The Castle of Dragonstone

"I don't like this, my lord. Are you sure about this?" Lysander glanced at his guard Roderick, his grip tightening on the side of the boat as it rocked a bit. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Roderick frowned. "Well, we are heading to a dilapidated castle with a man that is essentially an unknown to us with the hopes that he will share your resentment for the crown. It sounds like a risky situation." The Frail Lord quirked a brow with a smirk. "Well, of course it is a risky situation. It doesn't mean that it isn't an intelligent move." The old grizzled guard scoffed. "Oh, is that right? You're just curious, my lord. Don't disguise it as some tactical move." The Lord Paramount waved that comment away with a careless gesture. "Well, despite this little expedition being fueled mainly by curiosity, there is also a tactical advantage. You see, this man could be a potential ally to the Vale." "And if he is? Look at his seat. It's a mess." The guard glanced at the quickly incoming castle with a dissatisfied frown. Lysander tsked. "That was a very shallow statement, Roderick." The guard scoffed once more. "A very true one, my lord."

The shore was quickly approaching. Lysander turned to look at his favorite guard. "Well, it's too late to turn back now, isn't it?" Roderick growled before turning to the two other guards that accompanied them from the main ship, which they took the liberty of anchoring far from the shore, as well as stripping it of anything that could identify it as a Vale ship. They had to be careful, after all. It wouldn't look well for Valemen to be visiting the brother that the King exiled. It would stir up the paranoia in that insane brain of his, and no one wanted that, especially not Lysander. The guard captain nodded to the two men, who promptly nodded back before stepping over the side of the boat and into the shallow waters. Lysander and Roderick quickly followed them over the side before each of the four men grabbed the boat and began lugging it to the shore. It took them a bit of time, but they finally got it onto dry land.

Letting his grip fall from the side of the boat, Lysander shook his hands free of sea water before stepping away from the craft and going through some stretches to loosen up the muscles of his body. It had been a long trip and his body was tense from it all. His men waited for him to finish before approaching him. Frederic, one of the other guards, spoke up. "What now, my lord?" Lysander glanced at him. "Well, I assume a pigeon was sent ahead of us as I commanded." The man nodded. "It was, my lord." The Frail Lord nodded before turning and looking to the run down castle. "Then there should be someone down to meet us shortly to escort us to the castle." Carlton, the other guard, spoke up. "Do you want someone to stay back here with the boat, my lord?" Lysander thought it over before finally nodding. "Sure. Are you willing?" The man nodded. "Of course, my lord." "Lovely. Well, now we wait." He turned and returned his gaze to the castle.

Maester Crone wrung his wrinkled hands together as he watched the horizon touch the sea. If the abrupt visitor had left when he said he was going to he would be arriving today. Sure enough the unmarked vessel began to form through the ever-present mists on the coasts of Dragonstone. The party had been instructed to come into the cove behind the castle, a point that had once been a grand and private dock for visiting nobles was now nothing more than a quiet place to visit an exiled prince without prying eyes. With a sigh, the old maester brushed down his robes and turned from the balcony to make the long winding exit through the castle and down to the docks. His trek would leave the men on the shore waiting a decent amount of time. However, when he did finally show up to the shore, down a stretch of long stairs carved into the rising hill where the castle sat, he was accompanied by the few maids that were not busy doing anything of import. It was a shabby attempt at a greeting party.

Everyone was dressed in their finest though it was not all that fine, but the garments had the least amount of visible patches. Hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes to keep from fidgeting unbecomingly with his links, Maester Crone gave a bow to the newly appointed Lord Paramount of the Vale. "Lord Baelish, you've arrived in one piece. I am so happy to see it as our Dragonstone seas can be a bit hard to manage. Please, follow me. We have rooms made up for you."

The accommodations would be drab, but when the young prince heard he would be getting visitors other than his hard-headed cousin, Kainen, and the equally bull-headed sister, Rhaelle, he had spent all his days doing odd jobs for the people in the village in order to pay for a decent feast and a few more helping hands about the castle. The thing the maester was sure the boy was most proud of was the new bedding and mattress he'd managed to afford. However, the maester would be telling no one of these deeds. Most lords would look down on his young prince for such labored actions. A prince who worked his days away? Spent long nights learning to sew to help make sure the sheets and pillows were ready for a cousin he'd never met? Learned to make a decent mattress to replace the old one and left his own worn mattress as it was? They would think him as mad as his brother, or worse yet, unfit to be king. That is, of course, if something wonderfully horrid happened to his horrid brother.

"Quite the clever idea to send a pigeon in the stead of a raven, My Lord. Though I must caution against it in the future. The dear bird was nearly dinner before it could deliver your message and the Prince's companion was not pleased at the presence of another visiting bird."

They would meet Wise soon enough. A stout, fat, pompous little thing with quite the personality.

Once they had arrived at the doors of the castle, one that lacked guards as the ones that were sent with them had been assassins of the king and dispatched one year or another. The prince needed little protecting from the seeds of Dragonstone as one by one they all came to have some affection for the boy and the gods had been with him for each name-day since. Thank The Seven.

Maester Crone led the Baelish party into the recently swept and cleaned throne room of the castle. Fresh candles were lit, but the sun was still streaming through the tall narrow windows. Even in it's shabby state the castle was still large and daunting. Each wall, hall and room, clearly carved by dragon fire or claws. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight to see no matter how empty. In fact, the emptiness, the loneliness it carried seemed to add a beauty all its own.

"You shouldn't be down here." Ginny was pregnant again. She was all belly and a constantly flushed red face as if the most mundane activity took every ounce of her strength. From the back you couldn't tell she was pregnant. She left flour on his nose when she thumbed it softly.

Dante smiled, rubbing his nose, "Because someone strange is coming?"

She nodded, wiping her hands in her apron. "Don't be giving anyone any reason to go report back to that brother of yours any of the foolish things you get up too."

His smile turned to a frown. He couldn't fathom a reason Alexander could turn him making his own meals into a reason to rage but it was Alexander and he'd done more with less in the past. This was the first time someone who wasn't a Baratheon or directly with them would be coming to the castle. Sure people had come to Dragonstone before, passing through, and they made a great show of ignoring both the castle and his presence. Dante couldn't blame them, they wanted safe passage and not to piss off his brother.

All the adults in his life were uneasy about his Baelish cousin showing up. Per his nature, Dante couldn't really feel one way or another about it. If they'd ever met before he couldn't remember and whatever his cousin wanted would surely come out when he got here. What was the worse that he could do? Try to assassinate him? Get in line. He wasn't necessarily arms wide open about a new person in his home, but there seemed no point in worrying about things that couldn't be dealt with. They didn't have the resources to take many precautionary measures.

Before he could say anything, a few men from the village came in hauling a fresh kill. Their wives and children had other things in tow and they would be helping Ginny with feast. Dante stood up from his stool, he was already past six foot, and put his arm around Ginny's thin shoulders. He didn't tell her not to worry, she was going to do that no matter what he said. Instead, he just gave her a squeeze, thanked the people helping and went to wash his face.

Wise joined him in the hallway, perched on his shoulder, as Dante made his way to the throne room; a room they had never used before. There wasn't anyone around to open the doors for the guests or himself, so the morning they'd come in to clean he'd pushed the doors open and left them that way. Before turning the corner into the room, Dante pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. It was a new shirt. After all, his name-day had not so long passed.

Half expecting to see more people in the room, Dante paused in the doorway, letting his blue eyes move over each man that was unknown to him. When he and his maester shared a looked, the old man cleared his throat and announced Dante.

"Lord Lysander Baelish, your prince, Dante Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone."

"My lord, what if he is insane, like his brother?"

Lysander quirked a dark brow before turning to look at his favorite haggard guardsman. Roderick looked back steadily. "I mean, being confined to this awful castle must have an effect on the psyche. And even if it didn't, maybe he was born insane, like his brother."

The Lord rolled his eyes at that before giving the much older man an exasperated look. "You're reaching now, Rod."

"My point is, my lord." The man stepped closer to the smaller boy, his arms out in a pleading gesture. "We don't know what we're dealing with. He's an unknown, and I know how we both hate unknowns. They allow for surprises, and surprises aren't what we need right now. What we need right now is security, and the castle of an exiled prince is not security. The Eyrie is security." The man suddenly seemed tired, running a hand through his wispy blonde hair. "You should be at home, dealing with the situation that is your father."

The Lord of the Eyrie scoffed at that, and he gave his guardsman a look. "Oh, is that so? What do you suppose we try next then, hm? We've brought healers from all over Westeros. Supposed magical cures. Should we go across the sea for solutions now?" The lord was met with silence. Lysander sighed and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "We've tried everything, Roderick. There's nothing left we can do. It's up to him now, and you know it. If he doesn't want to come back, he won't." The boy grew quiet after, his gaze focused on the ground. He stared at the rocks for a few moments before swallowing and looking out onto the sea.

