After a short wait in the sitting room outside the Hand’s chambers, the heavy oaken door opens. A scribe, carrying a box of papers, leaves first, and then is followed by the Hand’s steward. He looks to see who else might be waiting for an audience with Viserys, and then bows to the Dornish prince. “The Hand will see you now,” the man says, and steps from the doorway to usher Cadan through. Once within the chamber, the steward follows and closes the door behind you both before taking a discreet place next to the far wall from where Prince Viserys sits. Though usually he is constantly at work, hardly looking up from his scrolls and papers as he conducts conversations, he does not seem so occupied this time.
Cadan is dressed in his usual garb, proudly displaying his heritage and family colors. Back kept straight and with pride in his eyes does he wait, and when he’s summoned, he follows calmly until he stands before the Hand. He bows, a respectful bow like someone would to a man of similar or slightly higher status. “My Lord.” He remains near the door where he entered, standing.
Viserys returns the greeting with a motion of the hand to sit, and a brief, “Prince Cadan.” His purple eyes are dark beneath his thick brows, while his expression contains gravity without any hint of emotion. “I thought to inquire as to how you and yours have been since the incident with that madman,” he says, with little preamble. “The one who attacked you, and whom Ser Almer Connington assisted you with.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” The manners returned quickly, and Cadan’s features smoothen some when he is given his own title. He steps forward in a relaxed manner, sitting down to look at the Hand. The brief introduction to matters gets a nod in response, even before he replies: “We appreciate your concerns, Your Grace. Apart from raised security among our own as well as among your City Watch, the event has not affected us much.” A pause and his eyebrows dip down, eyes narrowing. “It was, however, one among many events that could be seen as signs of increased hostility towards our stay here.”
“Indeed?” the prince asks, with no sign of surprise despite the question. “I have not been informed of them, it seems. If you wish to explain…?” The Hand regards the younger man for an instant in which there’s a certain hardness about his mouth, and then he prompts, “It his His Grace’s wish that his all his loyal subjects be safe within his royal seat, as he wishes them safe in the realm. Be assured that whatever you say will be investigated, and dealt with.”
Cadan looks at the other prince for a couple of long seconds after the last words have been said. His dark eyes are narrowed, thoughtful and for a moment it seems like he will not elaborate much further. Then, he reaches a conclusion and opens his arms in a gesture, assuming a more casual stance. “Your Grace. I will start with the first of these events, then. We are grateful for the concerns our King has for our well being.” He tries a smile, but it fades as soon as he speaks, and it’s replaced by a rather hard look. “The first concerns Ser Sarmion Baratheon. Only eight days after I met with my people again, after I returned from my seclusion, this knight threatened a fourteen year old lady in front of an entire courtyard, during the most crowded hours. He said that he would have raped her and killed her right there in the yard, if only ‘the Crowd had not paid me so well’. And there were more witnesses than I could count, but I could supply some of their names.”
The Hand lets little emotion cross his face at this report, but what is there is the same hardness about his mouth as before. “Who is the young lady in question, and who were the witnesses?” He glances past Cadan’s shoulder, giving a significant look. Should the Dornish prince turn, he would see the steward moving to a small side table and preparing parchment, ink, and quill. There is no one else in the room, not even a guardsman.
“The lady in question was Lady Jasmylla Fowler, on her way to the sept to pray. Present of the Dornish guests.. I was there, as well as her cousin, Lady Lanei Fowler. Present on the scene were also Lady Elanna Penrose, Ser Jaesin Lannister, Lady Jyana Arryn among many others.” He doesn’t glance back, instead keeping his eyes focused on the prince, making sure the words are pronounced with as much neutrality as he can muster.
The steward writes quickly as the names are stated, but Viserys pays him as little mind as Cadan does. “I see,” he remarks, phlegmatic in tone and expression. “You mention Ser Jaesin, and that makes me wonder as to his brother, Ser Jonn. Was he present as well?”
Cadan shakes his head. “Ser Jonn was not present. He is involved in the next thing I am going to tell Your Grace about.. But for this, no. Only his brother.” If the Targaryen prince is phlegmatic, Cadan is a little more emotional when he speaks of the younger Lannister brother. Disgust, especially at the title ‘Ser’.
