(122-07-23) Marital Advice
Marital Advice
Summary: In which Alaeyna dispenses some to Visenya
Date: Date of play (22/07/2015)
Related: Typical Dornish Dinner Party; Unbecoming Glances

The desert is hot. Too hot to be traveling in the hottest hours of the day. So, the Dornish have adapted; they travel through the night and into the morning, and sleep during those excruciatingly hot hours in their tents that provide shelter and shade. Night becomes day during desert journeys, and breaking one's fast becomes supper. Torren has something to take care of, and Visenya chose not to accompany him. This is how she ended up in Alaeyna's tent drinking wine with a woman who confessed to wanting to 'cut her tiny little throat' at one point.

It's just the two of them in the tent that Alaeyna shares with the Prince of Ashes, and it's nothing if not comfortable. Maelys Targaryen travels in style, and the women have woven carpets and pillows to lounge upon. A spread of breads and cheeses and olives and wine has been set out on a platter for them to share, and it's the first true occasion they've had to be in each other's company like this. Alaeyna lays on her side, one hand cradling her swollen belly, the other holding her cup of wine aloft. She offers Visenya a smile that might actually be genuine. "You may find cause to doubt me for saying so, but I'm rather pleased with the match you and Torren make. He deserves the happiness I think you will bring him." Have already begun to bring him goes unsaid. It only takes someone with eyes to see the connection between the Targaryen and the Martell.

Visenya sits cross-legged on a cushion with the majority of the sandsilk robes she wore on her horse peeled off like petals around her until she is stripped down to the simple under robe. She is sipping from her wine as Alaeyna speaks, and she regards the other woman a moment before she says, "Torren is easy to get along with, and easy to like. And he values who I am as a person. Most men I've known have valued, well…" She smiles tightly then, "They have certainly never valued my opinion." She picks up an olive and nibbles on it before she says, "My Uncle is proud of you. You make him happy. He is so often so…" She searches for a word, "Not brutal. Although I suppose he seems that way to others."

"Amarei's sons know the worth of a woman. How not, with so fierce a mother to prove to them what we are capable of?" Alaeyna takes a sip of her strongwine, dressed in loose traveling silks with the shimmer of the desert sand in them. She smiles to hear Visenya's measure of the prince, who she is clearly rather fond of herself. "He is a very fine man, and you are lucky to have him. I hope you have many years together." Snagging a wedge of cheese from the platter, she bites into it and then grins at mention of Maelys. "I enjoy him very much. There was a time I did not think I would ever have cause to say that about a Dragon. But let it not be said that I am too proud to prove myself wrong."

"I am lucky." Visenya admits after a moment of silence. "I feared I would have to make amends for Daevon's spurning of Mariya. I had heard that the Princess has brothers who are unwed. I am sure they are very suitable men…" But also very old, is what she doesn't say. She swallows more wine, and shifts on her pillow, "Maelys is not like most Targaryen men. The best are like Prince Rhaegor. Stoic and strong. Most are…" She makes a little face before saying, "Disappointing. My Uncle? He is in his own category."

"But you are very young and they are very aged," Alaeyna fills in the blank, not for a second missing Visenya's meaning. "If Amarei were spiteful, she may have tried to arrange it. But she is not shortsighted, and Daevon was not so great a loss to put into jeopardy the diplomatic relations she values so highly." Not a loss at all by her reckoning, if the glint in her dark stare is any indication. The Lady Fowler has always been a woman reknown for her appetites, but it's the babe in her belly that renders it true of food, in this instance, rather than flesh. She tears a corner off the flatbread they're meant to share, wetting it with the spicy oil served in a delicate little dish. She licks her fingers after she's devoured the morsel. "I have never known a man like him," Alaeyna admits, when they're back to Maelys again. And it's the kind of statement that says a lot; she has been the paramour of more than one prince of Dorne, after all. "I think, sometimes, that if I had been born with a cock instead of a cunt, I would be something like him. But for all his fierceness, he is capable of being just as tender, just as generous."