Roderick stepped closed at that point, reaching out a hand. "My lord, I didn't mean to..." Lysander waved the words away, not bothering to let him finish. "I know. No matter. It appears out greeting party is here anyways." The boy nodded over the guardsman's shoulder. Approaching the Valemen was what appeared to be a Maester and a few maids, all dressed in unbecoming clothes. Not the grandest greeting party he has seen, not by a long shot, but the boy wasn't complaining. He had a taste for grandiose things, yes, but it was good to have the simple and understated at times.

Lysander's forest green eyes followed the movement as the Maester bowed. At his greeting, the Lord Paramount smiled and inclined his head in return before falling into step behind the old man as he lead them toward the castle. He spoke. "Yes, the trip here wasn't the easiest, but I wasn't to be deterred." He aimed a grin at Roderick as he continued. "I am oh so very eager to meet my cousin." It was true. He had been curious to meet his cousin for a while now. He had heard lots of rumors, of course, none that he put stock in, however. People liked to talk. That was a fact. And most didn't even know what they were talking of. Still, it was good to be aware of what people were saying. Better to know than not to know. Knowledge was power, after all.

At the Maester's comment about the pigeon, Lysander nodded and smiled. "Yes, I thought it would be for the best. I shall heed your warning, however. No more pigeons. Though I am curious to find out what companion of the Prince's you speak of. I suspect I'll find out in a minute, however." And how the anticipation was growing to do so as they proceeded step by step closer to the castle.

They arrived at the doors of the castle soon enough, which to Lysander's surprise was not guarded in the least. The Lord Paramount quirked a dark brow at that. They must either find it unnecessary to have guards, which meant the Prince did not fear for his life in the least, or they were severely understaffed to where they did not have enough guards to man the doors. Either of those options caused a bit of surprise to rear its head within the Lord, but he showed no outward reaction, save for the quirked brow.

They were lead into and through the castle. As they passed down the hallways, Lysander glanced around, making sure to take in as much as he could. Even though the castle was quite rundown, there was still a certain beauty to it. It was large and daunting and old. It was as if the Lord of the Vale was looking at history itself, and he was awed by it. He quickly found himself warming up to the place. He wouldn't mind spending time here. Some good reading could be done, what with the large quietness of the place. Yes, he would visit here more often if he had his way. Though it all depended, he supposed, on how the Prince and he reacted to each other. That would ultimately determine whether he returned or not.

They eventually made it to the throne room, which looked newly swept and prepared for company. Lysander had to admire their effort. The shadows that the flames of the candles threw all around the room gave it a slightly menacing tone, but that tone was slightly dampened by the natural light coming in through the tall windows. All in all, it made for a nice juxtaposition that the Lord Paramount could appreciate. They didn't have to wait long for the Prince to make his arrival. The sound of footsteps getting progressively closer reached the Valeman's ears before finally in the doorway stood the Prince.

Lysander tilted his head slightly to the side as he took him in. Yes, he certainly looked like a prince. Tall, dark haired, blue eyed, muscular. Yup, he fit the trope. There was something different about him, however. There was a sharp intelligence to those blue eyes of his that made Lysander want to converse with him, just so see what he knew. The Lord Paramount was suddenly broken from his thoughts as his name was spoke. Stepping forward, he bowed his head before looking the Prince in the eye. "Hello, my prince. It is wonderful to finally meet you." An easy smirk slid onto his face. "You're tall."

So this was his cousin. He certainly looked like a Baelish with those calculating eyes and that slender frame. A vision of his mother imprinted over the young boy's face making Dante want to recoil from him. They shared that shining dark hair and narrow face. He remembered his mother having a skunk stripe through the front of her hair and eyes that sparkled hinting at a mischievous past. Despite his heart speeding up in his chest at the familiarity, Dante smiled absently and shifted his gaze around the room once more. The guards with his cousin didn't look at all happy to be there. Even through Dragonstone was dreary and barely maintained, Dante still registered it had nothing at all to do with that.

Oh well.

Unless given one, Dante had absolutely no reason to do anything to his visitor. If they thought he was crazy like his brother, he highly doubted doing anything would change that. People had a way of finding what they were looking for if they really wanted to find it. Having survived Alexander, as a child and even now, without feeling pressured to be anything than who he was at his core, there really was no reason to start pretending for the sake of people's view of him. Living in exile most people forgot about him anyway. Seemed like a waste of effort.

It wasn't unusual that he was the tallest person in the room. Most people didn't outrightly point it out through. Well, expect Uldar, but the grump only used it as a reason to be pissed off about something. When Lysander made mention of his height, going so far as to cock his head to look up at him, Dante gave flustered chuckled and rubbed the back of his head, shifting his gaze to the floor. "Heh, yeah. I guess I am. Nice to meet you as well." His arm crossed his chest so he could gently rub Wise's chest as he moved further into the room. He gave them a wide berth as he moved past to the steps of the throne before plopping down on the foot of the dais with his long legs stretched in front of him.

Maester Crone was boring a look of disapproval down at him, but Dante was busy taking Wise off his shoulder and holding him in his hands. The bird puffed out, snuggling down. Wise loved getting attention especially if there were other people around. It was sort of like marking territory in a weird way and Dante liked the distraction of something in his hands when he spoke to strangers. There were few strangers on Dragonstone now and becoming familiar with so many people should have made his people skills better but he was tall and awkward.

"My condolences for your mother and father," Dante said, lifting his gaze to meet Lysander's so the genuine tone of his statement wouldn't be missed. "but I have to ask what brings you here in the wake of all of that. Mostly your new seat in the Vale. Won't be a good look if my brother finds out you've been here. He'll think we're colluding against him. Is that what we're doing, cousin?" It was a flat, emotionless question.

Rhaelle, his Storm's End cousin had already come down to inform him she had given birth and with that birth had decided it was only fair that his brother die. After all, she said, she couldn't very well hope to give her bastard boy a good life under the reign of a tyrant. She and her mother, his aunt Eirlys, had been sick of Alexander before he even set to rule. Rhaelle hadn't so much as asked if Dante wanted to take over the throne as she had told him he would and what he needed to do, which wasn't much, other than show up and marry the girl Rhaelle would choose. The idea of killing his brother turned his stomach, but Rhaelle had a way of getting what she wanted and Dante had to agree that Alexander was out of control. It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that Lysander had already spoken to Rhaelle, making that the root cause for his sudden appearance. If not, his question might seem like an offer, in which case the subject would be directed to the mastermind and this would probably be a short visit.

At the prince's slightly awkward response to his observation, Lysander found himself smiling. Well, this was off to a good start. That simple response told the Valeman a lot about the prince. He wasn't easily offended, and he seemed to deal well with nonchalance, unlike most people of royal or noble blood who demanded flowery words and superfluous gestures in their presence. It was good that the prince wasn't like that. He would actually be bearable then, which Lysander was glad for.

The Lord of the Eyrie glanced over his shoulder at his men as the prince began moving. The two other ones besides Roderick seemed at ease, their body posture relaxed and their gazes casual as they followed the prince's motions. Roderick, however, seemed to be as tense as ever. The frown that never seemed to go away was still on his face, and his body posture was tense, as if he were readying for a fight. Lysander frowned at that. He clicked his tongue, gaining the gruff man's attention. With a sharp look, he silently commanded the man to relax. They were amongst family. Roderick narrowed his eyes at the young man, fighting against that order, but with a slight narrow of the boy's own forest green eyes, the older man released a sigh and some of the tension ran out of his body.

Satisfied, Lysander turned back to the prince, just in time to see him plop down at the dais of his throne, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The Baelish released a sigh at that. He had to admit, he was a bit jealous of his cousin's height. He was by no means insecure about his own height, but there were benefits to being tall. There were benefits to being short as well, sure, but he wasn't sure they were worth it. The man's glance shifted to the owll as he was brought down from the prince's shoulder. The Baelish quirked a brow at that and thought back to the Maester's earlier comment about the prince's companion. This must be said companion. Lysander had to admit, he was expecting a person, but he wasn't disappointed at this development. Some said that owl possessed a wonderful sense for character in others.

The prince's voice brought Lysander's attention back to him. At his words about his parents, the Baelish found that familiar lump appear in his throat. He recognized that now was not the appropriate time to get all emotional and solemn, however, so he quickly swallowed the lump back down and simply offered a smile in return, as well as a nod of his head. It was indeed an unfortunate situation, the one with his mother and father, but so was the way of life. He needed to learn to deal, and he was determined to. That was not the focus of today, however. Right now, he needed to focus on his cousin. He returned the man's gaze, and was glad to see that he was genuine. Yes, it was certainly a good idea to come out and see him.

