(121-04-21) Flowers in the Garden
Flowers in the Garden
Summary: Loryn is just trying to play some music in the garden. When Mariya stumbles on him, things get tense fast.
Date: 4/21/2014
Related: Wickham's Nest Plot Logs

Walled Garden - Garden Isle Manse - Sphinx Street

It is a summer morning. The weather is warm.

This large garden is a wonderland of splendor. Small trees and exotic flowers are in bloom, their aromas permeating the area. The entire garden is enclosed a high wall, covered in vines and ivy. There is an area where fresh herbs are growing, and another for roses of red, white, and of course, Tyrell gold. Other beds have daffodils, tulips, lilies, and pansies. Spread out and mingled amongst the rest of the plants are a variety of wildflowers. The two far corners are dominated by massive oak trees, which spread shade over the area. The luscious scents and beauty add to the natural feel of the atmosphere here.

Stone benches of polished marble surround a long pool, also of marble. There's a statue of a small dolphin above one end, spouting water from its snout. The pool isn't very deep, only about three feet, and small, colorful fish dart about playfully. Luxuriously soft towels are folded and placed on some of the benches. To one side is a lounging area, with outdoor furniture which comfortably seats six.

The morning is late and the sun has risen high enough for man and beast to seek shadow and cool. Among them young Loryn who's found refuge under a large shadowy tree by a small fountain amid the beautiful gardens of Garden Isle. He's sitting on a stone bench, a colorful pillow under his ass, a small harp on his knee. Playing a wistful melody and singing quietly along. Someone with sharp ears may recognize it as a classic song of the Reach. He's a decent enough singer.

Though Mariya Martell has been at the Garden Isle Manse for the past two days, she has yet to really explore. Unlike when she was restricted to the Hightower, she feels much less of a pull to discover new things about the Tyrell stronghold in Oldtown. Still dressed in all black, the young princess weaves her way through the garden, pausing when she hears the music played by Loryn. She does not yet approach, wary of meeting anyone. Even a young man with a harp.

Loryn plays on, oblivious to the world while he is lost in his tune. Only when the song ends, does he reach for a goblet of wine to whet his throat. It is then, he notices the young black-clad woman nearby and immediately clams up. Clutching the harp in both hands, he eyes her, trying to figure out who she may be. So many people in this manse!

Mariya remains near her somewhat secluded spying area, curious, but not willing to risk an introduction. Much like a deer caught by surprise, though, when the young man sees her, she straightens but does not flee. The two may eye each other for a short period of time, each attempting to discern the identity of the other, but eventually the Dornish woman clears her throat softly. Finally, she says, "Forgive me for interrupting you. I'll be on my way. I am merely wandering."

"Oh, no, you are not interrupting.", Loryn replies, "Unless my music is so terrible that it only makes you wish to flee." He sets the harp down on the bench so he can rise to his feet and bow deeply. "Loryn Tyrell, Mylady." Looking expectantly at her.

In the garden, Mariya remains separated by a few benches as she warily studies the newly introduced Tyrell. Though he no longer plays, he still remains in possession of his harp. "Mariya Martell," she returns with a standard curtsey. "Your music is not what would make me flee, but I am interrupting."

"Martell?" That makes Loryn blink. "You are… from Dorne. What are you doing here? I mean… uh, a honour to meet you, Mylady. And no, you are not interrupting. I'm merely whiling the hot hours of the mid-day away. You are welcome to sit here and listen some more if you didn't find it disagreeable."

Ser Daevon Targaryen is dressed in full Targaryen regalia, a reminder of who he is. Mostly black, with a hint of red, all lush fabrics expertly tailored to fit his form. A sword hangs at his hip. The colours wash him out, completely, making him look deathly pale and his amethyst eyes unnatural. He is accompanied by two Targaryen guards as he's shown through to where Mariya is.

