(121-05-12) Just a Friendly Visit
Just a Friendly Visit
Summary: Ser Quillian gets an unexpected guest as he convalesces.
Date: May 12, 2014
Related: Duel of the Seven logs

Little Bellhorn Holdfast — Champion's Way

This tiny fort used to be part of the city's defenses, and once its Western wall was part of the city wall itself. Now it's marooned amid the houses and workshops of Sphinx Street and Champion's way. It remains stalwart, though — a small courtyard of about sixty feet square, large enough for the keeping of horses and the training of men, ringed by four thick stone outer walls with ground-level rooms behind them and accessible by one mighty arched gate of iron-bound oaken beams. The roofs of the rooms form a wide walkway, and above it there's a narrower one where men can stand and look over the battlements. Above the gate there's another little room, sheltering the men who work the murder-holes.

Thin grass grows here in the center courtyard. All the rooms are accessible through doors that simply open out to this space. When it rains, one must wear a cloak on the way to the dining room.

It's another damp and drizzling summer day. The rain might be a relief from the heat if it didn't made the air so thick and cloying. Out of the muggy weather comes Ser Tameron Sand, led to where Ser Quillian recovers my one of the Oakheart servants who announces him. The young knight is dressed in a white shirt, brown pants and black jerkin, his blade peace-tied and his hair damp from the walk.

Apparently the Dornish cannot handle the weather any more they can handle their blades (BURN). Though in this case, Ser Tameron would not be alone. The man he has come to see, holds sweat on his brow and is clad in a tunic and trousers-and so not as a knight should. In his rooms, Ser Quillian is currently reclining by an open window as if that would be enough to help alieviate the heat. Instead it's only allowed for more humidity to seep in. A small grimace shows on his face. "For all the ass fucking, at least Garden Isle had a gdsdamned breeze.." the knight comments to himself, before he is turning as a servant speaks up.

"Well, send him in." surprise evident by raised brows, though they lower soon enough as the Sand comes in. "Well met." Quillian states from his seat. "Pardon if I don't rise up. I'm still reserving my energy of the day." And who stands for bastards?

Hey, it's a dry heat in Dorne. None of this muggy, cloying, drizzle-heat nonsense. Ser Tameron offers the Reach knight a nod as his steps into the room properly, leaving a trail of wet bootprints behind him. Thank goodness for servants. "Ser," he greets. "From the stories told of the duel between you and Maelys Targaryen, I'd rather expected you to be missing limbs. Or digits, at least."

"My mittens were solid steel. Still are, only one got punctured enough to cause worry." Quillian quips, before he gives Ser Tameron a smirk. Already a hand motion is made for him to sit. There's no wine offered, but that is likely because Quillian is tolerating the Sand-more than any knowledge of his lack of drinking. "Are you disappointed then? To see me actually with only a mending arm in sling-and all my killing parts still intact?" A smirk before he shifts in his seat. "How is your Lady? Or Princess?" Likely he is asking after Ellia Martell. "Did you know the Targaryens got me a new warhammer, and armor for my trouble? It makes me think I should challenge dragons more often."

Tameron smirks faintly in return before sitting himself down in a chair near where Quillian convalesces. "Well, it does make the story seem a bit smaller, if nobody even lost a finger." He considers the warhammer and armor and then shrugs. "Well, then you should. Either way, it weakens a warrior who thinks ill of Dorne, so I will not protest it."

"I think ill of Dorne for my own reasons. There are some Dornish that I find amusing." he adds briefly, before he is taking a drink of his own wine, and there he looks back over towards Tameron. "Who knows, this could all be a wild political play to get you all thinking, that I am indeed done-if only to rise against you and knock you back to your dunes and deserts." A slight smirk there before more wine is taken in. "So will you tell your friends and masters I still live-so that my death may be plotted out in full?"

"The Dornish do not plot deaths, ser," Tameron replies with a small, prim sniff. "Deaths just occasionally happen in manners which are convenient to us. But, no, that is not why I came to see you."

Quillian laughs. "You've a tongue like the snake you are, Tameron Sand." Quillian reports in a bark. "And a way of slithering around your words." A sniff back and then he's raising his good hand to a servant, seeking a refill. "Would you like anything?" he asks, before sending the servant away-should Tameron want anything, it'd be gotten. "Then why did you come to see me? You must admit, I am the least likely person anyone would expect you to visit."

