(122-05-28) Time Heals All Gardens
Time Heals All Gardens
Summary: A reunion, in the garden harmed by dragons and haunted by the death of a maester.
Date: 16/06/2016
Related: A Song of Dragons, A Song of Dragons Part 2

The Hightower - Lower Gardens - Butterfly Garden

* * *

Dhraegon arrives early the next morning, freshly primped and braided, looking anxious.

Marsei is usually quite prompt under usual circumstances, but the events of the day before were nothing but usual. Perhaps they bleed into the next day, for Dhraegon's betrothed does not step foot into the butterfly garden straight away. Nor minutes after. Nor minutes after that. An out-of-breath servant appears to tell Dhraegon Lady Marsei sends her sincere apologies and to please wait, she'll be here in a moment. Moments, moments…

Eventually, she does appear, reticent and sheepish. Even then, she slow to enter the butterfly garden itself, where there was recently such threat of danger. She nearly tiptoes. The sleeves of her dress — pink and pale, like her — are particularly long, adding additional layers to the wrap of arms she gives herself. She sees Dhraegon and a small sound escapes her, somehow apologetic, but before she can speak any such apology, she smiles, happy to see him. "Dhraegon."

Dhraegon is examining the damage with dismay mixed with relief, already planning how to restore the garden to it's former state as quickly as possible. On seeing his betrothed he hurries over, expression lightening with one of his big, goofy smiles, "My Peony!" He tries to hug her, clearly relieved to see her petals unspoiled.

Marsei accepts the hug far more readily than any of her family — or former family, of a sort — at the celebration right before things turned drastic. There's relief in the squeeze of her arms about Dhraegon. They're so opposite in size, she turns her head away to not collide. "And you, are you well?" she asks, urgency hurrying her otherwise typically polite tone.

Dhraegon says, "I am well, as is my young kinsman, the Maiden Knight, and Ser dalt. Ser Daevon will be bringing the pipes back to you. I have his word of honor. I am not sure where the small dragons went, but the large one is back in her cave and peaceable. I… I could feel them working. I do not think they compell, but more… communicate." He kisses the top of her head and seems loathe to let her go just yet, "I am sorry the party was ruined and for the damage to your garden, but it can be fixed, My Rose.""

"The Maiden Knight joined you?" Marsei sounds consoled by this even though she knows everyone came back, safe from the dragon. She unwraps her arms from about Dhraegon — inasmuch as they reach — but does not seem opposed to his want for contact. She goes quiet. "I could not feel them," she says, "but I knew. I knew the pipes were dangerous. We tried to keep them safe…" And brought dragons to the Hightower, instead, goes unsaid but for the guilt in her voice. She closes her eyes. "I am just glad there weren't more people hurt."

Dhraegon kisses the top of her head again, "There were panicking pigs blocking the cart and the Maiden Knight came to help. He is the real hero, Marsei, and all is well again, except for the missing baby dragons. Ser Dalt was a fine player and the… the pipes work best when well played. I… I'm not mad. Ser Daevon could feel them too, though Dalt could not. I am sorry for the man who fell, but glad nothing worse happens. I think the dragons were… curious rather than wroth."

Marsei looks up to give Dhraegon a briefly funny, eyebrow-raised look when panicking pigs join the narrative, but her head soon falls again into somber thought. "I cannot blame the dragons. I would not," she says reassuringly. She moves to take a small step back, trying to look around the garden. She tries not to look at the spot Maester Lorrelys fell from; she gives in against her better judgment. Looking causes her gaze to fall. It is a pointless cycle. She looks to Dhraegon again instead. "I have every faith you will have the garden looking as perfect as every in no time at all," she says with a small, optimistic — and indeed, faithful — smile. There is a pinkness beneath the rims of her expressive eyes … from distress, lack of sleep, or both; so mild upon her face, all things considered.

