular.

Keyte doesn't say anything, for the longest time. She seethes quietly, hugging her arms against herself, watching Kevyn look about and step forward to place his candle. "Who cares," she spits out a little more venomously than she means to for his question, chasing it with a long, deep, and somewhat cleansing sigh. She forces herself to uncross her arms, and admits, "I'm sorry, too."

Kevyn tries to keep his focus on the statue. It's easier to look at the 'gods' just now. Perhaps safer, too. But, finally, his eyes drift to the side, and back to her. He swallows, searching for words again. They don't come to him swiftly under the best of circumstances, and this isn't that. Clearing his throat, he finally asks, "Do you think…do you think I might wear your favor today? Like I did during the melee?"

Keyte's watching him, and he'll see her expression has softened a great deal when he glances aside. She's wringing her hands now, and she smiles when he asks. "I'd like that," she says quietly, sketching out a tiny nod. "Maybe this time he'll knight you afterward, don't you think?"

"We've not spoken of anything that might come after," Kevyn says simply. He tries not to sound too dour about it, but thoughts of the future - or probable lack of it - are a dour subject to him just now. "I'm not sure I know what it is to be a knight, anyhow, after all this." He can't help but smile when she says she'll give her favor to him. "Thank you."

"Don't say that," Keyte scolds gently, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "When you're a knight, you can court me properly." See? She lifts her brows, expecting that her saying such will magically lift his spirits. "You're very welcome." This time, that sounds sincere.

"I…" Kevyn looks, for all the world, like the idea hadn't occurred to him. But, when she says it, a broad grin near splits his face. "I'd like that. I will like that. I wanted to say…when we saw each other last…when I…" He clears his throat. "…when I kissed you…" More throat-clearing, and he considers what he's going to say. And then seems to abandon whatever's in his head. "I should be sorry, I suppose, but I'm not."

Just call her a sorceress. Keyte's rather pleased to see that grin (one last time?), and she aims to catch Kevyn's hand with her own, ducking her head to hide the creep of blush into her cheeks. "I didn't mean to shove you so hard," she says on the breath of a short laugh.

Kevyn looks a touch surprised when Keyte's hand catches his. But he doesn't shove her. He also blushes, though. And, rather more awkwardly than would be ideal to make the gesture properly knightly, makes to raise her hand to his lips, to kiss it quickly.

He wouldn't want to shove her, no doubt she'd not be as gracious about it as he was. Keyte looks up with that brilliant smile of hers as he kisses her hand, completely ignoring the awkwardness. "I would kiss you properly," she says, leaning in a little to carry her hushed words across, "But we're in the Sept."

"Perhaps…" Kevyn flushes even redder. It's hard to believe he's related to Viggo. He's terribly un-smooth. He hasn't really absorbed a lot of his knight's lessons terribly well. "Perhaps we could go somewhere…not the Sept for awhile? I mean, the trial isn't for some hours now…"

"Won't your Ser be terribly cross, if you're gone all the day?" Nevertheless, Keyte intends to take up a spot on Kevyn's arm and tug him away from the Warrior's tribute. Maybe toward the door.

Kevyn takes Keyte's arm, and allows himself to be tugged toward the door. Off to spend the hours before he has to attend Ser Viggo in her company.

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