[right][H3]Volantis[/H3]
[SUB]Collab [@LadyRunic] and Vanq[/sub][/right]






A drunkard and a fool. That was how the former pirate thought of Artys Arryn. He had deposited the despot into his rooms, thankfully not the gutter as he deserved. For all that his own manner was rather roguish, he had the wherewithal not to act like some common born plebian in front of those who could offer him some alliance to a great House. The Arryns could still have something great, if only he could get this brainless boy to see it. The lad, Aster, had taken to the maid and she to him. A better match would be hard put to find. That this fool had instead of looking within had found a marriage without. This could be fixed however, it had to be. For his advantage as well as the Arryn’s and Rahl’s.

His black boots clicked across the tiled floor, his clothing light and airy if still in the Westrosi style. A handsome look even if he thought it himself. The sidelong looks from the woman confirmed it. Reaching the tightly closed door, he adjusted the pitcher of water to his other hand and burst through them without care as to how he caught the lad. The heavy door closing behind him as he studied the room and leaned against the barricade to the world outside. His dark eyes considering if he needed to drench the lad to get his attention. If the man was still asleep, he would be awakened to the sudden fall of a great deal of water across him and his bedding. “You have had enough time to draw your head from the wine and pull it from your arse. That being said, I did bring something to help if you have not reached that point quite yet. Or do you wish to make yourself more of a fool to such a powerful and well-connected family as those of your hosts?” It seemed this boy was dense, so Damon took a while to underline the extent of this young idiot’s foolishness.

Time was difficult to gauge or understand. One moment it was songs in a language he didn’t recognize, and then cool marble floors and angry faces, and now some man in his face making his head pound and ache. “I don’t feel good.” 

He tried to focus but the room shifted. When had the drink overcome him? Damn the Seven, that cursed cup of wine they’d given him in the room with the water. Why wouldn’t everything just stop moving? 

He leaned forward, put his head in his hands and took several deep breaths. Damon, Damon Harroway, thought he could berate him? His fingers dug into his skull, or he wished they did. Artys groaned, in annoyance, in anger, in agony. “Water, please.” The thought both seemed his salvation and completely revolted him. 

[i]Fuck this city.[/i] He’d do anything to end this agony, they weren’t even supposed to be here. “Fuck, give me whatever you have.” 

Damon glared at  the man and considered, before pouring some of the water from a pitcher, that he hadn’t thrown over the man, into a goblet and thrusting it into Artys’s hands. “Good, then I’ll give you a piece of my mind then.” His voice was not a roar but a icy chill. “Starting with how you insulted your hosts and infected yourself with the Scratch, to potentially tossing the best damn marriage alliance which would give you access to a House that has good ties with the Baelrys and a happy bride.” He resumed leaning against the pillar of the bed and glared at the man. “Which would you like to start with? Yourself, your aunt, your hosts or your gems- or potential lack thereof?”

He gulped the water, so quickly and so deeply that it took a few seconds to realize the water was gone and he was only gulping air. It had done nothing to end the agony. Instead, it had indeed worsened. Why did he have to yell? Artys had only been trying to finally get something, anything, done on this stupid thing his father had demanded of him. But…his face blanched and his hand unconsciously traveled from kneading at his head to his crotch. “No, I can’t, that’s…” So what if he had five brothers, and at least one uncle who’d probably be married soon enough. The Arryn line was secure but…”I can’t lose my fuckin’ bits!” 

He bit his tongue in the exclamation and cursed more under his breath. The rest of what Damon said jostled him even as he despaired that he’d be nineteen and had the last fuck of his life. His family’s piety seemed to laugh at him and his situation. “How was I supposed to know? How?” He managed to stand, unsteadily, and poured himself another cup of water from the pitcher. He was sloppy but at least managed to fill the cup even if the same amount was cast to the floor.Artys gulped it down just as greedily. It vaguely cleared his head. “I need to fix this.” Yes, he did not need anyone back in the Vale learning of anything but of how successful he had been. 

“Luckily if it’s just the bugs? You won’t lose them, just the respect of any woman you sleep with and no wife will share your bed willingly. You’ll be a laughing stock. That you scratched your… in front of Lady Rahl?” Damon smiled cruelly. “Though in answer as to how? You should have used your head and not the one you’re too fond of. If you had taken one look you could have seen the two dote upon one another, but you were too busy getting drunk and diseased. Your father will sneer forever more about that fact. Plus, you’ve insulted your hosts by selling your aunt to their rivals. Talk about starting a war in Volantis.” He wondered absently, deciding to beat it into Artys’s head that he was a useless fool.

This time, when he went to fill the cup again, the frustration instead erupted and he threw it - drunkenly ill-aimed - towards Damon. His voice rose, but worse, it cracked as he screamed back. “You’ve been perfectly clear that you think I’m a fucking idiot. Be. Useful. If you’re so sevens’ damned brilliant.” 

The cup missed, no where near Damon or where Artys had aimed. But the young man trembled, his fist clenched and unclenched, and the outburst was quickly swallowed up by regret. “Help me.” No matter that he tried to phrase it as a demand, as a future lord paramount ordering about a lesser lord, it could only be heard for what it was. A plea, a cry for aid, at any cost. 

Damon sneered and scoffed at the little fool. Thought him a idiot? That was being polite. “First, break the betroval you made with that other house and have your aunt wed to Aster Rahl. Apologize to your hosts and your aunt for it.” Pausing he amended his words. “First? Go see a healer for the Scratch. Then get that taken care of. Your sheets and bed will probably be burned.” He remarked. “After that… Well, you will owe me lest your father learn of how disasteredly you nearly screwed your fortunes.” He wanted to strangle the lad to make his point, but to touch him… Well, Damon did not want the Scratch himself. “Throw another thing at me, Arryn, and you’ll be seeing how nice it is to fly.”

Artys took a few pacing steps in a circle before sinking back into the chair Damon had originally dropped him in. Why was everything so difficult? “Help me end the match peacefully and get the Rahls’…forgiveness.” He stuttered over the word. Why had none of this been his own idea? “And I will owe you whatever you want.” He groaned again, a new wave of nausea upon him. “Go, I'll burn the bed tomorrow.” He wanted to retch and then pass out and maybe when he woke up this would all have been a dream. 

“Today, and if you man up enough to end the match and beg forgiveness? I'll make sure no one sticks a knife in your back and your gems stay…. Attatched.” Damon ordered ruthlessly. “Time to learn you are not a Lord Paramount's heir here and I hold far more sway.”