(121-05-19) Nosey Nosey
Nosey Nosey
Summary: Visenya and Daevon both share their opinions on some of Aevander's life choices.
Date: May 19, 2014
Related: Farewell Fete
Players:
Aevander..Visenya..Daevon..

It's afternoon, creeping on evening, when Aevander properly surfaces. Arguably he's been up and out, perhaps training his squire (or trying to) or riding, but attempts at productivity were rather useless thanks to a strange and persistent inch that seems to over the whole of his skin. He comes down now, from upstairs, where he's had a long hot bath. His hair still wet, his skin flushed, he's looking rather more comfortable than earlier in the day. He peers about, now, for something to eat.

Visenya is in the dining room when Aevander comes down the stairs. She is sipping at a drink while examining a book, and writing down things on a page. When Aevander comes in she glances up from what she's doing to offer him a small smile, "Well, that was something else last night."

Aevander steps over to offer a small kiss to the top of Visenya's head before dropping into a seat with a soft sigh. "It was," he agrees, "it really was a lovely evening. Thank you, dearest, for arranging it. It was a wonderful sendoff."

"Elionys and I had breakfast this morning." Visenya says as she glances down to her book, "We're going to be friends." There's a pause, and she look up from her book, "She has feelings for you, you know."

"Really?" Aevander asks, his brows lifting and his lips curling into a warm smile. "Visenya, I can't tell you how pleased I am to hear it. Truly, you've made such strides these past few weeks. I'm proud to see it." He leans over to pour himself a glass of wine before he addresses that last, and when he does, it's only with a soft, "I know she does."

"And you love her, but you do nothing." Visenya says with a sigh, and a shake of her head. "She expressed some sadness over you having not gone to her father. You know father would be glad to represent you. He /loves/ trying to marry us off."

"I considered writing to her father," Aevander confides quietly, "but I considered too long, and now he's sent this Velaryon to court her. I'm sure he means to see them wed, and I'm off to King's Landing, besides. I couldn't in good conscience write him now. She spent her whole life locked up in the Red Keep."

"She isn't betrothed yet, Aevander." Visenya points out, "And if you wed her she wouldn't be a prisoner at the Red Keep. She would be your wife." She bites her bottom lip thoughtfully, "What do we know about this Velaryon? Is he heir? Can we outdo him in incentives?"

"I met him once," Aevander muses, lifting a hand to itch idly at the nape of his neck, under his collar. "He's a civil sort. Level headed. Not a bad fellow, just… well. He has the personality of dried wood." His nose wrinkles as he takes another swallow of wine. "I don't like imagining her with somebody like that."With a small shake of his head, he adds, "He's not an heir, no. He's Corlys's younger brother. But, that being said, I'm hardly an heir, either."

"You're not. But what's the point of having a Velaryon when you can have a Targaryen? He's not heir. We have more resources than them. We'll just have to offer a bride's price instead of receiving a dowry." She glances down at her book briefly, "Do you want me to write father for you?"

"Oh, you know. Strengthening the blood ties between vassal and lord, reaffirming their loyalty, all that," Aevander offers, fingers flicking idly. Still, he's thoughtful. "I want to see what I'm getting into in King's Landing, first. I don't know why Rhaenys asked for me, if she simply wants fresh eyes or if there's treachery afoot and she needs someone less connected to court to help unravel it. I wouldn't want to draw Elionys into that."

"Perhaps your right." Visenya says with a little nod. She scribbles down more on her parchment, and bites down on her bottom lip before closing the book. "She hasn't told you why you are being summoned? That's interesting. Either way, it ought to be interesting."

Aevander gives a shake of his head. "Not specifically. As an 'advisor', but that could mean anything." He nudges up one of his sleeves so he can itch at the skin around his wrist. "And you're feeling all right, dearest? I thought, at the party, you had a moment where you felt unwell…?"

