Not a tenth as spacious as the King’s Throne Room, nor half as imposing as the Small Council Chamber, the Tower of the King’s Hand is nevertheless possessed of its own unique magnificence. Luxurious without ostentation, intimate yet formal, the chambers of the Hand strike a perfect balance between authority and beauty, conducive to counsel and policy. Upon floors of red stone are strewn Myrish rugs, embroidered in fantastic patterns with birds, beasts and plants of exotic kind. At the southern end of the tower is a round golden window like the sun, and a watchful eye upon the rest of King’s Landing. Beneath it, bathed in the light of lamps and candles throughout the room, is the high seat of the King’s Hand; a deceptively simple chair of polished golden wood and black leather.
Adorning the walls, white-pillared against the red stone masonry, are wall hangings depicting scenes of hunting and battle, and famous events of history. On the northern wall, a serpentine staircase spirals upward to the Hand’s private residence chambers. Before the high seat are two smaller chairs, and upon a low table between them are quill, inkwell and parchment. An extensive bookcase contains numerous tomes and scrolls, and the personal mementos of the King’s Hand. Northward a pair of oak doors lead to a wide hall, where petitioners may wait for an audience. The door to the tower, heavy and reinforced with steel and brass fittings, bears the sigil of the Hand.
Through some artifice, or perhaps simply by miracle, what light present seems to be sucked up by the Seven altars, their statues glowing dimly. The rest of the sept is cloaked in darkness, but the glory of the Seven is to be ever-present.
Each of the seven walls of the sept has an altar to one of the Seven. All feature worshippers going about their devotions, though of course in different quantities and of a different character depending on which of the Seven it is. Before each altar stand a number of benches meant to accommodate these devotees. Each altar features several simple stone sculptures, though some may be painted, gilded or embellished with mother of pearl. Acolytes, and then the septons themselves, make their rounds, tending to the souls of their congregation. Broad doors lead outside into the city.
Outside the sky starts to lighten and the stars fade out. The sky is clear and there’s a cool breeze from the west.
The earliest of the sept’s services is well done, leaving the place filled only with its attendant septons and novices, and a few of the faithful who keep to the transepts and the altars of the Seven. The vaulted central chamber echoes to feet upon marble, as a septon leads a well-bred guest to a warren of chambers, usually occupied by the High Septon and his assistants. But of course, he is away, attending one of the royal princesses, and most of the aides with them. In his place…
“Lady Elanna,” the dour voice of Viserys Targaryen, Hand of the King, remarks as the chamber door open and the lady is ushered in. “You are kind to be so punctual. Will you sit, or take refreshment?” He gestures to the seat across from his own, from which he has risen. A pitcher and two plain cups are on the table between.
Inside the City: Visenya’s Sept
The rays of the sun serve to illuminate the glory of the seven as they pass through the many coloured windows and into the sept. Through a trick of the architecture, each of the seven altars is drenched in a holy light. The floor of the sept becomes a kaleidoscope of colour, shards of colour dancing here and there.
“Kindness is not a virtue many that have grown to adulthood in your stormy south possess,” Elanna replies with a faint smile to the Hand, as she sweeps within, her dark blue skirts brushing the floor with a whisper, “But respect and allegiance are values that we espouse to all our kin.” She curtseys, bowing her head, and rises, her bright blue eyes sharp upon the features of the Hand as she takes the proffered seat, sitting with a military rigid spine.
“I know your time is a precious commodity that is difficult to spend,” her voice is light for the nonce, “So I was pleased and honoured that you had agreed to give a little to me.”
Taking up the pitcher as he seats himself, Viserys begins to pour its contents to his goblet; it is hippocras by the looks of it, and the faintest steam that rises as it’s poured. “The king’s approach makes matters restive here at court. There are a thousand and one things to be done,” Viserys explains briefly, the heavy chain of office upon his breast and shoulders glinting in the light pouring through a window. “We must all be at our best, when his grace arrives.” He gives the lady a look, in which is bound an inquiry as the pitcher stands poised between pouring another measure or being set down upon the table.
Elanna nods her head in acceptance of the beverage, “I have heard much of His Majesty’s return. Indeed, the Lady Carmella Dondarrion was waxing lyrical the other eve upon his attendance on Blackhaven.” She folds her hands calmly in her lap.
“And though I am certain your family is more than capable, if there is some small service House Baratheon might perform, we are at your service. Our resources are within means and we are loyal to his Majesty and the needs of his court,” she pauses, “You need only ask and it shall be done.”
“That is good to hear. I will remember it,” Viserys says, pouring hippocras into the goblet before Elanna before setting the pitcher down and taking up his own cup. A slow swallow, in which it is plain he is considering what to say next. When he sets the goblet down again, it is to ask, “Well, lady. What matter did you wish to discuss?”
