(121-05-03) The Return of Lady Blackmont
The Return of Lady Blackmont
Summary: Lady Yael Blackmont's return to her husband is not without its share of fireworks.
Date: 05/06/14
Related: Many.

Dragon Door Manse - Starry Street
It is a summer evening. The weather is warm and drizzling.

This is a grand and enormous manse maintained by the Targaryen family for royals and their guests when they happen to wish to stay in Oldtown.

The house faces the prestigious Starry Street. The first story is protected by narrow high windows that stop people from seeing inside, but the windows on the back wall and the four upper stories are tall and wide, making the manse bright and airy over all.

The first floor's main hall is brightly lit with lamps to make up for the shortcomings of those windows, and the walls are covered in rich tapestries depicting dragons, and the acts of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. There's a grand dining room separated from the entry hall by a great arch formed by carved stone dragons, and another such arch leads to a smaller, though still huge by most standards, sitting room. Everything is opulent, beautifully made, and as luxurious as befits the royal family.

There are other sitting rooms up in the floors above, as well as bedchambers, game rooms, and even private baths. Like almost all of the houses in Oldtown, it shares two walls with its neighbors on either side, but the servants quarters, kitchens, and servant's stairs buffer the house proper from any noise that could possibly leak through the thick stone walls.

There's a large and gracious walled garden in the back, and wide windows open to it. Those on the upper stories have balconies.

The very moment that Arnau was released Daevon issued a summons to meet them at the Dragon Door Manse as soon as possible. And the second thing he did was to go and inform Yael that he'd done so. Then there's a message to Mariya, who living next door is much easier to contact. And then servants sent to make things ready for their visitors. Daevon's waiting in the sitting room, dressed formally in red and black as he waits for everyone to show up.

Seeing as the Manse where the Dornish are staying is close by, it is no surprise that Mariya arrives in a timely manner. Upon receiving the message from Daevon, it is not long before she enters the Dragon Door Manse and is shown in to the sitting room.

Aevander doesn't have far to travel, being another resident of the manse. He comes down the stairs from his own room, dressed finely enough in black, though minus the red. He offers his brother a nod before finding a place to stand in the sitting room in anticipation of receiving… guests, is probably the best thing to call them. As Mariya beats him there, Aevander offers her a bow and a, "Princess," as he takes his spot.

"Mariya," Daevon's smile. He's a little anxious by the formality, that much is clear from the way his gaze flickers around and he keeps glancing at the door. "Aevander." He greets his brother.

"Ser Aevander," Mariya curtseys at the greeting. "Ser Daevon." The nervousness is quickly noticed and she also cannot help but look back at the door he keeps glancing at. She enters the room more fully, finding her own place to occupy. "How are you both?"

With Arnau Blackmont being released from the Garden Manse towards the end of a the day and having had affairs to see to at the Dornish manse, it was a very long day for him indeed. That a messenger showered up summoning him to the Targaryen manse was both a surprise and an unwanted interruption, said messenger dismissed to wait around on orders not to leave without Arnau accompanying him. It isn't until a second messenger is left to wait around in boredom and some of the Dornish have said to some effect that he should attend the summons does Lord Blackmont stir himself from other duties.

Those in Dragon Door Manse are still given some time to wait, and likely he does not come calling at an especially courteous hour, but Lord Arnau Blackmont does arrive finally with a small retinue to be announced to the household. He is shown to the sitting room where Daevon waits, stepping partially into the room only so that his frame does not take up the entire doorway. He stands tall and broad, draped in robes of patterns and silks, feet planted firmly on the ground while hands are clasped behind his back. Not as friendly as Mariya, there is little enough expression on his dark face, but the set of his bearded chin is hard and the line of his mouth thin. "Evening."

Among his entourage is a man of similarly grim face, and a measure of road dust and jump intensity that sets him apart. Dickon Blackmont stands just behind his elder brother, poised at his shoulder as if the long ride from Sunspear has only given him fuel. His dark gaze sweeps the room with wary threat until it reaches Mariya, at which point he sweeps a dramatic bow, from which he does not yet rise as he says, "Princess."