Visenya nods her head once in regards to what Alaeyna says of Amarei's brothers. "Daevon would never have made Princess Mariya happy. It is better that Torren and I are wed even if it is for her sake. But even moreso because he is…well, he does as he pleases. Not what is wise." There is some bitterness when she speaks of her brother, but there is also a bit of longing there, too. She misses him and is angry at him in equal measure. "He is generous. I think I have received more genuine praise from him than I have my own father. It is not fair that he is more appreciated. He had to bring the King a whole chest of treasure just to end his banishment."

"The King can keep his treasure; the Prince of Ashes has proven himself a champion of Dorne. He will be more appreciated in the desert than in any Westerosi court, and his talents put to better use besides." Alaeyna speaks fiercely on the matter, fierce enough to make it plain how deep her affection for the Targaryen runs. And what she says about his talents might hint at what exactly the pair of them have been doing these past several months, aside from fucking. She rips off more bread, pairs it with a bit of cheese, and chases it with strongwine. What Visenya says of genuine praise rings true. "He likes his women strong and fierce. A rare trait among your countrymen."

Visenya nods her head in silent agreement with Alaeyna's assessment. She does not know what Maelys and Alaeyna have been up to beyond the very obvious, but she is familiar with her Uncle's talents. Another olive is picked up and eaten delicately. "Aye. It is different here." She washes her olive down with more wine; it seems she drinks more than eats these days. "What do you think of Lara Gargalen?" It is certainly an unexpected question. She gives Alaeyna a thoughtful look after she asks, and sips on more wine.

Alaeyna grins at the question about Lara, drinking at her strongwine and watching as Visenya does the same. "She has Fowler blood in her, you know," the Fury says casually, as if that alone should communicate a thing or two about Lara. At least, it should if Alaeyna is any example of what that blood is capable of. "What do you think of her? She's your companion, isn't she?"

"She is." Visenya says of Lara. And she hesitates a moment before finally saying, "…She looks overly long at Torren. Were she one of my Crownlander companions…" She trails off, but the heat is glittering in her amethyst colored eyes. "Torren and I are not in love. We enjoy each other's company. But, he still grieves the loss of his first wife, and we have known each other only days before our betrothal. Crafty women know this, and they see entering his bed as a way to gain favor. I have come to terms with this, but I do not think I should have to tolerate it from my own ladies."

This is just the sort of court gossip Alaeyna has missed during her time at Skyreach, and she chows down on some olives while listening to Visenya's dilemma. When she speaks, it's as if this were the simplest matter the Targaryen princess could have lain at her feet. "You shouldn't," she says of tolerance. "On the contrary. You should discourage it swiftly and decisively." She shifts, having grown uncomfortable lingering in one position too long, heavy as she is with child, using a pillow to pad herself as she reconfigures herself into a new recline. "There is a hierarchy to one's lovers, in Dorne. You ought always be at the top. He may take others to his bed…" she waves a hand, like this is just the way of things, "… but if those others overstep their bounds, you must put them in check. For now, she looks at him. But if she is brazen with her intentions, even in your presence?" She makes a little sound like a hiss.

"How do I discourage it without beating the ever loving fuck out of her?" Visenya asks rather bluntly, the word 'fuck' sounding more profane coming out of her pretty mouth than it might someone else's. "If Torren wanted a paramour he would have had one by now. I do not think he is the sort of man who enjoys juggling multiple women, so really what bothers me is the disrespect in it. I am his wife. She needs to keep her fucking eyes off of him when I am there." She brushes her fingers through her shorn hair with some irritation, "No. She's not bold enough to touch him so it is limited to looks, but I know what those looks are. I've used them to get what I want since I was three-and-ten."

"Respect is the only thing that matters. She is testing you, and you must put a stop to it." Alaeyna takes a sip of her wine, her free hand rubbing slow circles upon her belly. She looks a little confused when Visenya asks about discouraging it. "But that is the best way. Pull a knife on her and tell her to find something else to look at unless she wants to be sent back to her father at Salt Shore." The Lady Fowler shrugs. "She is my own kin, and I would cut her perky tit if she dared do the same in my presence."