At his cousin's next words, Lysander showed no outward reaction other than the quirking of a dark brow. Inside, however, he was wide-eyed. Why, his cousin was frank indeed. Finally, he allowed a smile to slowly spread across his face, some of that trademark Baelish mischief shining through for a bit. Lysander took a step forward. Immediately, his guards stepped forward as well. Slightly annoyed at the action, he looked back and held up a hand, motioning for them to stop. He nodded to them to communicate that it was okay and that they could stay where they were before turning and take some more steps forward until he was standing in front of his cousin, looking down at him. He motioned to the space beside the man on the dais.

"May I?"

If he said yes, he would proceed to take a seat beside his cousin, though he chose to instead fold his legs under him instead of spreading them out in front of him. If he said no, he would nod in an understanding manner. Either way, he would speak, "Now, why that is certainly an intriguing idea, my cousin, no, that is not why I am here." Tilting his head slightly, Lysander offered him a genuine smile. "I am here because I was curious, and I wanted to meet my cousin. You see, there are a lot of rumors about you throughout Westeros. I've heard everything from you being insane to you being dead to you amassing an army to come and take over, well, everything. Needless to say, I don't put much stock in those rumors. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence wouldn't, but it is smart to be aware of said rumors." At that moment, Lysander noticed Roderick frowning at him, much as the Maester was frowning at the prince. Lysander didn't care, however, and nor did the prince, if appearances were correct. So, he simply ignored him, resuming his talking. "I wanted to satiate my curiosity and get to know you. I would say it's off to a good start, ey?"

Lysander getting closer didn't sit well with Wise. The bird flapped out of Dante's hand, squawking and raving. If it could have growled, the bird surely would have. Luckily, Dante's Baelish cousin was turned away, looking to his guards, so Dante was able to grab Wise back and soothe down the bird's feather. The owl continued to fuss and bother for a bit but then finally settled down, puffing out again, cocooned in Dante's hands. Wise was an average sized horned owl, even if the creature was a bit stouter than most. His large eyes were expressive and his protectiveness for Dante was easily displayed. The man and his bird were nose to beak when Lysander spoke again.

Looking up, Dante gently folded his fingers around Wise's wings and nodded, shifting over a bit on the stairs of the dais. The lanky prince continued to soothe his bird as his cousin took a seat and proceeded to answer his question in the same frank tone Dante had used with him. Still not quite taken with the visitor, Wise's feather's prickled and his head sank into its shoulders, but the bird wasn't able to resist the soft stroking of Dante's rough fingers, so it's eyes were fluttering open and closed.

"I'd say so." Dante said flippantly. After a moment and when he thought Wise was calm enough to no longer need restraint, he placed the bird down in the circle of his legs, lifting his gaze to the room around them. "Rumors, huh? I take it you've only told me the mild ones."

Maester Crone cleared his throat. He didn't want Dante digging any further into that subject. He'd heard all of those rumors and then some. His ward laughed that off. For a young man that lived in the shadow of death, the old maester wished he would take things a little more seriously. Luckily though, he didn't push the subject.

"I suppose it's okay that you've come to observe me, like some sort of beast in a cage. Not sure how much good it will do you to know a man that has nothing to offer you other than what he's worked for and built with his own hands. If you're not keen on believing rumors you must have questions for me. Ask away."

Lysander smiled at Dante's response, his grey flecked forest green eyes following the prince's movements as he took the owl and sat it down in the circle of his legs. The Lord Paramount's head tilted slightly as he watched the owl titter around the space, seeming a bit annoying with the Valeman's presence. He found that amusing. He also found that he quite wanted a pet now that he saw the protectiveness of the little owl for its owner. It made him slightly jealous, admittedly. No matter. He would think about that when he got back to the Eyrie.

The lord's attention was regained when Dante spoke of the intensity of the rumors he had delivered to the prince. At his words, Lysander thought back to the rumors he had heard throughout the years. There were some pretty outlandish ones. One in particular that came to mind was that the prince was born deformed, and Alexander was so ashamed that he exiled him to this island. While that was obviously not true, the Baelish still found it amusing to think about, quite frankly.

The Warden of the East noticed as the maester cleared his throat at the boy, an obvious sign that he was not to pursue the topic. Ah. So he must've heard the rumors as well and wanted to shield the prince from them. Lysander couldn't see why he would do that. From the short time he had known the prince, he hadn't seemed like the type to be affected by something as mundane and quite frankly entertaining as rumors. They seemed like something Dante would just laugh over before moving on with his life. Who was Lysander to comment, however. He had only known the man for a few minutes. This maester had known him for his whole life. Perhaps he knew something that Lysander didn't. Well, he definitely did, actually, but the Baelish didn't want to think of that.

His attention was brought back to the prince as he resumed speaking. At his words, Lysander smiled and nodded before speaking. "Well, you have already dispelled many of the rumors in our short time of meeting each other. In this regard, this conversation has been enlightening so far. You're not insane, from what I've seen. Not overtly so, at least. You're not dead, either. Obviously. But from your earlier question, it seems as if you are open to, how did you put it, 'colluding' against your brother. Or at least aware that many people want to see your brother off the throne. I must admit, I am counted amongst those people. But that can be discussed later, however." The Baelish smiled at the prince, his eyes glinting that signature mischief. "I want us to be friends, not ere political allies. We are family, however." And that was the truth. Lysander tired of politics at times. It would be nice to have someone he could just talk and be frank with. And from what he's seen, that could possibly be the long exiled Prince Dante of Dragonstone.

Lysander bringing up the idea of colluding again, caused Maester Crone to clear his throat. The moment Dante looked up at the frowning face of the old man, he cut his droopy eyes to the floor in a slant. It was his way of shaking his head without actually shaking his head. Why the old man worked so hard to make his cues of disapproval so subtle used to baffle the abandoned Prince, but he'd come to realize no matter how far removed he was from the Throne that Crone could neither stop his well oiled practices nor could he allow Dante to be miss-educated in any aspect of his upbringing. Even still, Dante wanted to laugh as his antics. It wasn't as if colluding against Alexander wasn't already happening. If Lysander hadn't received the memo yet, he would eventually because Rhaelle seemed really good at reading people. If he didn't receive one, Dante would find out later he wasn't one to be trusted. Right now though, he came offering friendship and seemed genuine enough.

As Wise hopped up on his knee, Dante leaned back and put his elbows on the floor of the platform behind him. He was still grinning at his old mentor but he was looking at his new cousin. Lysander seemed about average hieght, willowly. The way he carried himself reminded Dante more of a Braavosi then a Westerosi but he wouldn't bring that up, because then he's be forced to explain how he knew enough about a Braavosi to make the comparison and Crone did not now or maybe ever want to hear that story. Anything that involved Daemon made the maester purse his lips so tight they practically disappeared off his face. Anything that took him overseas, Maestor Crone blamed Daemon for. He wasn't wrong. Anyway, it was way too early in the game to be confiding or even divulging that sort of shit to the Baelish; not with his guards watching him like the dirt Alexander probably thought he was buried under. A better idea would be to take Ginny's advice and keep all shenanigans to himself, especially the ones involving a certain pirate boy, who he saw as one of his best friends.

The only other human friend he had, would probably choose to stay out of sight while they were occupied by visitors. He'd come back from Driftmark baring the wrath of his stepmother and that always took time to heal, physically and mentally. Dante didn't understand the self-inflicted abuse only that he needed to available for the inevitable aftermath. For the next two weeks, he'd sleep on the floor beside his own bed while Daegon re cooperated. His bed was the only one padded enough for long stays like that. Daegon would protest being there while awake but Dante rarely gave a shit what most people wanted when they were trying to stick to protocol for dumbass reasons. Daegon always liked to play humble servant whenever he felt he was getting to much attention even if it was only because he was gravely beaten to nearly an inch of his life ... once again. The maid standing beside Maester Crone had been the one taking care of his wounds up until they received word that they were receiving visitors and Dante had cleaned and redressed his bandages before coming down, so he should have been sleeping soundly.

The same maid looked angsty and uncomfortable. From what Dante could remember none of his "staff" had ever been more than out of the way kitchen staff and chamber maids. They weren't prepped or ready to behave in front of other nobles. When you were used to serving a tray and dipping out or standing by the wall until called, standing next to a Maester pretending to be a lady-in-waiting to nobody must have been uncomfortable as hell. It took a minute but Dante was finally able to catch her downcast gaze. "Drinks." He said gently, nodding to the open doors. Her features visibly relaxed as she curtsied out of the room to fulfill his request.

Turning his attention back to Lysander, Dante shifted and angled his head so he could look at his cousin. "Well," The word lingered in the air, his blue eyes drifting to the ceiling,"I didn't hear a question."

