(124-05-21) The Duel That Never Was
The Duel That Never Was
Summary: A crowd with rotten vegetables has gathered - and is bound to be disappointed.
Date: 21/05/2017 (OOC Date)
Related: Several

It is very bright this morning, with that horrible piercingly clear quality light has just after dawning that is the particular bane of people who've been up all or most of the night drinking, suddenly frced out into the light. Despite the early hour, a crowd has gathered, and the crowd is strongly partizan and possesed of rather a lot of rotten vegetables and the like. This may not be a surprise as the Lady Marsei is extremely popular with the Smallfolk, as are Ser Loryn and his Lady Wife Miranda. One would be hard pressed to find worse targets for the abuse of last week if one tried.

Ser Loryn Tyrell had - not unsurprisingly - forbidden his lady wife to accompany him. Women in her condition should not suffer such excitement. But he is now accompanied by his squire Runo, his second Ser Malcolm and Nigel Merryweather, his brother in law. If he is nervous, his steely-eyed gaze and rigid face do not betray it.

The heir of Longtable is equally unamused as he walks with his good-brother, ready to see the insult to his sister Miranda settled. His hand does not leave his blade as he strides at the side of the Tyrell knight.

Even the Fossoways in attendence — and it is a scattered few — look nervous. They must support Haemon in theory, as it was he who Roberd was defending in his … roundabout way, but nobody wants to witness one of their own — even a bastard, even a useful bastard in their service like Roberd Flowers — go up against their liegelords the Tyrells, let alone Loryn, the tourney champion who might one day sit at the head of Highgarden. If Lord Haemon is in fact here, he is making himself scarce.

Roberd is, by no means, a fighting man; he is soft, more flesh than muscle, more bark than bite. His approach across the grounds is a slow one, as though each step in the blinding sun is an affront to his being. He wears ill-fitted pieces of armour, clearly cobbled together out of necessity, not treasured possessions. He is accompanied by Ser Jesper Blackbar of Bandallon in full gear, who looks so anxious he might as well be held hostage.

Ser Malcolm Storm, who's patched and ancient feild armour and helm were famously split beyond repair in a mellee half a year ago on this very feild, is resplendant in a brand new equipment in the latest style. The plate and helm are not fancy, but they are well made and freshly painted in black with Cerulean blue pointings, and up close embossing has created hints of the book sygil of his natal house. He is impassive in a grim sort of way, as he generally is on these occations. He strides behind the Tyrells until they are facing the Fossaways. Then, being Second, he moves to the center of the feild and waits, still as a martial statue.

Loryn Tyrell is not dressed in anything very special, but then his armor is fairly anyway, embossed as it is with golden Tyrell roses. He looks towards Malcolm, showing a little insecurity now in how to continue. It's his first duel after all.

Roberd appears a farce in contrast to Ser Loryn and Ser Malcolm; just the sight of him prompts several vegetables to be thrown in his direction. His brow is set low, glowering with the weight of a man who knows their position, yet he holds his heavy-joweled head high. While Ser Jesper awkwardly copies Ser Malcolm, Roberd approaches Loryn — at a distance, yet — with one hand raised. "A beautiful morning forra fight," he announces. There is a faint slur at the end of each word."Is what I'd say, if I were a knight. Noble or not," he squints at Loryn. "Now I might've meant what I said in th' momen' in honour've my good lord Haemon, but I'm a man of words, not sw— " One of the smallfolk hits his knees with a cabbage.

Loryn frowns at this. "There's no honour in beating a wretch like him.", he mutters to Malcolm and Nigel nearby, but unsheats his sword nonetheless. "Shut your pie-hole and face me like a man!", he demands.

Siyu has decided to attend, he isn't quite sure what the outcome will be, but Loryn is a decent enough fellow. He'll try to offer support, though it'll be muted since he remains a foreign-born merchant and he's surrounded by upset common folk. He is dressed in a conservative set of leathers. Patterned off classical armor. They've been dyed though, deep hunter green color, with some mild silver thread. Just enough to be fancy, half hardened armor and half fashion statement. His long hair flowing behind him as he finds a spot to watch.

"This is a waste of our time and their produce," Nigel Merryweather says with a frown. He agrees with Loryn, nodding slightly. "Perhaps he will retract the slight to your lady wife and we can be off. Knowing my sister, she's gone hoarse praying to the Warrior for twelve hours straight."

<FS3> Camillo rolls Disguise: Success.

Malcolm, who has been Ser Daevon's usual second for years, makes a sort of 'wait there' guesture to the Tyrell entourage. Mal glances at Loryn, and touches his arm, murmuring, "I need to speak to his second to work out terms…." He studies the Merryweather, then turns to ser Loryn, "You may accept his appology and reparations if offered, or fight to first blood, or to yeild, or to the death. It is you and your Lady Wife who were slighted and publically too.

