(122-12-29) Aftermath
Summary: Desmond and Visenya speak about the duel between Daevon and Manfryd
Date: Date of play (01/04/2015)
Related: All the recent Manfryd logs

Visenya is often at Dragon's Door Manse visiting relations or her dragonets during the day. Today the Princess appears to be visiting the former, or at least she was, because now she is alone in the sitting room save for one of her dark-skinned Dornish handmaidens and a glass of Arbor Gold. "No Rachelle." She says to the handmaiden in apparently a lesson in High Valyrian, "You must speak sometimes as if you have something caught in your throat. I know it sounds very unappealing, but practice it." While listening to her Dornish handmaiden struggle to enunciate Valyrian sounds with the hard Rs of her Dornish accent she leans back in a chaise rather indulgently and sips at her wine.

Desmond Snow — known now as the Snow Giant — is known to spend his days either finding trouble or preparing for it. The huge Northman comes into the Sitting Room, dressed in wool and a leather jerkin. A small, unobtrusive, pouch dangles from his neck. Giantsblade, his massive longsword, hangs at his hip, but it's pretty obvious that the man has been training with his hands rather than his sword today. White cloth strips have been bound around his knuckles and tied snugly in the palms. Desmond is using his teeth to try to undo one of the knots.

"Vha-rrr" Rachelle begins, rolling her Rs again instead of making the appropriate phlegm-sound, and then Desmond stumbles in. "Don't do that." She says, rather boldly and sensibly to Desmond as he tries to untie the knot, "Here." The Dornish maiden holds out her hands with an expectant look in her amber colored eyes.

Visenya suspects Desmond does not realize she is in the room, and so she says nothing. Instead she continues sipping her wine in silence.

Desmond blinks, looking down at the serving-woman and offering out his hands, palm-up. He can't help a quick once-over of the Dornish maiden, smiling a little sheepishly at her. "My thanks, lass." His Northern accent seems to be overriding his courtly speech this morning. Perhaps it's the sweat that brings it out of him. He seems to feel the need to explain himself. "They keep the knuckles from poppin' like cherries, see. But once they get tied-on, it's bloo…it's dratted impossible t'get them off again on your own."

Belatedly, he seems to recognize Rachelle. "'ere, aren't you the Princess Visenya's serving girl?"

"I am her handmaiden." Rachelle says in a proud tone and with a shake of her black ringlet-covered head, "Not a serving girl. My father is Lord Dalt. Would you like it if I referred to you as Prince Daevon's serving boy?" She easily unties the cloth strips before looking up into Desmond's face and advising in her smooth voice, "Perhaps, Ser, would you do well not to strike your knuckles on things while training."

Desmond bursts into laughter at the chiding, shaking his head. "You've the right of it. I'd knock the teeth out of any man as called me that. I apologize." He's still smiling as his hands come free, flexing the huge meathooks that are his hands. "I have to hit things in training, Lady. If I don't hit them in training, how will I know what it feels like when I need t'hit them for truth?" And by the heavy layering of scars on his knuckles, he's done his share of that.

He's looking around, idly, and finally spots the Princess watching him with her wine. He almost smacks Rachelle by accident, he's so surprised.

Rachelle takes a graceful step back when Desmond's hand goes flying, and then she laughs outright.

"Rachelle, be kind to Ser Desmond." Visenya says, but her lips are curved upwards as if she'd like to laugh as well. She sits up a little on the chaise, and puts her wine glass on a convenient table. "Ser Desmond." She says again, with emphasis on the Ser, and then she smiles broadly. "I heard the King himself knighted you."

Desmond blushes a bit as he steps past Rachelle, almost as though he's forgotten the woman's there. He bows — not very well, but certainly earnestly — toward Visenya. "He did, Your Grace. It was one of the finest moments of my life." He's really trying to talk properly; the man's voice is a bit stilted as he hunts for the appropriate words, and his Northern accent diminishes notably. Straightening, he says "I hope I find you well, Lady."

"I'm so very happy for you." Visenya says of the knighting, and she sounds earnest. "So often men are given the title Knight, but they are not chivalrous at all. You, though-" She ponders him a moment before she says, "You shall be in the stories with my brother, I think." She reaches up to tuck her short silvery hair behind her ear, "Will you have a drink with me?" Rachelle turns towards the sideboard to retrieve a drink for Desmond, and Visenya motions towards a chair near her chaise languidly.

Desmond blushes even more deeply red as Visenya praises him. He takes the seat near Visenya, leaning forward slightly. "I.. thank you, Lady. It's my hope that I'll continue to help your brother all my days. And you, of course." Absently, his hand comes up to touch the neck-pouch that, with his lean, dangles down in plain view. He hesitates, looking at Visenya for a long moment. "I.. well, Lady, forgive me for being a suspicious bas— man. But is there something that I can help you with? In particular, I mean."