Flintlock: Lysander looked on at the way Dante spoke to his staff, and he was pleased with what he saw. There was no demanding tone in his voice, there was no disrespect or haughtiness. There was only a simple order spoken in a tone that couldn't be described with any word other than soft. He had observed other nobles, a lot of them, really, and only about a quarter of them treated their staff with any kind of respect. It was quite infuriating, actually, as well as illogical. These are the people that make your bed, make your food and drinks. They hold a certain power over you, whether you'd like to admit it or not. It would be smart to be in good regards with him. Maybe he was the only way thinking that way, though. Nonetheless. The Lord Paramount was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of his cousin's voice, inquiring about questions. In response, Lysander rested his elbows on his knees and then rested his head on his folded hands as he thought. All the questions he had in mind would only lead to small talk, and he wasn't really good at that, which he knows is blasphemous for a noble. Oh, but there was one question... Clearing his throat, Lysander turned his forest green eyes onto the blue ones of his cousin and spoke. "What is this whole 'plotting against your brother' business?" He waved a dismissive hand as he continued. "I've heard whispers, of course, and it was bound to happen, but by no means did I expect it from you." He frowned then. "Though I suppose I should have. He has wronged you greatly." He glanced around the throne room then before continuing. "Even though you've made well out of that wrong." His gaze settled on the Maester then, who he gave a small smile before returning his attention back to the prince.


Judge: By the time Lysander gathered his thoughts and got comfortable, Wise looked like a balloon that kept inflating and deflating; he was asleep. Dante took that a good sign that Wise didn't intend to attack his newly found cousin anytime soon but no matter how deep in sleep the owl was, if Lysander got to close he'd get bitten. Still leaning back on his elbows, Dante wanted to laugh when Lysander brought up the idea of going against his brother again. It didn't seem like this subject was going to be dropped any time soon, much to the maester's disapproval. Dante smirked at his cousin for a moment before letting his head fall back. He could see the dust in the room floating around in the streams of light that bled through the slats of stone which formed the windows to the throne room. It was incredibly strange to be in this room. Still staring at the ceiling, Dante couldn't keep the edge of a chuckle out of his voice when he answered. "Have I?" He said of the remark that he'd been wronged and made good of it. When thinking back on his life and his circumstance, Dante didn't feel so much wronged as abandoned and dejected. His brother sending him away had been out of fear and instability. The fear, however over exaggerated on Alexander's part, was partly understandable, considering his mother had been working to put Dante on the throne for some time. It didn't warrant Alexander's reaction to the situation but it did shine some light on them. Wasn't being king hard enough without your own mother working against you? Maybe if someone had given that sickly looking kid the benefit of the doubt whatever disease had taken over his mind wouldn't have found such a receptive base of operations. Anyway. Dante lifted his head, looking past Lysander as the maid returned with drinks, the best wine on the island. He wasn't sure how it'd stack up against wine anywhere else, but he liked it. His hand lifted and he beckoned her closer, to which she curtsied and poured out a cup for his guest first. Maester Crone looked for a moment like he was going to correct her actions but then remembered how the prince, despite his training, like to treat people before himself, always, so he made a gruffled noise under his breath and tried to pretend to be looking out one of the nearest windows. "Honestly," Dante said, taking a glass of wine. "You could say I'm just waiting on a signal. Other than that, all that business is in the hands of the gods and a stag."


Flintlock: At the prince's chuckle filled question, Lysander nodded, sure in his opinion. "You see, my dear cousin, you don't abandon family. Neither do you exile them to an island with nothing more than a few staff members, the barest of resources, and a good luck, and I'm even skeptical that you received that last part." The Lord Paramount shrugged before continuing. "In my opinion, at least, family must stick together. We must find a way past our issues and find some kind of harmony that allows us all to live and coexist peacefully." He held up a hand. "Now, I know that it all sounds like a bunch of useless poppycock and not at all realistic, and you may be right, but in a perfect world, it could happen." It is quite unfortunate that they don't live in a perfect world. Things would be much easier and simpler. A lot more boring as well, though. Lysander turned his attention to the aid as she returned with the drinks. He smiled gratefully at her as Dante motioned her closer. He quirked a brow in surprise as she moved to serve him first over the prince, and Maester Crone didn't seem to like it either, if his gruffled noise was anything to go off of. This must be the princes personal preference, Lysander thought to himself. Hm. His opinion of him was growing more and more by the second. Not at all like most Westerosi nobles, and he loved it. The Valeman accepted the cup with a grateful smile and a low "thank you" to her before lifting the cup to his lips and taking a sip. A bit more tart than he was used to, but he still liked it. He took another longer sip as Dante spoke, answering the Lord Paramount's question. Lysander tilted his head slightly at his answer, his hand idly swirling the cup in his hand as he thought over the prince's words. Huh. So Dante wasn't very involved with the process. That didn't quite surprise him, with what he knew of the prince so far. He didn't seem like the type to be interested in the political side of things, such as the ally gathering and all that. He seemed like a man of action, and Lysander could respect that, even though he himself was more suited for the political side of things. He also wasn’t surprised at the news that a stag was the one organizing it all the Baelish had suspected so when he had first caught wind of the whole thing. He didn't know why he suspected a Stag. Call it intuition. Lysander took another swig of the wine before speaking, a smirk on his face and his voice tinged with humor to let the prince know it was a joke. "Well, I am quite offended that I haven't been approached by said stag yet. What are cousins for, after all, if not for a rebellion?" He chuckled at his words before taking another sip of the almost depleted wine.


Judge: Nah, didn't sound like a bunch of useless poppycock at all. Dante shared the same sentiments on the matter and it was nice to hear another noble share those sentiments as well. He'd said something similar to Rhaelle once and gotten the distinct impression that his cousin wasn't far off that mark in her own very dark and gritty way but she'd never say it like that or maybe even never say it out loud. Her not answering his wishful thinking had made him feel a little childish and stupid at the time, but given her actions now, he figured she was just different. Iris flush a rose colored red when Lysander all but whispered thank you at her. She wasn't a bad looking girl, she had a glow to her round face and wide brown eyes and her black-ish brown hair was always neatly kept out of her face with a slew of braids even if her hair fell all the way down her back. Dante called her Pumpkin, because that's what she reminded him of. When she handed him the glass, he sat up and leaned into her ear. When he moved away, she curtsied again and left the room, off to check on Daegon, but the tray wasn't far off for refills and it looked like Lysander was dyhyrated by all the sea air the way he was sucking down less than standard noble wine. Lysander's joke landed as just that causing Dante to laugh as well. "Kinda hard to be approached when you aren't at home to hear the hooves coming huh? Or maybe you were looking out for pigeons when you should have been looking for ravens." It was a cheap shot but he made him laugh even more. Raising his cup, Dante tilted it to his cousin. "To fairy-tales about peace and living a dream." He said, before drinking. There was a long pause then with Dante staring into the contents of his goblet. The past few moments were running though his head, gauging this feeling of comfort and familiarity he felt around this person he'd only known for less than an hour. It wasn't the same feeling as being around his fellow Baratheons. They were all hard and blunt. Lysander gave him a similar feeling to being alone on the shore in the middle of the day, but all that noble training the maester kept bashing into his head left some trepidation there and he wasn't sure how long it would be before it went away. If he figured his lessons right, it wasn't ever supposed to go away. With the shadow of what his stag cousin was up too looming over his head, Dante figured he'd better get used to it. Wise stretched but stayed sleeping, his talons digging past the leather of Dante's pants and shaking him from his thoughts. Looking up, he smiled at Lysander and downed the rest of his drink, putting the goblet down beside him. "I guess it's my turn to ask a question." Another pause. "What's it like to be a Lord Paramount?"


