| Of Hawks and Hatreds |
| Summary: | Two Trial of the Seven Combatants encounter each other on Starry Street. Conversation ensues. |
| Date: | Date of play (24/05/121) |
| Related: | http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-04-12-in-blood-truth, http://gobmush.wikidot.com/log:121-05-22-florent-redwyne-after-party |
| Players: |
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Starry Street Oldtown
Sat May 24, 121 ((Sat May 24 21:59:16 2014))
It is a summer evening. The weather is warm and overcast.
A small, relatively quiet residential street, leading to the prestigious Starry Sept of Oldtown. The manses of the pious (and rich) line the street, clustered in the Sept's shadow like children around an old, decrepit grandfather. The Sept rises skyward to the West, dominating the street. The famous Maidenday Gardens are spread out opposite the Sept's seven towers. To the East is the Starry Street Bridge with its seven arches and the multitude of seven-pointed stars decorating its stonework. It spans the Honeywine to connect with Hightower Street. To the North is the long stretch of Sphinx Street, and the towers of the Citadel at its end. The the South is the Guildhall Row with its somber, semi-fortified halls and guild-owned docks.
There are banner-poles along the street, with banners depicting the Seven-Pointed Star in gold, on a white field. The street is quite immaculate, in spite of the heavily worn cobbles, smoothened by the treading of the pious, on their way to the hallowed ground of the Starry Sept.
A warm summer evening in Oldtown, and one resident of Starry street has turned out to enjoy the hour. Abram Florent emerges from the manse owned by his family and moves in unhurried strides along the street in the direction of the Starry Sept's tall spires, a merry tune hummed under his breath.
This warm summer evening is nothing to any Dornishman, this is the kind of evening Dorne gets during a long winter. With that said most of the Dornishmen and women are out and about the city, doing whatever it is they do in their spare time.
Not looking to be doing much of anything, Ser Arrick Gargalen, for the past hour, has been out at the front gate of the white stone manse speaking with the Martell guardsmen manning their posts. He looks to be in a good mood, joking and laughing with the armored spearmen from Dorne.
And what good mood does not desire sharing? Abram's eye catches upon the noted Dornishman, in conversation with the manse's ever-present guards, and- with an easy smile bending his lip- the Reachlord turns his steps to approach. He'll wait until the latest punchline is told (loathe to interrupt a joke), before greeting, "Ser Arrick Gargalen, is it?" A flippant salute and sidelong smile are spared for the guards with the word, "Gentlemen," but it is the idle nobleman who his eye returns to, promptly.
Arrick turns about sharply as a Reachman comes upon him, the Dornishman squints his eyes a moment before realizing who he's dealing with. "Ahh, Ser Abram Florent." Arrick waves off the guardsmen who return to their duties as his attention focuses on the new arrival. The Gargalen says after a moment, "What do I owe the pleasure or are you on your way somewhere?"
"We're all on our way somewhere," Abram notes with a crooked grin and short bow of the head and shoulders to the Dornishman, "I owe you my thanks, Ser, for your presence on the day of my wedding. I don't delude myself to think that you did so for love of me," he notes with a brief chuckle, "But it meant much to the Princess, which therefore meant much to my wife, and thus, in turn, it meant much to me."
"I would do anything for Dorne, which means I would do anything for a Dornish Princess." Arrick returns the bow with a slight one of his own and then says, "It's a funny thing, for most of your life you do things because YOU want to and then one day you realize you're doing things because someone else wants you to." Arrick shrugs at that and motions further down starry street. "Shall we walk? I've meant to take a stroll for sometime now, got taken aside by the guardsmen."
"By all means," Abram invites Arrick along with a motion of one arm and the pair of knights begin a leisurely stroll in the direction of Arrick's choosing. "I've had just the opposite course, myself. A lifetime of doing as others wish, and at last given the freedom to do as I choose. I tell you truly, there is no wine half so intoxicating, Ser- in either Dorne or the Arbor." A fresh grin at the last.
As the pair begin walking down starry street Arrick remarks, "It is a good taste I am sure, but anyways, there's no need for thanks. I did go because Princess Mariya requested it. She feared that your brother-in-arms, Ser Quillian Oakheart, would pester her and I hated the idea of such." Arrick shrugs at that and continues on walking, letting that sentence float off into oblivion. "Is there something you wished to discuss or is this meeting all by chance ser?"