"My tea makes it so I don't fly off the handle and hit people, but sometimes I get…not scared. I just get anxious now, I suppose?" Visenya lets out a small sigh, and smiles thinly, "I suppose it's preferable to be a nervous wreck than being known as crazy Visenya, isn't it?"

"I think most things are preferable to being presumed mad," Aevander agrees with a small, sad smile. "I know I'm not here much longer, but if there's anything I can do to help, while I am, please let me know."

"It'll be fine. I'll go see the archmaester and see if he can't make adjustments to it." Visenya takes a swallow of her drink. "You could try smoothing things over with the Tyrell twins for me? I've tried to apologize to them, and they just attack me."

Aevander nods, smoothing down his one sleeve and nudging up the other to scratch at that wrist, next. "What happened?"

"After you left that Blackwood you punched mentioned the war of conquest. So, I supplied what he was talking about." Visenya says, "One of the twins, I don't know which one, made a snarky comment about how I was kind enough to remind them of their history. And then she kept picking at me. So, I said that perhaps people ought to be forgiving and not take things out of context, and she started screaming at me that I was an insufferable snob." She bites her lip, "I know you said you wanted me to ignore rude things that people said, but she was screaming at me in my home at a party I was hosting. So I said she was as big of a snob as I am. She accused me of being a big fake who didn't care about smallfolk, and didn't deserve their praise. I just can't deal with them. They get angry at anything I do, and say that I am constantly reminding them of their places, but the truth is they are just like Garvin Tyrell. They think we ought to grovel to them."

Aevander frowns softly as he listens, tugging his other sleeve down and then shifting a little in his seat as his fingers scritch at his side. "That does sound unkind," he agrees, "and unjust. I'll pay a visit to the Garden Isle and speak with them. I'm sorry, if they hurt you."

Daevon steps into the dining room, on the search for food. He looks to his brother, and then sister. "Do you want me to challenge them?"

"I did yell some unkind things back to her. And she did say that she defended me to Garvin through his whole nastiness, but…truly, Aevander. I haven't /tried/ to snub them." Visenya sighs, "I was just acting like how I normally act." She lifts a brow at Daevon, "The Tyrell twins? They'll be the end of you."

Aevander's mouth twitches up into a smile for that last. "They would be," he agrees, mock-somberly, "You don't know the depths of their duplicity." Looking back to Visenya he says, "I'll speak to them and set it right. If they were unkind to you, unprovoked, in your home, you deserve an apology."

"Oh," Daevon says. "Ah, might be best to speak with them instead. You were so good that you didn't have a fit at the party. I think that if it had been earlier, and not so tired, you'd have dealt with them better with a witty riposte and just shrugged it off. Which isn't to say that they were at all in the right."

"Lord Carolis and his man Tellur Snow were very kind to me after it. They sat with me for quite some time." Visenya lets out a small sigh, "Were you there to see all of that? It was embarrassing."

"No, I'd…" Aevander smiles wryly. "One of the ladies became sick behind the bushes. I had to arrange to see her walked home, as her brother couldn't be found and I didn't feel right sending her off with just her guards." He considers a moment before he adds, "I think I like that young Stark fellow. A shame we're only just meeting, now."

"Lord Carolis, and Tellur are kind," Daevon says. "They're good men. But you were very kind to Lord Carolis, fulfilling a dream of his, showing him the dragon egg, letting him hold it, without even thinking of what a generous thing it was." He smiles as Aevander mentions he likes Carolis but manages to keep quiet.

"Oh dear." Visenya says to Aevander, and her nose wrinkles delicately at the thought. She blinks at Daevon, "Just seeing it? But he can't do anything with it. I don't understand."

"Mmf, just so," Aevander agrees, his own nose wrinkling in kind. "Did you?" he queries, brows lifting, "Let him see your eggs? Well, there are lots of things we can't do anything with, but we still want to see in our lifetimes. How often do you think a man of the north gets to see something so rare as a dragon's egg?"

