(121-04-13) On Defense of Honour
On Defense of Honour
Summary: Elionys and Haywood cross paths again, and discuss honour and family.
Date: 13 April, 2014
Related: In Blood, Truth

Crescent Beach, Blackcrown Road

This is a little sandy-pebbly stretch of the Whispering Sound's shoreline, crescent-shaped and somewhat sheltered by the more precipitous coastline to either side of it. Terns and gannets and kittiwakes nest on the sheerest portions to the North and South, but it's much gentler here and the tiny inlet even offers good anchorage for small boats of shallow draft. The city of Oldtown, marked by the great bright spire of the Hightower, can be seen across the water to the Northwest.

There's a steep switchbacking track leading up to the Blackcrown Road.

The weather is gloomy, perhaps a fitting thing on the day that follows the death of Ser Osric Dayne, with dreary, drizzling clouds that hang over the city, making everything just a bit damp and uncomfortable in the heat. Those that must be are out, working on their boats or making their way along Blackcrown road to some destination or another, but in spite of the weather there is at least one person out here that doesn't have to be. Elionys is seated atop the largest of a cluster or rocks along the edge of this pebbled inlet. Her clothing is muted, all in shades of gray that vary from lighter dove gray, to that of a deep, almost black color, though it's all made just a little bit darker by being damp. She has clearly been out here for a while. A pair of guards stand at a distance, keeping a careful watch on the Targaryen woman.

Haywood spent last night celebrating, though not terribly much. It seemed ill mannered to do so while many of those who fought on behalf of his house were too injured to join in properly. He's a bit hungover today, and melancholy as well, for reasons he can't quite articulate. While he doesn't need to be out in this weather, here he is. And he's not the only one who had such an idea. "It seems fate has smiled upon me," the Cockshaw heir calls to the young woman once he's close enough to do so without shouting ridiculously. His approach is not swift - after all, she's got guards and he'd rather not be perceived as a threat - but rather a slow amble. One that won't be difficult to alter the path of casually, should Elionys decide to be dismissive of him.

One of the guards gently clears his throat as Haywood approaches in an attempt to alert the Princess of Haywood's presence, but it's rather pointless as it comes about the same time that Haywood calls out. Elionys twists around to look back at the approaching Cockshaw, a small smile welcoming him. "Ser Haywood, good afternoon."

"To you as well," Haywood replies. His smile is not as bright or as wide as it could be, but it's nonetheless genuine. He closes the distance between them, picking his way over the uneven terrain with an ease the comes with years of practice. "How do you fare, Princess?"

Elionys scoots over on the rock to make room for Haywood, one pale hand patting the open space beside her before it lifts, tucking into her lap with the other. "I cannot offer any complaints, Ser Haywood," she replies, soft and just a touch melahcholy. "And yourself?"

The invitation is accepted without hesitation, and Haywood sets himself down beside the Targaryen lady. "The Seven have smiled upon my house, so I find myself without reason to complain." Which almost sounds like a complaint, except that he really is pleased. He's just not boastful about it. "I thought I would find myself alone with my thoughts out here. I find your company infinitely preferable."

"The seven did smile upon your house, and those men fought well, and honorably," Elionys remarks softly, careful, sounding neither pleased nor displeased at the outcome. "I thought to escape my house for a time, but your company is certainly welcome. I saw you at the trial," she mentions, quite possibly only after he dared to yell at Prospero Storm. That is a memorable thing.

"Both sides fought well. It's all anyone can ask for." I suppose or isn't it go unspoken, but quietly implied. "I confess that I did not see you there. I suspected you would be there, of course, but I didn't see anyone, really. I was… Absorbed." With worry that his brother would fall, and then he really would be forced into being the head of House Cockshaw. He holds on to some vain hope still that he can convince Viggo that role should be his. "I'm surprised I didn't lose my head." Being as how he shouted at Prospero Storm and all.

"I can understand why you might have been," Elionys tells him quietly, another small smile following on the heels of her answer. "The fight was quite intense, and I did not linger long after the announcement from Princess Rhaenys. Did you know that there was to be a marriage between your house and Blackmont?" she asks, curiously.

Ah, and there is definitely part of the cause for his enthusiasm about winning being tempered. "No, I did not know that would be a condition. I can't say I'm terribly surprised, but I had no foreknowledge." Haywood has no intention of getting married within a year, let alone to a Blackmont. A political marriage not of his own choosing just makes him feel contrary for the sake of it. "We've not yet discussed what that will mean for our house. I suspect there will be time enough for that later."