"It is by chance, and there are a few matters I'd like to discuss, unless I grow more tiresome than usual," Abram returns with a slow shrug of his right shoulder. "So both, I suppose. The first was the thanks, which I do feel compelled to offer, as you and yours were most patient with Quill. While a duel or two would have been an auspicious omen for my marriage, I was glad to see a bloodless day, for once." A fresh breath as he speaks on, "Secondly, I wanted to ask: do you hunt, Ser?"
Arrick nods only slightly, thinking of blood and Ser Quillian definitely brings a smile to his face. The Dornishman then perks up and offers, "I have hunted on the dunes outside Sunspear many times. It was a favored event whenever the royal huntsman of the Princess would call for knights to ride." Arrick strokes his chin a moment as they walk and he asks, "Is there a hunt coming up?" Arrick's eyes go wide as he asks the question, he then says, "I would like to attend if given the opportunity."
Abram looks aside and raises a brow- the corner of his mouth following suit at Arrick's enthusiasm. "Do you favor the hunt by hawk, hound, or hand?" The Dornishman's question is answered in the next breath, "I have recently been elevated as Knight of the Derring Downs, a fief to the north by a day's ride. I, among friends and family, mean to take a holiday for some days to hunt the land and take its measure. I would welcome your presence, if riding among my brothers-in-arms doesn't offend you too badly."
Eonn comes out of the grand manse with the three headed dragon of House Targaryen decorating its heavy front doors.
Arrick ponders a moment and answers quickly, "I prefer hand and hawk. Hound always seemed a bit easier…" Arrick also dislikes the damn things, they're too loud and messy. "And it depends, which of your brothers-in-arms will be present? I cannot imagine sharing a drink over a successful kill with Ser Quillian. I won't." Arrick halts on his last word and says, "You can understand why?"
Eonn emerges from the Targaryen manse, on foot, and walks past on his way to the bridge.
"In truth, no I can't," Abram admits with an apologetic chuckle. The Florent and Gargalen knights are taking a leisurely stroll down Starry Street as they converse. "I admit some curiosity as to why he is so reviled among your countrymen. If it doesn't offend to ask, will you enlighten me, Ser?" An instant later he notes, "Though I do mean to come back to the subject of falconry, it is something of a passion of mine."
Eonn goes East across the Starry Street Bridge to Hightower Street.
Arrick puts his hand on his hip and says, "Imagine the greatest knight you've ever known." Arrick begins walking back and forth a short way as he continues, "Now imagine the slimiest scum of a knight you've ever come across in the lowliest inn." Arrick drawls that sentence out, his Dornish accent rather present. "Now imagine that scum felled your greatest knight in a fight that wasn't even worth fighting." Arrick shrugs now and says, "The fact is, Ser Quillian is not a man worth the blood that was spilt, I speak for all my Dornish brothers and sisters in saying so."
Abram isn't offended by the description of his best friend in such terms, if his rueful grin is any clue. "Ser, you won't hear me dispute the shame it was that Osric Dayne perished in that Trial." Even the perpetually merry Florent's smile fades as he speaks on. "He were respected on both sides of the Red Mountains and the sky is short a star with his passing. It's the 'slimiest scum' part that I'd like to hear more of. Quill is a hard tongued bastard, no doubt, but he fought Osric honorably under the sight of the Gods. In his reavings I never once saw him slay woman or child be they noble or common and he punished those of his men who did so. I know he'll never love the Dornish and I don't expect them to love him, but he were hated well before the Trial of Seven and for the life of me, I know not why."
Arrick's face goes red as he answers the question at hand, "He DID put children to the sword! He decided what a child was as being big enough to wield a blade! There's warriors and then there's children!" Arrick grunts now and then backpedals away from the Florent. The knight calms himself a moment as he lets out, "And if Princess Mariya Nymeros Martell finds him repulsive, I can think of no other reason to not feel the same. He is what she, the sweetest Dornish sun, believes to be the slimy underside of a long dead animal."
"Ser-" Abram begins, hands raised with palms held outward, in much the way a man might address a spirited and balking charger. "Far be it from me to tell a lady how she ought feel toward the man who slew her kinsman. I will say no more on the subject, unless you wish me to." A second rueful smile bends the knight's lip. "So, as you will not be joining us for the ride to Derring Downs, I wonder if a ride in different company might agree with you. I've recently made the acquaintance of a gentleman called Elijah Dayne, who I gather would disgust you less?"