An unfamiliar man is present in the crowds. No one special. An older man who settles his weight in one hip as though the other pained him. It is, in fact, Camillo, though few would know him as he looks with white in his hair, from padded out a bit.

Attending perhaps more out of clueless curiosity than deliberate intention is a certain Tully heir who is acquainted with both Loryn and even Malcolm in some sort of coincidental way. But it is the Tyrell who has the Bullfish's attention who stands there, arms crossed before him, attired in chainmail and Tully red and blue. An impressive presence, and handsome at that. His ever confident smirk is tinged in a faint frown at the rotten vegetables and he pffts, grey-blue eyes shifting towards his side and flicking slightly down to the young dark-haired lady beside him. There is quite the retinue, a Septa of course, and a few Tully guards - a necessary measure of security as the pair of Thadeus and what must be his betrothed watch the proceedings with that odd mixture of excitement and concern.

"I have no interest in killing that sorry excuse for a man.", Loryn declares, "But draw blood I must to satify my lady wife's honour." He glares at the Fossoway, but accepts Malcolm's request to sort out terms

Loryn's response brings up Roberd's blood, reddening his face. He huffs and takes an unsteady step forward, but Ser Jesper puts a hand on the older man's shoulder and looks nervously, searchingly behind him. Please gods someone save them from this. "Ah, you're right, my good lad," he says to Jesper. His eyes are bloodshot. "I have already wasted my breath yesterday. Let our wiser men come to terms."

Lord Haemon is late, unfortunately. Drink the day before appears to be what has slowed his pace today. He seems, to speak roughly, bloody hung over. But he has dressed properly in accordance of the solemnity of a duel, and rushes up to catch up to Roberd, standing second for him. He lifts a hand to acknowledge Malcolm and Loryn. He looks uncomfortable and ill at ease.

Malcolm nods to the Tyrell knight, crisp as any captain of the guard recieving a command, and lifts his voice to carry for the benefit of the crowd, "Do you accept first blood on Roberd flowers' behalf?"

"My lord." Roberd announces upon seeing Haemon. He tightens his mouth, looking at once prideful in the presence of the Fossoway and wincing, beneath his boisterous appearance; truly, a mere dog anticipating a beating for behaving badly. Whether the worst blow will be from Haemon or Loryn remains to be seen.

Siyu clears his throat and he looks left and right over the crowd. He looks to see what other professionals might be here. There are the nobility of course, but he tries to spot any Maesters or other officials. He takes a deep breath and moves slowly though the crowd. Ending up somewhere near Thadeus before finding a better vantage.

There is a cluster of Maesters with healer's links standing not far off from the disputing parties in case they are needed.

"It is," Haemon says in his official capacity, "Unfortunate that insult has been given to such as the Tyrell family, whom my family would much rather hold dear than meet at crossed swords with. This festival belongs not to the Stranger, not to the Warrior, but to the Mother, a figure of mercy, forgiveness, and rebirth. On behalf of my family, I suggest that each side make the sincerest effort to see that understanding can be reached, and blood not be spilled on such an occasion to which duelling in earnest must be so inauspicious. I believe it would be a sorry thing that the bonds between our families should be weakened when we could instead find them strengthened through…manly humility." He does not speak comfortably. The meat, at least, of this talk seems to have been memorized, and the proclamation of a willingness toward 'humility' does not seem to go easy on him.

It is a good speech and it leaves Loryn hesitating. But also slightly disappointed. He steps close to Malcolm to whisper something to the man, apparently asking his advice on how to proceed.

The crowd stirs restlessly. They came here or blood.

Roberd's fist clenches and unfurls, clenches and unfurls. It takes a rather tremendous effort for a man like him to stay quiet when he does not quite have his wits about him, as he doesn't seem to now. He hangs his head while Haemon speaks, looking only at the ground on which blood will be spilled if the terms are not agreed upon; his, most certainly. The wait while Loryn consults with Malcolm is a tense one.

Malcolm raises his eyebrows at the foul mouthed lord of yesterday making his speech, then turns to consult quietly with the injured party.

Nigel's hand still stays firmly on his blade as he watches Roberd's expression, keeping his blue eyes on the bastard. He looks over at Haemon during the pretty words and frowns. Ultimately it is Loryn's decision as husband rather than his own as brother to the insulted lady.

Meanwhile, Ser Jesper takes a step backward, uncertain if he's allowed to vanish now that Lord Haemon is here. The poor young knight makes distant eye contact with his decidedly uncomfortable bride-to-be, Jana Fossoway, in the stands.

