(121-06-26) Bad Blood Spilt
Bad Blood Spilt
Summary: Arnau Blackmont and Quillian Oakhart trade insults and sword blows.
Date: Date of play (25/06/2014)
Related: Blackmont/Oakheart history

Starry Street Oldtown
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.

It is a cool summer evening where even a small breeze manages to slip down the streets in-between bustling people, most of whom have some work to do, but a few that are enjoying the weather or heading to the sept for vigils and prayers. Those that can get into the sept, at any rate.

Down the street, presumably from one of the many manses that line Starry Street, comes a trio of Dornish heading in the direction of the sept. Lord Arnau Blackmont walks towards the sept with a measure step, his armor clanging mildly with each step. He is flanked by two in his retinue wearing the vulture emblazoned, yellow-gold tabards of their House, neither his family.
Eonn comes out of the grand manse with the three headed dragon of House Targaryen decorating its heavy front doors.
Eonn has arrived.

Outside of the Sept, the Pavilion still sits with banner of black, green and golds waving proudly. Where as some have come to pray, others are watching and waiting the pavilion to see if the knight residing in will come out. After the battles last night-some wonder if it is indeed the last they might see of the Blackrood this season. Though sure enough, out glad in the black plate he is known for, Quillian Oakheart arrives and moves ti take his seat in his campaign chair. Apparently unaware of Lord Blackmont's approach.

Eonn steps out of the Dragon Door Manse and pauses a moment, looking towards the pavillion. He strides that way. A cat darts out from between two of the grand manses to follow him.

The evening is hot, but even so, Johanna is wearing a long-sleeved gown that is, at least, slightly off the shoulders. She trails along after her brother, as she has for so much of this, and takes a seat beside him to wait. She seems just about to say something when her gaze lands on the approaching Blackmont, and instead opts to remain silent, adopting a chilly expression as she watches the Dornishman.

"OAKHEART!" Another person joins those gathered by the pavilion, his rich voice booming out before him. Arnau stands tall in his armor, the scale like snake skin maile peeking out from between plate engraved with a pattern of feathers and talons along the edges of some pieces. A loop of fabric hangs from his neck like a loose cowl in his House's colors — golden and patterned in black and grey. His expression is mild, but serious, seeming all the more-so for the hard planes of his facial features and the dark, neat beard that defines his jaw. "Have the Gods not struck you down yet for being there in their name?"

There's a look up once he has seated himself, and there he looks back towards the Vulture Lord, and a small smile shows himself. "I'd call you cousin, but that would be false, would it not?" Quillian calls back. 'At least-now it is." he hails before he is looking back to the other man. "I sit here in the Gods' name for they favor me, or have you forgotten so readily your own losses to the Seven?"

Eonn mutters to himself, probably curses.

As much as she would loathe to admit it, that booming voice makes Johanna jump just a little bit, and that fact makes her frown at the Dornish Lord. "The Gods do appear to favor my brother," she states, eyes narrowing on Arnau a touch. She hasn't more to say, it would just be an echo of her brothers sentiments, and so instead she falls quiet and merely continues to frown.

It's subtle, the brief clench of jaw before Arnau speaks again. "I suppose I should be grateful you did not return your wife to us in a box and as desecrated as her father's skull." His green eyes are hard and unwavering, for all that his tone is even enough. "No one has forgotten any loses. Especially those who go unavenged." He hasn't at least, even if others considered the matter settled. "But then perhaps I have more faith in the Gods that they would truly side with murderers and oathbreakers." His gaze shifts to Johanna. "Like your brother."

Eonn stops. He stands motionless now, looking at Arnau.

"Your family knows enough about desecration, that you would have been able to spot it before I had." Quillian spits out before he looks back towards Arnau, and there he shifts his weight as eyes narrow briefly. "I agree. Perhaps you should remember who started this-before you go on crowing about vengeance and wronged parties." The Blackrood looks back towards Johanna and laughs for a moment. A flick of eyes and there Quillian is standing up now. "The only oath broken comes from your carrion carcass of a house. You owe us bone and blood. Neither of which you have paid. If no oath was honored, how was it broken?" A snort. "Oh I forget, you Dornish only pick what you like to follow-and then do it."