"Yes. I am from Dorne. Sunspear, in fact. I was here to help my sister settle in to Oldtown. And now I remain to be wed to Daevon Targaryen. But, I am at this Manse awaiting a ransom for Ser Arros Sand." Unable to help herself, Mariya replies to all facets of Loryn's question. As Daevon enters the garden with his guards, the more impassive mask melts just slightly to a smile. "Ser Daevon," she greets.

"A ransom? For who? And why?", Loryn asks curiously, "I arrived here only a few days ago myself, so pardon me for being woefully underinformed of all that is happening here at present." The young Tyrell looks up, a little surprised to see a Targaryen on the premises. Hearing Mariya's greeting, he smiles a little. "Your intended, I trust?", he asks and offers a bow to the new arrival as well.

"Dear Mariya," Daevon says. "My apologies, I had thought to bring flowers but the guards say that you are not to have any gifts?" He looks saddened by this. "I thought that they might bring cheer to your confinement." He looks at Loryn and introduces. "Ser Daevon Targaryen."

Mariya gives Loryn a raised eyebrow, but replies, "The ransom is for Ser Arros Sand. He took part in the Trial of the Seven and yielded to Ser Quillian. Ask him or perhaps your kinsman, Ser Laurent Tyrell. I am sure they would accuse me of filling your ears with Dornish lies. Ser Daevon, this is Loryn Tyrell." As Daevon introduced himself, she will introduce Loryn. As the Targaryen approaches, she gestures with her chin toward the garden and perhaps even Loryn. "I found some otherwise. Ser Quillian seems to think that anything brought to me I could use as a weapon. I'm almost flattered to think he finds me so deadly."

Loryn can't help chuckling at the Targaryen's words. "Mylord, if we have one thing in over abundance here, it is flowers.", he points out, looking at the garden that surrounds them. "And I would hardly call this a confinement.", he adds a little sourly, "Surely this is one of the most beautiful manses in town? And while I admit that I don't really understand what is happening here, I take your word for it and will ask my brother Laurent later. Still, there is no need to consider me an enemy, Mylady, I bear Dorne no grudges."

"And he thinks you so honourless that you would use said weapon to do what?" Daevon asks. "Do you intend to stab the Tyrells with their own flowers, perhaps? Or have one choke on some fruit stones." He moves to join Mariya. "It does not matter how beautiful the cage is, if it is still a cage. And while there is much of beauty within these gardens I had thought to bring some Dornish blooms."

"I have yet to truly take a look. This was by my choice, but that does not mean it is not a confinement, as I am not allowed through the main doors and onto the street." As Loryn mentions that he is brother to Laurent, Mariya studies the man very closely and replies, "You may not, but you are not the only resident in this Manse. I held no grudges against the Reach, yet it did not care in the end." Daevon's question is met with a snicker at the image of stabbing a Tyrell with a flower. "No, I do not know. Perhaps he worries for poison. I thank you for the thought, though."

Loryn lifts his hands almost defensively. "Please, Mylady, I don't even know what has been happening here, so don't it against me. I arrived here from the North less than a week ago. And I'm sure life is not that terribly hard, even without Dornish flowers in our gardens.", he adds a bit crankily, really not liking to see his family and manse slighted. "But at least this should bode well for your marriage, won't it?", he grins, "Hating us Tyrells will give you some common ground already."

Daevon frowns at Loryn's words. "Have either of us stated that we hate the Tyrells? Why must you draw such conclusions. Don't be quick to take offence when none is offered."

Speak of the Devil, and he will appear. Or, in this case: mention the blackrood and like some twisted but of wood, he will show himself in your garden when you least expect it. As such, stalking from the entrance that leads out to the practice yard our knight in question emerges. Behind him trails a lad no more than thirteen, who carries his shield, and the man's waster it seems. "Both of those go to the Armory, Elias-Your cousin Lewyn will be in there and he will show you where the practice armor is to go. When you're done, I'll meet you in the barracks, and we can talk about the finer points of armoring.." all but spat out before he is turning to toss the padded practice harness down. "You need to work on your straps, boy. Off with ye." Quillian chides, more manace than true threat.