“It is a boon I would beg of you, not for myself, but for her highness, the Princess Naerys and a dear friend, Kellyn Lannister,” Elanna begins quietly, regarding Viserys with a steady sapphirine gaze, “Princess Naerys has grown near to womanhood in these walls, and has the company of many brilliant women here. But I feel that she lack the presence of but one. The Lady Kellyn has shown greet fortitude, grace and serenity in the face of recent months. I know that the Lady Reyna Saltcliffe spends much time with your daughter…and I feel that, if you are willing, the rift between the Lady Reyna and House Lannister might begin to heal a little…as well as your daughter gaining the benefit of service from the Lady Kellyn.” She waves enigmatically, “Of course, it is but a humble request from one who has always wished the best for your House and its kinsfolk.” Her head bows then, eyes dropping to her blue silk lap.
There is hardly a flicker of the pale eyelashes, or quirk of the bushy silvered brows, at the request. Viserys takes another easy swallow of hippocras before he says, “An interesting request, Lady Elanna. Your concern for the ladies is to be commended.” Purple gaze turning down to the contents of the goblet, he swirls it around thoughtfully. “You know that Lady Reyna is not considered part of Princess Naerys’s household, as the other ladies in waiting are? She merely reads to her on occasion, from the holy books my daughter loves so well.”
Elanna bows her head, “I know, my Lord. But the way of it is this…” she takes a faintly calming breath, which perhaps indicates just a little of her nervousness at this moment, “Baratheon and Lannister have become closer in recent months. With kin of theirs fostering at Storm’s End, it has become more important than ever to maintain fair relations.” A small smile, “And though Reyna is not part of your fine Household, she -does- spend time there. Quite a bit of time, if what I hear is to be believed. And I believe Kellyn to be an excellent addition to her retinue, but with their recent ...
Elanna bows her head, “I know, my Lord. But the way of it is this…” she takes a faintly calming breath, which perhaps indicates just a little of her nervousness at this moment, “Baratheon and Lannister have become closer in recent months. With kin of theirs fostering at Storm’s End, it has become more important than ever to maintain fair relations.” A small smile, “And though Lady Reyna is not part of your fine Household, she -does- spend time there. Quite a bit of time, if what I hear is to be believed. And I believe Lady Kellyn to be an excellent addition to the Princess’s retinue, but with their recent ...” she glances up at Viserys, her gaze as sharp as ever, “...relationship, that might cause problems. And the relationship between the Great Houses has ever been a concern of mine, not the least of which between Lannister and Tyrell. If the two ladies were to find common ground, therein would lie a balm upon currently stormy waters.”
“I suppose your noble house knows all there is to know of storms,” Viserys says. “I will consider what you ask, lady, and perhaps then put it to Naerys. She may think her household already large enough.” A sip from the goblet, and then as an after thought he says, “I am surprised, however. You and Lady Reyna are known as the best of friends. I would have thought, if you will beg my pardon, that you’d ask for such a place for yourself so as to spend more time with her.” His gaze is a measuring one.
Elanna smiles then, her face a pleasant mask that does not betray too much, though her eyes might, “I would not presume, my Lord. As it is, running the Baratheon Household here takes much of my time.” A little warmth creeps in, “I have a young niece that is far from her mother for the first time. Perhaps you are aware yourself of how intractable such creatures are. And though it would be an honour to serve your daughter, I fear that nay, it would not be one I would actively seek, begging your pardon.”
Visers shrugs his shoulders, after a pause to digest that. “As you say. This niece would be Lady Sarya? An ornament at court, as maidens always are.” In another man it would sound fond or indulgent; in him, merely a plain fact. “There was an altercation between her and your friend Lady Reyna, I believe. I hope they are both friends again, after their distemper?”
Elanna laughs softly, though the sound is not mocking, “Sarya is little more than a child, my Lord, and with the temper of Baratheon I am sad to say.” She sounds not -entirely- disappointed by that, but next sounds regretful nonetheless.
“I believe her sensibilities were offended by something that a ladies maid has spake, and when she asked the maid to please have consideration for public niceties…” Elanna shrugs helplessly, “I fear Sarya reacted as a child might, for all she attempts to act the adult and entreat me to let her marry Brynden Tully.” A shake of her dark head.
“But I also have another niece, the Lady Desmona Blackwood. My sister’s girl. Where Sarya’s temper flare’s are Baratheon hot and swift, Desmona’s is more like her father…slow to boil, slower still to forgive. Which can lead to long weeks of slammed doors…” a soft huff of laughter.