"I expect there will be much discussion about it before the marriage itself happens," Elionys agrees, nose crinkling slightly. "I wish you luck in that, Ser." It's a gentle, almost tease. "Is your brother recovering well after the fight? I fear I did not see the extent of his injuries."

"One can only hope," Haywood laments with faux exasperation. The teasing is accepted with a smile. He quite likes the way she does it. "Viggo is recovering well. He seems to have fared better than most. I am grateful for that." Because he'd be so annoyed if he had to listen to his younger brother gripe about aches and pains for weeks on end.

"I am glad to hear it," Elionys remarks to him, sounding nothing short of genuine as she says it. "I hope that he and all those that survived the fight recover swiftly, and well. It all seems so—" here she hesitates, searching for the right words. "I don't know. I cannot imagine what it must be like to charge in and fight so fiercely."

That Haywood doesn't have an immediate explanation for what drives a man to do those things frustrates him. He certainly doesn't shy away from confrontation, especially when he feels he's been wronged, but he's never been one for battle for battle's sake, as some men are. "As much as some of us," meaning men, "like to maintain the illusion that we are impassive, our emotions often fuel us to great heights." Which is a stupidly obvious thing to say, but he's hoping it sounds poetic enough. (And this is why he leaves the poetry to Viggo, thank you.)

"Yes, I can see that being so," Elionys' head bobs slightly in agreement. "I never imagined men were truly indifferent, as much as some try to appear to be, especially not those who are so willing to fight for a cause they deem honorable. It is simply a different sort of passion, or a different way to express it." She draws in a deep breath, eyes angling towards the water for several moments. "I imagine it must be rather satisfying in a way."

"It does have a certain sort of finality to a dispute," Haywood muses without mirth. "Where words alone are insufficient." It isn't precisely that she's got him thinking now about whether or not he's the sort of man to take pleasure in killing another, he'd certainly have done that anyway, but admitting it to anyone other than himself is difficult. If he admits it at all. "Honor has been satisfied. I only hope that this is truly the end of it."

Elionys' face scrunches up a moment, head shaking slightly. "I don't mean killing another, or hurting them, even. I only mean the physicallity of it," she tries to explain, gaze turning back to Haywood as she does. "As someone who usually only has words with which to resort to when I am insulted, it must be—" She huffs a breath, a frustrated little laugh. "I don't know how to explain what I mean. I suppose what I mean is that if someone is rude or cruel to me, or if they insult my honor, I cannot pick up a sword and fight to defend it."

"We shall have to get you a gauntlet. One of shining silver with which you can slap the faces of those who offend you." Slap faces and break teeth, probably. He can't possibly be serious. "No, I see now you mean nothing so drastic as that." He smiles gently, if a little ruefully. "You do, however, have those who would take up their sword in your stead, I should imagine."

The offer of a gauntlet leaves Elionys grinning up at him, and nodding at once. "Yes, I need one. Though before I go slapping those who insult me, I should secure a few people who will fight for my cause. I am sure there are some, though it's not a service I've needed to make use of yet."

"I would hope not!" Haywood is slightly theatrical in the way his brows hike up toward his hairline and he presses a hand to his chest. "Anyone who would insult your honor, Princess, would be very foolish indeed."

"But we live in a world full of fools, my friend," Elionys points out, still smiling. She twists around just slightly, angling herself so that she better faces Haywood. "Or so my father has often said."

"Alas." Haywood bows his head. She's right, of course. And her father, by extension. "And not for lack of evidence, I'm sure. All the same, I hope you've not dealt with much in the way of insult. You are much too good for such abuse."

"Oh, very little that hasn't come from my own kin," Elionys remarks with an easy sort of shrug. "And I suppose we must endure that with some measure of grace, as they are family."

That much Haywood can understand. Or so he imagines. "My brothers forever teased me as a boy," he shares, as if it might cause her to feel less maligned. "Eryk was much the same as Viggo in appearance. The two are obviously brothers, and I… Well." He's not the dark and handsome man his younger brother is, certainly. "They often called my legitimacy into question. But, yes, one endures for family."

"How terrible of them, I will be sure to scold Ser Viggo terribly on your behalf," Elionys vows, trying to sound solemn, but the smile gives her away. "I did not have to endure too much of that when I was younger, though more so with my family here. It takes some adjustment."