"You have quite a lot of nerve coming here, saying things like that, Blackmont," Johanna's frown intensifies and she sits up just a little bit straighter in her chair. Rather than say more, again she purses her lips and shoots a look over at her brother.

Eonn whispers, "Fucking idiots," to himself.

Arnau actually laughs, though it is one without humor. "Bold words from a man who dragged a head all the way back home from our borders just to turn in into a cup. I cannot say any of my family has gone to such lengths. But I suppose you claim you were only horrid in your youth, forgetting how recently you rode again into Blackmont lands to kill." Like his laugh, his smile is equally without humor, just a show of teeth. "I do remember. I remember that a Reachman slaughtered his own allies and kidnapped my wife. Had I done what you all claim I did, I would not pretend otherwise. To destroy a nest of rats is a good thing. But then, you must cling to the idea that my House is responsible, otherwise you will have to face the blood on your hands and can no long claim to be righteous." He squints a little, peering at Quillian. "My House owes you nothing as we have nothing of yours."

"Your family, only keeps the body of a boy they should have returned. A boy killed through treachery." Quillian replies cooly back towards Blackmont. There's a look over towards Eonn, before he is looking back at The Lord Blackmont. "Did I? Did someone show you a painting of me riding in?" Quillian asks before he raising both brows. "Why would I want your whore of a wife-when I would had one of my own? And why would I dare kill my own allies?" There's a bit of a quizzical tone there. "What the fuck are you talking about, Arnau?"

Eonn smiles a grim and bitter smile at Quillian.

"It's awfully convenient that the only witness to this supposed treachery is a Dornishwoman," Johanna replies with visible disbelief. "Can I say that I am just stunned that a Blackmont would accuse people of the Reach of being guilty. I can't imagine what possible motivation they would have to do that? Can you, Quill? Shocking." The sarcasm veritably drips from her words as she pushes herself to her feet, taking a step toward Arnau.

Eonn moves again. He can be so still when he wants to, but now he seems quick, to interpose his deerhound-form between Arnau and Johanna.

"A boy killed in a war. Hold onto your anger as you like." Arnau hasn't forgotten his own dead family members. "But my family keeps nothing, Oakheart. I would swear to this. Not that you would believe me. Maybe you should ask your own people what happened to the body when it was returned." He shakes his head, though his gaze remains steady. "It would be a wonder that this region has not fallen apart, they way you keep betraying one another, except you always believe it was the Dornish." The Blackmont clicks his tongue. "We both know the truth of the Red Rookery. As do the widows and orphans you've left behind again." His hand goes to his sword swiftly, grip tight. "Because you are a black-hearted man who only cares for honor when it suits himself. You clearly have no problems killing those who you are supposed to be making peace with, why should anyone think better of you than that?" Bristling, he takes a step forward, though Eonn steps between. "Because someone wants to upset things here, you fool of a girl, and they are doing a very good job of it, as you see," he addresses Johanna, then turns back to Quillian. "My family has honored everything that has been asked of us. And what good has any of it done?"

"Your family has honored shit." Quillian responds back towards Arnau. "My family was promised blood for my brother, and your own denied that. And to say that men of the Reach would dishonor my family and keep the bones is ludicrous." He adds before he turns and snaps as well as one could do with gauntlets for his sword. "You mean to fight, boy-" this called back to Arnau. "Then we will fight." Quillian is simple in those terms. "But if you mean to say I did something, that I have been absolved of, when I defended the Reach, from your family's treachery again-if that is what your after, then we will settle that anon."

"Arnau Blackmont wouldn't know honor if it shat on his face into his open mouth." The Blackrood announces. "Your family is full of nothing but liars, whores, and blackguards."

Eonn says quietly, to Johanna, "I suggest you get out of the way."

Johanna's mouth opens to issue more protest, but it's halted as she finds herself abruptly faced with Eonn. "Do you mean to protect me from him, or him from me?" she asks, then lifts one hand to stall anything further with Eonn for a moment. "If that is so, you fall for it too you fool of a man," she informs Arnau. "Because instead of actually pursuing whoever is actually guilty, you harass my brother," she states, and with that looks back to Eonn. "Fine. Come stand with me," she says, spinning on her heel to move back toward the tent and chairs.