Daevon rises to his feet immediately at Arnau's entrance. "Thank you for coming." He says, looking relieved. He's really not one to beat around the bush when he can get straight to the point. "I am Ser Daevon Targaryen, my brother, Ser Aevander." He introduces. "Your wife was found. She should be here shortly." He glances at the door. There's more he wants to say but with a look as his brother he keeps quiet.

Aevander offers a bow to the princes of Dorne as he's introduces and Mariya gets a quick smile as the arrival of the Blackmonts wipe away the possibility of idle chit chat. He remains quiet, though. This is Daevon's show.

"Lord Blackmont," Mariya has not taken a seat, so it is easy for her to curtsey. She does so, taking care to be proper with it. "Ser Dickon." She can't help but give the younger Blackmont and his dramatic bow a warm smile. "Please, rise. I thank you for the courtesy." However, she does not say much else, as Daevon tells Arnau the reason they are all gathered. Her eyes quickly focus on the Dornish Lord and her smile fades to a more serious expression.

At least the swift address does not give Arnau time to add an air of impatience in addition to his already hard and grim countenance. "Princess," he says with a stiff bow, like a mountain bending. "Sers Targaryen," he follows to say, voice low and clear, not following with an introduction to himself, given that he was summoned here. Besides, it is obviously the second piece of information that catches his attention. The changes are subtle: A flash in the green of his eyes, a slight tilt of his head and a slow breath drawn in deeply and then released. "My wife. Was found," he bites out slowly, repeating what has been said. "I trust she will be walking through that door, herself." The implication being she is alive and in condition to walk. "Where?"

Dickon practically springs upright at mention of Arnau's wife, his head lifting like a deer on alert, a hand on his belt as he straightens. "Lady Yael is here? What has become of her? Who took her? Is she well? If she has been hurt—!" He will. Do something! To someone!

Daevon nods. "She's been my guest. I dreamed of her and her captivity, the same dream over and over." He sighs. "I think it was only with the Seven's Blessing that she was found by the man I sent in search of her." A pause. "I should have told you sooner. I felt that secrecy was her best defence, especially with what she knows and I did not trust…" he leaves it there, who he didn't trust. "But that's no excuse." He glances to the door again.

Daevon's message found Yael walking arm in arm Elionys near the wall of the gardens, the wind having ruffled their hair and upset their gown. News of his message brought a long moment of silent communication between the women, a rare wide-eyed look born on the Dornishwoman's face. Agreeing to meet them, the pair disappeared into the manse to dress for the occasion. When finally Yael does arrive, it is with the whisper of red silk and skin in a gown altered to flatter her to the utmost. No longer does she look the scared woman from the woods, but is a Lady lperfectly suited to walk in arm with the silvery Targaryen Princess. Gold glints at her hair and kohl at her eyes, her snake band still coiling around her forearm; a creature of the sands more wholly than she has been during her stay. Dark eyes are touched by light as she breaths in a husk, with a gaze for only one, "Husband…"

The Dornishwoman on Elionys' arm isn't the only one to have dressed for the occasion, apparently. The Targaryen Princess is bedecked in a very fine black gown that sparkles ever so slightly here and there with the slightest of movement, along with silver jewelry set with red gems, and similiarly wrought combs in her styled, silvery-blonde hair. The arm in hers is given a squeeze, and a few quiet, encouraging words are murmured as the pair descend the stairs, curious eyes skimming the assembled group already on the floor below.

"She's been your guest." It seems as though Lord Arnau cannot help but repeat the things being said he find particularly incredulous, though this time when he does it he speaks quietly and slow, with a deliberate evenness to the words. "You are telling me," he continues with that same carefully measured tone, "That you have been dreaming of my wife and keeping her as your guest under this roof." He takes a single step forward, unclasping his hands from behind his back to fist at his side. "Keeping her instead of returning her to her people—to my people, come with me from Dorne for this reason…" Whatever else he'd planned to say fades into silence when Yael makes her appearance in the doorway, arm-in-arm with another Lady.

Arnau stands up even straighter, sucking in a deep breath through his nose, teeth clenched so that the muscles stand out in his jawline briefly. Words fail him for a space of time, but Yael can recognize the small crinkling at the corners of his bright green eyes that is a smile. He releases the fists his hands had balled into and holds them out to her. "My wife."