Flintlock: At his cousin's joking response, Lysander shook his head and released another stronger laugh. So he could give as good as he got. Good to know. This encounter was good so far. Lysander was enjoying himself. He had been buried under the rules and regulations of Westerosi politics for too long and had forgotten how nice it was to have a regular conversation, one without insinuations and forced politeness. It was nice. He turned his attention to his cousin as he tipped his glass and made a toast. In response, Lysander raised his own glass and tilted it to Dante, nodding in agreement. "And to that dream hopefully becoming reality one day." With that, he drowned the rest of the wine before setting his glass aside and winding his fingers together once more. When was the last time he had had a conversation like this with a person his age? Now that he thought about it, never. He never really had any friends growing up. He was a solitary child, which was a fact that most people found surprising, what with how good he was now at interacting with others. Back then, he realized he had a talent for it. That didn't matter to him, however. He just didn't find it...enjoyable, he guessed the right word was for it. He kept to himself and his books, much preferring fictional characters or historical figures over the people he was surrounded with. It had always bothered his parents that he wasn't much interested in interacting with kids his own age, especially his mother. She would always try to convince him to make friends with other boys around court, and he always responded with the same sentence, "If they wish to be friends, they can approach me." and they never did. And Lysander was fine with that. Nowadays, however, he recognized the merit of talking to people. One needed allies to survive in Westeros. That was the simple truth of the matter. He would not be caught without them simply because he didn't like talking to others. It didn't matter, his own personal preference. What mattered was the realm, and the people within it, and what was best for them. Lysander turned his attention to his cousin as he smiled at him before drowning the rest of his cup and setting it aside. At his words, Lysander tilted his head in an invite for him to ask whatever he pleased. At his question, Lysander released a breath and moved to lean back, his arms supporting him on the steps behind him. He took a moment to think over it, his eyes facing the ceiling, before finally answering. "It's....tiring." He chuckled at the honesty of his words before continuing. "You have to make sure all the minor houses under you are kept from each other's throats. You have to make sure that they pay their proper taxes. You have to make sure that their not starting any unauthorized wars with any other house of any of the other regions. You have to appease them all. The. Fucking. Time. Pardon my language." He smirked at his cousin before continuing. "And then you have to keep good relations with the other Lord Paramounts, because you may need them so day, and you know how fickle they can be." He shook his head then, releasing a sigh. "It's just a lot to have to handle. But you're trained for it from birth, so it's not like one isn't prepared for the stress and difficulty of the job. And you have advisers and your staff that make the load so much more lighter, so you're ever so grateful to them, as I see you are to your own staff." He tilted his head as he thought more on the subject. "Yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it."


Judge: Dante tried to keep his smile as his cousin answered him but it was hella fucking hard. He'd only asked because it was time to start thinking about things like that. Has much as he didn't want any of what was ahead for him, it had to be done and it would mean putting himself in the mix with people who would always want something from him whether they liked it or not, whether he liked it or not. On Dragonstone, life was simple. People were simple. On Dragonstone he was barely a lord to the people who lived there and he liked it that way. Most of them showed him the respect of a Lord or a Prince but what he loved the most was the respect he'd earned from them and them from him. With his Baratheon cousin in motion to changed his life completely, the days of sitting in a freshly tilled field drinking mead and eating fresh made pastries were numbered. Listening now at what his world would soon be seemed far more lonely than his life on the stone. Then an idea struck him. Since he was kind of shit at hiding the light bulb going off in his mind, Maester Crone immediately cleared his throat and Dante's reaction to the quiet warning was that of a child; if he didn't make eye contact it never happened. In anycase he wouldn't bring up his idea now. There were too many people in the room that would be starkly opposed to it. Maybe later, when they were alone, Dante would show Lysander what it was to be free. As if sensing his intentions, Wise slowly rose out of his wings and twisted his head almost all the round to blink unhappily at his stag. He got the same reaction the Crone did but he wouldn't take it quietly. Hooting loudly and in a fluster of flaps he flew into Dante's face, swooped upward, grabbed his bun, gave it a hard tug then let himself out of an open window behind the throne. Flinching, Dante reached up and rub the back of his head. "Birds..." He said sheepishly, before standing up and picking up his goblet. "Sounds like a hard and daunting job, to be sure. With the mindset you've let me glimpse at, however, The Vale is sure to prosper under your rule." He picked up the decanter of wine and returned to the stairs, holding it out to fill the Valeman's cup before his own. "Do you favor the gods, cousin? Do you pay them any mind at all?"


Flintlock: Lysander quirked a brow as an idea seemed to form in his cousin's head in response to the description the Valeman had given of the duties of a Lord Paramount. He was curious as to what that idea was. Nonetheless, the Maester seemed to know what was going on in the prince's head, and he didn't like it, if his clearing of the throat and sharp look was anything to go off of. Lysander glanced at him and then at the prince, who seemed to be of the mindset that he was going to ignore the Maester. The Lord Paramount smiled at that and felt the urge to clap his cousin on the shoulder in understanding. Before he could, however, the owl seemed to sense what was going on in the prince's head as well, as it rotated his head to look at him straight on. The Baelish tilted his head to the side as he watched Dante ignore the bird. The owl didn't seem to want to stand for it, however, and with a loud hoot, he was suddenly flapping into Dante's face. Lysander watched with widened eyes as the bird proceeded to pull at Dante's bun before flying and escaping through the window behind the throne. The Baelish blinked before proceeding to snort out laughter that brought tears to his eyes. At the prince's sheepish response, Lysander only laughed harder, tears coming to his eyes. This was the hardest he had laughed in a long time, and he was enjoying it. It felt good to laugh genuinely. The laughter died away as his cousin stood from the dais, his goblet once more in hand. At his cousin's words, Lysander nodded. "Well, I appreciate your vote of faith, my friend. Gods know I'm trying to make something out of what I've been given." His thoughts flash to his father, the former Lord Paramount, and with the thoughts came a feeling of bitterness. He quickly pushed that feeling down, however, and returned his attention to the present moment, just in time to see his cousin approach him and offer him more wine. Releasing a breath, Lysander smoothly raised to his feet and held out his goblet, accepting the wine. He took a sip as his cousin filled his own goblet and ask him his opinion of the gods. Lysander thought on the subject as he swallowed a mouthful of wine. Finally, he responded, his weight settled on one foot as his fingers picked idly at the edge of the glass. "You see, that is a very hard question to answer, cousin." His expression turned a bit darker as he continued. "The gods have never done anything for me, Dante, aside from taking my happiness. They forced disease upon my mother and took her from me. They rid my father of his will. They took my first love from me and handed her to your brother, who proceeded to mistreat her until her death." He took a deep breath before taking another gulp of wine down. He swallowed and spoke, attempting to make his tone seem light but mostly failing. "If they do exist, they are cruel indeed."


Judge: His sheepish look burned in his cheek for a moment when Lysander started to laugh, then his own smile broke the line of his features as he watched. His Baelish cousin seemed to be enjoying his laugh at a much deeper level than just laughing at Wise attacking him so he let him have it. If by being on Dragonstone Lysander felt some bit of relief from the weighing duties of being Lord Paramount, Dante welcomed it and was glad to be part of it. His cousin had gotten himself together by the time he returned with the wine, so Dante filled Lysander's glass then his own but held the decanter by the neck in his hand. He was used to drinking from the bottle, so to keep that urge down, he put his arm behind his back and rocked back on his heels. "I have faith." He said. He did for his faith was rooted more in people than the gods. To which he almost immediately felt shitty for bringing up. By Lysander's standards, the Gods had done little for him as well. Being born a prince to a pyschotic brother was no walk in the park. His mother, while loving, was frail and too soft spoken to take any sort of command. His father's constant picking on his brother, even in jest, only made things worse and his father didn't seem to care to much about toughening him up or even spending much time with Alexander. Rux's idea of bonding was fighting and talking about fighting. At least from what Dante could remember. Trying to remember life in the Red Keep gave him a headache, a sharp pain right down his forehead and into his right eye. It was always so sudden and painful that he'd hiss in pain, pressing his fist to his eye, and now was no different, except he had a cool glass goblet in his hand. Blinking away the pain, Dante took a gulp of wine to help. "I don't know if the Gods exist but I don't think they are cruel." Stretching his arm out, the one with the goblet, Dante pointed out the great double doors, because beyond that was the real Dragonstone and a whole world beyond that. "I care for each and every man, woman and child here, but I can't protect each of them, individually all the time. I believe the Gods are powerful, but they aren't all powerful as so many would believe. Believing that makes it easy to blame them for the actions of men. The gods may have made your mother sick, but they didn't take your father's will and they didn't sell your love to my brother. Those were the actions of men." Turning back to Lysander, Dante looked down at his cousin, "And men are responsible for their own actions. Just like you and I are responsible for what we do with the lives we've been given."


Flintlock: Lysander gave his cousin a grateful nod as he proceeded to fill up his goblet once more with wine. Yes, he could get quite used to this wine. He was already becoming very fond of it. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a long, hearty drink, satisfied with the slight burn it caused in his throat. At Dante's declaration, that he had faith, Lysander felt his nose scrunch up a little. It must be nice, he thought to himself. To have faith. He hadn't had such a thing in a long time, and at times like these, when he was reminded of the concept, he found that he missed it quite a lot. Faith gave people security, for they knew in their heart of hearts that they were protected by it. For one with no faith, such as the Lord Paramount, they had no protection. They were left to fend for themselves in this fucked up world of theirs. It was quite depressing, if one thought about it. That's why Lysander didn't like to think about it to often. He far more preferred happiness than sadness, so he would gladly continue to be happy, thank you very much. At his cousin's response to Lysander's spiel about the gods, the Valeman felt himself thinking on the whole subject. After a few moments of silence, he spoke. "I never really thought of it in that light. I suppose I've always regarded the gods as having infinite power. With how people refer to them, how could I not?" He stopped to think once more, and then continued speaking after a few seconds of silence. "But if they do have limitations on their powers, as you say, then can they truly be regarded as gods?" He took a brief sip before continuing. "You see, when one thinks of a god, they think of a being that is beyond comprehension. A being that can do anything on a whim, if they choose to. What you're proposing right now is dashing all of that." He raised his cups to lips, but didn’t not drink. He simply let the cup rest there for a moment as he thought. He finally spoke after a few more seconds of silence. "I wonder if I like your definition of the gods more so than the one I've been believing in all my life. Your definition would certainly cause some of my hate for them to alleviate. I'm not sure I want that hate to alleviate, however." He tilted his head then, and looked at his cousin honestly. "That hate is a....pivotal part of me, if that makes any sense. It's something that I've identified with. And if I let that go...." He began to shake his head slowly, and glanced away from his cousin. "What will I be then? Will I start hating men in general for their potential to be merciless and hateful creatures? Or for their potential to be weak, like my father has been?" He sighs then. "So many questions. I apologize. I didn't mean to get philosophical. This...." He waved his cup helplessly. "Is just something I've been struggling with for years. Pardon my babbling."