The young woman beside Ser Thadeus watches the proceedings with the wide-eyed stare of a deer. It seems Evaria Baratheon has been blessed with a rather sheltered upbringing, and the ruckus of the crowd and the anticipation of blood and brutality lingering in the air scares her somewhat.

"Do not fret, Evaria… I believe they will try to avoid a confrontation, especially at the risk of displeasing the Hightowers.", Thadeus murmurs, with an optimism that may not be based on awareness of what exactly has been going on. At least the Bullfish offers Evaria his arm, and a reassuring smile. Before his gaze wanders towards the crowd, scanning it for familiar - and potentially female - faces.

Siyu lets out a soft little breath of ease, and he mummers to himself, "A good day indeed when reason, understanding, and family win over blood, mud, and shit." he gently dabs at his brow.

Loryn looks even more uneasy as he senses the unrest of the crowd who had hoped for a good fight and listens to Malcolm's advice. Finally he seems to come to a decision and steps forward to face his foe(s) directly. "It is indeed the Festival of the Mother and I know that my lady wife cherishes her greatly and would agree that forgiveness would be the order of the day.", he begins, pausing a little for effect, "But mark my words: Forgiven is not forgotten. Should ever word reach me again that you have insult any lady of the realm, you will answer to me and my sword. And then it will not be first blood, then it will be death… what would your preference be?"

The Merryweather knight tries not to smile in amusement at mention of Miranda's preferences. His sister's piety is all too well known. But the deadly serious words of his good-brother wipe that from his face and he nods a silent assent.

Haemon makes a bow toward Ser Loryn, jaw gritted against the loss of face in swallowing this further threat that the Tyrell will appear justified in making. "I believe we must accept your graciousness, and will be glad to see the rites of festivity not further distubed." He shoots a glare in Roberd's direction, perhaps meaning to prompt some concluding remark from him.

Malcolm gives Ser Jesper a reassuring look. After all, it's not his fault he has emparrassing future inlaws. Then he is at attention behind his friend, listening to his judgement. He looks startled by the final terms, but a slow smile spreads his lips and he does look impressed by Loryn's offer. He eyes Roberd Flowers, "Do you agree as well to therse terms? It is your life in the balance."

Evaria nods to Siyu, a shy smile given to the foreign looking man, before her eyes sweep back to Thadeus at her side. "I so hope they will all show reason…", she remarks, with a higher-register voice that is still easy on the ears.

"Well spoken, Ser Loryn," Thadeus calls out, visibly impressed with the bearing the Tyrell displays. His grey-blue eyes flit to the Flowers then, lifting a brow, as his own hand comes to rest on the pommel of his sword, in a more than instinctive than deliberate gesture.

A taut expression strikes Roberd's face from an inner jolt against Loryn's words, though — perhaps cowardly, after all — he does not look up to face the Tyrell. Instead, he bows as deeply as he can, droplets of sweat falling from his balding head in the bright morning sun. He either catches Haemon's look out of the corner of his eye or feels it piercing him. "I, uhh…" For someone who fancies himself a wordsmith, he struggles with his voice now. "… yes, my lord. Good ser. I vow it, inasmuch as a poor old lech like myself can hope to live up to your good standard. My life will be in your hands henceforth."

Loryn's eyes narrow a little as the Flowers seems to still be looking for a potential backdoor for misbehaving, but decides to accept his words as they are. He doesn't bother to respond anymore, but inclines his head in acceptance of the man's words. Then he gestures for two Tyrell guards who have followed in the noblemen's wake to approach, so he can hand them a small bag of coins. "Buy everyone who had come hoping for some excitement a beer.", he says softly, "So they will not have come out here in vain." Finally he turns to Malcolm and Nigel. "Let us return to Garden Isle… I fear my darling wife is beside herself with fear already…"

The matter concluded, Haemon turns on his heel and seems to expect Roberd to follow, tension coursing through the line of his shoulders and his spine.

The crowd has fallen silent to listen to the Tyrell's words. It is as if they are collectively holding their breaths. Then there is a long loud sigh at Roberd's answer. A child lifts a rotten, and her mother gently nudges it down. Then a murmur rises, made up mosty of talk about what the omens mean. First Ser loryn winning the dolphin Necklace and title of Queen of Love and Beauty for his own pregnant wife and now this… miracle of sense in the Mother's name. Might Dolphin conquer Lizard Lion after all. There is muttering from the rowdies who came for a spectacle, but the glares of more respectable neighbors keeps the pungent cabbages from flying.

Nigel leans in to Loryn as they start to head back. "Five stags says there's going to be another song written about -this- one," he murmurs.

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