As Elias hurries on past, the Oakheart is given a free glance of the gardens and them within. A faint smirk showing as the blackclad dragon is noted to be with his Dornish companion.

Where as he doesn't speak greetings, Quillian does give himself a chance to answer Daevon's question with another question.

"Tell me Ser, why do you wear black? I would have thought the Maiden's Knight in something more fitting of her calling?" Quillian knows lithe and girl-like dragons when he sees them. (But he could be totally wrong guys)

At Loryn's comment, Mariya's hands clench at her side, face flashing with anger. "I do not hate the Tyrells. As you've just stated, you know nothing of the situation, so do not assume to know of my life. I would wish the hardships of my family and my countrymen in Oldtown were so slight. That my goodbrother were alive to see these gardens instead of being taken back to Starfall accompanied by my widowed sister." The approach of Quillian tempers her anger, but while she glares at him, all she adds is, "Yes, I am sure my life is not too terribly hard compared with Ellia, who will now raise her children without their father. But, my anger is not because I do not have Dornish flowers amidst a such roses."

"Black and Red are the colours of my house," Daevon points out. "And so it would seem that my wardrobe is full of many such outfits. And it is also a small sign of respect for one of the truest and most honorable warriors that I ever had the blessing to meet. I mourn his loss." At Mariya's anger, he places a light hand on her arm, just a slight offering of support.

"Well, then don't call our manse a cage or suspect us of such paranoia to think the Lady here might poison us all in our sleep.", Loryn replies to Daevon, then looks at Mariya with narrowed eyes. "Yea, well, I don't know about your life, nor do you know about mine, so don't presume you're the most suffering creature in the Seven Kingdoms." But before the tension can escalate, there's the Blackrood - whom he does not know yet, but who is definitely easily to identify. "Lord Quillian.", he greets, looking a little relieved

"Black and Red are the colours of my house," Daevon points out. "And so it would seem that my wardrobe is full of many such outfits. And it is also a small sign of respect for one of the truest and most honorable warriors that I ever had the blessing to meet. I mourn his loss." At Mariya's anger, he places a light hand on her arm, just a slight offering of support. He looks at Loryn. "I did not say anything of poison, and what I did say was clearly a jest. The use of the word cage was an analogy." He sighs. "You are determined to be insulted? Please do not speak to Mariya in such a way. You are not listening to her words. I am sorry for the loss of your father but that does not give you any right to take your anger out on us. We are not your enemies."

"So they are, Dragons, and their fondness of fire and blood." Quillian quips back towards Daevon. "However, I never saw you once wear black for those who were lost at Wickham's Nest. Good men and women. Innocents murdered by raiders." He doesn't say Dornish, as well-it is known, and he's rather not kick poor Mariya's spirits while they are down. "I wish you had mourned the loss of your own countrymen, as passionately as you mourn the loss of this true knight." The Blackrood adds pointedly before he is looking over towards Loryn. "I can see where my young cousin would see an enemy in you, Ser Daevon. Your uncle murders a good man and knight of his house and then champions against his own countrymen. And now this." A sniff there before he is moving to take a seat. Whatever task he was about forgotten now.

"Would you like anything to drink, the lot of you? We have a nice dornish sweet red."

"No I didn't wear black," Daevon admits. "I put on my armour, which is most certainly not black, and in my travels I visited Cockleswhent Hall. I offered what support, sympathies and reassurance I could there. Innocents were murdered at the Red Rookery too, but the Seven appear to have offered forgiveness for the sorrow of those who performed the deed. You cannot have it both ways. If Lord Corey was murdered then so too was Ser Osric. I say neither was, both deaths occurred during arranged duels. Do you think that Lord Corey had intended to do anything less than kill Ser Maelys?"

Loryn gives Daevon another dark look. "I am sure the Lady Mariya can speak for herself, although it is rather charming of you to come to her aid of course.", he says, but then there's Quillian, smoothing ruffled feathers. "I seek no quarrel with either Dorne or Dragonstone. I was enjoying myself with my harp, when the lady came into the gardens… then the rest of you." He chuckles softly, "Perhaps I should play the harp more often to see what will be lured out into the gardens by it. I have my own wine, Ser Quillian, but I am sure our guests will welcome a cooling drink in this heat." Yup, totally stressing the word guest.