Judge: Dante had never notice his words sink so deeply into someone's mind before. Of course, he'd never discussed the gods with a near stranger before. His Maester Crone had very strong beliefs in The Seven, Rhaelle had none and Kainen didn't seem to know what he was talking about. A lot of the small folk had strong faith as well, so Dante was always the only one on the fence. It wasn't so much that he didn't believe, more so that he didn't believe in the specifics. At most he would describe the as parternal figures. Like Lysander, Dante sipped his drink listening intently to out pouring of his cousin's view on the matter. By the time Lysander was done speaking, Dante brought out the decanter and filled their goblets again. The wine was going fast. It was a good sign that he could at least tolerate something about his humble, crumbling castle. For a long moment after Lysander fell quiet, once again, Dante stared down into his goblet. Finally his blue eyes rose to meet the forest of his cousin. "You would be a man." He said of the internal struggle of the gods place in one's life. "Hate is fear. You don't have to fear man if you understand them. You don't have to fear becoming your father either." A liesurely shrug rolled his shoulders. "Don't worry about babbling. It's good to get shit off your chest. I mean, when I see people praying to the gods, isn't that what they're doing? Letting things go, giving them over to a world they don't understand and circumstances they can't control. Must be why prayer is so comforting." Dante put his goblet over the top of the decanter and turned to the doors. He could feel the tension and apprehension wafting off the Maester. "I don't like this room, it's weird. Food should be ready by now, let's take a walk down to the dining hall."


Flintlock: Lysander looked at his cousin gratefully as he refilled his and his own goblet once more. Raising the goblet to his lips, he took a long gulp in an attempt to stop, or at least slow the racing thoughts in his head. It didn't seem to be working. It seemed as if he would have to get outright drunk to achieve his goal. He played around with that thought, and then looked to Dante. Was he comfortable enough with this man to get drunk with him? Lysander didn't get drunk with just anyone, after all. With inebriation came a sort of vulnerability. One dropped their guard when they were intoxicated. They told the unfiltered, uncensored truth. It was quite the thing to behold. Did he like Dante enough to go to that state with him? The answer appeared in his head a moment later. Yes. Yes, he did. This conversation alone had been the most stimulating conversation he had had in a while, and the Lord Paramount was grateful for that. He trusted the prince. He wondered if it were proper etiquette to get drunk, however. Probably not. He certainly knew that Dante's Maester would disapproved. Roderick, his own personal guard, would disapprove as well; give him a good chewing out on the boat ride back home. Lysander didn't really care, however. He had been through the grizzled man's speeches time and time before. He could go through another. Lysander took another smaller sip of the slightly bitter wine as he listen to his cousin respond. His words caused his mind to race even faster. He was right, of course. The Valeman liked to think that he understood man. Well, most of them, anyway. Like in the case of his father.... Well, never mind. That man was on the strictly do not understand list. He had lost Lysander's mother, yes, but that was no excuse to abandon everything. Lysander lost his own love, and yet, he was still here, doing what needed to be done. The Warden shook his head bitterly as he took another sip of the wine. At the prince's point about praying, the Lord Paramount nodded. Yes, he did suppose that was what praying was all about. He had never found conciliation in it, however. He didn't know why. Well, he did know why. Before today, he had had a burning hate for the gods within him. Now, the burning hate was still in him, but he felt as if it wasn't gripping him anymore. He could let it go if he wanted to. Beforehand, it felt like it wasn't his choice. Lysander was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of his cousin turning to the doors. At his words, Lysander nodded and gave a slight smile to Roderick, who had a frown on his face. "That sounds lovely. And I quite like this room, thank you very much. But lead the way."


Judge: Dante stood in silence, his eyes staring over his cousin's head,  as everything he said seemed to tumble through Lysander's mind. He felt the need for a change of scenery and subject matter rising as Lysander escaped into his goblet time and time again. They were going to need more wine. Just as he turned to head of the room, he saw the green eyes of his visitor refocus on the world in front of them. "The doors of the throne room have been open for two full days now. Other than to clean it, no one has been in that room for years. It's just strange, I suppose, a strange and daunting beauty." With a light shrug, Dante continued out of the room and down a long hall where the doors just as big as the throne room were open. Like the throne room, these doors hadn't been opened since their arrival on Dragonstone. It was easier to just use the side and servants doors but that wouldn't have been appropriate for a guest, or so he was told. The dining hall had a great stone table and heavy stone stairs covered in intricate cravings of dragons and fire. There wasn't a cloth on the table but the napkins had been dug out of some long preserved trunk for just an occasion such as this. Dante had only seen them once before, when the Maester had made a grand deal out of Rhaelle and Kainen's first arrival, but Rhaelle would have none of it and the day after they resumed life as though they didn't have guests. Inside the doors, Dante hesitated. He usually just flopped down in whichever chair he gravitated to but he couldn't do that this time. Maester Crone pushed past him, his old bony shoulder lightly knocking into Dante's arm as he nodded toward the head of the table. That set the Lord of Dragonstone in motion toward the chair. Putting down the decanter of wine, he nodded to the seat at his left for Lysander to take. "Sit, all of you, please." Just as he finished speaking the sound of running could be heard coming down the hall. "I'm telling!" a young girl's voice could be heard a moment before she bolted into the room, darting past everyone and right into Dante's leg. Behind her was a young boy, a head taller than her brown curls. "I didn't hit her that hard. She wanted to play warriors." He screamed at the back of her head. Without missing a beat, Dante dropped to his knees and wrapped an arm around each child. He hadn't missed Crone's wide disapproving eyes. "Josie, you can't play warriors and not get hit." "But I'ma girl!" "That isn't how it works." She frowned but the little farmer boy stuck his tongue out. "No more warriors for today. I need cooks and pretty little maids to impress my guests." He said, nodding toward Lysander, who they'd zoomed right past. Placing a hand on both their heads, Dante stood up, as they bowed and curtsied. "Go on, now, help your parents, please." A soft 'Yes, sir', lingered behind them as they left in pretty much the same haste that had brought them to the room. Shaking his head, Crone stepped up to Dante's side, but his goading about not letting children do that was waved off as Dante sat down. "They're children. Leave them alone."


