Afternoon sun slants through the windows, the louvres opened to their widest and the apertures wide open to the light breeze. No one who does not need to be is inside on such a salubrious day, though here and there folk pause to speak to one another.
Caitrin Dalt is descending the narrow stair, a guard in Dalt color between her and the railing holding tight to her arm. “...is silly,” she is saying, as she comes near enough to be heard in the entry hall. “I can manage stairs on my own without help. I -can- still see my feet!”
The guard, unmoved, merely shifts his grip and stoically guides her to the floor. “Ser Laurent’s order, my lady,” he says, bowing and returning the way he came.”
A door in a side-passage, among the chambers for the Prince’s household knights, is opened, and then closed. But it’s Prince Rhodry, not a retainer, who steps out. He smooths his robe, turns—and sees Caitrin, dismounting the steps. A bold smile at that, beneath those cruel black eyes, and he asks, “Come to the same purpose as myself, Lady Caitrin?”
Caitrin pauses at the foot of the stair, returns Rhodry’s gaze with a level one of her own, and finally smiles slowly. “I do live here, my prince,” she says, indicating the stair with a flick of her fingers. “On the third floor. You have been often enough with Laurent, I am injured you do not recall it.” She affects to pout, a pretty expression.
“I can’t say I keep track of where everyone abides,” Rhodry replies, carelessly. “I was more often drunk than not, I suppose, when visiting? It’s the usual way…” Moving out of the passage way and into the hall, he remarks helpfully, “You’ve become quite ungainly. It doesn’t suit you very much.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Caitrin agrees with a dark expression. “But here, let’s not talk about my belly. I ran into your sweet sister yesterday. Such a lovely little thing, don’t you think?” Caitrin moves out of the general path of traffic into a spot where the sun is not in her eyes. “And she asked me to speak to you. She seems to be under the impression that we’re friends.”
“What, Ariana?” Rhodry asks, and then his eyes roll. “She seems to keep her head in the clouds; If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder whether our mother really gave birth to her.” But so he shrugs, light and arrogant, and he follows you off to one side, hooking a thumb through the jewelled swordbelt about his hips. “What does she ask of me? Something to do with Wyl, I imagine.”
“Not at all, my prince,” Caitrin says, shaking her head. “She is concerned with family matters, though why she thought -I- could help, I’ve no idea. But she is hoping I might discover some other interest you might have that would persuade you to give Prince Cadan his post back. She fears he has moped about too long, and that he will never recover unless he has something useful to do.” She gives the Prince a self-deprecating smile. “She was so sweetly earnest, I could not turn her down, though I warned her you are fond of your position.”
That gives him pause—at least, long enough for him to decide to laugh dismissively. “And this persuades me in what fashion?” he wonders aloud, shaking his head. “Mayhaps I should reconsider her parentage… But what of it, if Cadan mopes? It’s nothing to me.” Which is clearly true; he hardly seems to care a jot about any of his family, truly. “If he needs something to do,” he suggests, “he might consider fucking his wife on occasion. Lady Senara’s like to become a dried up old stick, otherwise, and I doubt the Dalts will thank him for it.”
“Ah, she will be disappointed. I won’t say anything of the sort to her. I’m afraid she will go so red her head will pop like a grape.” Caitrin makes a face and shrugs. “I certainly have nothing with which to persuade you. Clearly she is supporting his claim to the position you hold—and hate, I might add. You should be at least a little grateful to me for defending you. Is there no other title you could hold? Something with more… oh, power attached?”
Rhodry smirks, slender lips cruel and unpleasant. “And give my brother the pleasure of having the office he holds so dear? I cannot say Cadan has done very much for me of late, for me to do him the favor,” he says, with an odd kind of cheer, one happy at another’s frustration more than anything else. “And after all, what will he council my brother to do from such a lofty seat? Bend over and present arse, I expect, to keep Yronwood happy; it’s bad enough Marence is bartering Ariana’s cunny to Wyl, don’t you think?”
He pauses then, dark eyes fixing on you, considering. And then he offers, “Keeper of the Sandship, of course, would be a notable improvement I could consider—command of the royal host, just in time to persuade Marence to allow some blood to be spilled, has its appeal…” He sounds almost wistful, but then adds, “But alas, my brother and your father stand in the way of that, I expect.”