"No, thank you, ser. I am pleased to speak with you and see you will yet live, but I will not break bread with you." As for the 'why', Tameron is quiet a moment before he says, "You were honorable in your dealings with myself and my Lady Dayne, and you made allowances that permitted us to see Ser Osric to his resting place. So, I only wished to tell you that his body was safely seen home, his pyre was built and he was returned to the gods with honor. Dawn rests once more in Starfall until another Dayne proves worthy of it."

There is a nod given back to Tameron. "So be it." And so wine is fetched and replenished. A sip of his wine once full up, before he is sitting back in his chair once more. "You sound surprised that I was honorable. Tell me, in Dorne, when I am spoken about-does honor even come in? I am curious as to what my reputation is there." He knows how it is here. As it is mentioned Dawn is resting, there's another nod given. "Well and good. Hopefully I will not have to strip it's user of that title again." A faint smile. "Had I kept her, she would have been the Sword of Twilight." he adds a play on the Dayne's imagery. "But, I could not."

"You and yours attacked an outpost while feigning you were out hunting. You drink from the skull of a Dorinshman. Of course I was surprised when you were honorable," Tameron replies plainly. "In Dorne it is said that for the death of your brother, you demanded the lives of hundreds. That you sacked any village you came across, slaughtering all men, be they warriors or no, as well as any boy child with strength enough to lift a blade. That when you felled Ser Lyndon and his son, you dragged their bodies through the dirt and would not return them until ordered to by your masters. That you never returned Ser Lyndon's head." Tameron is quiet for those last words a moment before he says, "If you had kept for yourself the sword Dawn, we would not be speaking, now. I would have taken whatever time was needed to become your equal on the field, and I would have regained Dawn from you at the cost of your life."

"I believe the Seven weighed in upon that mess." Stating about Red Rookery, regardless of his 'innocence' there he does not deny his having a Dornishman's skull that he may, or may not drink from. "Well, I think those would be true. Any man old enough to arm himself should do so when in war." Stated, before he is back to smiling at the bastard knight. More wine needs to be had for his talk and so he is applying it. "Mmm." Quillian hums, from his cup before looking up. "You are cocky about what you could or could not do. I'll commend you on that."

"They found your actions were not criminal," Tameron agrees with a small nod, "but not even the Seven could make them honorable." A corner of his lip lifts as Quillian classifies a twelve-year-old boy as a 'man', at least in Tameron's mind, but he chooses not to debate the revision. He only regards the Blackrood somberly before answering, "No, ser. I am not."

"Do you mean to see me in the field then some day, Tameron Sand, and avenge your fallen master?" Quillian asks carefully-though what humor could be found in him, is drained as his cup. A look down as he swirls the cup in his hand before looking back. "I'll keep it in mind." he states thoughtfully before he is clearing his throat. "I am glad to know he returned in a way fitting of him though. Thank you for letting me know."

"No, ser, I do not. Ser Osric faced you in righteous combat and was felled. There is nothing to avenge," Tameron replies. "Had you kept Dawn, had you treated my lord as a man deserving of scorn instead of dignity and denied his family their right to House Dayne's ancestral blade, that I would have avenged. But you did not, and thus we have no quarrel." The Sand knight eases to his feet and offers a curt nod. "I hope the remainder of your recovery is restful."

Quillian nods back towards Tameron. "Good." And so one name is crossed off the list of having to watch out for. Instead there's a look back towards Tameron. A chuckle there. "Your family likely knows not what sort of man I am." he adds before he offers his own curt nod in response. "Seven guide you, Ser Tameron." And there is a pause there. "Thank you for coming to check on me."

"As your family knows not the sort of men of mine," Tameron replies, "but that has never stopped us, before, has it, ser." He smiles faintly, brows lifting. "Check on you? Perhaps I just came to poison the wine." Which is said totally in jest. Probably? Most likely in jest. Maybe. Yeah, it's probably, completely a joke. "Good day, Ser Quillian." With a small bow, the dornish knight turns to see himself out.

"If I die, I'll be sure to haunt whatever thing you stick your sword in." He murmurs before raising his hand. "Ta, Ser Tameron." Apparently, whether or not Tameron poisoned the wine, Quillian takes another long drink.

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