Flintlock: At Dante's response, Lysander simply nodded. He had to agree. There was an ancient beauty to the room, to the castle in general. It was a beauty that was quite rare in Westeros, and Lysander quite liked it. He knew that the Eyrie was something to behold, certainly, but he had to admit, he was a bit jealous of Dragonstone. For one, it was enormous. It didn't lack in size at all, which could not be said for the Eyrie, which was the smallest of all the major seats. Lysander didn't mind, persay. He actually quite enjoyed the size of the Vale's castle. It was just when you looked at it in comparison to fortresses like this, then you felt a bit daunted. The Valeman knew he had no reason to feel this way. It wasn't very rational, after all. He still felt it, however. Two, the history of this place was, quite frankly, far more interesting than the history of the Eyrie. The lore behind it all was something that Lysander ate up like grapes. The Lord Paramount followed the prince out of the room down a long hallways that ended in doors just as big as the ones that hid the throne room. As they walked, Lysander's gaze roamed, taking in as much as he could. Yes, this trip wasn't something he was going to forget anytime soon. The architecture was beautiful and unique, maybe even a bit terrifying, what with all the carvings of dragons and war and flames. He liked it, however. As they entered the dining room, Lysander's wonder was only multiplied. A stone table? He loved it. The carvings? He loved it. He was positively gleeful with all that he was seeing right now. He was like a kid at a sweets stand. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but one he was enjoying immensely. He moved to advance further into the rooms, but then he paused, seeing the way Dante hesitated at the entrance. Did he not know where to sit? Lysander found himself smiling. Of course he didn't. He bet that usually, the prince didn't care where he sat. He probably just sat wherever was closest. He watched on in amusement as the Maester had to indicate which seat he had to sit at. Lysander turned his eyes away from the prince and once more to his surroundings as he made his way to his seat. He looked back to the prince just in time to see him nod to the seat to his left. Lysander nodded and made his way to the seat before sitting down with smooth, graceful motions. Just as he was settled in, the sound of running could be heard. A curious brow quirked, he looked toward the hall, where the running was coming from. His curiosity was sated seconds later as he heard a child's voice call out. His eyes widened slightly at that. Children. Oh, he didn't do well with children. They had the tendency to not like him, which was fine. Lysander didn't like them either. The feeling was mutual. Still, he hoped that he didn't get into a tift with these children. It would be a shame if this lovely visit was cut short because he threatened to chop the children in the throat. A second later, two children burst into the room, running past everyone and immediately heading to Dante. Lysander listened to the situation with amusement. Of course Dante was the one they would go to to fix problems such as these. He knew someone's heart strings were being pulled, however. He glanced away from the situation and to Roderick, who was sitting two seats down from the Lord Paramount. His brown eyes had melted, and he was looking at the children with adoration plain on his face. Yup. Roderick was won over now. Anyone who treated children well were alright in his books. Lysander had to stifle a chuckle as he looked between his guard and the prince. There would be no problem there anymore. At the mention of guests, Lysander turned and gave a quick wave and small smile to the children. He could be civil, after all. He watched as the situation was quickly resolved and the two children ran off once more, seemingly to do as the prince told them to do. He wasn't surprised when the Maester stepped up and began to speak into Dante's ear, probably telling him off for doing that in front of guests. Dante, however, as expected, simply waved him off before sitting back down. Raising his cup to his lips, Lysander took a hearty sip before speaking, amusement plain in his voice. "I envy your ability with children, cousin. Whenever I interact with them, the interaction always seems to end in a yelling match." He shuddered as he thought back on past instances. "Irrational and fickle things they are, children."


Judge: Maester Crone took his seat to Dante's right, while Dante fought the urge to sling a leg over the arm of his chair and slouch down. Instead, he filled the glasses once more and got up to pour out the last of the wine in the decanter in his maester's cup and that of Lysander's man. He'd missed Rodrick's look but did feel much less tension in the air when he poured the wine. Leaving it at the end of the table, he dropped back into his chair, slightly slouched but nothing like his usual. With a light chuckle, Dante shrugged. "Children are a lot like women. They don't really want your opinion, just a firm sentence or two that shows you're listening. Although, I have to say, most people who don't get along with children are either evil or childlike themselves." He paused, sipping bringing his goblet to his lips and taking a good swig before going on. "And I don't think you're evil, cousin." Laughing at his own joke, his arm rose to signal those had come to Dragonstone to help him that they could begin laying the table with all sorts of steaming vegetables and pastries. Then each man at the table was given a roasted pheasant, golden brown and wafting scents of rosemary and sea salt. A large cake was placed on the table, centered between the men and amongst the other trays. It was on a pedestal hovering above everything else and creamy filling between layers was Dante's favorite, blueberry, giving the cream a bluish purple tint. The prince waited for everyone to be served before he dismissed his makeshift staff. He was aware that the usual protocol was for them to stand on the sidelines and wait for his every whim or that of his guests, but they had everything they needed and one of the girls would be coming back to make sure their goblets stayed full. Once everyone had filed out and the room was still again, Dante took another drink of his wine and motioned to the food. "Usually, Ginny and I just go down to the shore and pull in the day's catch but I didn't know how your stomach would settle fish after such a long journey. Besides, this time of the year the pheasants are so fat on dragonfruit and grain that they can't even run when you hunt them. It gives a slightly sweet flavor to the meat." Motioning then to the food, he bid Lysander try it. He had thought to ask what food was like in the Vale but was immediately assaulted with a vision of his mother and the sound of her voice. "...pumpkins so big they could feel a family for a month." Dante remembered hating the idea of everything tasting like pumpkin for a month. That familiar sharp pain cut across his forehead, causing him to hiss and press his palm to his eye, cursing under his breath. It subsided as quickly as it came and the wash down of wine behind it, eased whatever left over throbbing pain might of lingered.

Lysander thanked his cousin with a hum as he lifted his glass to his lips. It was probably a good idea to slow down with the drinking, so he only took a light sip. He watched as Dante distributed the rest of the wine into the rest of the attendants around the room, including Rodrick's. The Lord Paramount focused in on the guardsman and arched a brow in a silent gesture of see? He's a goddamned sweetheart. In response, the man just flicked a finger in Lysander's direction as he raised the glass to his lips. Yeah, yeah, he's alright. Lysander smiled at the gesture before looking back to Dante, just as he returned to his seat.

Dante's response brought forth a rather undignified guffaw from the noble. As he laughed, he tapped two fingers to his chest, as if he were a fencer that was acknowledging his opponent getting a strike in. Yes, his cousin didn't just give as good as he got. He gave more, an admirable trait indeed. Lysander looked forward to the verbal sparring that was obviously going to be prevalent in their friendship. Lysander opened his mouth to riposte, but before he could, Dante motioned for the staff to bring in their food. The Baelish smiled as the decadence came into view. It all looked delicious, and he could say with the most certainty that he was going to be trying a bit of everything. Gods, he was going to walk out of here a few stones heavier, but it was going to be worth it, if the smell were any indication. His attention was torn away from the food when his cousin dismissed the staff, instead of allowing them to linger as was the norm. Another indication of his different approach to leadership. He glanced around to take note of the generally positive reaction from his own camp before looking back to the plate that had been set in front of him. He smiled. Yeah, he was definitely looking forward to feasting. His cousin's voice washed over him as he continued to stare at his plate, imparting foody explanations to him. He didn't want to be rude, but he really just wanted to stuff his face. He didn't realize he was so hungry until this moment, but now that he did know, it was only through a supreme act of will that he wasn't digging in at this exact moment.

Lysander looked to Dante, just as he motioned for him to try it. Without wasting a second, his fork and knife were in hand and he was carving into the deliciousness in front of him. In no time at all, he was chewing on a bite that was as delicious, if not more so, as his cousin described. Gods, he would have to ask his staff for the recipe for the visit was over. He was carving off another chunk of meat when a pained hiss sounded from beside him. Pausing in his motion, he looked at Dante, eyebrows furrowed as he took in his state. He instinctively opened his mouth to ask if the man was alright, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to overstep any unseen boundaries. So instead, he just speared some vegetable on a fork and chewed on them, giving his cousin the time needed to recover. Once he had, Lysander directed a smirk his way that was lightly tinged with concern. Regardless, he continued as he placed down his fork and idly reached for a pastry. "As I was going to say before we were so politely interrupted by this delicious food, you speak as if you have extensive experience with the lovely members of the opposite sex, cousin." He arched a devious brow, obviously implicative in his demeanor. But before he could reply, he continued, "And you're just jealous of my youthful gleam that you just simply do not possess. And for good reason. I mean, look at me. Anyone would be envious." He lifted the pastry and took a bite, smirking. Not a second later, a scoff was heard from the other end of the table, where Rodrick sat. The man in question was stifling a smile in his goblet of wine. Lysander pouted at him and pointed at him with his pastry. "Rude." Rodrick simply smirked before taking a bit of his pheasant. The Baelish looked back to Dante. "He's jealous too. You both are jealous together. Enjoy the camaraderie."

Smiling at his cousin's laughter, as it rang through the room, Dante cut his eyes to the Maester. Sure enough, the old man was wearing a look of worry. He didn't mind Dante making new friends. In fact, Dante suspected he really wanted him to make friends in high places. There were a few times he suggested that he if and "the other" were going to insist on darting off across the Narrow Sea, he might as well make useful friends. Of course, the Maester's idea of useful and Dante's were completely different. Right now, though, it looked like the Maester was more worried that Dante might be a bad influence on Lysander than being grateful they were getting along. Dante could see the wheels of the old man's mind turning. In a petty turn of the tables, it was Maester Crone that was avoiding eye contact this time. To that, Dante laughed softly to himself and let the old man have his thoughts. He was more than sure he would get an ear full of what not to do while Lysander was here all over again later in the night. For the moment, though, he was just happy the tension that had been clinging to the walls in throne room was starting to unwind, not just with him but with the others in the room too.

The Lord Paramount's reaction to the meager meal that had been prepared for him was not at all what Dante expected. He'd taken to the wine, sure, but wine was wine. Once it started taking effect the taste didn't really matter. The little Valemen looked like he was about to start making sex noises, which prompted both the Maester and his man to taste the food too but the Prince left his untouched for the moment. He knew what they were tasting. Ginny had been working hard to pick only the best birds and left them marinating for two days. Dante's knuckles were still a little raw from being slapped with her twig-like fingers each time she caught him picking at something. He was gonna have to tell her how well her meal was received. He'd be proud to tell her. The thought made him shift in his seat. He was curbing the urge to run down to the kitchen and tell her right that second. It was one of the habits that Crone was trying to weed out of him. He had no decorum. Whenever something struck him, he went with it. Old Crone tried hard to keep some order in the castle and keep Dante on a path of acting like a prince but with so little staff and the prince having no real matters to attend too, it kept falling through the cracks. By all other standards of nobles, Dante was a wild child. Even his Baratheon cousins didn't run off to show their maids and squires when they found something interesting.

