Dark Stars and Sand Snakes
Twenty Third Day of the Eleventh Month 293 AC
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Gerold Dayne, or Darkstar, he was the most known by, and until recently had preferred before all else, to better stand apart from the shadow cast off loftier lights, did not know what to think after recent travails he had been involved with. That he would sink into drink after some of the recent horrors he'd encountered in both the Stormlands and the Riverlands, perhaps, except he thought that would be taken for weakness, or else that is to the effect of what he'd said to the others... and more importantly himself.
He looked around the familiar common room of the Golden Hearth that seemed to be the haunt of Ser Denys and his companions, and it had thus been a common gathering area for the likes of Thoros of Myr who was friends with Ser Criston Storm and Ser Kennos who was amiable with they in turn, along with another Stormlander, if but rarer, for he would spend three days in a Sept for every one in a tavern the Dayne knight had found, with only a tinge of distaste, for he had found Ser Bonifer Hasty to be a skilled man and a trustworthy one for all that to have at one's back when cutting down undead or cursed hags in a forest.
He caught Ser Denys' eye for the fourth time, a rush of anger reaching him, and not for what the damned fool must think. The alchemist didn't flinch that time but he did draw his mouth tightly in a grim line, as if expecting blows to start flying. "Damn it man!" Gerold barked, patience thinning. "Everyone else out."
Ser Criston sat up, a remark already on his lips before Denys raised his hand. "Go on, Ser," the alchemist spoke. Ceria sighed in exasperation and snapped her book shut loudly, trailed by the serene Yi Tish monk perfectly balancing a tea cup on a small tray, whispering conversation with a green robed priestess from that snake temple.
"She's using you, you know," Gerold said at last when they had cleared the room. "Oh not out of any malice," Gerold went on as the other knight angrily started to rebuke, "...but I know what she's like. She'll get bored of you in fits and starts. Take it from me when I say that she'll use you up and leave you wanting for more, only never to give it." Gerold had gotten used to be denied everything that seemed to come easy as breathing to others, to the point that he realized it was poison. He was almost content with the idea of being
of that poison himself, but that was then and this was now. He wasn't about to fight more damned monsters with something as petty as a jilted lover the cause for losing his life.
"I don't," Denys began harshly, before breaking off. "I know it won't work out," he said lowly, angry still but Gerold had a way about recognizing anger, his tongue was sharp and his ear sharper. "Do you think I'm full of hot air because of it? I don't think I'm
special," he said it like a curse.
"What you have here is more 'special' than any damned affair with the Princess of Dorne could measure up to," Gerold said with surprising conviction, surprising from Ser Denys' reaction and even his own. "I would have killed to have what you have even without that. Hell she might keep you as the paramour for years given how much benefit she can wring out of you in the long run of things," he spat.
"That's--she's not like that," Denys said weakly. "She's only thinking of her House, her family--"
"Aye, her 'family'," Gerold almost sneered, but spoke more softly. "See how that logic threads? You can justify anything if it's 'for family'. Like how I bedeviled mine for not being content with mediocrity. For daring to desire to match up to the fucking gleaming Sword of Morning, dead in the ground for a decade now, and you don't see Viserys Targaryen lifting him out of the grave with any urgency." A heavy, seething silence passed for several dozen heartbeats, so much so that one could hear a pin drop. "I'm not jealous of you, Ser Denys," Gerold said quietly. "I pity you."
"I don't know what to do," Denys whispered like a man walking to the damned gallows. "I-I think I love her. But I'll ruin her. Or she'll ruin me. We can't ever be--like that. I won't just be someone sneaking through the curtains even if magic makes that a hell of a lot easier."
"So don't," Gerold said, standing up and winding around the table to take over Criston's seat, then refilling the other knight's cup. "I think I actually like you, Ser Denys. I thought I wouldn't, honestly, but you are very hard to hate. Sort of like a puppy," Darkstar snorted. He'd never owned a dog but he thought he'd treat one well enough, like he did his horses. They didn't really know any better than you taught them after all, so it was kind of similar.
Denys snorted in turn, voice starting out wispy before it gained strength again. "So what do you suggest?"
"Ordinarily I'd tell you to run in the opposite direction, the woman is still a damn Martell after all," he said, shuddering slightly. "I mean Gods, man, could you not think to scorn a woman without that kind of legacy looming behind her? I'm fairly sure they've poisoned Targaryens for less." He was trying to lighten the mood, though the Dayne knight realized it worked not very well at all. He sighed. "You can only tell her what you feel and either let her cut you loose, or convince you with sweet lies for a while that things will be alright. Tempestuous as she is who knows what she'll say?"
"I think I'd rather take Lady Sandviper up on that 'nice talk' first before walking into that snake pit,' Denys quipped surprisingly, causing Gerold to bark a laugh. They heard rustling from the other side of the door and traded an exasperated look.
"Just come in," Denys said with a sigh, and the entire group, plus a few others nearly fell into the room.
"So," Gerold trailed off, before Denys shook his head. "No?"
"I think I will talk with Lady Tyene, actually," Denys said shakily. "They're supposed to be the best of friends. She'll know what to do, right?"
Gerold traded a worried glance with Ser Criston, both cringing.
Denys slumped against the table, while Thoros patted his back. "Drink?" The Myrman offered a bite from his flask. "I find a nice spirit helps before going into battle."
Gerold found the idea of walking into a room with Arianne's cousin being equated to marching out onto a battlefield utterly hilarious, and rather loudly made it known.
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