"My family returned your brother. You kept the skull of one of ours and desecrated it. You raided our lands after promises of peace. You break bonds and breath oaths," Arnau lists, clipping off each statement with a grit of teeth. "You would know nothing of my honor, Black Root, because you know nothing of honor at all. Your words are empty and hollow. Your actions show you to be a monster at heart, only good at death, a blight on your family name—and thank the Gods never a blight on mine own." The Blackmont does not smile at Johanna, not even in a cutting way, but looks deadly serious. "Your brother has visited enough crimes on my family, even if he is not guilty of Wickham's Nest."

"I mean to fight a monster who masquerades as a man," Arnau calls back to Quillian. "Who is unworthy of doing anything in the name of Chivalry." The large Dornish man gestures to one of his retinue, who hands him his helm, and shares a quiet work with both persons before striding forward. They step away to watch like the others.

"Does it matter?" Eonn asks Johanna. He obeys, though, following her. He glances back at Arnau as he goes, though, offering a nod. Perhaps approval.

Now there's a laugh deep and rich, as his own sword is brought to him. "Your fucking family, did not return Dannel Oakheart, otherwise your Uncle's skull would have never been turned into a skull. Did you ever think of that, or were you too busy, like all of your race bemoaning that you lost?" A look back towards Arnau. "After all, what does your kind know of light, or the Seven. You flaunt past it's tenanants-and they name diseases after you." With that he is turning to Lewyn for his helmet. Though that last bit catches him.

"Why would I be responsible for Wickham's nest?" Quillian states with a look back towards the other man. "You know as well as I, that I claim my kills-You family should know it now too." And there his bastard sword is shrugged out of it's sheathe, before he is turning to kneel before the sept and bow his head, while Lewyn sees to his helmet.

"You murdered Viggo Cockshaw's family over a cunt-and here you are to preach to me about monstrosities? I don't kill women nor children. You did, and Wickham's Nest."

Eonn looks at Quillian and barks brief bitter laughter.

"Yes, it does," Johanna replies as she takes position by the chairs, shooting a look over at Eonn. "You are better off not involving yourself in this fight…" she makes a motion at the man now. "Whatever your name is." There is a pause. "What is your name?"

"And assume someone like you, who slew every boy you thought could wield a weapon, would be honorable?" Arnau's lip curls in disgust. "No, the body was returned and you spit in our faces for it. Did your father make you write that letter, wanting more peaceful relations, or did he simply do it for you, knowing you would not be able to stomach a world in which you couldn't keep enacting vengeance for crimes you decided we were guilty of? That you can stand there any talk to anyone about flouting tenants with a straight face only shows that you are the disease."

Settling his helm on his head causes a pause in words from Lord Blackmont and when he speaks again in rings from within the armor. "I have never been to Wickham's Nest." His sword is pulled from it's sheath with a hiss of steel and pointed at the Oakheart. "I lost my wife that day! She was taken by one of your whoreson Reachmen and I spent over a month trying to find her. Not that I expect a honorless bastard like you to know anything about wanting to keep a wife. You rats, who claim honor and turn on each other, would not return mine."

"In what way?" murmurs Eonn to Johanna. "And I am. Not involved. Or at least, not fighting. I am called Eonn of the Rills."

"No one had your fucking wife." Quillian states back through the hollowed sound of his helmet. "None of them I keep company with." was the same tone as he steps boldly out into the street to meet Arnau. "No. You never returned him. Do you think I would keep saying it if it was not true? His bones never came to Old Oak- so please kick the sand out of your ears you filthy fucking roach. And listen. He never was returned to Old Oak. If your men gave him up to some other family, it's no wonder the Seven curse you."

And there he points to Arnau. "Nor have I, till after it were burnt." said back as his grip tigthens on the sword. "Are you going to fight, or bitch like a dragon?" he crows out from his helm. As for the letter

"No one prompted me write that Blackmont, but myself."

"In what way does it matter?" asks Johanna, brows lofting upward. "I should think that would be obvious. If you were getting in his way to defend me, I suppose that is acceptable, if you thought to get in my way and stop me? Don't do that," she remarks, glancing over at her brother now. "And good, you ought not be, this goes well beyond just Whickam's Nest." There is a pause, and then she turns back to Eonn. "Nice to meet you."