He'd tell her later. Later when everyone was asleep and they drank tea by the hearth in the kitchen and soaked her swollen feet.

Lost in thought, half sipping his wine, his head slowly subsiding from the throbbing, Dante nearly snorted the liquid up his nose when Lysander spoke about him knowing women. The liquid ran down his face and he quickly scrubbed it off, his goblet wobbling on the table as he scrabbled for a napkin. The Maester cut him a hard stare as if warning him to move far away from the subject immediately. His boney fingers were pressed so hard against his silverware, if it had not been metal it would have snapped.

Dante coughed, flushed red and shook his head. "I.. uh..." Thankfully, his cousin had continued the joke, so he laughed... awkwardly and nodded. "In the right light, cousin, you'd be as beautiful as any pale woman I've ever seen." He tried to smile there but his nose was burning from taking the wine up the nose instead of down his throat, so he scrubbed his face once more with the napkin while Lysander and his man did their exchange. When Lysander finished speaking, he looked to new comrade and smirked, rolling his shoulders. "What I wouldn't give to for that youthful gleam and lithe little body to slip in and out crowds unseen. Sadly, I'm broad and tall and spotted from miles away so all my excursions go in one direction."

With a huff, the Maester craved into his bird, grumbling under his breath. Dante laughed, and without thinking, reaching for a the leg of small bird, ripped it off and took a bite. The old Crone went wide eyed and stomped under the table prompting the Pauper Prince to sit up, drop the leg and pick up his knife and fork.

The Paramount's immediate reaction to his cousin choking was that of concern, but when he saw that all he did was accidently snort the wine, seemingly in embarrassment from the goading, that concern took a 180 and turned into a sort of evil glee. Smirking in pure mischief, Lysander resisted the urge to snicker. So obviously there was something there. Maybe the man was just uncomfortable with the prospect of sex, at least in an overt way, but the smaller man had an inkling that it wasn't that. Maybe he was just a virgin and was embarrassed by that? But he didn't really seem like the type for that. This was most intriguing. He would certainly have to dig deeper at a later date, if for nothing else than to have more ammunition for their little verbal jabs. The thought made him want to snicker again, but instead, he just continued on with his joking.

By then, Dante seemed to have regained some semblance of alrightness, and was able to return in kind, all the while scrubbing at his face with a napkin. All the while, the Baelish took note of the prince's Maester, who seemed very concerned with making sure Dante presented himself in a certain way. It made him want to roll his eyes in goodhearted annoyance. He understood the impulse. It was trained into the Maester, after all. It existed in all Maesters, as a matter of fact. Didn't make it any less annoying, especially with his own Maester. He shuddered at the thought of the old bastard. He tried to stay away from him as much as possible, only talking to him when it was absolutely necessary. And even then, he tried to make their interactions as short as possible. It was actually a bit of a running joke within the Eyrie. If anyone wanted to garner a visceral reaction of discomfort slash annoyance from the little Lord, all they had to do was mention the Maester in conversation. Just to watch him squirm. How loyal and caring his subjects were, to enjoy such discomfort from their Lord. Lysander wanted to chuckle at the thought.

The Baelish turned to Dante, and at his slightly underhanded compliment and lament about the difference in their sizes, he was about to respond, but before he could, Dante had to go and breach whatever imaginary rules his Maester had in his head. This drew forth the ire of the old man, who manifested in a stomp that was far less subtle than he probably intended it to be. Lysander just chuckled as he watched his cousin scramble to correct himself, all the while sipping at his goblet of wine. He enjoyed the sight for a few seconds before deciding it was time to intervene. This just simply wouldn't do. Dante didn't have to put on a show for him. Who was he? He was just a little Lordling. Plus, they were family. If one had to perform in front of even their family, then something was wrong indeed. Clearing his throat, he cut his amused gaze over to the Maester and spoke in a light manner. "Good Maester, I mean you no offense, but leave the poor boy alone. He's two seconds away from panicking." He directed a smirk at Dante before returning his gaze to Crone. "I assure you, I'm not here to assess how properly Lordly our dear Dante here is. But good news! You and Rodrick would get along famously with how much you two worry about your charges. I should leave him here for a bit, and perhaps he could learn to worry even more effectively." Rodrick's head snapped up then, a glare aimed at the Baelish, who simply smirked wider in response.

With that handled, he turned back to Dante. "Speaking of proper lording and all that, I have a question that's been bouncing around the back of my head." He swirled the wine in his goblet around as he regarded the Prince, his gaze slightly more serious and curious now. "You mention that there are others that wish to see you on the Iron Throne in lieu of your brother. That certainly makes sense, considering he's raving, stark mad. But from what I've seen so far, and apologies if I'm speaking presumptuously or out of turn, you don't seem to have any intense desire yourself to be on that throne." He placed his goblet down then and weaved his fingers together before pressing them to his own chin in a considering gesture. "If those other people's wishes were to evolve into reality, would you even want to be king?"

Slowly, Maester Crone shifted his gaze from Dante to their visiting Lord Baelish. His eyes were squinted at Dante and began to relax as he looked to the Lord. After a long moment of silence and staring as if truly assessing him for the first time, Maester Crone's thin old shoulders visibly relaxed. He flexed his fingers along the flatware, nodded to Lysander and said, "I see." It was soft and contemplative, not at all like his authoritative stares and grunts. He cut a slice of his meat slowly and speared it with their two pronged fork before making eye contact again. His dark eyes were deep-set under his unruly brows. "I'm sure our young Prince is quite thankful for that. However..." His voice trailed off, deciding better than to further his thought. Instead, he speared the Lord of the Vale with a hard look and said sternly, "Don't take too kindly to his lax manner, it will get you no where on the mainland."

Dante snorted, trying to keep in a laugh at the exchange. The old man was so set in his ways. There was no changing him. He had to hold onto something, some sense of control. Dante knew he meant well. He wanted what was best for him, always. Since he was born. Dante was forgetting the faces of his mother and father, but he knew he would remember Maester Crone's face until the day he died. Mostly because he'd put a lot of those worry lines on the old man's face and turned what was left of his hair gray.

Rubbing his nose once more, Dante met Lysander's green gaze. He sighed as the conversation took a turn back to the carefully laid plans he had no idea about then dove deeper. He put down his flatware and leaned back in his chair letting his hands fall on the side of the arms of his chair. Was he really that transparent? What did someone that who wanted to be king even look like? He couldn't remember a time when Alexander had ever expressed wanting to be king. He just seemed to know it would happen and reveled in the power it would bring. Even though he was much younger than Alexander, Dante had known his desire to be king, or his resignment to his fate, had been because he thought he would bring people closer to him. It was funny really, how much Alexander just wanted to be liked, to be loved, but did everything to make people fear and loathe him. Dante knew he wasn't that. He liked people and as far as he could tell they liked him too. Even though he was poor, he was still a prince and still technically the Lord of Dragonstone. Alexander had never stripped him of his titles. As the Lord of a desolate little rock, Dante was still responsible for the people who lived and in a sense he still ruled over them but his rule was nothing like that of any other lord.

But it wasn't until Lysander posed the question that Dante really thought about it. Because he hadn't before. The thought that plagued him wasn't ruling the Seven Kingdoms, it was having to kill his brother. His own broken, battered, twisted, evil brother. At that point in time, sitting in the dining hall at Dragonstone, at eighteen, Dante had killed before. He'd killed several times. The first time had haunted him for months. It got easier. Maybe a little too easy but according to his cousin Rhaelle, if a man comes to kill you you don't let him walk away. Still, the idea of killing his brother, haunted him. He didn't want to do it. He knew it would leave a black spot on his heart like nothing else ever had. There was a small part of him that almost hoped seeing his brother in all his mad glory would make it easier but he still didn't want to do it. Did he want to reign was the question though. He didn't know, in all honesty.

Lifting a hand to his face, Dante rubbed it down and left his hand to rest on his chest and if he could find the answer in his heart. "To be honest," he started, vacantly staring at the space down the center of the long table, "if the world wanted someone else to rule after Alexander and they were good and just I would stay here. I would even let them banish me further and never look back." But the world didn't work that way. Rhaelle had literally beat that into him. "But I am the second born son, the brother of the mad king, so it falls to me and I will do my best." Blinking himself back to the room with everyone else, Dante turned his head and wondered aloud, "What does a man who wants to be king look like?"