Queenscrown Tourney - Bloody Nose (RP log)

Cilarys Targaryen: Cilarys was frantic. Two nights running, one Valcour Tyrell had slept in her brother's room - or so her spies told her, she could hardly believe it. She hadn't dared approach the place, not after he'd manhandled her in front of her grandparents and Viserys hadn't done a thing to stop him - indeed, he'd encouraged the wretch and now he was sleeping in his room. There were so many things about the situation to raise her ire that she hardly knew where to start. No, that wasn't true. She had to start with Viserys. Valour Tyrell frightened her, with his flower-crowns and personal questions. He'd looked at her as if she were purest poison. She'd rather fae Viserys' fear - at least that was a game she knew. So it was that she was waiting for him in his room directly after his daily practice with Ser Arryn, perched on that violated bed, arms crossed and seething.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys was actually smiling when he walked through the door, but Cilarys did away with that quickly enough. He felt as though his heart stopped, and he froze in the doorway.

"Cilarys..." He hadn't seen her in some time. He'd actually sort of forgotten about her. The only times he mentioned her anymore was to remind Valcour of his duties in protecting him. And it appeared, for the moment, Valcour was failing in those duties.
"...Good afternoon."

Cilarys Targaryen: She turned to regard him, lips pursed, eyes inexpressive. "Why is there a man sleeping in your room, little brother?" Her tone was dangerously calm.

Viserys Targaryen: "Aerion is about." Viserys replied quickly. He'd pondered how he might reply to this line of questioning, and so he was well-prepared. "He already tried to get at me and it was Valcour who helped me. He makes me feel... Safe." And a whole lot more. But not enough that he felt satisfied quite yet. There was something missing that he didn't understand.

Cilarys Targaryen: "You could have let Grandmother send Typhon for Aerion," she pointed out sharply. "You could have made him or half the bloody Kingsguard keep watch at your door. But he's in your room, Viserys. It's unacceptable." Violet mirrors narrowed, and she rose, stepping towards him menacingly. "What would people say of you, if they knew?"

Viserys Targaryen: "What do you mean?" Viserys frowned, "Aerion is smart and strong. What if he snuck into my room, like you did, and it was him waiting for me instead of you." He stayed near the still open door, as she drew closer; edging against the frame. "Why would people say anything about me?" He genuinely didn't seem to understand what she was driving at.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Idiot," she hissed. "The guards let me pass because I am me, and we are engaged. Or had you forgotten? If you keep having that man sleep in your room they'll think he's buggering you. Or is he, Viserys? Is that what's going on here?" Her hands were shaking, balled into little fists.

Viserys Targaryen: "What do you mean? No!" Viserys was utterly shocked. Did people really think such things? "No! He doesn't even touch me. He just talks to me and makes me feel safe. He doesn't-... no!" He was flushed and scared, now. Not scared of Cilarys like normally, but scared that his reputation was at stake. Well, a little nervous about Cilarys, too. She was clearly seething. But the open door made him feel secure. Surely Valcour was nearby. After all, Viserys needed him.

Cilarys Targaryen: The relief, at that, didn't show. She had another weapon now. A smile he alone would recognize, cruel and unyielding, tugged at the corners of her lips. "Poor princeling, hiding behind a flower," she teased. "Close the door, Viserys." It brooked no argument.

Viserys Targaryen: "I'm not hiding." Valcour was more of a shield than a mask. He shut the door, and walked a long arc to his bed, pointedly avoiding Cilarys. "Why are you so angry with me? I didn't do anything." He didn't even really know what buggering entailed. Only that it was awful and sacrilegious and that it hadn't be done to him. At least not by Valcour.

Cilarys Targaryen: "Aren't you?" She asked, moving to face him, the bed between them. "He makes me feel safe," she whined in near perfect imitation of him, only with a sarcastic edge. "Whether or not he's fucking you, people will think it. They'll say it. How weak do you mean to look, Viserys? Do you think that anything, anything at all that you do does not reflect back on me? We are sides of the same coin, brother. And you will not shame me, and you will not hide." From her, not from Aerion. She knew, and he would know that she knew. And after today, he would know that Valcour could not always be there, nor could he end their engagement.

