“...Yes—I’m coming.”
The call comes from within the Vaith apartments sounding a touch breathless and rushed, but moments later there is the click of the handle turning as the door gives a timid opening—just a crack—and eases backwards all the way. In the doorway stands Cassella Vaith, primped and made up for the day, though there is something in her demeanor—fidgeting fingertips, flushed cheeks, and perhaps a faint unsteadiness—that denotes that something is not completely as it should be.
She hovers in the doorway, eyes cautiously sweeping over the room, before gingerly stepping aside to make room for the train of persons who await entrance to the apartment.
Liane crosses her arms loosely over her chest, still not moving away from the guard blocking her way. She makes no further comment on the prince or whatever he must be doing in the Vaith apartments, though she offers a small smile to Cassella when the girl steps out of them.
Aegon’s smile is smug as Cassella appears. “There you are. I had begun to wonder. I’ll escort you across to Maegor’s, but I suppose you’ll want to direct the servants first…” He turns then, and gestures to the several liveried servants, men and women both. “You, do as Lady Cassella says, and promptly, or you’ll be feeding slops to the pigs,” he tells them, brusque and without any charm to speak of. That he reserves for Cassella, as he turns back to her and says, “They’re yours. Don’t bother with the vanity—too much trouble. Naerys has a perfectly good one she hardly ever uses.”
Cassella’s fingers itch against the fine silk at her sides, the slender digits curling in and out, in and out, though they pause upon seeing her kinswoman. Liane smiles to her, and Cassella attempts to smile back—but it falls short, instead becoming something else altogether. She looks to Aegon when he speaks to her, and only then does she find it in her to smile, even if it does not take on its full quality. “I have little direction to give, Your Grace, I am sure the servants will manage better without my looming….”
Whatever words are to follow become caught in her throat, and Cassella is left to awkwardly smile—smile, even when faced with the mention of Aegon’s discarded wife—which for whatever reason bids her to look toward Liane again.
She looks to her thoughtfully.
Turning toward Aegon, she places a hand upon his arm and says, “Perhaps there is time for me to speak with my kin before I leave? This is all happening so suddenly.”
Liane tips her head to one side, brows furrowing slightly in a curious frown as she looks between Aegon and Cassella, uncertain. She does uncross her arms, drawing up a little straighter as she looks over her shoulder toward the exit. With no Jossart in sight, she elects to wait for some further hint about what’s going on, watching closely.
“If you must,” Aegon half sighs, with a faint petulance in his tone and manner. “You’ll be able to visit it them when you please, afterwards, of course.” A pause and a searching glance, and then he shrugs away from him. “I’ll make sure they don’t slip any of your finery into their pockets. One cannot trust servants too far.” He starts to go in to the room, but pauses and adds, “Ser Jossart shall have to wait until after you’re settled in the apartments, my sweet, if you mean to speak with him as well. He is busy at the practice yard, after all, just as a gallant knight should be.”
Cassella favors Aegon with a smile, and maintains it until the very end. Her head is dipped—a sign of agreement—and after he turns to watch over the servants, the young woman twists about to walk towards Liane. She does not look to the other Dornish hostages, oh no, instead training her attention straight ahead. Upon coming before Liane, she reaches out with the intention of gently snagging her forearm. While her expression remains pleasant, there is a certain insistance in her low-kept voice as she says, “You musn’t let Jossart do anything foolish—please. I will speak with him as soon as I can, but if he is to hear of this before then…” The young woman’s voice trails, and her her manicured brows furrow.
“Oh, well, have no fear of that,” Aegon responds, laughing a little. “There are some guards posted to keep an eye on him, and they’ve strict orders about not harming him. He’ll keep until you’re ready.” And with that he’s away, into the Vaith chambers, and the buzz of his voice can be heard as he gives commands to the servants within. The guards and knights he brought with him, on the other hand, remain in the hallway.
“Because Jossart is so easily controlled,” Liane drawls to Cassella, lowering her voice as she takes a step closer to the other woman. She waits to speak until after Aegon has stepped into the Vaith chambers. “Cassella, just what am I to be reassuring Jossart about?” she asks, a concerned line crossing her brow.
