(121-05-27) A Lesson in Public Relations
A Lesson in Public Relations
Summary: Laurent and Loryn Tyrell have a brotherly chat
Date: 27/05/2014
Related: There is something about Elionys and A triangle of sorts

** Dining Hall - Little Bellhorn Holdfast **

Loryn Tyrell is there, clutching a letter in one hand, looking grumpy. He's waiting for his brother.

Laurent stalks into the dining hall from the courtyard, a scowl on his face. He wears only a silk shirt and fine trousers — he might have been preparing for bed. Even in that state though, he wears a sword and dagger belted at his waist. "Loryn," he growls when he sees his brother, then turns to close the door behind him.

"Laurent.", Loryn greets a little stiffly, "I hear Ser Brynden came to see you? We're accompanying you when you go back to the Westerlands, yes?" He looks hopeful, even trying to appear cheerful.

"You might," Laurent allow, brushing the subject aside with those two words. "That's less important to me than this business about Elionys Targaryen. You're a fool, Loryn," he says, and there is anger in his voice. "And you made me look a fool, writing her father behind my back. I won't tolerate it."

"Oh, well." Loryn sighs, looking at the letter he is still clutching, which Laurent will recognize as the one he sent and which drew Loryn here. "I'm not a fool.", he retorts, getting hot under the collar, "I did what I thought was best for all of us. If he had denied me, no one had ever needed to know about this…"

"He did deny you, Loryn," Laurent growls, stepping closer. "You fool. And you continue to puruse the woman, by all accounts. With gifts, and undue attention." He shakes his head once, his voice heated, "And all the while, while you profess interest in her — in a Targaryen Princess — yuo continue to…" He trails off into a wordless sound of frustration, shaking his head, and turns to stalk away fron Loryn. "The Maiden's teats, Boy. Ser Riderch's sister?"

"What? WHAT?" Loryn can barely keep up with all the accusations. "He did not deny me. He told me to earn my spurs and get some land of my own. Which is reasonable, I suppose. Which is why I want to join you in the Westerlands and earn my spurs in some battle. And yes, I did see her again. I had promised her something and I wasn't going back on that promise. And who's Ser Riderch's sister? Not the Princess?"

"Damnit, Loryn. I've heard the contents of the letter. He did deny you, until you have distinguised yourself. Which I feel comfortable saying you have not." He's still pacing, hands clenched into fists, looking up from his path occasionally to glower at his younger brother. "Ser Riderch's sister, you might know if you paid a bit of attention, is another young woman you made an advance toward while professing an interest in the Princess!"

"Well, yes, UNTIL I have distinguished myself.", Loryn replies almost impatiently. Tomatoe, Tomayto. "It's only a question of time, right? A year from now I will be able to ask for her hand again, so it's all good. And I didn't make any advances towards anyone -", he insists, pondering a little to try and remember what occured. Then his face brightens and he ohs and rolls his eyes. "Oh really, people are making a mountain the size of the Wall out of a molehill. I spoke a few words to the Lady Ainsley at the wedding reception, welcoming her to Oldtown. It felt only polite to do so, seeing as we're the rulers of the Reach and I was representing our family there."

"Represent our family," Laurent growls, stopping to turn and face Loryn, "With silent dignity, next time. Yesterday I entertained two knights who might have sought you out, were you not my brother, for satisfaction. Do you understand? Ser Aevander would have you apologize for the attention you have paid Princess Elionys after her father denied you — no matter your feelings on the matter." He sneers the word 'feelings,' shaking his head. "And Ser Riderch," he barks a short laugh. "Is half mad. I wouldn't like to cross him."

"Well.", Loryn mutters crankily, "A madman who completely misinterpreted a few friendly words towards a newcomer in Oldtown and … well, maybe Ser Aevander had a point.", he concedes reluctantly, "But as I said, it's not a denial. He's just asking me to improve my situation first and I'm working on that. I am determined to win her hand. So he better pipe down. He's going back to King's LAnding or Dragonstone anyway, isn't he? Had this big farewell party… and now he's still poking around!?" He shakes his head.

"Apparently he felt he had business to see to first," Laurent rumbles. "Business with you. And Ser Riderch… I might count the man a friend," he admits, though a moment ago he called him a madman. "He feels you did Princess Elionys a disservice, and his sister, professing to pursue the one while you made advances," he holds up a hand to forestall objections, "However mild, toward the other. I promised him it would stop, or I would geld you myself." He reaches down toward a sheath that ought to hold a dagger, and pulls from it instead a knife that is more shorter, and wickedly hooked at the end. A knife meant for gelding animals.