The mention of Loryn's own loss is enough to start to soothe Mariya's own tempers - quick and emotional as they are. The one thing she will understand is grief. "I was the one that made the jest that Ser Quillian thought I might poison him in his sleep as he did not wish anything brought to me. I was out for a stroll and was about to leave when Ser Daevon arrived. Should you prefer to return to your Rose of the Reach, I will return to my room." The anger, instead, is transferred to Quillian. "Do not speak of Ser Osric as such. He was a better man than any else on that field, no matter their banners."

"And here I was going to say the same thing, Ser. Your family contends Osric was murdered, when in fact he was not." Quillian quips with a faint smile. "He died in a trial, in which the Gods' will was on display. I would think you of all people would understand that, or perhaps your family would." A shake of his head there before he is looking back towards Loryn. "He's the maiden knight, coz. I am to assume, he's nothing to do unless he is defending a maiden-even if she may be in the wrong." And there he shifts in where he has chosen to sit-before he is looking back towards Daevon. "I have no idea, but I imagine the duel was done in order to avenge his brother. And there it should have ended, his body taken back to Highgarden and thus hands wiped. But, your ucnle decided to bring his head here and leave his body for the animals. Targaryen justice there." though how many of the Targaryens would claim Maelys as their own?

A glance is given over towards Mariya. "I will speak of him, as he was. he was a man." Quillian states. "And he may or may not have been better, but now he is dead-and he was the deadest one on the field." With that he produces a slip of paper from his belt. "I have a letter from your sister. Would you like to read it? It is addressed to me, as I have been writing her, but I can share the bit of news that concerns you, if you like, Princess."

Daevon shakes his head. "I have never said that Ser Osric was murdered. Who is it that has said such a thing? I shall have words with them, calling into question the Trial of the Seven." He looks at Quillian. "Are there not rumours that you drink from the skull of one of your enemies? Although such is neither here nor there. I do not sanction Maelys' actions. He has been exiled for my entire life."

Loryn settles back on the bench where he had been sitting on a colorful pillow earlier and places his harp on his leg again. "Perhaps I shall do so, Mylady.", he smiles at Mariya and takes a sip of wine before playing a few quiet notes, hoping the music will help to soothe spirits further He does, however, listen attentively to what's being said, trying to piece the story together from the bits of information he gathers.

Loryn may move back to his harp, Daevon may defend Maelys, but for Mariya, there is only one thing that matters. Eyes narrow at Quillian at his words, but all she asks is, "My sister wrote to you?" With deliberate steps she moves forward, hand outstretched to take the paper that he offers. "Then I would read it."

"Does it surprise you, that she would? I know your sister has to be a fine woman to have married the Sword of the Morning." And with that he passes over his letter. "As you will see, this mainly pertains to me, save for the last bit." A slight crook of a smile. "Your ransom will be delayed-but then I do not entirely know, if she knows you are here and not the bastard knight." And there Quillian clears his throat before he is chuckling towards Daevon, letter still held out for Mariya to take.

"So's the rumor, but then many who speak that know of the reason I would have such a cup." A nod to Mariya "As does your Princess. Oh, belated congratulations on your coming nuptials."

Daevon has to ask, of course. "Why do you have such a cup?"

Loryn starts to look bored by the interplay he can't really follow. He gets to his feet, harp under one arm, wine cup in the other hand and bows a little. "It's been a pleasure to meet you all, Lady Mariya. Ser Daevon. Indeed, congratulations on your coming nuptials. Ser Quillian. If you'll all excuse me now…"

"My sister is a Princess of Dorne and perhaps the most like my mother of all my siblings. I was surprised that Ser Osric was worthy of her." Mariya takes the letter without hesitation, not caring if it is a personal letter meant only for Quillian. "She knows. She also knows that while I may not enjoy the company, it would not kill me to remain in it awhile yet." However, her brow is furrowed as she reads through the words her sister wrote, clearly confused as to what is there. "Good day, Lord Loryn," she tells the young Tyrell absently, eyes focused on the paper.