Haywood grins wide, pleased with her defense of his honor. "Ah, you needn't. Your intention is balm enough for my once-wounded soul." He lays it on thick, but knowingly, like it's a game they're playing together. More seriously he says, "I find it hard to imagine anyone wanting to be cruel to you. I hope you are not treated too poorly by your relations."

Elionys' smile grows into a full blown grin that mirrors his. "I am glad to hear that, it does sting ever so much to exist with a wounded soul." She lowers her gaze a moment, giving the cuff of her dress a gentle tug, though the process of doing so offers a glimpse of yellowing bruises that are quickly hidden beneath her sleeve. "It is good to know that you've no inclination of cruelty to me. I…" her nose scrunches slightly. "I suppose it is not so terrible as it could be, and it's not as though I've not said things in my own turn out of anger."

"We all say things we don't mean when we're angry," Haywood assures. He catches sight of those bruises and his hand twitches for a brief instant, betraying his urge to reach out and capture her wrist, and examine the damage for himself. There are dozens of different explanations for such markings, he tells himself. His smile has faded by now, and his mouth is drawn tight. He doesn't know whether to press her for details, and so he holds his tongue for the moment, waiting to see if she offers them on her own.

Elionys doesn't catch the look initially, adjusting her other cuff after the first is straightened. "I suppose that is true, we all do that. It can be so hard to hold your tongue when you're angry, though I do more often than I don't, I find not doing so usually leads me into more trouble."

Rather than take the serious route, Haywood cracks a new grin, tilting his head to one side. "Yes, I think a gauntlet is definitely in order. It will help you to show everyone you mean business. It does wonders for Alys." Which is certainly spoken out of turn, and he shrugs to indicate as much. "I mean, I've never actually seen my cousin literally throw her gauntlet, but I'm sure she could, and she would put anyone in their place."

Elionys' gaze lifts again, resting on Haywood a moment, then down to her arm and back up again, brows jumping. "Oh, no. No," she says quickly, shaking her head. "That wasn't anything someone did," she assures him, then pauses. "Not directly, anyhow. It was an accident involving a dragon." She reaches down to tug up the sleeve she's just pulled down to show just a small portion of the bruses that seem to just keep going up her arm, as they continue on beneath her cuff once the sleeve is halfway to her elbow. "It's the same on my other arm as well, and my back."

"An accident with a dragon? Oh, is that all?" Only a Targaryen. Still, there's good humor - and, more importantly, relief - in Haywood's tone. "How rude of the creature to blemish you so. I am glad it appears to be nothing permanent."

"Yes," Elionys tells him with a laugh, leaning close to give him a gentle nudge with her shoulder. "I know, it's mad to say something like that. I fully recognize that fact, and I would promise you that I am not mad, but I know too many people who have said the exact same thing and been just that. All I can do is try and show you I'm not in the future."

"You don't seem mad to me," he man insists, nudging her back gently. Would he admit if she did, though? That might be folly. Though if Haywood's at all intimidated by her status, he's done a good job of hiding it so far. "Have no fear, lovely Elionys."

"Thank you, that's good to know," Elionys replies, sounding as though she takes him at his word, rather than worry that it's political maneuvering, and looking rather pleased. "I would assure you the same, but your family doesn't have a reputation for that." Just other things.

"Always nice to be assured all the same." Haywood has always been largely unconcerned with whatever his family's reputation may be, but that was before his was to be the face of House Cockshaw, so he may have to start caring about those things. But for now not known for being insane is good enough. Haywood pushes his dampened blonde hair away from his face. "I'm suddenly finding this weather rather disagreeable. Would you care to accompany me someplace drier?"

"Yes, I think I would like that," Elionys decides after a moment to consider, and to realize precisely how soggy she's become while sitting outside. "Have you any specific place in mind, Ser Haywood?"

"I hadn't. I mean, my original intent was to sit out here until I was soaked enough to be bothered, then trudge back home, probably looking frankly ridiculous." Haywood may not be entirely serious about that, but it's difficult to say. "I am open to suggestions, Princess."

"Oh, excellent!" Haywood offers his arm to Elionys as he stands. He's rather pleased with her ribbing, and it shows in the light in his eyes. She really has done wonders at chasing his gloom away. "You know, a meal and a drink sounds fantastic. I think I know just the place."

Elionys offers a hand for help up, and then once on her feet takes the arm that he offers her. "Wonderful, it will be nice to have different company over a meal," she tells him, allowing him to lead the way as he knows their destination, though she chatters at him all the way. And through dinner. And likely the walk back to the manse. She's chatty.

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