Eonn smiles at Johanna, a wise and sort of sorrowful smile. "I meant to keep you from harm," he says. "And I know. Well beyond Wickham's Nest."

"My wife was imprisoned and terrorized. And an honorless piece of shit like you cannot erase what happened just because you don't want to believe it." Arnau's words bite even through the slightly muffled sound of speaking through his helm. "It is not I who am having trouble hearing. The body was turned over to your men who never saw it safely to Old Oak." He waves the tip of his sword at Quillian. "If only your were able to show any sincerity beyond the words on paper. Are you going to fight, come gnaw at me like a diseased rat, or are you content to stand there and rewrite history until your tongue turns to ash?"

"No one imprisoned your wife, on our side-Ser" Quillian returns with the hollow booming tone, his helmet offers. As for fighting he merely points at the unsheathed blade in hand. "You must be blind. I'll try and go easy on you." Or just kill him. One never knows which way the Blackrood will go with these things. Specially with Dornishmen. he will address Dannel and his whereabouts soon enough.

"I suppose that is acceptable," Johanna's tone is mild, and a little dry, but her attention is now focused on the two men preparing to fight.

<COMBAT> Quillian will attack Arnau this turn.
<COMBAT> Arnau will attack Quillian this turn.
<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword - ARMOR on Neck stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword but Quillian DODGES!
<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword but Arnau DODGES!
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

Neither man here has a particularly good reputation, both considered by many parties a villain. "You may stand in the name of the Warrior, but the Crone has abandoned you, for you could not be more wrong," Arnau says before he launches himself forward with a roar and a jab of his blade right for Quillian's heart. It lands, though he gives up some of his guard and can feel the knock of the other's blade against his gorget. He raises his great sword high to bring it down to bear on the Blackrood, but misses, both opponents dodge one another's blades, then he swings around to hack at the chest again, the sound of clashing metal ringing in the air.

"I don't care what a dusted funny thinks of me, nor do I care to hear the lies of a man who won't acknowledge when he has lost." Quillian states as his own blade class and dances with the other man's. Though armor holds, Arnau's blows are light and the Blackrood somehow shrugs them off, while he deals with the Dornishman. His own blade tastes the other's armor to no avail, and even then the whily sand roach does manage to slide away with each taunting strike. "I never have seen your wife-How would I know her, beyond what was found at the Nest?"

<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword but Arnau DODGES!
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.
<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword but Arnau DODGES!
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword - ARMOR on Right Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.
<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword - Light wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

"Of course, a creature filled with only vileness and hate like you would not have any respect for wisdom," Arnau spits, twisting to dodge the flash of Quill's blade, responding in kind by slashing at his chest again, blade pinging off armor. "If you would not know her on sight-" The Blackmont wheels around, blocking the blade that seeks him once again by slapping the other man's arm out of the way then stabs for his opponent's gut. "Then you have nothing to fear, except the one of the Reach clever and craven enough to stab a friend in the back."

Quillian's blows again seem to swat at Arnau as if he was some sort of pesky gnat. (Which he totally is) and batter him away so as to keep the man on his toes. "You know me not, Arnau Blackmont. But you can be assured, I care not for lies and falsehoods, which the likes of you-and your defender Daevon Targaryen drink at and sell like fishmongers with their daughters." When Arnau stabs in Quillian turns, letting the blade rake along exposed mail. "And who do you think would be a man craven enough to stab a man in the back?"

<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword - ARMOR on Left Arm stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.
<COMBAT> Arnau attacks Quillian with Greatsword but Quillian DODGES!
<COMBAT> Quillian attacks Arnau with Greatsword - Critical wound to Neck (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Johanna has started a new turn. Pose and choose your action.

Eonn nods to Johanna. "I am grateful for that," he says softly, in between the sounds of the clashing blades.

The two again trade blows, both men pawing at one another, though with the anger unleashed in their vitriol-it is only a matter of time before someone catches a lucky or unlucky opening. In the case of Arnau Blackmont, Quillian seizes his opportunity first. The heavy and sharp blade of the Bastard sword is brought back, as he dodges a swing from the vulture Lord. And in that second scrape of hesitation, the opening is taken and down with all his strength behind the blow, Quill levels blade for Arnau's Gorget-more than likely to knock the man to his knees-more than anything else.

