(122-07-22) Fighting Games and Marriage Games
Fighting Games and Marriage Games
Summary: Marsei pays a visit to the injured Prince Jurian.
Date: 22/07/2015
Related: Dhraegon's Nameday Games
Players:
Marsei..Jurian..

Southern Suite - 3 - Dragon Door Manse
Starry Street

From this suite's large South-facing windows one can see the Starry Street, the Honeywine, and the great spire of the Hightower beyond. There are two sitting rooms, one very large and furnished with gracious gilded couches with elegant delicate legs and velvet cushions, positioned around the grand fireplace. A fine Myrish carpet in red and black and gold stands out against the white marble floor.

The second is a small, intimate room with padded leather chairs and a thick black bearskin rug. It seems a gentleman's retreat, and includes a dragon-carved sideboard where cups and casks of wine are stored.

In the sleeping chamber stands a large bed, its four posts carved in the shapes of dragons, its coverlet an intricate pattern of black and red. There is a matching wardrobe and nightstand, with a simple candle-stand, and another red and black Myrish carpet warms the floor. There is yet another fireplace, albeit a smaller one.


A servant opens the door, allowing Jurian a guest. The presence then lingering in his doorway is a quiet one, bringing with it the gentle, unassuming nature of a caregiver — yet the woman there is a lady, not coming to tend his wounds. Lady Marsei is dressed in the colour of lilacs, a half bare-armed gown, one of her simpler styles, and her hair is similarly styled in pretty waves and two thin braids running from each temple. It's growing late for a visit to the manse, an uncommon hour for her to be about, and she seems uncertain about stepping in the prince's suite, assessing his state before so much as saying a word although she's ready with a smile.

Jurian has had enough warning to pull the open robe he wears over his bandages to, so as not to shock the lady. He is perhaps a little groggy, since it's later than he would've expected a visitor, but he looks more than pleased to have one. There is a bottle of wine and a glass on the table by the bed, as well as a smaller bottle of some medicinal tincture. "Is it the lady Marsei?" he asks. He does look pale, but he doesn't seem to be in any more danger than when he was first run through.

"It is, my prince." She's been given enough of a welcome to warrant her coming closer; she does so with her hands clasped neatly in front of her skirt, stopping a few polite feet from the bedside. "Apologies for the late hour; Flox called upon me to check in on Dhraegon earlier." She says so casually, as if nothing is the matter; as though being called to check in on her betrothed isn't cause for concern. Rather, she focuses on Jurian. Technically, she's checking in on him as well, yet the reasons could not be more different. "I do hope I haven't disturbed you. Are you healing well— ?"

"N…ot at all, I'm bored to death," Jurian responds. It seems to be his instinct to push himself even more upright (though he is propped up), but he thinks better of it quickly. "How is my Uncle? He's one of the few who's come to call on me."

"He's well." Marsei's smile is quick to be reassuring of Dhraegon's wellness, yet it starts to fade just as quickly. "He… " Her gaze on Jurian narrows ever-so-slightly, barricading her thoughts. She studies the injured prince for more than his wounds, although she lowers her gaze in apology afterward— and, perhaps, for her next words. "May I be so bold as to ask… was there anything— any topic, in particular, you and Dhraegon spoke of when he last visited?"

On closer study, Jurian has probably been dosed somewhat with wine, medicine, or both. His eyelids droop a little in contrast to his habit, when he is well, of staring wide-eyed. "Well, my lady, I suppose I will tell you, since you are nearly one of the family. He told me I ought to be kind toward my cousin Visenya because she has been disappointed in romance. And he offered to have a new saddle made for me, to help compensate for my d…defects."

Mention of Visenya draws a subtle reaction from Marsei — a tense of her mouth and a regretful glance to the side — although it doesn't seem to be quite the topic she was expecting. She looks up once again, coming a bit closer, perhaps to account for Jurian's potentially dozy gaze in the absence of his wide stare. "That is very kind of him," she says, smiling, "on both counts. I'm sorry for asking; it's only that… well, he had, I suppose, a bit of an upset. I'm sure it had nothing to do with you, my prince."

"He seems to be rather kind, I suppose," Jurian replies, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "I admit at the time I had been dosed with medicine, so I can't recall the conversation p-perfectly. B…but if it had gone badly I don't think he would've been buying me saddles."

"He has a very big heart," Marsei replies, fond and thoughtful; the latter is heavier and might pull her into further contemplation were she not here with Jurian. "A pity his nameday celebrations led to your injury, though — I will pray for your quick recovery, my prince." The faithful lady sounds quite sincere in that.

"Do you think I was foolish to compete?" Jurian asks, looking up at Marsei. Then he blinks a few times and shakes his head. "Where are my manners. W…will you have wine?"