"Most people never even see a dragon, let alone a dragon egg," Daevon says. "To be able to touch it, to be that close to such potential, such power. You know how much a single dragon egg is worth, let alone two. Even to touch one is priceless. He was able to hold it. The gift you gave him is one of such kindness, and he will remember not only those eggs, but the kind and generous Princess."

"I don't know." Visenya admits with a shrug. "He saw one by happenstance, so it can't be that rare." She doesn't know what anything is worth, to be honest. She just knows that they have enough money to let her have whatever she wants. "…Maybe 100 thousand dragons?"

"That is a great deal," Aevander supplies. "Many houses haven't that much to their name all totalled."

Daevon nods at Aevander's words.

"Oh, is that a lot of money? I wasn't sure." Money. It grows on trees, doesn't it? "It must be an outrageous amount. Those acrobats and flame eaters I hired didn't cost nearly as much." That said, she stands up from the table, "I'm going to have a bath. Good evening."

Aevander blinks slowly. "How much did…" but perhaps it is simply better not to know. "I think I need to teach you how to barter, sister," he murmurs with a small, wry smile. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Visenya," Daevon echoes. He then turns to his brother, while clearly he has something to say he keeps quiet for the moment.

Aevander shifts in his seat, leaning forward to refill his wineglass and scratch an itch on his upper leg. Looking to his little brother, his brows lift. "What is it, Daevon? I can see well enough you'd like to say something."

Daevon considers his words, and then sighs. "I'm not sure," he admits. "Aevander, why've you not made an offer for Elionys' hand?"

Aevander laughs softly, smirking as he sighs. "You know, Visenya just finished asking the same thing? Because I'm leaving, Daevon, and her father's chosen a suitor. I can hardly press my case when I'm going to be miles away."

"Do so anyway," Daevon says. "Is her father still in King's Landing? Charm him. I've spoken to two men, yesterday, who've already intended to write to her father. Do you really think there's anyone better than you? That it wouldn't be a strong, powerful, beneficial match? You're clearly on the rise, politically."

"I've no land to speak of, a piddling inheritance among Targaryens," Aevander points out. "Still. We shall see. Her father's there, yes. I'm sure we'll have cause to meet."

"Don't leave it too long," Daevon says. "And if you need me to duel anyone, I will."

Aevander laughs. "How is it you seem ready to duel everyone on Westeros, save the ones we ask you to duel directly? If dueling needs done, I'll fight my own battles. I know how to handle a blade well enough."

"Like whom?" Daevon asks. "I fight for the right cause. My brother's happiness, certainly."

"That does not need to be fought for with blades, brother," Aevander replies. "You cannot point a blade at a matter of the heart and bash it into submission."

"I could," Daevon says, lips twitching. "But likely it wouldn't resolve things. There should be many beautiful women at King's Landing. Many advantageous matches. Perhaps even those that enjoy the same things that you do."

"Quite likely," Aevander agrees. "Have you gone from 'marry Elionys' to 'find yourself a new girl' that quickly, brother?"

"If you'd truly wanted to marry her you would have written to her father before now and asked for her hand," Daevon says. "You'd have somehow arranged it. But you haven't. You've not pursued it, for all that you spend so much time in her rooms and with her. For all that the two of you are closer than you are to your own siblings, you've stood to the side, as men of other houses have set out to woo her. And I'm not sure for the real reasons."

"Mmm," Aevander murmur, scratching at the side of his neck with one hand and lifting his wineglass with the other for a deep swallow. "Suppose so."

"You could still make it happen," Daevon says. "You have powerful friends, and will have more."

"We'll see," Aevander replies softly. "I'll get my feet under me in King's Landing first, learn the lay of the land. Then, well, we'll see," he repeats.

Daevon nods, but he's looking sad as he does so.

Finishing his wine, Aevander sets the goblet down and stands. "Well, suppose I ought to make use of what remains of the day. Until later, brother."

Daevon seems almost as if he wants to say something more and yet he doesn't. He holds his tongue instead. "Goodbye brother."

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