"And you know me not, if you think that I care for them. I have no defenders." Frustration is wrought deep in those words, bitter and almost desperate. A man with a cause, a man without much hope for vengeance, much less justice. Arnau swings his greatsword at Quillian with all his strength, a blow that would have been mighty, but the blade only meets air and it leaves him open. The Blackrood's blade strikes true, the Dornish fighter falls to a knee with a clatter of armor, leaning on his blade a moment. The violent swirl of emotions and adrenaline force him to stand again, though it be unsteady, as blood begins to pour from the wound in his neck, staining his clothes and dripping down his breast plate. Accusations and suspects go unspoken, perhaps even forgotten for a moment.

"I'm curious as to why you do so," Johanna remarks, but the question is asked in that half-distracted way, and is said without turning her gaze away from the fight. There is a flinch here, a faint grimace there, and then the blow to the Dornishman's neck. He falls, and at first there is the customary moment of relief, but that is quickly dashed, not as Arnau stands, but as the blood begins to spill. You might think, given her often undisguised vitriol for the Dornish, that this would be a cause for celebration, at the very least not a cause for concern, but after only a moment she takes several steps forward, toward the bleeding man.

When Arnau stands up and the blood comes seeping from his gorget, and thus neck, Quillian takes a step back. There is no smirk beneath the helmet, nor is there some victorious pumping of his fist in great celebration. Instead, he barely turns back towards his pavilion, while keeping an eye on Arnau. Blade is lowered, before he steps forward to offer a hand to steady the other knight. "Johanna!" the hollowed voice sounds alarmed there, as he calls for his sister. His own open wounds be damned-it seems his concern is for the knight he was facing, moreso than himself.

"Why I do what?" asks Eonn. When Quillian turns away he moves towards Arnau.

Lord Arnau Blackmont is not as steady and sure footed as the mountain of a man usually is, but he is still standing, contrary to his ever worsening appearance. It's certainly not a little blood, not anymore. "Always trying to take our heads," is his comment, through gritted teeth, sword held defensively still, though not aggressively. Habits from war. One does not drop their arms or their defenses, even when it seems no attack is forthcoming.

The question from Eonn will have to be answered later, instead Johanna reaches out to try and grab his elbow. "Get the box, it's just inside the tent," she urges, if she can, and if not the request is given to one of the nearby guards as she hurries toward the Dornish Lord. "Lord Blackmont, let me help you," she says, eyes going from the neck wound to the face of the still defensive man.

Eonn eyes Arnau, "Are you going to hit me if I try to stop you bleeding, then?" he asks.

"Yield and lay down. I'll not claim your skull." Quillian's hollow voice rings out. "It's too ugly for a cup." the joke is likely not the best thing right now. Still the knight does not move. Instead he allows one of his Squires to take up the urging-which it seems poor Lewyn is the one to dash in before he comes skittering out with the box in tow.

Quillian remains fixed on Arnau. "Do not remove your armor, it'll kill you likely."

Everyone is alarmed, including the two Dornish who had rolled up with their Lord. One goes sprinting away down the street, the other rests his hand on his own sword, but does not draw. As for Lord Blackmont himself, the grim expression in his face is masked by his helm, but he does lower his sword after a moment, even if he does not let go. "I don't think I'll be hitting anyone today." Not unless he wants to die doing it, which does not appear to be the case. "Then it'd suit you," he growls for Quillian's joke, defeated but neither cowed nor amused.

"You know me not, Arnau Blackmont." Quillian replies, before he is looking as Eonn and Johanna step in. With that done Quillian sheathes his own sword, after wiping the blood from the Dornishman's neck free of the blade. Helm is then pulled off as he moves to get out of the way, and allow the cooler heads to work on the Dornishlord.

Eonn sighs slowly and reaches to look over Arnau's wound, producing a clean rag from under his own battered brigandine.

When Johanna doesn't catch Eonn in time, it's the guard that gets the request, and the guard that vanishes into the tent to fetch the wooden box. It's large, but not so large that the guard can't manage it himself, and he carries it back out in both arms. "But if you let me help, you'll be able to hit him another day," she takes a few more cautious steps forward. "Sit him down before he falls," she tells Eonn as she too takes a closer look at the wound in an effort to figure out how to remove the armor piece without killing the Lord.