Viserys Targaryen: Her venom stung. It didn't numb like the scorpion poison that laced his wine. "I don't care if people think me weak! There is wisdom in allowing oneself to be underestimated." Valcour had said so. It was a game he played expertly and one which Viserys would pretend he was playing. But his weakness was real, obvious and exploitable. "I'm not hiding! You know where I am. Everyone does. And they know where Valcour is. I'm not hiding anything. Do you want me to hide Valcour so people don't think he's... doing things to me," The thought of which gave him a pleasant chill, "Or do you want me not to hide?"

Cilarys Targaryen: While he spoke, she climbed up onto the bed, stood and traversed it lightly, and jumped down. "I don't want you to be weak, brother, but that can't be helped." Scorn, there, and derision. Little, strong fingers curled around the front of his tunic. "But I will not tolerate you being weak in front of a common daisy. And I will not have people believing our marriage is a farce." The other pale hand slipped over his trousers, insistant. "Because it won't be, will it? You love me. It's in your blood and your body. And I swear to all the Seven, Viserys, if you let a flower into your body I will have him murdered."

Viserys Targaryen: "No!" Viserys cried out, "No!" The second was a scream. "If you hurt him I will hate you forever! I told you he doesn't do that to me. He is not a knave. He is a knight, and a good vassal who wishes to protect the heir to his country. If you killed him you would be naught but a monster and I would loathe the very air that deigned to fill your wicked lungs with life."

Cilarys Targaryen: At his scream she froze, and jerked away, glancing to the door. It was probable that no one would dare interrput a fight between dragons - but what if another dragon was walking down the hall, or, worse, this Valcour character? Viserys was beautiful in his hatred, though, and she saw it clearly through her own fear. How she wished she could level such a stare at Valcour, or at Aerion. Surely they would tremble at such rage. But Cilarys was trapped behind her eyes, half-feeling, reaching for something that was so easy for everyone else -

Something akin to a glimmering of resentment flickered in those violet mirrors, and she punched him in the face.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys spun with the blow. He heard and felt a crack as his neck spun around, and when his eyes opened he was face down on the floor. There was blood there, and more was dripping from his nose. He pushed himself up with his hands and rolled onto his back, a bit of his light hair falling into the crimson puddle. Even that slight motion was enough to make him realize he was dizzy. He groaned. Her point had been made. He was scared, now, because she'd done something novel. She would have never left a mark on his face before. How was he to explain it to his grandparents? If they realized he'd been struck, they would assume it was Valcour who'd dealt the blow. Cilarys had never hit him before. They'd never believe she just started out of nowhere. Valcour, on the other hand, had just entered his life conveniently at the same time as his facial bleeding.

Cilarys Targaryen: Without a word, she stepped over his prone form to a polished copper washbasin, rinsing his blood off of her hand and staining the water pink. Her hands were shaking so badly it was difficult to even wash them, and her whole body felt as though it might blow away in a stiff breeze. She was certain, the whole time her back was to him, that he'd get up and make use of the dagger at his belt, or that she'd feel his hands at her throat. But after a few moments of shallow breathing, he had done no such thing. Shaking her hands dry, she turned to face him, meant to give an ultimatum. When she saw him, she wanted to cry and couldn't. She never could. "I love you," she told him, anguished attempt at explanation. "Please, Viserys. Don't shut me out." Because, went the unspoken threat, not even she knew what she might do.

Viserys Targaryen: Viserys held his hand to his nose, and it was painted red by the time he moved it away. He started to cry. Cilarys was right. He was weak.

"I'm afraid of your love..." He dragged the sheets off of his bed and held them to his face, curling into a quivering ball on the floor. His white sheets slowly becoming crimson, served half as a bandage and half as a pillow for the sobbing prince.

Cilarys Targaryen: For a long time she watched him, and if he'd looked up he might have seen the faintest glimmer of envy in her expression. But surely she couldn't envy him, bleeding and sobbing. Finally, she knelt besite him and kissed his fair hair. "Don't shut me out," she told him again. She wanted to explain more, but the words wouldn't form and she was so frightened that the truth would make him loathe her even more. So she stood, and left him there.

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