Caitrin blinks slowly. “If you wanted to shove my father out of it, I would not bar the way,” she says. Then she sighs and gives her head a shake. “Nevermind that. Grand-father will shake me until my teeth rattle when he hears I said it. But why is that so much more powerful than what you have now?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rhodry says, mocking. “Organizing feasts and frolics, seeing to the needs of guests, and talking them to death about how they ought to be meek and loyal on the one hand…” he says, hand lifted, enumerating each point. And then the other lifts, enumerating more, “Against having three thousand spears under immediate command, and the wherewithal to exercise them in the field, perhaps even near the Boneway, and requisition the supplies they require, perhaps from a castle on the Boneway…”
“Ah, well, when you put it that way,” Caitrin says with a laugh. “My ignorance is exposed once again. My father is right in that respect—I must pay better attention to things. I am as anxious to be useful as your brother is.” She is quiet then for a moment, then shakes her head. “He’s just so fucking -competent-, my father. I don’t know how you could ever wrest that duty from him.”
Oh, that makes the prince sneer. “Were that his competence more in evidence at Godsgrace,” he says, “but leave that aside. My dear brother lets me play at Keeper of the Tower because I have, so far, done little enough harm ... and because he knows he owes me something, for what I’ve done. And Cadan, why, he hardly helps his case with his sulks. Had he any stones, he’d have demanded the office back—too late for that, I suppose—or asked to become a Justiciar or something like.” Another shake of his head, long black hair brushing past his shoulders with the motion, and he says, “But he sulks, or diddles himself, or gods know what. Let him. He was much more entertaining before the Young Dragon proved him useless.”
“Yet one hears that he sulks little now,” Caitrin says, her tone going silky. “One hears he keeps company with Lady Joleta, and that one gathers is certainly gathering her power about her. She warmed his bed in King’s Landing and if that child of hers is really half-Westerosi, I will eat my own head. He may have -been- sulking, but he is not doing so any longer. You will want someone you trust in his circle, my prince, to know what he means to do.”
A lift of his brows, and then an incredulous laugh, follow that first suggestion. When you’re done, he says, “A scurrilous piece of gossip, that—I’ll be sure to make mention of it. My brother and his wandering ways…” Another thing for the prince to chuckle at, and mock, and make the most of for no better reason to be cruel, it seems. “As to Joleta Gargalen, I suppose I should not be surprised she spread her thighs for him. Mayhaps I should ask for the same courtesy?” But that’s just musing out loud, because then he says, more seriously, “It would be pleasant to know what my brother is plotting, I admit… Do you have a name to suggest in that regard, Lady Caitrin?”
“If you can get that woman to bed you, my prince, I will give you fifty dragons and my new Myrish maid. She doesn’t -approve- of you, I fear,” Caitrin says with a laugh. “And don’t look at me. I would offer, but that is simply too arrogant. Although…” she pauses, tapping her lip with one jeweled finger. “It would certainly please my grand-father. Killing two birds with one stone, that. Well. It is for you to decide. As I am so uselessly bovine at the moment, it’s something to do.”
“If she approved of me, I’d wonder what I was doing wrong,” quips Rhodry, with a smirk. “She has a dagger up her arse, much as Lord Davit has; I suppose the orange does not fall far from the tree.” After that remark, he pauses, considering you, and then says, “If I asked you, Lady Caitrin, I think I’d wonder what you think to profit from it. Or what it is about my brother and Joleta Gargalen that has you opposing them. It hardly seems wise.”
“If I thought I had anything to profit from it, other than your continued friendship for Laurent, I would say so,” Caitrin says, sounding almost surprised, and not a little perplexed. “The truth is that I am bored. I have nothing to do to either my benefit or my detriment. I’ve no motive at all. Huh.” She frowns a little, looking away in bemusement. “What do you know? I may actually be offering out of pure friendship.”
“Hmm… Unfortunately, Lady Caitrin,” says Rhodry, voice dripping irony, “I mistrust purity. In a man, it means a lack of imagination; in a woman, frigidness or a lying disposition. And since the evidence shows you not to be frigid…” His eyes wander to that belly of yours, and then he smirks. “But thank you, all the same. An amazing conversation, to pass the time with, and it’s given me some useful thoughts to consider.”
“As you like,” Caitrin replies with an exaggerated sigh. “I shall simply have to be bored, nevermind my complete lack of purity.” She makes him a very nice curtsy, unimpeded by her belly in the way of slender, athletic women. “Do let me know if you should change your mind. I think I will befriend him just to see what he is about. I like knowing things.”
“Cats are curious, too. Never had much use for the beasts, however,” says Rhodry to that ... and then it seems the audience is done, as he straightens, and with a last smirk, departs.