Aevander watches in silence, looking from Arnau to Yael as the women arrive. His gaze catches and lingers, however, on Elionys for a beat too longer before he returns his attention to the Dornish.

Daevon just stands and watches the two of them, keeping silent now.

For her own part, Mariya stays where she is, silent, to allow the two to reunite without distraction.

"You what??" Arnau's response looks all the more restrained and measured compares to Dickon's. The younger Blackmont visibly shocks and seethes as Daevon speaks, and it's all he can do to stop from springing — at the Targaryen, to Yael when she enters. He lets Arnau and his wife see to each other and instead steps closer to snarl at the Maiden's Knight, the angry flush in his cheeks visible even beneath the deep tan of his skin. "You dare, ser! You dare too much! The liberties you have taken— the indign— dreams! Of my good-sister! You will answer for this, ser! Name the time and the place and you shall answer."

"Now," Daevon replies to Arnau, his words quiet, but he's clearly been expecting this. "Outside in the garden, there's a training area there. Just give me time to get my armor."

Now, Aevander steps away from the wall to stand beside Daevon and regard Dickon, a calm counterpoint to the dornishman's simmering fury. "Ser," he says calmly, "please. You misunderstand by brother. Daevon has experienced prophetic dreams the whole of his life. When he says he dreamed of Yael Blackmont, it was meant in no untoward manner. Rather, his dream gave him a message that the Lady Blackmont was in danger, a message he proceeded to follow. Everything Daevon has done in this, he has done with the goal of protecting Lady Yael while her husband was being held for ransom and thus unavailable to do so, himself."

Daevon clearly didn't even catch the underlying subtleties that Aevander did, looking rather baffled by his brothers words at first before realisation dawns. He looks stunned, shaking his head in denial.

The beginning of the conversation escapes her ears, but the ire and the atmosphere of the room catches like wildfire in the air as men reach for blades. Yael tenses mid-step on the stair, her hands briefly leaving white marks on Elionys' arm smoothing along her pale skin in apology. Her hands slip free with a smile to the Princess, a brief slip of a thing that does not pull her gaze from her husband. To him, she offers her hands, and a broader smile that touches her dark eyes. "It seems I've caused a stir," she says, husky voice filling every ear in the room with clarify. Hands held by her husband for the first time in months, it is only now that she looks over the others in the room. "Please forgive me." Princess Mariya is offered a sweeping curtsey and Dickon a smile, before she meets the eyes both of the Targaryen men. Her brow quirks at Aevander's clarification.

Elionys sucks in a little breath as she feels Yael's hand clutch her arm, but it's followed swiftly by a small smile for the Dornishwoman as she slips free. She steps down the last of the stairs and toward the place where Daevon, Aevander, and Dickon now stand, though it's to the latter that she looks. "Truly, he did only hope to help your good-sister," she says, adding her assurance to the rest.

Mariya blinks at Dickon's outburst. The hands that she had clasped in front of her quickly raise to placate. "There is nothing indecent in Ser Daevon's dreams," the Martell replies softly, very different from the young Blackmont's angry words. As Aevander replies more in depth, she glances between Dickon and Daevon, hoping cooler heads will prevail. "There is little to forgive, Lady Yael." She curtsies in reply. "It is good to see you looking well. I am glad you are safely back with your husband."

Arnau holds up a hand in gesture that Dickon need not snarl and throw challenges about, but it's a terribly halfhearted gesture, likely knowing how futile such gestures are, expecting it to go unheeded by his brother and not trying at all to force him to stop. That Aevander steps in to try and do as much, or at least try to explain, may well be equally fruitless. The explanation earns a somewhat narrow-eyed glance from Lord Blackmont himself, mouth set in a thin line again. "I am sure my family would be as supportive of myself, were the situation reversed." In other words: Of course all the Targaryens are standing by one another's side. If he is not so quick to believe all they have said, neither is he quick to yell words of blame. Instead, he takes his Yael's hands, hold gentle in contrast to the roughness of weapons callouses, with that smile in his eyes. "You are exceptionally skilled at this." Causing a stir.