Eonn puts an arm around Arnau, under the lord's shoulders, to help him lie down without falling.

"As you do not know me." If a lack of knowing is going to be insisted upon, it's still going to cut both ways. Arnau does not respond to Johann's remark about getting to hit Quillian in the future, neither showing any obvious hopefulness or hopelessness. He does grumble, "I do not need assistance to sit down." Stubborn to (almost) the last, though it is true. He settles his weight down on the box that is a little too hard to be as gingerly as he might have meant, but Lord Blackmont does not fall over. He also doesn't stab anyone, greatsword settled across his legs.
You paged Saren with 'Yes, although we're wrapping up.'

"Of course not," agrees Eonn blandly, helping the man anyway.

With Johanna in control Quillian nods, before he has a younger squire come over and help him out of his armor. "Then, we are quite even." he states to Arnau, before he is going into the pavilion to keep from antagonizing the man, and of course have his own wounds minded until Johanna can reinspect them.

"Yes, well, if you fall down your damnable men might take that as you being attacked, so just accept the help," Johanna snaps, but it doesn't have the usual bite when speaking to the Dornish. She might be getting soft here. It may be good that he has the help, as the box he attempts to sit on is needed, but a replacement is easy enough at hand, as one of the nearby chairs is produced for the Dornish Lord to settle on. "Unfasten that," she points to the gorget. "Carefully."

It's probably for the best Quillian retreats before his antagonizing causing Arnau to rethink his position on not hitting anyone else tonight. He merely grunts at Johanna's snap, unfazed by it and uninterested in more arguing at the moment. He sits somewhere where he's supposed to with only a minimal amount of grumbling. He looses his helm first, taking it off and setting it aside before carefully working the gorget loose so that the wound isn't so block by it. It doesn't take much to make a neck-wound bleed like his does, just a small cut in the right spot, even. Without armor it surely would have been much worse.

Eonn moves his hand aside to let Johanna access Arnau's wound better.

While those bits of armor are removed, Johanna retrieves the necessary supplies to tend the wound, and as soon as it's revealed, she sets to work checking, cleaning and sewing the wound shut. She may not have the best bedside manner, but she is at least skilled, and even with Arnau, as gentle as she can be be. When done, she takes a step back from the Dornish Lord and straightens. "You need to rest, and I suggest that you don't do too much until that is healed. It does not look like much, but if you reopen the wound you will bleed to death in short order."

Arnau does not exactly have the best bedside manners himself, and he's not an exemplary patient, but he is silent and largely still. The only readable expression in his face is the ticks of muscle in his cheek and temple from clenching his jaw now and again when something really hurts. Otherwise, he bears it all with a steely sort of presence. "I will disappoint the Stranger," he murmurs finally, as a few other Dornish in the tabards of his House come down the street in a hurry to look him over and collect him. He is fine, though, as much as he can be at any rate. So not very fine at all, but not dead. It's a low bar. "Thank you." It's a little strained.

Eonn smiles gently. "No," he replies softly, "No one ever does. Come, shall I help you back?"

Johanna retreats a step, just far enough to pull a square of cloth from the box to start cleaning the blood from her hands. "It's why I am here, Lord Blackmont," she replies, giving him one last measuring look before she turns away from both he and Eonn to move for the tent. The guard that brought out the box collects it once again and carries it into the tent behind her.

The look Arnau slants at Eonn is entirely lacking in any sort of humor. "Today," he points out dryly, when he finds it apparently needed to be be said directly and not just assumed. "I think I have enough help to walk me down one street." Though he doesn't run Eonn off by any means. His own people watch their lord and help him stand despite his protests. And will see him back to the manse.

"Shall I send for a Maester?" Eonn asks of Arnau. He steps a little closer and speaks again to the man in a whisper.

Eonn whispers: I know you are in the right. Another tack, my lord.

Arnau whispers: Who is right if written by the victors, not the losers.

Eonn shakes his head slowly to Arnau and says, "No. There is such a thing as truth. Good evening, my Lord." He turns away.

"Truth alone is not enough." History is written by victors and defeat is a bitter taste. Arnau's walk back to the manse is measured and slow. "Today is proof enough of that," are his final words for the evening.

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