“Maidens are often eager for one thing, or another,” Viserys remarks reasonably enough, though with no particular point to it. “One can excuse them, on grounds of youth.” He takes a drink, and then states, “I had heard that in the course of the brief argument, Lady Sarya’s guardsmen very nearly drew their swords on Lady Reyna. They are not boys, I expect, if entrusted with her protection ... so I wonder why it is they would do such a thing. An error of judgment, doubtless. But Sarya’s, or their own?”
Elanna frowns severely at this, “Aye, it was a most egregious error on all sides.” Her voice was flat and disapproving.
“They are firmly under the steel of Baratheon, and when they perceived their young charge might have been at threat…” she shakes her head, “Nay…there is no excuse. Sarya was spoken to on the matter, I assure you, my Lord. Also has her guardsmen been replaced. I believe they now serve with Sarmion in the Kingswood.” Enough said, perhaps? After all, the Kingswood is not entirely hospitable.
“We were most ashamed of the occurance, and hope that no undue blame was laid on any shoulders.”
“Better if they are sent to Storm’s End,” Viserys responds, blandly. “In fact, that is why I wished to speak to you. Ser Richard shall be coming about soon, to meet with Sarmion, and to tell him that we find the household guard he keeps a trifle ostentatious. He should contrive to send a few of them off.” An easy sip of the well-spiced hippocras, with a faint gulp at the end, and the empty goblet is set down as his gaze beneath the beetled brows gaze upon Elanna. “I give it to you to prepare Ser Sarmion quietly, so that he might make some preparations to carry this out speedily once Ser Richard lays the matter before him. Naturally, those three hot-blooded guards would be foremost to go, but it would seem less suspicious if they were accompanied by a few other men. Doubtless Lord Corwen would then send replacements.”
Elanna regards Viserys silently for a time. Her next words are considered carefully, “I see.” She lapses into silence.
“Of course, I will do as you request, my Lord,” she replies with a curving smile that holds little humour, her gaze turning a little…just a little…bleak, “And I shall…use whatever small influence I have upon my brother that perhaps Ser Richard’s request might not even be a necessity.”
Viserys gestures with a ringed hand, a generous gesture, seemingly in agreement. But what he says is a little different. “Ser Richard will come, regardless. It will be a public visit, and the guards are to go afterwards—not a moment sooner. The obvious conclusions will be drawn.” His gaze is frank, as his mouth settles into a thin grimace. After a pause he says, “You must understand the reasons, surely? To let it be dealt with entirely in private might save some face for yourselves, taking care of a problem within your house—as commendable, surely, as your concern for Lady Reyna and her friendship with the Lannisters. But how should we at court look, if we do nothing and trust to your better nature?”
The prince lets the question linger, and then answers it himself, “Weak. That’s how we would look. I’d sooner it was understood that the court has acted to dispense reasonable justice, and risk no further arguments. We will look better for it. And with this warning, you will be able to respond with alacrity, and salvage a little from it by your unarguable loyalty.”
Elanna holds up a steady hand, white and slender, “I assure you, my Lord, I can understand what you say. I only fear that such a public intervention in what was a temper tantrum by a teen, and a reaction by a grown woman…” a shake of her head, “I fear there is little good to come of this. But your actions are your own right, and we accept them.” She pauses, and gazes upon Viserys thoughtfully, her fingertips tap upon the arm of her chair briefly as she tilts her head, dark brows drawing together only a little.
“I would not see the Targaryen reputation brought low by any within your court, and ever has Baratheon been a loyal subject to your family. Sarmion’s service upon the Boneway and beyond has been testament to this, as has many a loyal Stormland knight. If we must prove our devotion to the thrice headed dragon again, we shall.” There is a quietitude to the statement, and a steady regard, almost…challenging…but nay, it could not be so. For this is a decorative ornament of the court. No?
That earns a thin smile from Viserys. “Yes, of course. I am well aware of the pains Stormbreaker and House Baratheon have taken for the king’s cause. So, too, am I aware that Lady Reyna’s husband fought and bled in the king’s wars, and earned his knighthood there; and that her brother toils even now in Dorne upon his grace’s behalf.” His hands briefly wipe one against the other, and then he sets them down on the table top as he presses himself up to his feet. “It is heartwarming, that such noble men and women are willing to make such sacrifices. But with that thought, I had best go on with my business. Ser William keeps me flitting here and there, and all the more as the king slowly draws nearer day by day.”
Elanna stands then, “As you wish, my Lord.” She drops into a curtsey, “I wish you well in your endeavours for His Majesty’s arrival. My thanks for your audience,” At the mention of the Saltcliffe, she has frowned a little, some might mistake for confusion…or others for annoyance… or perhaps something else entirely.
And with that, the Baratheon blue of the widow’s garb sounds the last of the woman that has occupied the room for a mere quarter hour or so.