(122-06-13) Silent to the Song Played
Silent to the Song Played
Summary: Ronas speaks with his nephew, Clovis, about their future.
Date: Date of play (13/06/2015)
Related: None
Players:
Clovis..Ronas..

Down amongst the dead and remembered, Maester Ronas keeps a vigil with a candle, a book, a flagon of wine, and a plate of offerings still not distributed to the statuary holding their own watch. His will end and theirs will endure, but such is the nature of things. Seated on a bench beneath the bust of Larrence Tyrell, he looks into the eyes of stone, sighing as he runs a hand down his bearded cheek, lost in reverie. With a soft smile, he turns away, his tankard raised in salute to the fallen as he takes a drink.

"To you," he says, "Those who walked before me and made steady the way." A few splashes of the wine are poured to the floor, lost in the cobblestone cracks, swallowed up by hungry earth. "We grow strong, even still." Napping in a small pile, two street urchins are also monitored, mostly to ensure their health and well-being. They look clean but are dressed in shabby clothes, even if recently laundered, and appear to be dozing off a long day of being young and excited by the world. He rises to run his hand down the bridge of Larrence Tyrell's nose, looking proud. "Too soon gone but forever loved." The Maester closes his eyes, both hands gripping his chain in what could be reverence.

The wonder of the hours lost to the early morning is that Lord Clovis Tyrell is usually fast asleep. The generally flamboyant young man has a pious seeming this evening as he wanders through a catacombs with a candle set in a brass base. He is silent and his footsteps always hit the floor whisper soft in his sweet soled boots.

As he turns a corner and encounters the Maester Clovis stops dead in his tracks. He is silent but he nods his head to the man and a veneer of recognition crosses his features. "Do I know you Maester? The Tyrell asks with a confident yet wane smile finding his features here in the gloom of the crypts.

"Yes," Ronas says, then turns to the approaching Clovis. "I was born to one of your uncles. You are Clovis, son of Gaffrey, once a guest of the Dornish until.." He trails off, giving a subtle smile. "I'm no longer of noble heritage, but my blood remains Tyrell by birth." He stands up from the bench, approaching Clovis, casting a look to the sleeping street children. "Pay them no mind, Lord Clovis. They are my charges for the remainder of the week and my travels took me here, where I came to pay my respects to once-dear friends and my family." Another look to Larrence Tyrell's bust, then he shrugs, looking to Clovis again.

The dawning recognition hits his face in several small waves. The first of which draws his brow down and then back up abruptly. He nods and takes a step forward in spite of himself as he pointed the candle toward the maester, "Yes.. I remember you from my youth. Before I moved to Dorne." There is a subtle confusion but he looks down at his candle for a breath. His eyes cuts sideways to the kids as Ronas draws attention to them. "Children are precious.." Is all Clovis muttered before seeming a bit out of sorts caught here in the dark by a man his barely remembered. "But why do you have them?"

With a finger to his lips, Ranos says, "I shudder to think of what fates befall children who have no guardians to care for them." With a raised eyebrow. "They have no family to send them to Dorne and no manse of their own. They have me and for the week, I have them. My predecessor at the Case and Causes of Public Health did much the same and it is a fine tradition." He makes room by his positioning for Clovis to sit next to him at the bench. "I remember you as always finding a reason to dance. A pity the world asks more of nobility than to experience a beautiful world. It is their duty to make it happen." That eyebrow raises again. "In a world ruled by fairness, you could do both. Would that be a world you would work to see come to a new dawn?"

The younger Tyrell all but balks as the Maester goes on about details of Clovis' own childhood in a sort of casual aside. "Mmm." Clovis comments thoughtfully before adding, "Charity is a fine mission." This of course in regard to the children in tow and yet in sounds sincere even if he was still out of sorts. He blinks a few times and looks over his shoulder before turning back to Ronas, "I'm sorry what is it you ask of me? It is only that I've just been hired at my Cou- well," An inspired little smile of amusement, "I suppose -our- Cousin Loryn's theater. I haven't time for other pursuits…" All that foppish good cheer evaporates rather suddenly as he added, somehow remembering, "You aren't still working for my father are you?" His brows draw as he sensed someone who might make him do an ounce of work was currently underfoot.

"I work for the Citadel," Ronas assurs Clovis. "Your father has no need of my advice, so my insights won't be shared until that changes." If he's dismissive, it doesn't seem personal. "I foresee you as a grand entertainer more than a statesman, because while the nobles attend to court, it is the people who watch the stage. They don't carry home the rumors of goings-on in various houses as often as they do the stories of what they heard and saw for themselves." He lays a hand on Clovis' shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "All a court can do is change one stage, but a gifted entertainer can change all of the courts." There's a touch of theatrics as he gestures, indicating the long line of statues which watch over the wall opposite them, staring blankly at cemented blocks of stone with icy vigilance. "The world dances to the tune of he who authors the song, Lord Clovis. Don't the people deserve a better tune?" He has a very, very pleasant smile.

Lord Clovis trains his eyes on that smile for a beat there is only confusion. There are several minor visual cues which suggest the advice fell on dense ears. Once the Maester finished his theatrics though Clovis smiled an unabashed genial grin which spoke to his youth, remarking, "You speak very highly of the stage, of the song. He who authors it.." And a mild confusion colors his brows again. "I'm not sure I know what the people deserve. I've been caught twice now by one of the Princes doing magic in the streets for children and he seemed to think it was rather odd. Lady Marsei, too, apparently happiness and the laughter of children is not in high demand in Oldtown." Lord Clovis isn't snarky or put off- he almost seems to be seeking advice.

