(121-05-25) There's Something About Elionys
There's Something About Elionys
Summary: In which Aevander and Laurent discuss Loryn's impropriety.
Date: 05/25/2014
Related: There are, no doubt, related logs. Aren't there, Aevander? Pricks and Singes comes to mind, if only to add context to the relationship between Aevander and Laurent.
Players:
Aevander..Laurent..

Set in the Dining Hall, Little Bellhorn Holdfast

A warm, overcast evening finds Ser Laurent Tyrell in the holdfast's dining hall an hour and more after his men have quit their tables. He sits at a head table across from a mousy looking man of a similar age, talking over a glass of wine. Laurent looks cross, the standard for the Thorn, whereas the other young lord wears a patient expression. The place as a whole has a much more martial feel than the Garden Isle — men drill in the yard, perhaps even at this hour, and it is likely a guard rather than a page that meets any guests. Counter to that theme, Ser Laurent wears silk and brocade, dressed every inch the Tyrell lord.

Aevander allows the guard that greets him to show him into this smaller, harder-edged home. He steps into the dining room after he's announced, in his usual fine, black clothing, cuffs and collar trimmed in red. "Ser laurent," he greets. "I hope the evening finds you well and your dinner was to your liking."

"Ser Aevander." There is surprise in Laurent's tone, and it's not of a pleasant sort. The last they saw one another, it did not go well. "Leave." This gruff order is not to the Targaryen prince, of course, but to the man across the table from Laurent, who does just that with no fuss. He even offers Aevander a deep bow and a soft, humble acknowledgment before he departs.

When the man is gone, the surly Tyrell knight slouches in his chair to toe the now-empty seat across from him away from the table in a wordless invitation to sit. "There's likely a wine glass there," he offers, nodding in the direction of a cabinet against the wall.

"Well, then I'll likely have some wine," Aevander replies, walking over to serve himself and unruffled at being made to do so. The glass is found, the wine poured. He walks over to the table, easing into a seat near enough to Laurent that they shouldn't have to shout. "I wondered if I might have a word with you in regards to your brother, Lord Loryn."

"Loryn," Laurent repeats sourly, a frown drawing down the corners of his mouth. 'Damnit,' the expression says, without his saying it aloud. "What has my brother done, then?" He pushes his own wine glass away, leaning forward onto the table to rest his weight on his elbows. His heavy brow knits as he awaits the answer, eyes steady on Aevander.

Aevander takes a moment to have a sip of wine before setting his goblet on the table. "Well, he wrote to Aerion Targaryen, requesting a betrothal to his daughter and my cousin, Elionys."

"Is that so?" The news bothers Laurent, coming as it does from Aevander, and it's written across his face. Still, he manages not to curse his brother's name. "And you've come to…" His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head slowly, unwilling to guess at the other man's intention.

"Inform you of the situation, in case you were unawares. I would have thought if anyone would be writing requests for betrothals, it ought to be the head of his immediate family. You, now, ser," Aevander explains. "But, also to let you know that Prince Aerion wrote back to your brother, informing him such a betrothal could not be considered until Loryn had won his spurs, gained renown in battle and won land for himself." He regards Laurent for a long moment, letting the other man make of that news as he will. "Despite this, and though he yet remains a squire, he continues to… well… court Elionys. It places her in an unenviable position, as I'm sure you can understand."

Laurent listens to the explanation with jaw set and teeth clenched. Fuming, but silenty, and as it draws out his cheeks redden. "He will stop," the Thorn growls, "Or I will see the boy gelded. The Princess Elionys," he goes on, tone low and angry, "Is a charming woman, and polite." By contrast, his tone adds, to present company. "She will have no trouble from me or mine. I will see to that."

Aevander doesn't seem to notice the fuming or the veiled insult. or if he does, he chooses not to take offense at them. Instead, he bows his head in a small nod. "Thank you, ser. I was sure if I brought my concerns to you, you would see to your own."

"I will." A better man might have said thank you in turn, but Laurent isn't at all the sort. He drums his fingers on the tabletop, eyes Aevander a moment in silence, and finally growls, "Is there anything else?"

Aevander's brows lift and he takes another sip of wine before replying, "No. Nothing else, Ser." Sip.

Laurent's chair scuffs against the floor as he pushes back from the table, leaving his hands to rest flat on its top. "Then I will attend to my business, Ser," he rumbles. "No doubt you understand. Take the wine, if you like," he says with an ugly, slow-spreading grin. "It is the finest in the Reach."

"In the Reach," Aevander muses, having another thoughtful taste. "Mmm, well. I suppose I could allow for that." He offers Laurent a nod, but doesn't bother to stand. "Good eve, Ser Thorn. I shall see myself out."

Laurent, apparently, will let him. With no further goodbye, he stands to stalk off through the same door that his steward took, back into the courtyard. After a moment, though, a guard appears in the still-open doorway. Not overtly watching the Targaryen knight, but lingering nonetheless.

Aevander takes his time, reclining and finishing his glass. It's only once the last of the wine has been swallowed that he stands, offers the guard a nod on his way out and sees himself out of the Holdfast.

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