"And so he took her?!" Dickon's anger doesn't cool as quickly as it's lit, and Aevander's perfectly reasonable explanation avails him little. "He said he dreamed, and he sent a man to take her, and held her here all this while! And told no one! None of us! It is an affront, an insult! I will not make my brother or his lady bear it, sers, I will not!" Mariya's intervention does stall him, however, and he looks to her, and then back to Arnau and Yael. But his hand's still on the hilt of his sword."

"He did not take her from her home, ser," Aevander replies, glancing down at Daevon and lifting his brows. "I am sure my brother and the Lady Yael can more clearly explain the circumstances surrounding her arrival here than I may."

Daevon looks to Yael, to tell her story, not sure if he'll even be believed. "No," he shakes his head at Dickons words. "I did not take her from her home. She was abducted. She freed herself. My man found her lost in the forest and escorted her here. By the time she arrived your brother was being held at Garden Isle. I did not wish those who held him to be aware of her presence. I thought it a danger to her life. There are many who would want her dead without questioning her first. Others who would seek to imprison and interrogate her. I thought the greatest protection she could have would be to remain here until her husband was free. But she was a guest, not a prisoner. Here and not the Dornish Manse because if any guards showed up to arrest her I could just tell them where to go. That she was under my protection. Really, all I wished was that she could return to Dorne with her husband and be done with all of this. Yes, I should have asked the Lady Yael more of her own wishes. I did not keep her presence secret from all the Dornish though. If I had known you were in the city I would have spoken to you too."

Dark lashes dust Yael's cheeks as she regards her husband through them, voice a whisper as she say, "With this, it was not my intent." The flats of her thumbs stroke over his rough knuckles, her step drawing her closer to his safety. Her mouth flattens as tempers rise, jaw tightening as she turns from her husband to rest her gaze upon Dickon. "If it makes you feel better, brother mine, I took his sword when he came for me at Ser Daevon's bidding." Then, "They have treated me well in their care." Her brows lift at the acknowledgement that other Dornishmen knew of her being here.

"She was safe, and well cared for here, I saw to it myself," Elionys assure Dickon tentatively, looking around at her relatives, then back to the angry Dornishman. "Se- my l-…" she pauses, glancing over at Yael, brows furrowing as she looks back. "I'm sorry, who are you?" she asks Dickon now. "I mean, your name, I'm afraid we've not met before."

"Ser Dickon." Mariya's voice, while still soft, is now punctuated with some authority - while also partly answering Elionys' question as to who the man is. "I knew that Lady Yael was safe here with the Targaryens. To my knowledge, she was not kept here against her will." She looks to Yael, "I would have come to see you sooner, but I was sitting ransom at the Garden Isle Manse so that Ser Arros could return to Starfall to help lay my goodbrother's bones to rest." Finally, her eyes land on Arnau. "I would have sent word to you, Lord Blackmont, but I was not convinced that should the Tyrells or the Cockshaws know of her presence in the city that they would not take her to question her unkindly about Wickham's Nest. So, if any of you would quarrel, then you should quarrel with me. Forgive me if I unduly added to your pain."

"I do not know that it could be any other way," Arnau whispers back to Yael with a little twitch of his brows, giving her hands a squeeze as she draws closer. One cannot recover a lost family member without it being something of an event, if not necessarily as this has turned out to be. He can hardly take his eyes off her, however much else does on in the room, jaw clenching whenever he has to do so. "Not a secret from all the Dornish. I hope that her family are not the only ones to know of this last." That they weren't the first to know is clearly still a problem in his eyes. There may be more to quarrel about yet, even if he does not do so here. He takes a breath, deep and slow, giving his wife's hands another gentle squeeze for her claim of being well treated.

"Lies," Dickon calls this, "And foolishness! You credit this, brother? Princess?" He looks from Arnau to Mariya and back, incredulous and confused. He watches Yael for a long moment (or a moment that seems long to him, at least; objectively it isn't) as well with a piercing gaze that discerns little before he turns away from Daevon and Aevander with a disgusted sound. He makes a gesture of acquiescence toward Mariya and Arnau before retaking his place at the latter's elbow.

