Queenscrown Tourney - On the Terrace (RP log)

Hakan Sand: Though Prince Koray's spine remained safe, his throat did not; Hakan Sand's blade found it, around the curve of the stone, the razor sharp edge gleaming. "I do not believe," the knight murmured. "That his highness was invited to the Tourney." He was nothing if not subtle, Hakan.

Koray Martell: Koray Martell tilted his head, resting the back of his skull against the cool stone behind, rather as if responding to the touch of a lady's lips on his sun-kissed flesh, rather than a honed piece of steel. Impossibly dark eyes rolled sidelong to find Ceren's knight, and the corner of his mouth quirked subtly. "Really, Hakan," came that low voice, dry of tone as their home sand drizzled on black rock. "If such a demonstration were necessary, my niece and nephew would already be deceased.”

Hakan Sand: "I recall such demonstrations being among your grace's favorite," Hakan said conversationally, as his blade drew across Koray Martell's flesh, urging him around the stone pillar and into the shadows. "Though it has been quite some time since I had the pleasure of your grace's company, I had recently recalled seeing Malakar the Blue in a nearby stable, and so your visit is not entirely unexpected. On the terrace, if your highness would please." For Hakan Sand would never make a scene, if he could avoid it.

Koray Martell: "He told me he'd caught the scent of your self-righteous pigheadedness," came the exiled prince's reply, pleasantly deadpan as could be -- and, whatever the truth, his remark would leave one with no uncertainty that the aforementioned steed might genuinely have made such an observation. Koray shifted to roll his back obligingly around the edge of the loggia's arch, according to the knight's suggestion. "Had I come in stealth, I would not be here. Clearly."

Hakan Sand: "The Faceless Man's beast caught merely his own backside on the wind," Hakan countered; if Koray could've seen it, the knight's black eyebrow rocked amusedly upward. "And, forgive me, your highness, but you have never been stealthy in all your life." And, as Hakan had grown up with both Prince Eren and Prince Koray, he would know.

Koray Martell: The banishèd Prince affected a sigh, watching the bastard knight's dark eyes, so like his own, melting into the shadows that seemed to sift in and blanket them. He could forgive the insult against Malakar; no doubt his steed would exact vengeance upon a piece of Hakan's unguarded flesh at the next opportune instance. "Let me be," Koray said, his tone still casual as summer air. "Go back to Ceren. I merely wanted to see them, Hakan; it's been a year, you know. I'll speak with them after the tourney. No need to jostle Ceren's bow before the competition even starts."

Hakan Sand: "It has been a year," Hakan conceded, with only the hint of a nod. The arced curve of his sword remained still pressed to Koray's throat, though they had retreated outside, into the darkness. "But you have traveled far to lay eyes upon two children who abhor you. You must have reason, Koray -- even you, must have reason and purpose. I saw Khitar inside as well, and so I know you have support. If you strike at her--" And Hakan's eyes flashed with an anger that did not suit those gentle, roughened features, dark but inviting and, most times, gentle. "--Then I will sever your neck from your shoulders before all of Dorne."

Koray Martell: "Support." Graceful sable brows swept upward in concert, an arch of humor far blacker than their color. "I have truth and justice, brother. Not mere support. Khitar is well-acquainted with the source of these events which, as you say, cause the children to abhor me. Facts will bear me out, Hakan. Intrigues which you know not of. Yet, I couldn't very well bring these to Aydin and Ceren's attention in Dorne, could I, now?" Given that he was supposed to be exiled, however ineffective that had proved.

Hakan Sand: "You slaughtered the Princess of Dorne," Hakan accused gruffly. "And her daughter saw you do it. Be happy I have saved you from a death by the hand of your own niece, for she would deliver you to the Gods far faster than I, and far more painfully." That Ceren had since perfected the art of poisoning her arrows was common knowledge throughout Dorne itself. Hakan's eyebrows lifted. "To hear you speak of fact, brother, instead of whim, is refreshing. But it is you who stood to gain from the deaths of Prince Eren and Prince Aydin, not Princess Aysel."