Arrick shrugs now and says as if resigned to be excluded, "I would hate to sully your hunt with the lack of respect that Oakheart would show me and I would most definitely show him in return." Arrick pauses as another Dornishman is mentioned, "I find those of House Dayne to be much more agreeable than those of House Oakheart." Well, if that's not obvious then the sky isn't blue…
Abram chuckles lightly, an easy smile bending his lip anew. "The next time my Lady wife and I make ready to hunt, I will be certain to send you word along with Ser Elijah. I wonder, Ser Arrick, which raptors are judged best for the hunt along the Salt Shore? I've read as extensively as I can and flown as many breeds of falcon, hawk, and owl that I may, which birds do you find have the best spirit for the hunt?"
Arrick is happy to change the subject offering as he motions on down starry street, "My father and I have always been partial to the Salt Hawk, I believe you may call them sea hawks in the Reach. White and brown. A little smaller but very deadly." Arrick hopes he didn't throw the man off with his prejudice, there's only so much a Dornishman can take before an enemy is permanent.
"There is a breed of a similar bird that is trained heavily near Seagard," Abram nods to the description. "Very high spirited raptors, those. Not as strong in endurance as some, I've been told, and slower to take to the wing than a Tercel or Marlyon, but it's been said they are fearless. Have you chanced to fly a Westerosi raptor as of yet, Ser?"
Arrick shakes his head at the idea of flying a Westerosi raptor and he says rather sheepishly, "I was given the opportunity to fly a Westerosi raptor when I was a boy, a hedge knight brought an older hawk he had won in a game of chance." Arrick chuckles at the memory, "My father gave the man a dragon after his hawk attacked a viper moving across the sand, falling to its poisonous bite. The only time I've seen such!" Arrick's laugh stays in his voice as he adds, "The hedge knight gratefully took the coin and went about his business."
Abram grins broadly at the response. "Ser, you must fly a proper Gyrkin one day, it is the largest breed of falcon known on either side of the Narrow Sea, and they are marvelously patient hunters. Only golden eagles and buzzard hawks are even close when it comes to powerful hunting birds, Ser. They have been known to down small deer in the wild." A light chuckle follows. "My lady favors a kestrel, as she has only just begun to learn the art."
Arrick then admits as they speak in more detail, "While I do enjoy a hunt with a bird, I must say it's been sometime since I actually did the deed. I'm much more of a bow and spear sort, even if I do enjoy the show of falconry. A great skill to have indeed." Arrick smirks at that admission, realizing he's showing his immaturity when it comes to courtly events.
Abram shrugs his right shoulder again, noting, "Nowhere is it written that a hunter must use only one or the other. I suggest this:" the Reachlord declares merrily, "I will bring a bird for you to fly until a mark for your bow or spear, and we will see whether our party can bring down game by hand, by hawk, and by hound all in one day." He grins wickedly, adding, "So long as we make clear that I am no longer a fair mark for your spear, Ser."
Arrick considers that a moment and says wholeheartedly, "Ser, I believe this could be a an eventful hunt, I do appreciate this. As you've offered this kindness to me, even with my negative words in regard to your friend, may I be invited along for your initial hunt?" Arrick stops again as he had before, attempting to make his point clear, "While Ser Quillian is not a friend, I can see you keeping the peace among those hunting your grounds. I will be respectful because I respect you." Arrick's drawl becomes more apparent as he tries to make a point, he cannot help it when his Dornishness is in full effect.
Abram look afresh to Arrick, brows raised, the corners of his mouth following suit. "Of course, Ser. You’ve made a very gracious gesture, I'll not see it wasted. After all-" he adds, light humor stirring his throat in a chuckle, "Chivalry survives while knights can show each other courtesy. If you've need of a pavilion, I will see one readied for your use. Alas, my future hall will not be built for quite some time."
"I look forward to it, a pavilion would be a good place to start!" As the men reach the end of Starry Street the Dornishman motions towards the square and offers with a slight bow of his head, "I have business to attend to, please call on me when there is more news of this hunt." As Arrick turns to move away he adds over his shoulder, "I look forward to it!"
"As do I," Abram grins back, dipping his head in assent to the request to keep the Dornishman informed of developments. A short bow of the shoulders and flippant flourish of one hand adding a jovial note to the parting and the Florent bids, smiling, "Until we meet again, Ser."