With a patient smile, Ranos explains. "Court politics are much like stagework: there are those who work behind the curtain, those who write the speeches, arrange for the acts in the proper order, and those who step forward to be the spectacle of the day," he says, "The nobles are the audience. My suggestion is to take the stage in court by bringing court to the stage. You could draft up a play, complete with dances and songs, to see a change take place." With a flap of his hand, he chuckles. "Something trivial, just to see that it works. You would make your father quite proud of your achievements and do it in your own personal style. If you wish it, I can help you draft this play and we can make it into a production worthy of the Tyrell name." Again, he presses his hand to Clovis' shoulder. "The people deserve magic in their lives. We'll call that our first focus: the legalization of small venue magic acts. What harm could that bring? What joy, mmm?"

"You have so many big plans." Lord Clovis comments as he looked at the bearded man beside him with a reserved indifference. He wasn't yet swept up in the idea of it all but he grins to encourage the man for some reason. "It sounds inspired. Truly. But the theater is Loyrn's if you want to ruffle some feathers we should talk to him."

"I have my passions," Ranos says with a proud smile. "Ruffling feather is, admittedly, rather an interesting diversion, but I'd like to see you excel and make your father proud." He motions to the statues, then adds, "Loryn could host your work and thus share credit, becoming more esteemed in his own right. I, being a Maester, stand to gain nothing." The chain around his neck becomes a prop, jingled softly, the links clinking together with a musical tone. "This is a win for the Tyrells and I would feel a teacher's pride in seeing a student transitioning into the man they were born to become." His fingers run through his beard softly, a soft shrug following this curious motion.

"Yes. I suppose…" Clovis does agree after a beat and once all the pieces are laid out rather plainly for the absented minded young man. He is not one to think in underhanded or political manner most times and see the gesture at face value. "It will be good for the House and The Whimsy if we write it properly. I hope your passions are alight Maester I've always written prose with my feet… I don't know that I could write a proper play."

Ronas raises a finger, winking broadly. "I did say this play would have dances as well as songs, didn't I?" he asks, looking proud of either himself or Clovis. "Loryn can find an author or do it himself, while you can provide the dances for the performers. I can't think of a better place for that then the center of the stage." It's a subtle thing, but the two street urchins rouse from their slumber and plod to the Maester's side, where he lays his free arm around their shoulders, angling his head at them. "Bowl, Plate, it's time to meet my nephew, Lord Clovis. Lord Clovis, these are my charges, Bowl and his sister, Plate." The two ragamuffins look up with blinking eyes as they realize they're in the presence of nobility, becoming very quiet and very still.

"I think that might be something indeed." Lord Clovis agrees softly to the Maester about choreographing the dances- in so many words. He watches for a moment as the children stir and then he seems to look away casually at his feet as he rose from the bench beside the Maester to give them room. Yes, the Lord offered his seat to the ragamuffins. Never mind the fact that Clovis was known to never sit still, he takes a step away from the trio but with the introduction he beams at the urchins. "Bowl? Plate?" He leans over slightly as he narrowed his eyes at them still grinning behind a disarming smile. "I think you've got a spud in your ear bowl?" Lord Clovis pops his brows up at the boy. "Have you been swimming in soup?" And while those odd questions confuse the lad his hand comes around and the illusion insists he pulls a copper from the boy's ear. He hands it to him. "Best wash better next chance you get…" And while he is speaking to bowl his other hand dips behind Plate's ear to extract a copper for her. That too is awarded with a grin and he stood up, stepping away as he mused, "We'll need a new scullery maid at this rate."

Both children look amazed, clapping softly after looking to Ronas, who nods his approval. They grin, clutching their prizes before rushing off to go do whatever mysterious things children under eight do when adults aren't around. The Maester also applauds, looking very pleased and quite proud. When he looks to the side, he does not see a sign of the children, them having darted around one of the distant corners, then he takes a softly serious tone. "They're named after the only possessions they were able to keep when their father's murderer set fire to their cottage." He gives a sigh, shaking his head. "Sadly, the man responsible has not been found.. yet." He gives a subtle shrug, then adds, "As we were discussing, this play.. it needs a name. Something which will draw the commoners' love and the nobles' coffers and purse-strings. Just because it has the Tyrell name does not mean it should be funded by them alone." That mirthful smile returns, beaming with full force.

Lord Clovis -seems- to be listening to all those words but he is watching a silver appeared out of of nowhere run to and fro across the back of his knuckles. His left hand is slightly elevated and the silver coin dances quickly in the dim light. The tragedy tuned out with a blissful, willful, ignorance for the world. At some point the Lord realizes they are back on the subject of the play and his flicks his coin high only to catch it effortlessly with the other hand. His candle was set down some time ago. "A name…" This is amused a bit blandly but Clovis is certainly thinking it over and the coin has been tucked away once more.

"What about 'Silent to the Song Played'?" Ronas asks, gesturing to the statues in attendance. "It has several meanings: one being that you have a right to perform as an entertainer, making the nobles silent to the 'song' of your meaningful request for permission." He rises, looking over his shoulder. "It also is a lamentation to those who fell victim to the song we all dance to, in one way or the other." The Maester snaps his fingers, soon surrounded by not two but three children, one of them a Tyrell youth with a wooden horse. "Oh, ho, ho," he chides, aiming the youthful Tyrell toward Clovis. "I shall take my charges back to whence we came. That one, I think should be escorted personally, Lord Clovis." With a mischievous wink, he collects his few items and hands them to his child-servants, watching them skip off in near silence. "Sleep well, when you do, nephew." As he passes by Clovis, he pats the man's shoulder warmly. Soon, he's gone.

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