Viserys nods slightly, and glances to the steward, who writes a few more notes before giving the quill a rest. “What more, then?” the Hand asks, prompting Cadan to continue.
Cadan nods slowly, thoughtful again as he recalls the event: “The next event took place twelve days ago. I had met with Lady Kellyn Lannister and she impressed me. She seemed open to trying to lessen the hostilities between the Dornish and the nobles of His Grace’s kingdom. I decided to send her and her son a robe, the design of Dorne but with materials from both kingdoms and with the Lannister crest. A symbolic gift.”
He waits until everything has settled in before continuing, opening the small leather satchel at his side. “It was returned during the night, by a dagger lodged in the door to my private chambers. The robe..” He pulls it forth, brutally slashed to ribbons but it’s clearly a small robe for a 2-year old. Still the same Lannister red, with some golden details visible. “Came with a note.” And he pulls forth the note, holding it out for the Prince.. or the steward. It says:
“Return to sender.
Sincerely, Jonn Lannister.
P.S. This is your one warning”
With a nod from Viserys, the steward moves to take the note and examine it, before moving around the table to give it over to Viserys. He glances at it, briefly, and then returns it to the steward, who takes it away to his small table where he writes a few more notes. “It would have been better had this been reported sooner,” the Hand of the King says flatly. “But better late than never, I suppose. Is there more, my lord?”
Cadan nods slowly. “I am aware that it should have been reported earlier, your Grace. But in doing this, I fear that I will strengthen the hatred and disdain for us instead of mending it. But, it is my duty to report it now, and as your Grace says, better late than never.” A few more moments pass by in silence. “Nothing serious, no, my Lord. Apart from Lady Kellyn Lannister warning me further about her own husband and what he might do should I seek any of them out again, but that was only expected.”
“Of course,” Viserys says. A few scratches of the quill upon parchment can be heard, and then the sprinkling of blotting sand before the steward clears it away and brings the reportt to the Hand. He examines it, and then gives it back to the steward as he tells Cadan, “I thank you for your candid speech, my lord. Be assured that I will see to some of these issues, and that you may trust in me and Ser Richard Harte.” A pause, of consideration, and then he adds, “And in my son, Prince Aemon of the Kingsguard. I shall give him personal charge of the protection of you and yours. He will see to finding men to see to your safety, men loyal to the Crown.”
“Thank you, Your Grace..” He pauses, bows a respectful bow but when he straightens up, he speaks again: “There is one more thing I would ask of you, Your Grace, if I may.” His expression reveals nothing of it’s nature.
Viserys begins to rise, to conclude the audience, when Cadan’s remark arrests the motion. A questioning look follows, and then Viserys sits down again and states, “Of course, my lord. What would have of me?”
“I realize that letters from us to the ones who still live in Dorne is out of the question. But would it be possible to request the right to be allowed a letter from my wife who resides in Sunspear under our King’s protection. Such a gesture would be appreciated and perhaps give hope of peace to the others who have been separated from their husbands and wives among the loyal subjects in Dorne. The King’s peace would benefit.” Cadan chooses his words carefully and even if it’s clear that this is personal, it seems to partly be a Prince’s concern for his people.
“A letter from her?” Viserys asks. “That should not be difficult to arrange. I will have a missive sent to Sunspear, relaying your request, and suggesting that if she has news of the family members of the other hostages that she may include some brief word so that you may share it with your fellows.” With that bit of generosity—the generosity of the conqueror to the conquered, true, but even so—out of the way, he rises, and makes it plain the audience is at the end. “My thanks, Prince Cadan. I shall send Prince Aemon to you, this day or the next, so that he might begin to make suitable arrangements for your safety.”
“Excellent. On both accounts. Thank you Your Grace. May the Seven watch over you.” Cadan rises up and retreats back after he has been dismissed. If he thinks anything special about Aemon’s assignment to the hostages, it doesn’t show. Well, it shows when he is alone in the stairs afterwards, hurrying down, when he utters a quick prayer to the Seven, whispered for his own ears only, asking forgiveness for having used their name in a lie.