There’s a voice from behind the door into the Hand’s solar, just barely audible, but sufficient for the watchman standing guard there to open the door and usher Lady Marian into the chamber. Prince Viserys, dour in appearance, is trading a final few remarks with Beron Buckwell, one of the King’s Scales, as the man departs. Beron pauses to offer Marian a brief bow and a murmured, “Good day, lady,” before he leaves. A number of parchments, marked with ribbons and seals as official documents, are carried away in his hand as he goes.
“Welcome, Lady Marian,” the Hand says, standing from his seat. He gestures towards the seat across from his plain, heavy table. A liveried servant, all but unnoticed, effeciently moves to take the seat and holds it solicitiously. “Have you found King’s Landing hospitable?” Viserys asks, as he resumes his seat.
Accompanied by a gentle rustling of silken skirts, Marian slips through the door and steps forward to sink into a deep curtsey. She spares the departing official a polite nod and a hint of a smile - and gives the room a brief survey - before focusing upon the Hand as he speaks. Another inclination of the head to acknowledge his greeting as she moves to accept the indicated seat, settling into it amidst more quiet rustling.
“I confess, my lord Hand, that the prevalent weather of the city can be somewhat challenging for a Northerner”, she says with a wry smile. “But even if I am not yet accustomed to being half-baked each day, I have to concede that Summer in the South can be very beautiful to behold.”
Graceful, if exceptionally tall, this young woman carries herself with the self-confidence of a high-born lady, though she lacks the startling beauty of so many at court. Fine, high cheekbones and melancholy brown eyes flecked with moss green are attractive enough, but her long face is dominated by a distinctly aristocratic nose.
Eye-catchingly, she reveals a great deal of skin sufficiently snowy to suggest a Northern heritage, her attire cut to make the most of her unusual figure. A good portion of her smooth shoulders has been left bare, the swooping neckline of her heavily boned bodice exposing a great deal of well-supported decolletage, the garment apparently not intended for wearing during anything resembling exertion. The black velvet of the bodice is lightly decorated up each flank with lines of silver, which upon close examination might be seen to be snowflakes, while the flowing silver of her skirt features a gather at each hip, and a front cut-away to reveal more black beneath.
A cascade of rich brown hair tumbles down her back, a slender central braid twined with silver chains resting atop the unbound flow. A black choker adorns her throat, sporting a running dire wolf brooch cast in silver, and a signet ring is worn on one hand, but she seems to be otherwise unadorned.
“I’m glad you find it so. Rumor has it that you may well spend more time in the south in years to come,” Viserys remarks obliquely, offering his own brief smile. The thick brows and dark purple eyes are measuring, considering the young woman, and then when he speaks his manner becomes more serious. “You have wanted to meet with me some days now. I apologize for the delay, of course. What was it you wished to speak of, my lady?”
Marian manages to stifle both the impulse to cough nervously, and the urge to let out a rather bashfully girlish giggle. Instead, she takes a deep breath and lifts her chin, in spite of the hint of a blush now colouring her cheeks. “I did, my lord. And I am grateful to you for making time to speak with me. For the most part, I have sought to avoid requiring the attention of the throne or its officials… but I am afraid that I now have a rather substantial request to make, on behalf of the Stark in Winterfell.”
She takes another breath, forcing herself to meet that purple gaze levelly rather than succumbing to the temptation to talk to his desk or her own hands. “My lord Brandon wishes me to formally make request of the throne that consideration be given to an opportunity presented by the war in Dorne. As we understand, substantial numbers of prisoners have been taken, and it is anticipated that more will be captured. Though some are guilty of crimes requiring specific punishments, there is a long-standing tradition of alternative sentences being made available….”
“In that regard, Brandon wishes to draw your attention, my lord, to the state of the Wall’s defences. Where one they were manned by tens of thousands, the Night Watch at present numbers perhaps four thousand. It is in sore need of men who know how to handle sword and bow, and it would also provide a most difficult staging point for any future Dornish rebellion should those assigned to it still harbour such aspirations. Though the expense of transporting them there will not be small, they could thereafter serve the whole of Westeros for the remainder of their lives, and their presence there would be among the most potent symbols of the principality’s new commitment to the realm as a whole.”
The Targaryen prince listens to the speech as it barrels along. His expression betrays nothing but his attentiveness. When Marian is done, there’s no sound for a few moments, save the creak of the Hand’s chair as he shifts his weight in it, and the tap of a finger upon an arm. “It is a fair enough proposal. In the midst of the war, it was not feasible, but now ...” He thinks about it for a little longer and then says, “It may be something that should be suggested to Lord Tyrell and the other knights and lords serving His Grace in Dorne. It is for Daeron to decide, in the end.”
Marian slowly inclines her head. “I can appreciate how any decision affecting such significant numbers of the defeated would have wider repercussions, my lord. But perhaps the needs of the Wall present an opportunity for the crown as well as for the Watch. I would hazard a guess that there will not be any great desire to hold large numbers of Dornish warriors captive within Dorne itself, nor immediately along its borders. Thus, accommodations will be required for them. Perhaps some such space could be freed up with a more conventional, and less potentially controversial, grant of convicted men as a levy for the Watch before the matter of the Dornish captives is considered.”
“You and your lord brother have certainly anticipated much when making this proposal,” the Hand responds drily. “Certainly, I’ve no objection of giving the Watch free choice of the gaols of the city, and you may send to Lord Stark and the Lord Commander to let them know. I am confident His Grace will have no issue with it, as well.” With that, he straightens in the seat and reaches a hand out to grab a sheet of parchment from a small stack. The other takes hold of a quill, as he remarks, “I shall prepare a small document to this effect. It should not take more than a few days for everything to be ready, and the document copied and sent on to Winterfell and the Wall.” Dipping the quill in ink, he begins to scratch across the parchment in a neat, close hand. He glances up for a moment to ask, “Might Lord Brandon prevail on Lord Manderly to send a few ships to collect the prisoners, on the Watch’s behalf? With representatives from the Watch aboard, of course.”
Marian quirks a smile, clearly somewhat flattered by the Hand’s dry comment, and accompanies a firm nod with the same expression when he makes enquiry about requesting ships from White Harbour. “I would be very surprised indeed should there be anything save cooperation from Lord Manderley”, she says happily. “And I shall write to request that Brandon requests the service of his ships once again.”
Viserys nods, and turns back to his writing. He’s soon done, and then it’s for the servant to take it away with the following instructions: “Have Lord Ryger see that all proper forms are kept, and that it is copied before being sent back for my seal.” The servant bows and departs. Viserys restores to the quill to its place and then settles back in the chair. “The king will hear the suggestion regarding Dornish prisoners, as I said. It may work quite well, especially should Ser Alyn bring them from Dorne at least as far as King’s Landing when he finally brings back the bulk of the royal fleet.”
Looking quite encouraged, Marian again inclines her head. “I am grateful, my lord Hand, for both your time and the consideration you have given to our request. I hope that we can indeed take advantage of this opportunity to turn a difficulty arising from the war to the betterment of Westeros as a whole.”