Loryn pales a little at the sight of the knife, but says with a voice he's trying to keep firm: "You wouldn't. And well, what would you have me do?!", he then complains, "I need to find a wife, don't I? How would I do that, if not by getting acquainted with females? And the Targaryens should be honored that a Tyrell is seeking one of theirs in marriage after all they've done to us. So I don't know what their problem is anyway.", he sulks.

"They are not," Laurent says with a shake of his head. "You will find a wife, or one will be found for you. You will do it properly, or I will see to it, and you will marry whomever I find for you." And, with a coarse laugh, he adds, "And I absolutely would. I killed my first man with a knife not much longer than that."

"You will not kill your brother and one of the few young male Tyrells who are actually a honour to the family name and not an embarrassment.", Loryn replies coolly, annoyed now, "Considering -your- marriage and considering the spectacle that Garvin made of himself until they were forced to recall him to Highgarden, I really don't think my behaviour is worthy of questioning. And my mind's made up, I will wed the Lady Elionys.", he insists stubbornly, "I don't want some dim-witted damsel with no status or money who wants to marry up into the Tyrell family."

"I don't give a damn who you want to marry," Laurent says. "Truthfully, it would please me to see you wed to a Targaryen princess. But you'll not see it done, going about it this way." He takes a step closer, his choler rising. "Don't test me, Boy. My marriage is none of your business, no matter how you might wish it were. And you might find that you do not know me as well as you hope."

"Well, then HELP me win her hand properly.", Loryn replies, looking rather pleased - at least initially. He doesn't pursue the subject of Laurent's marriage further, at least, instead changing the subject. "Ser Brynden wishes to join you in the Westerlands and I'll come with you both. I'll earn my spurs that way. It meets the first demand and shows Prince Aerion I'm serious, right? Land… I don't know about that, but surely you can help me?"

Laurent stops a steap away from Loryn to listen, redfaced. "I'll help you however I can," he grumbles, as though it were obvious. "You are my brother. If Ser Brynden wishes to accompany me, then you will certainly ride at his side. And mayhaps it will be a chance to earn your spurs. In the meantime, write your apology to Prince Aerion, or to Princess Elionys, or to Ser Aevander for all I care," though he makes Ser Aevander's name drip with contempt. "And if you mean to pursue the princess, in the name of the gods, leave off pursuing other women. Leave off even appearing to. Or so help me…" He slips the gelding knife back into his belt, but pats it for emphasis.

Loryn smiles a little at the offer of help, no matter how grumblingly offered. "I will write to Ser Aevander, and a separate note to the Princess to explain the situation. I'd hate for her to think that I am suddenly rejecting her company and make her worry what she might have done wrong. Women are like that.", he points out with all the grand wisdom of a seventeen year old. "And if you wish to me to ignore new arrivals in Oldtown and not have them feel welcomed by the Tyrell family, I can do that, too, certainly.", he adds sourly, "I will have guests like the Greyjoy lady simply left to the servants and ignore their wishes to trade with us. Sure, no problem."

"If you can't see any middle road between leaving them alone and seeming to pursue them, then I suggest you do," Laurent says crossly. If his temper was fading, it's flaring again now. "The Father's swinging cod, but even I am better with people than that." He's a man who knows his weakness with people, you have to give him that. "So if you haven't the sense to deal with them yourself, then do leave them to servants. They will alert someone with half a mind for that sort of thing, and you will be left to squiring."

"I don't think the Lady Aenyse found me pursuing her.", Loryn points out, struggling to surpress the smile that's twitching around his lips at the memory, "She was rather … scary. I left her to Lisette soon enough. And, as I said before, I never had any intentions to the Lady Ainsley but to welcome her to Oldtown. If Ser Riderch is your friend, perhaps you could tell him that he has a rather inflated opinion of his sister. She is not all that pretty or charming anyway." Yup, that would go down well. "I like squiring for Ser Brynden, but honestly, Laurent, he isn't all that pretty to look at all the damn day.", he grins, trying to light the atmosphere.

Laurent, unfortunately, is not a man who is easy to move toward levity. "It does not matter how you mean it," he says forcefully, "What matters is how they take it. Get that into your head, Loryn. For a moment, it looks as though he might even poke his brother in the forehead, but he does not. "If you don't like the look of Ser Brynden Hightower, then squire for him with your eyes downcast. Or better still, be quick to earn your spurs, and then do what you damned well please." After a moment he adds, "Though it won't be 'win accolades on stage,' if you mean to court Princess Elionys."