Koray Martell: Koray inclined his head very faintly. "I slaughtered the Princess of Dorne," he repeated evenly, but then dropped his voice somewhat, meeting Hakan's gaze without rancor. "That such a two-headed cow running mad could have been granted the title," he muttered, "is a situation so far beyond the bizarre I cannot hope to fathom it. At any rate--" the dismissive lift of one shoulder; it was through hardening his heart and mind against these bloody deeds that Koray struggled to accept his own hand on the killing sword. "-- I have never envied Eren's throne. You know that. I can give you no evidence of right save my solemn word, and those of the two surviving who accompanied me that night. If my appearance here is not sufficient to convince you I mean no harm to them, then we have nothing further to discuss, Hakan. The truth will stab you in the back some future night in Sunspear, and I shall have washed my hands."

Hakan Sand: Prince Koray's words seemed to give Hakan Sand pause; the blade at his throat remained strong and unnerved, but the man's dark eyes glimmered, met Koray's, and held there, rich and roiling full of hisotry. "You don't deny you killed her," he murmured, echoing Koray's sentiment a moment before. "And I am tempted to believe that you mean them no harm. But understand me, brother, when I say that I trust not you or my own sense at this time. What fact could you possibly have? What evidence?"

Koray Martell: Now did not seem the opportune moment for Koray confess that, as time had passed, he was not particularly sorry he had put his blade into the face of Princess Aysel. He never had liked her. Ceren was not meant to have witnessed such an atrocious act, however, and he regretted his niece most of all. The angular jaw set as he regarded his princely father's bastard offshoot, a man who he had once respected as well as Eren, himself. "Remove your blade," Koray said softly, "from my throat. You will find that Prince Dareios of Pentos has marriage plans even His Highness knows not of. And Pentos sits only on the fringe of this nest. You may be sure Ser Baris is in far more deeply."

Hakan Sand: At this, Hakan's eyes hardened to granite. His blade lowered. "Pentos," he echoed, glaring at Koray. "How coudl Ser Baris have bartered her highness hand to the Prince of Pentos? He hasn't the standing, he--" But Hakan understood, then, and his jaw tensed. "You're saying Princess Aysel did it?"

Koray Martell: Koray's mouth formed a grim, mirthless line. "No," he deadpanned, "I'm saying it was Malakar. I threatened to geld him for the audacity."

Hakan Sand: "This isn't a laughing matter," Hakan warned. He had always been particularly grave. "Do you know how long ago she did it? When the contract was signed?"

Koray Martell: Who was laughing? Koray spiked a brow at Hakan Sand, a brief, downward flicker of his gaze standing as mute reminder that he would prefer the blade and his throat put distance between themselves. "Aysel and Pentos," he replied, "formed the contract somewhat over a year ago. You may imagine Dareios is growing impatient for his bride-to-be. My intelligence suggests there is every reason to suspect he will press his suit upon Ceren's return to Sunspear."

Hakan Sand: "If he even waits that long," Hakan hazarded. He sheathed the blade, and thus it was though he had never drawn it. Dark eyebrows drew down over hematite eyes. "She knows," he told Koray, then, as grave as he'd ever been. "Aydin told her. She's in love with a Targaryen, I think, but Eren is marrying her to a Tyrell. If what you say is true -- if Pentos plans to take her, then we must move quickly."

Koray Martell: "You must move quickly." Koray's mouth curled at its corners, though still, no humor dwelt in that expression. "I am still prevented from returning home. As for the Targaryen -- well." The younger Prince of Dorne offered the shade of a shrug; so outwardly blase, Koray Martell, the facade lasted only so long as his family members were unthreatened or a new lover caught his eye. "Let Ceren hate me for a while yet, if it will serve as a distraction. She's already twice-betrothed, as it stands."

Hakan Sand: "She doesn't know of either quite yet," Hakan told him. "I suggest you appeal to Aydin. He had no love for Aysel, afterall, only for Eren." A pause. "I'll handle Ceren, but I cannot handle Prince Eren, or the Lord of Blackmont, you know this. It will take Aydin to convince Eren of anything, and Ceren to destroy Ser Baris."

Koray Martell: "Eren and I shall have our words on these matters," came the flinty reply. Koray loved and revered his elder brother with a fierceness rivaled only by his determination to keep Dorne's niece and heir safe. It would take time and effort to bring Prince Aydin back to his side, he had long since realized, and more to move Ceren toward understanding he had traded his life and home for the lives of Eren and Aydin. Koray considered Hakan for a long, thoughtful moment before continuing, "Assure Aydin I have come this far north for only his and Ceren's good. Convince him there is more to this matter than he or Eren understands. That is as much as I can hope for, until you and Aydin are able to return to Sunspear."

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