"Let's go out and fight," Daevon says to Dickon. "You can have it out with me there." He strides for the door. "You can throw whatever accusations you like and I will beg for your forgiveness, that of your brother, and of the Lady Yael. Then once you've beaten me to a pulp your brother can have a go."

Aevander exhales just softly as Dickon seems, if not mollified by the various explanations, then at least willing to retreat. "Well, then, if that is settled and there is no further talk of duels…" Except there is more speak of duels. From his brother. Aevander closes his eyes for a brief moment, before, "Daevon. Please. That is not productive." Looking back to the dornish, he offers, "Lord Blackmont, I am sure you would like to return to the dornish manse, speak to your wife and learn of her ordeal, but if there is any question or concern we might further answer for you, please ask. I would have the air clear and no ill will between our families, before you go."

"This is the first I have heard of such," Yael admits slowly, dark eyes locking upon Daevon in question. Her expression courtly and schooled in its poise, although Mariya is offered a gracious tip of her head. "Of course not, Princess." Her fingers tightens in Arnau's grasp, holding it more tightly at the question of her safety in the city. At Daevon's acceptance of the challenge made, she cants her head in questioning towards both her husband and good-brother. "Although I did not come here wholly by my choice, they have seen to me to the best of their abilities," she offers the men, accent pulling her words lowly. Although, if Aevander will offer, she will ask, "Will you seek them?" The men who did all of this.

Elionys says, "Well if we're going to do that, let's just get on with it now," Elionys says with something of a sigh, looking ready to move for the door. "We can have some refreshments brought out for the rest of us," she adds, not so much trying to play the host, as she is just being thirsty, and also possibly wanting to watch a fight."

"I will," Daevon says to Yael. "I will track them down, discover who they are and make them pay. I need some more information before I can but I'm already assembling a group that might find the needle in the hay stack." He shakes his head at Yael. "I apologise, I had thought you chose to come. I would have ridden with you back to Dorne if you'd so wanted. Or provided passage on a ship. If your suspicions are correct in regards to your abductors, then I fear for your life. If any live then you are the one person who has even a slight chance of identifying them and tying them to the massacre." A pause and he asks. "Who was the Blackmont that they found at Wickham's Nest?"

"I do not know what to credit, brother," Arnau answers in his low, clear tones. "I can hardly believe any of this." It is not a terribly declarative stance, though it remains a patiently suspicious one. He leans in to aside to Dickon, "Though I do not credit that being in someone's home surrounded by their family and guards is a strategic place for conflict." Though if Daevon will take up the challenge, he is not going to stop either the Targaryen or his brother from fighting in the garden. "I am sure any questions that I may ask would be returned with answers gilt in goodwill. If your family has no part in these dire affairs of these past months, then you have nothing to worry of ill-will from my family." Yes, that includes you, Dickon. "But I know little enough of these affairs to trust any Reachman and their crown." Lots of rumors, many less facts, have abounded since Wickham's Nest. "You are not the only one interested in tracking down who committed these crimes, I will remind you, Ser. It is my family accused, who has paid dearly for what has happened, and who is duty bound to see if finished." Whatever 'finished' may mean.

Aevander draws another slow breath in and out, but he has made his attempt at undoing the challenge, and if Daevon and Dickon both insist on bashing at one another in their nice, blood-free garden, he will make no further protest. Indeed, he says nothing further at all, letting the Maiden Knight speak, instead, and leaves it to him to address Arnau's point.

Dickon is plainly torn, more than eager to to bash Daevon about given half the chance. He takes Arnau's quieter words with a wrinkle of his nose and brows, distaste obvious as well. His lip curls and he lifts a hand, one finger raised to gesture towards Daevon and his brother, but instead of speaking he ends up just shaking his finger at them warningly. "Take care, sers," he says, "We will find out the truth of this ourselves." And if need be there will be fighting then, it seems. But in the meanwhile, he will stay with his brother and sister-in-law and protract this meeting no further.