"Me?" Visenya asks with an up ticking of her lips, "Mmm, no. I don't think I am in any particular need at the moment." She waits until Rachelle has handed over the glass of Arbor Gold before she says, "Perhaps you could entertain me with some gossip? I'm sure my brother has told you I used to have all sorts of manners of adventures, but now I am wed, and although my husband's affairs keep me occupied writing a letter to Lord such and such at sandy castle about how we're very sorry his neighbor made off this his sheep or his daughter or his sheep-daughter, and we shall find a way to compensate him and punish his neighbor….well, after about the fifth it becomes a bit dull." Her smile widens briefly before fading slightly, "I heard Daevon was in a duel?" It's asked innocently enough.

Innocent or not, Desmond's features darken faintly and grow a bit guarded. He sips the Arbor wine appreciatively. "He was. With Manfryd Qorgyle." Desmond looks down into the wine and exhales. "I will speak freely, Lady. Your brother is the sweetest, most noble, knight I've ever served. But in this, he was a fool." He swirls the wine back and forth. "Not to hate him. Not to do him harm. But to do it so publicly.." he sighs. "I was in town when it started. I got there as soon as I could, but Daevon was in a rage like I've never seen him. We should feel lucky he didn't just behead the sorry bastard." Another sip of wine. "He feels terrible about the whole thing. Knows it makes… things a bit delicate."

"Daevon is quick to anger when he feels there is injustice." Visenya says of her brother. She frowns a little before saying, "Sometimes he does not make the best decisions once he is set on a path. This is not the first time he has done something unwise, and it will probably not be the last." She shrugs then, as if to say 'that's just Daevon'. "Do you know why he fought him? Or was it Ser Manfryd's insults in general?"

"I wish it had been insults. No, the man is a raper." The words are chopped out of him like ice. It is apparent, from the way his big fists clench, that Daevon is not the only one who wishes Manfryd Qorgyle ill-will. He exhales slowly. "I blame myself. I saw him confront the victim the first time, stopped him then. But I foolishly left, after Qorgyle went his own way. If I'd stayed with the lad…" His eyes narrow faintly as he gazes down into his wine. "I begged Ser Daevon to let me sort it, the way I would've if I were still just a sellsword. He said no. For the sake of the Peace. I cannot imagine what Manfryd must've said to make him lose his temper like that. We were intending to come to you, Lady."

Any trace of a smile that was on Visenya's face fades at the mention of rape. "Those are serious accusations, Ser Desmond. Rape carries a higher penalty in Dorne than it does the Seven Kingdoms." She finishes off her wine and sits up, "Can you write? If you cannot I shall lend you Rachelle. I would like you to write down an account of what happened to give to Prince Torren." She stands up slowly, her balance made a little uneasy by the swell of her belly, "I will speak to my brother."

Desmond looks up at the woman and speaks, reluctantly. "I can write," he says quietly. "I'll write the account of what I saw. As for what the boy said happened after — I'll write that as well, but.." he exhales slowly. "I believe the boy wholeheartedly. But it doesn't seem as though many others do, Lady. Because of what you say, how the Dornish feel about it, they all assume we're lying for some personal gain." The huge man chews on his lip absently, rising as well. "And then there's the boy himself. I doubt he'll say a word."
"I cannot promise that much can be done if the boy steps forward. And even then…" Visenya sighs softly before she says, "Our marriage has angered Dorne. That I am with child, and shall give the Prince a heir that is Blood of the Dragon…" She gives him an apologetic look, "I do not know how much we can anger the Qorgyles. But Prince Torren should know so this can be prevented again."

Desmond smiles sadly at Visenya, his features softening somewhat. "I know," he says softly. "When a bastard boy or a foreigner speaks up against a landed Knight, son of a noble House.." he shrugs. "There's nothing that can be done, apart from what Daevon did. I don't blame him a bit for doing it — I only wish it had been me. For many reasons." He finishes his wine and sets the cup down gently. "I shall put myself to work. Lady.. if you ever need anything, send me word? I'll not fail if I breathe."

"It is unfortunate, and it sickens me that I do not know what we can do." Visenya admits with a glance downwards, "I believe Ser Manfryd has the character for such acts. He hates anyone who isn't Dornish. I think only threat from Prince Torren has kept him from raising a hand to me, if I must be honest." She lets out a heavy sigh, "Please do write your account. Even if we cannot do anything we can take steps to ensure it does not happen to someone else." She looks to Rachelle then, "Come, Rachelle. I think we shall retire to the Hightower. I find myself suddenly very weary." She gives Desmond a final look before she says, "Seven keep you, ser."

Desmond bows low and remains behind as Visenya leaves, looking gloomy and thoughtful. And, perhaps, as if he needs to return to the practice yard before he explodes.

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