"Well, take me to the Westerlands, so I can win my spurs.", Loryn asks, "I don't see how else I could earn my spurs quickly here. There are no tourneys in Oldtown." He frowns a bit when Laurent brings up the theatre, his first love. "Garvin's left me to run the Whimsy and I shall do so.", he points out, "It'll provide me with a nice income. Perhaps not fit for a Targaryen princess but between that and having my own lands, it'll do. She can't do much better, can she? She's not in direct line to the throne anyway and few families are as prosperous as we are in the Reach. I will offer a programme of great variety at the theatre - some plays in which I shall perform myself, some plays by travelling groups, some musicians, some acrobats… I plan to make it the cultural center of Oldtown. I have no truck with Garvin's… inclinations and turning it into a hotbed of scandal."

"Ser Brynden will take you to the Westerlands," Laurent counters, "If he decides to go. It's his part to decide that, not either of ours." With a shake of his head, he listens to the brief summary of Loryn's interest in the theater. He has never been one to speak out against it, and indeed even supported Garvin in it. So there's no hint of derision in his tone. Only skepticism. "If the theater is what you are known for, then you will not be known for something else," he says simply. "And a renowned actor will not win the hand of a Targaryen princess. So if that marriage is your ambition, then see to the theater quietly. Enjoy its incomes. Even act, if you must. But your name and the theater can not be synonymous.

"Well, I won't be a great warrior either.", Loryn admits, looking a little deflated and allowing his brother to see the weakness behind the self-assured facade, "I'm not like you, Laurent. I'll do my best to win my spurs to do our family proud but I'll never be known for a warrior like you. The Tyrells rarely are. Nor am I heir to Highgarden. So what's left to me?"

Laurent turns away, shaking his head. One hand comes up to run through his brush of short hair, leaving much of it standing on end, and he shakes his head. "The Warrior's bleeding arse, Loryn," he rumbles, "You don't have to be great. You need only be thought of as great. Two very different things. One great deed will make you. Or even just word of one great deed."

Loryn sighs. "I'm not great.", he sulks, "And nobody will think of me as great. They'll never speak about me like they speak about you. But yea, I dunno, maybe I can do something great in the Westerlands that'll impress even the Targaryens. Slay some huge bandits or something." He seems to deflate even further at the very thought.

"First, win your spurs," Laurent says slowly, meeting Loryn's eyes now. "Then, learn to lie. How many great knights have become great sitting in taverns, or telling tales in court?" He shakes his head, unwilling to guess at a number. "Or arrange something clever. You've a sharp mind, and Ser Brynden tells me you've potential with a blade in your hands. You'll think of something, and I'll help you to do it."

"But Laurent!", Loryn gasps a little at the idea of lying his way to greatness, but then a smirk spreads over his face. "Oh, I suppose I can do that. Perhaps I should tell the tale more often how I rescued the Princess Visenya from a crazy mob in the harbour.", he points out, "It's even true. Well, mostly.", he concedes. He did have some help. Then he smiles. "Thank you, brother. I appreciate your help. I'm sure we'll find something."

Laurent nods at Loryn's plan of telling the story, even briefly grinning. It's an ugly expression, one that doesn't fit him well, and everyone can rest more comfortably once it has faded. "Tell it. Make sure others tell it," he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "And I swear by the Warrior's bloody knuckles, if I have another visitor to speak of your impropriety, I will hurt you."

"It's not my fault, when people are dumb and jump to the wrong conclusions.", Loryn points out sulkily, but he sighs and nods. "Won't be a problem anyway, when we go to the Westerlands. I'll return to the Hightower now to talk to Ser Brynden. He did say he wanted to go.", he explains - and by the determined look on the boy's face it looks like Ser Brynden will be nagged into going no matter what.

"It is our fault." Laurent apparently disagrees. "We ought to know by now that people are dumb, and will jump to whatever conclusions please them. Usually whatever conclusions are inconvenient for us." He nods though, as Loryn suggests taking his leave. "Give Ser Brynden my regards, then. I will send word." After a moment's pause, he confides, "He wants to accompany me, so don't make yourself a nuisance. I told him not to let you sway his opinion either way."

"I won't be a nuisance. I'm a good squire.", Loryn assures him with a return of his usual self-assurance, "I look forward to accompany you, Laurent. Brothers fighting side by side! It'll be exciting! But for now, goodnight!" The younger Tyrell practically bounces out of the room.

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