Cassella’s head turns to regard Aegon, but she hasn’t in her to summon up a verbal response. A nod is given—that and a grateful look—before she twists back around to Liane. At first, the other woman’s questions warrant naught but silence as well, until finally the girl’s shoulders sag and her hand falls away from Liane’s arm. “I did not think it would come to this,” she admits with a small shake of her head, “...I thought…” But whatever Cassella thought remains a mystery, becase she bites back the words after another tentative look over her shoulder toward the Vaith apartments.
“...He is to make me his mistress, I think,” she finally admits in private dialogue, her quiet tone taking on a certain wryness as she continues, “...As he is surely not planning on taking me to his bed as his wife. But…” Cassella’s expression lifts as she looks to Liane anew, “...But perhaps there is some good to come of it? For us, I mean, if he favors a Dornish woman.”
The deep blue night sky is clear and cloudless, and the stars glitter. A cool
breeze blows from the west.
Liane arches a brow to Cassella, stiffening at the explanation. “You think?” For a moment, she just presses her lips together, struggling not to respond more strongly. When she does, her voice is strained by careful control. “Cassella, you do not have to do this. You know that, yes? Believe me, his interest in you will do nothing for-” She stops herself there, going quiet again. “I don’t know that I can contain Jossart when he hears this.”
The gold cloaks and a few knights stand about, watchfully placed at the entrances and the stairs. Most of the Dornish hostages have retreated to their rooms rather than face their cold looks and gruff manners, while others mill at the margins, frowning. Mostly, they frown at the one the guards presumably protect: Prince Aegon Targaryen, son to the Hand, brother to the Dragonknight, husband to his sister. He can be seen moving within the Vaith apartments where a horde of servants can be found gathering a lady’s belongings and carting them out again.
Cassella stands to the side with Liane as this happens, the two women speaking in quiet tones and appearing quite serious. “...But I do,” Cassella says, her voice likewise threatening to rise before dropping again, “...But I do. If not me I am sure it will just be someone else, and there is a chance yet that some good will come of it. As for Jossart…” The young woman’s voice trails and her eyes drop, and for the first time a certain sadness breaks through her resolution. “...He will be angry, but we must do what we must do.”
So said, Cassella forces her posture to straighten as another cautious look is thrown over her shoulder toward the apartments.
There is a rustling behind the Dornishmen, and footsteps on the stairs—slow footsteps, cautious footsteps, but there is nothing slow or cautious about the voice that precedes its owner into the chamber: “Are there horses rattling about down here? What’s this ruckus?” comes the voice of Serion Uller in what, to any Dornish ear, would sound a good-hearted question.
“It will not be someone else. He cannot /make/-” Liane stops herself again, pressing her lips together and looking up at Serion starts to come down the stairs. “I will see what I can do about it,” she says quietly, taking a step back. “His grace is visiting us, Serion,” she calls up to her brother, voice more controlled.
Liane will see what she can do? Cassella regards her thoughtfully, before giving a dubious nod. It is then that Serion makes his entrance known, and the young woman looks to him with a certain lack of enthusiasm. Before she has the chance to greet him, the sound of Prince Aegon’s voice can be heard calling for her from within the Vaith apartments. A finger is held up toward Liane, a gesture meant to symbolize she will be back, before the young woman turns to walk back toward the apartment. Serion is looked to as she does so, before the young woman disappears inside.
“He’s chosen to…grace…us with his presence?”
The twitch of a smile at the corners of Serion’s lips indicate he appreciates the pun—even if no one else will—and he offers an exaggeration of a bow toward the room’s center.
“And whose rooms is his grace reordering today? Who’s the fortunate soul?”
“Not visiting,” Liane says quietly to Serion, moving to pass the guards and get to her brother. “It seems his grace has taken a fancy to Cassella,” she explains in a low voice. A beat, and then she adds, even lower, “If he wanted a way to kill Jossart, this was it.”
“Cassella?” Serion’s brow arches as he makes the circuit of the room to reach his sister’s side, and the other one follows swiftly after. “Cassella, our dear, virtuous, young cousin, Cassella?”
A pause, a beat, and a sharp curse follows.
“Jossart’s gonna be mad.”