"Why?" Quillian repeats back. "I had it, as Lord Arnau's father would not return my brother's bones. I've no idea what's become of them. And so his brother the previous Lord Blackmont became my cup. I gave him the boy, but I kept his brother's head until a time in which my brother would be returned. Dannel-if you did not know, was killed in a similar raid to Wickham's nest during the war. A brief ceasefire betrayed." He adds without going into detail. "My mother and father wrote extensively for him back. To no avail from either Lord." A nod is given Loryn before a wave. "Seven guide, Coz." A glance back towards Daevon and Mariya now. "I take loyalty to family, quite seriously."

Daevon dips his head down in sympathy. "That is a terrible thing. Have you spoke to the current Lord Blackmont and asked him for the return of your brothers bones, or at least what became of them? Could that not be set as the price of his ransom?"

Once she has finished the letter, Mariya hands the paper back to Quillian. It is not hers and she will not keep it despite wishing to read it many more times over. "Ser Viggo holds the ransom on Lord Arnau. It would seem you have some time longer to discuss it with him as part of Lord Blackmont's release."

There's a thin smile there. "I have, since before his capture." Which would give one the easily concluded thought-that every channel is usually exhausted. And in this case there has been no change. Still the knight remains seated, leaning out to grab the letter before reclining back. "I might speak to Ser Viggo, we will see." he adds with a brief glance given to Daevon before he is pushing himself up. "I should let you two have privacy." Quillian adds. "Maybe you should add more red, Ser Daevon, to your black. It suits you."

"You have the unique opportunity of being in the same city with him," Daevon says. "Perhaps a challenge could be issued over the matter if the terms of ransom will not suffice." He pauses. "Know that I never condoned Maelys' actions, and that I did grieve for those at Wickhams Nest. There is nothing I can do about Ser Osric's death save wear black and offer my sympathies. For Wickhams Nest I have been doing all that I can to get to the truth of the matter. And I did travel to both the nearby villages to see if bandit attacks would be a problem, and to Cockleswent Hall, so that those there knew that they were not forgotten. Some things take time."

At the mention of Wickham's Nest, Mariya nods. "As did I. As I grieved for those at Red Rookery." With no letter in front of her now, she clasps her hands in front of her, looking for something to do with them. Instead of commenting, she glances between Daevon and Quillian as the latter stands.

Quillian raises a brow towards Daevon. "I also have the unique opportunity of having a Dornish Princess as my hostage now." A grin there before he is giving both a nod, before he is moving on towards the manse. "Aye, some things do. Ser Daevon. But, Justice? That should not have to wait." And with that he slips in to change.

"It was not justice," Daevon says. "It was revenge." He sighs and then looks to Mariya, waiting for all to be out of earshot.

The Dornish Princess quip is met with a frown from Mariya, but she does not retort. Daevon has already done so for her. There is no farewell for Quillian from her, she merely watches him move toward the Manse silently.

Daevon looks to Mariya, his words gentle, concerned. "How're you holding up?" He sighs. "Aevander said no. Ryzael's said yes though."

Now that they are alone, the rigid back and impassive face melts to something more like herself. Mariya gives Daevon a kinder smile. "It's…difficult. I didn't think it would be this hard. To be surrounded here." A hand reaches out to take his for some reassuring - mostly for herself. "I thought he might," she can't help but laugh softly. The mention of Ryzael actually surprises her. "He would?"

Daevon nods. "He would. Perhaps he can come and speak with you and the two of you can make the arrangements? I'll also make sure to ask the rest of my family to visit. I would not have you be alone through this, not with the way they were speaking to you." He squeezes her hand, gently.

Mariya nods. "I worry of what Ellia has planned. She would not delay the ransom unless she had good reasons for doing so. I will write her to ask. Until then, I will remain. And that would be a kindness. It would be good to have some company."

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