At Daevon's apology, Yael bows her head and gives it the slightest of shakes in an unruly spill of dark hair over her shoulders. "Your man provided a convincing arguement, rarely does on decline an… invitation from a prince," she answers with a low drag to her voice. Her family is offered a look of approval as they both swear to see these affairs put to rights, hand subtly squeezing Arnau's in an almost tender touch. To Daevon's question, she answers simply, "My guard, I imagine. He would have come running at the screams."

"We should speak then, at a later date," Daevon says to Arnau. "Once you've had a chance to speak with your wife and the ability to rest at the Dornish manse. If anyone tries to arrest her, or call her in for questioning please send for me." He nods at Arnau. "I know. But I would see no more bloodshed in this matter, and I have the ability to investigate places where you do not." He dips his head down at Yael's words. "Ah, that makes sense then. I am sorry for the losses you have suffered. And that of the Cockshaws too. I have another question. Do you know, roughly, how long it took them to take you from Wickhams Nest to where you were held prisoner? Was it a matter of hours or days and were you blindfolded? I am assembling a group to find it, as unlikely as we may be to do so. I would welcome someone from House Blackmont, if the Cockshaws can also be persuaded to allow one of theirs to join the group. But I do not wish to be seen favouring either."

Even her husband ultimately couldn't decline an invitation from a prince, though he tried. The hour is certainly wearing on him, even if heightened emotions have given a new fire to his eyes. Arnau nods at his brother, both in approval for backing down (for the moment, at least) and in support of his intentions to find out the truth. His posture shifts, sliding a little closer to Yael and putting himself just a little in between her and the Targaryen family as well. "We will speak. At a later date," he agrees with Daevon in a firm enough way that almost sounds like a demand. "But I do not think we seek the same thing, as you have no more wish for bloodshed." It's not a threat. At least, not directly at Daevon or his family. "Have you not held my wife long enough to ask her these questions? Or are you only considering this just now?" His shift to stand between Yael and the rest of the room becomes a little more pronounced. Then he smiles, which is worse perhaps than him not smiling, for it is a bitter and cutting thing like a predator. "Then you are in luck, Ser, for the Cockshaws must follow me like trained hounds should I leave the city, for the time being." That is not how they would describe the situation, likely.

Dickon scoffs at Daevon's question, though Arnau articulates the objection both more clearly and more immediately. "You have had enough of her, Ser," he says, "She owes you nothing more. If you require anything else you may send us a note at a more suitable hour like all other civilized people. Come, brother, Lady Yael. Let's be gone from this place." If he doesn't get to fight anyone, Dickon is anxious to exit, a hand on each of his kinsfolk's shoulders as he turns for the door.

A touch of pleasure curls warmly on Yael's lips at her husband's repositioning to divide her from the rest of the room. Lifting her dark eyed gaze, she regards the collected majority of the Targaryens with simple promise. "Collect your questions, Prince Daevon and I will answer them the best I can. You've been kind and I will do everything which I can to aid the search… but not tonight." Her husband has spoken, as has her brother. "Elionys, my friend. My thanks." On the princess lingers her gaze a little longer, soft affection creeping into the offered smile.

"She was a guest," Daevon says. "And I did not wish to trouble her with questions, not while she was alone, not while she was recovering from her ordeal, not while we awaited your release. Truth, I had hoped another would ask them." He offers Yael a slight smile. "Thank you." He looks at Dickon. "I will see you tomorrow." Challenge still on? "Good night to you all."

Elionys has kept quiet until this point, smiling warmly when the gratitude is expressed. "I was happy to do it, and only wish the cirucmstances had been better, but I was glad to meet you. I hope you will come visit soon?" she asks.

Arnau is simple with his farewells. "Good night." That said, he takes his wife's arm so that the may walk out of the Dragon Door Manse, nodding at Dickon to falling step as well—and eying his brother just a little like 'actually leave, don't get all need-to-duel again right as we are almost out the door'. It's a very complicated look. He takes his leave as solemnly as he came, though somewhat more gracefully with Yael beside him.

"Of course," Yael promises Elionys, granting her a final smile before leaving on her husband's arm. The Dornish family depart in the hush of silks and firm steps. The Lady reaching to give her good brother's arm a squeeze as well before they disappear from the room.

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