Startled by the question, Marsei's response is little more than an open mouth for a second or three before her expression warms. By then, it's Jurian's second question she answers, not his first. She begins to shake her head, but politely bows it in acceptance, instead. "I would not mind a little. Thank you." She steps toward the table upon which the wine sits next to the medicine. "I do not think you were foolish," she goes on to assure him quickly, "… except … " She looks over with her kind smile, "… in the way that everyone who takes part in the fighting tournaments are foolish. Foolish and brave. It is a bloody game. I suppose I prefer flowers to swords."

Jurian rings a bell that is handy. He listens quietly to her answer, obviously intrigued by the 'except,' but the reponse she settles on seems to set him at ease. "I've never won." The servant comes in and Jurian orders another glass for Marsei.

Marsei waits until the servant sets to work before she answers. "I thought your challenger was unduly cruel, for what it is worth, my prince."

The servant is quick about getting out of the room. Jurian loks back to Marsei. "She need not have run me through, it's true," he says. "But the fight was f…fair. And now at least they will know in Oldtown that I am not afraid to fight." He looks curiously at Marsei. "You were married before, weren't you."

Marsei is less eager for her wine than the servant is to get out of the room. She finds herself staring at Jurian's drink, blinking up out of a sudden and very brief daze brought about by his question. "Yes," she responds almost shyly, "I was wife to Lord Jarvas Fossoway." In the grand scheme of things, a recent death, and her a recent widow.

"But no children?" Jurian asks. They have to wait a bit, then, as the servant comes in with a glass, pours it, and hands it to Marsei. Jurian dismisses him at once and goes back to staring at Marsei.

The presence of the wine is finally enough for Marsei to unclasp her hands. She holds it close and shakes her head to Jurian's question, another modest little gesture, this time with a hint of regret on her fair face. "I was not blessed with the honour of motherhood," she states; although not at all without emotion, there's a certain practiced note to her words, as if she's been asked and answered many times before.

Jurian gestures to a chair that is nearby, where Marsei could sit if she liked. "And yet you marry my uncle?" Jurian asks. "I suppose he's been honest with you?"

Marsei sits upon the edge of the chair and takes a small sip of the wine before forming a response. Her brows raise delicately, as if unsure what Jurian speaks of, yet she says, "We have an understanding, Dhraegon and I."

Jurian tilts his head slightly. "Mm, I suppose you have." He reaches for his own wine. "F…forgive me, I am not in full p-possession… I'm a bit addled, perhaps. It is only that you are the flower of Oldtown."

"So I have been recently told," Marsei says with a hint of amusement and modesty — mostly modesty, to be dubbed with such a title, particularly in the context Jurian has subtly made. Her gaze doesn't quite settle, discomfited, and so she directs it into her wine for another small sip before offering the injured prince a smile that seems to empathize with his state and forgive it, as well as dismiss it with a mild shake of her head in the same breath. "It is an honour to marry a Targaryen prince," she says with quiet conviction.

"You might remind some of the other ladies of that," Jurian jokes. Or is he really joking? "I'm twenty-seven."

"Perhaps I will," Marsei says with levity, but just enough of lingering conviction that perhaps she might not entirely be joking, herself, although she doesn't look to Jurian when she says it; only when she looks up and asks with careful curiosity, "Has your family not arranged anyone for you?"

"They won't do for me what they did for Lady V…Visenya," Jurian says, with a hint of bitterness. "There is a cousin, if I can't manage to find something." He doesn't sound excited about the prospect.

"Visenya…" she starts and trails away; Visenya's case was different, she might have said, Visenya would have preferred a say, but instead Marsei smiles it off. "Well, I'm certain you'll catch the interest of a lady here in Oldtown; you've really only just arrived, after all," she says, decisively buoyant. "Perhaps when you are feeling yourself again, another party will be just the thing."

"I suppose so," Jurian allows, sipping from his wine again. He doesn't look inclined to hear about any of Visenya's hardships, so likely Marsei is wise to avoid the subject. "But I can't last much longer without giving in." He isn't usually one to sound defeatist in public. But this, of course, is not public. "…At any rate, it ch-cheers me, you coming to visit."

Marsei's gaze skirts at empathy again for the unusually defeatist admission, though she winds up appearing more wondering. "I'm glad." She smiles, a ray of sunshine to the temporary sickbed. "I should take my leave, now, and let you rest. It is rather late." She sets her wine glass, not yet empty, on the tray, and rises.

Jurian looks to the window, seeming to notice the hour only now. "Ah," he says. "Yes. It is. Forgive my not getting up to see you out." The good humor is back. "Please have a servant see you home safely."

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