Dhraegon looks worriedly into her eyes, "Is it spoiled for you? Our garden? If I move things so that section looks less like it did, will that help?"

"No…" Marsei decides softly, "I don't think so. It just— may take some time, is all. A little bit. The memory is still sharp but it will soften with your touch to the flowers and decorations."

Dhraegon lightly strokes her hair, gently turning her away from the outer wall, "We will have to make new memories to suplant the old. Your distress speaks well of your kind heart, and your resolve of your strength. You were so brave and strong in yesterday's emergancy, My Orchid."

"I am so many flowers today," Marsei replies with a quiet humour, looking up at him after she's turned around with ease. "I did the best I could. You were brave and strong as well, my sweet prince."

Dhraegon blushes faintly and looks away, "It is my way of… showing I do notice your petals. When you change them." He shakes his head, "I am not brave. I waited further down the path with Camillo. I was glad to cede the heroics to my chivalrous kinsman."

"You were brave in the Hightower. And it is not always about chivalry. There is… bravery in knowing who you are," Marsei says lowly with conviction, her soft voice cracking just the tiniest sliver. Lack of sleep again, perhaps. She strolls away a bit, not far. Enough to touch a bit of greenery that is still vibrant.

Dhraegon smiles gently, "Who else would I be?" He trails after her, lightly caressing leaves and petals as he goes, "You will figure it out, Marsei. It is hard to guess the butterflies wings from the look of the cocoon unless you have studied the caterpiller. I think your wings will be glorious when you find them."

Marsei is quiet for a spell. "What if I have found my wings," she says then, quieter still, but decisive; she sounds tranquil about it, a bit drifting, in and out of thought, "I think I am a moth." She turns to Dhraegon and smiles in her gentle way. "I am sorry, I make little sense. I did not get much sleep."

From the look on his face, he is taking her very seriously, "You do make sense. Moths are a subtle sort of beautiful, often overlooked, but important. they seek the moon, pale wings shining best in gentle light. The night sisters…. What will you do with your wings, do you think?"

Marsei smiles upon Dhraegon for his words, fond of their eloquence. "… night sisters," she repeats thoughtfully, testing out the expression. "Oh, I don't know," she wonders, "what do moths do? Go unseen until they fly too close to the fire, do you think? Perhaps I should aspire to be a butterfly, after all." Although there might be a note of sadness there, she smiles brightly and truly at the butterfly garden around them — those parts which are untouched by the scorching party guests of the day before.

Dhraegon says with conviction, "Moth or butterfly, I shall admire your wings and rejoice at your testing them. Too many are caged by the expectations of others and never fly at all. I would see you fly, My

Dhraegon says with conviction, "Moth or butterfly, I shall admire your wings and rejoice at your testing them. Too many are caged by the expectations of others and never fly at all. I would see you fly, My Lisanthus. I would see you fly as though wilt on pale wings or bright."

"You have made that clearer to me than any ever have," she tells Dhraegon, smiling, laying a hand upon his elbow, sincere all the way, "And you can make everything sound so eloquent. What is a lisanthus? Do we have any? Actually…" A regretful tension crosses her smooth brow. "I— I think I would like to go inside, just now."

Dhraegon offers her his arm, and starts walking her back towards the tower entrance, "They are the ones in your father's garden that look a little like a rose married Peony… Are you unwell? Is there ought I might do to help you?"

Marsei smiles slightly to think of her father's garden and shakes her head. "I am quite well — simply tired," she assures. "I get cold when I am tired." As they walk, she gives the garden another glance and the wall does haunt her again, as well. "My guests — the Fossoways — they were … they were rather unnerved, and I am afraid we stayed up talking half the night, and me worrying the rest." But she smiles up at Dhraegon. "Yet nothing to worry about now."

Dhraegon wraps his arm, with it's long full sleeve around her for warmth, "I should like to meet them before they go, but for know, let us go get some warm tea into you, and I believe there was mention of cakes before all the excitement yesterday."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License