"A knife?" Visenya looks bemused at the idea. "I used to just make someone's life difficult socially if they crossed me." Pulling knives is not something that Northron ladies do. Not when they have mean girl bullshit to pull! "But I do not have a social network in place here like I did in Oldtown. Knife it is, I suppose. …Or I could wait until I have my dragons again…" A small little devious smile, something that may seem a shadow of what Maelys gets on his own face when he thinks of havoc, crosses her face. She smooths it out into something less feral and more polite before saying, "Torren tells me Skyreach is very beautiful, and that the towers are more glorious than the Sun Tower."

Alaeyna laughs. "Do you want to become embattled in a war of attrition with her, or do you want her to stop undressing Torren with her eyes while she's at your side? A knife. It is the best way. It is the Dornish way. It will only fester if you wait." But she shrugs, as if to say What do I know?, she of the countless lovers, she who has cut a bitch more than once to prove her alpha femaleness. The babe must be kicking, for her hand darts to the site of the sensation, a delighted smile spreading upon her lips. "He's strong. Another moon, and he will come screaming into this world, ready to face it with my fury and his father's wildness in his heart." And of Skyreach? "Prince Torren has a silver tongue. I hope that you enjoy your stay. The mountains have a beauty all their own."

"No. Of course I don't." Visenya says of wars of attrition with Lara. But she is glad for her little cousin in the womb who comes to kick at an opportune moment, and distracts from the thought of knifing Lara Gargalen. "What will you call him?" She asks, her eyes venturing to Alaeyna's belly. "And what if he is a she? It would be fitting. Maelys has a son, although he is not legitimate and he is grown. What a beautiful and fierce daughter you would have."

The kicking subsides, and Alaeyna seems saddened, rather than relieved, for it. But Visenya's words make her laugh. "It's a boy," she says, as if there is no room for doubt. "He lays low, like his brother did," she says, tracing the curve of her belly as she speaks. "And in the early moons, I could not stomach the smell of meat." There are children in their traveling party, and one of the brash Dornish boys Visenya saw running and playing earlier is Alaeyna's own. Anyway, she cites the way she carries the child and her aversion to cooked meat as proof paid that the babe is a boy, and there's nothing to do but wait to see if she is right. Though she does admit, "I've always wanted girls. My father had more daughters than sons. I never wanted for sisters."

"If Torren and I have children I would hope for a girl." Visenya admits. The IF is the critical part of that sentence. It is well-known that his first marriage did not prove fertile until years after they were wed. And it remains to be seen if the cause was Prince Torren or Kella, but it is also known that there are no natural born children with the Prince's features running around, either. "I did not know boys or girls laid differently." Pregnancy is almost as much of a mystery to Visenya as it is to other women.

"Mmm. Of course, opinions vary wildly depending on who one asks, but there are no shortage of means by which to predict boy or girl by the look of the belly. And when you've one of your own in you, you'll discover there's something to be said for intuition, as well." Alaeyna notices that Visenya picks at the food like a bird, but doesn't comment on it. More for her, after all. She finishes what's left of the bread and oil and nearly devastates the remainder of the cheese, too. "Mount him when the moon is full, but take care that when he spends he is above and you are below." More mountain-science, no doubt. "I'll seat you with my mother at dinner one night. She knows all the best tricks."

"I've heard of hanging a seven-pointed star over the belly, and seeing which way it swings." Visenya mentions, proving Alaeyna's statement true. She does pick at her food, but that seems typical of her regardless of the meal. When Alaeyna mentions this 'useful' tidbit she nods her head, and it seems she is making note of it. "Thank you. I would be grateful for her advice." Since it seems conceiving a heir may be quite the task. Once she says thank you a voice is heard outside of the tent, "Princess Visenya? Prince Torren is asking for you." She glances to the flap of the tent before she says, "A moment." She adjusts her robes then to make herself more presentable; she is still more modest than the typical Dornishwoman. "Thank you for dinner." She says to Alaeyna, and once she is presentable she stands up from the pillows to put her drained goblet down where the servants can find it and pack it back up.

Alaeyna simply nods in return for the thanks, watching as Visenya swaths herself in her sandsilk. She grins. "You look well," she confirms, in lieu of a looking glass. And then, before Visenya goes, she says, "If you see your uncle, send him to me. He has a way of exhausting me so utterly the sleep that follows is divinely deep and restful, even in this high heat." She does not rise, but she bids the Targaryen a pleasant enough farewell with the wave of a hand.

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