07.17.3013: A Game is Afoot
Summary: High Lord of Khournas gives his son some news and has him make a choice about his future.
Date: 17 July 2013
Related: None
Jevon Nitrim 

Jevon's Study, Blackspyre, Volkan
It is a study.
July 17, 3013

The High Lord Jevon Khournas summoned his son from Ignis. It was a short and precise electronic mail that was merely stated Nitrim was required to return to Volkan and to meet his father in his study. It was merely signed 'J.' The High Lord's study is about as simple and straightforward as the High Lord himself. It is dark with simple wood. There is a view of the foundries below — red and smoldering. There are no pictures, but there is one of those infamous drake skulls that is used to prop up half of his massive desk. He is seated behind it, sipping on a dark Khourni ale, looking out across at Volkan while he waits for his son's arrival.

Having left his small collection of things back at Ignis with his knight in training, Nitrim shrugs his coat on and makes travel through the Ways back to Volkan. The rare and rather short summons from his Father is a rarity, which has settled into the pit of Nitrim's stomach like a raw, alien egg waiting to gestate and burst out of his chest. Making polite, quiet smiles to the faces he knows as he travels through the Blackspyre, he comes to the door of the study and turns the handle. Stepping inside, he raps on the door's frame twice to get his father's attention, and then closes the door behind him. "Father? You wanted to see me?"

Jevon grunts at his son's entrance, turning in his seat to face him just as he takes another swallow of ale. "Get a drink," he says gruffly before he sets down his own pint glass. He picks up his tablet in turn, flicking his fingers across the screen to summon up a document. He glances over it, giving his son a long and perhaps anxiety-inducing moment to pour himself his own glass of ale from the stash near the hearth. He glances up after a moment. "So, you're going to bet getting wed, son," he finally says.

Jevon, or better yet, his study is probably lucky that Nitrim has spent years honing his ability to maintain composure under duress. Bottle in hand, he looks down the plane of his shoulder to his father at his sudden announcement, and flattens his lips. Pausing for a moment as the command is given, he pours the bourbon into the glass and replies wryly as he sets the bottle back on the shelf. "I'm doing well, thank you." Nitrim lets a bit of daring sarcasm slip as he moves to the chair across from the man. With a heavy, hardened brow, he looks to his father's face. "Is there something that predicated this move? Reward? Punishment?"

"I know you're doing well," Jevon says with a smirk. "You don't think that Lady Grantham and I don't keep in contact with each other." He took another thick swallow of the ale, leaning back in his chair to judge his son with those piercing steel-colored eyes. He smirks a bit. "I'd say after Lady Soleil Sauveur kept sneakin' around as if she's some kind of slick bitch was a good prediction." He flicks his fingers across the screen once more. "So, I'm marrying you off to her."

Well. It's one of the few compliments that Nitrim has received from the man in a while, which brings a tug of his cheek and a glimmer of confidence from the young Khourni drake. The second announcement gets a twitch of his eyebrow. He straightens in his seat just a little and takes a sip from his glass of bourbon. "Well, Father, I can't exactly say that this something I'm going to fight you on." He admits, trying not to seem too pleased. "Far better news than some poncey-ass Valen girl." A beat. "Did I cause a disturbance with her family, with the rumors and the tabloids? I ask because…I'd like to know if this is an amends or a boon."

Jevon shrugs his broad shoulders. "You're the only marrying into her House, you can figure it out," he says with a smirk. "Though you can warn whatever son or daughter you have that more than a one-night fuck earns you a marriage." He takes another swallow of his ale, breathing out a sharp exhale. "But, that isn't all I summoned you here for. You've got some choices to make."

The way that Jevon words his response is a slow I.V. drip of bitterness into Nitrim's system. "I'll be sure to remind them of that, Father." The slight raise to the corner of his lip fades and his eyes grow cold, settling onto his father's. Squaring his jaw while he takes a drink from the tumbler of bourbon, he swallows and bares his teeth to avoid sighing with the burn of the alcohol to the back of his throat. Bourbon against the arm of the chair, he tilts his head. "More choices, the now as a Sauveur kind, aye?"

"Somethin' like that. Two of 'em in fact," Jevon says as he leans back in his seat. "I figure I'm gonna lay them out on the table, all even like, so you don't go chosing the one I don't prefer because you want to be a little itch on my ass." He taps his fingers idly against his tablet. "One… you finish out your knight training with Sir Jacob Grantham. You spend however long it takes you to earn your spurs while betrothed to Lady Soleil. Once you get knighted by Sir Jacob's assessment, the Sauveurs throw you a wedding." His heavy brows arch as he tosses a document across his tablet's screen, bringing up the second. "Or, you prepare for a wedding in the upcoming months, you marry her, and you get some eyes and ears in the Royal Tower and make sure your cousin Lord Magnus isn't trying somethin' that I'm gonna have to fucking fix. Or worse." He looks over his tablet's edge now, leveling those pale eyes on Nitrim without a falter.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Nitrim blinks, almost in disbelief as he looks down to the scant view of his father's tablet from the distance across from them. The insolence has been figuratively slapped from across his face as Nitrim shifts in his seat, motioning to the electronic device. He brushes the back of his hand across the front of his nose, dangling his glass of bourbon. "I've been wondering if the Princess arrangement was your move or not. Her accompaniment is going to catch on fucking fire if they act on the rumors that she's not happy about it. It's bad enough half of the other houses lost hard in the Regnant deal."

Jevon bursts out a hard, sharp laugh. "The Princess arrangement was not my doing. You think I want to fucking deal with that?" The High Lord shakes his head, tossing his tablet carelessly on his desk. "Someone else arranged that, convinced Emund it was a profoundly ingenius idea, and dumped it at my feet. You think I was gonna tell the Regnant I don't want her anywhere near my blood?" He grimaces sharply. "Your sisters keep vouching for you." Which also means he's been listening. Miracle, right?

Nitrim tilts his head, putting on a playful, sarcastic tone. "I don't know, Father, drag her to where you can see her, get her out of the game and out of Emund's hair, have her on hand in the event that the houses that love her want to cause problems…on your doorstep or not, I figure that's what the other houses are going to think." Eyebrows flitting, he coughs into his hand and scoots forward on his chair, sipping once again. For the first in a long time, he looks to his father with esteem. "You have daughters to be proud of. I, however, am not going to sit and wait for whatever this is to blindside us." He frowns, brushing a hand through his hair with a sigh. "I've been doing good work as Sir Flint's squire, work I'm proud of but…this is a more present danger."

Jevon grimaces. "I'm not worried about Janelle…" He taps his fingers against the glass once more, looking down into the sludge of foam that remains at the bottom. "She plays the long game, and what's happening in that Tower isn't her style. Someone else is making moves, even against her." He shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't want to fucking postulate. I want facts." He rolls his shoulders. "Get in good with the Sauveurs and maybe they'll find some Knight to continue your training," he offers. "The one thing that the Granthams don't do well is playing this game, and right now, we need all the fucking pieces we can on the board."

"Anabethe worked hard with Sir Flint and Lady Devon to put together the squiring. The Ash Legion and I have become close. There's…" Nitrim trails off, eyes turning away from his father as he looks to the wall, tracing a circle into his glass of bourbon. The Crone. He frowns. "…they're going to ask why, so we'd better be prepared to explain this, and like you they aren't the type to mount on bullshit. They know I was happy where I was." Nitrim downs the last of his bourbon and rises, grabbing his father's pint for him as he goes to refresh their drinks. "I'll get you your facts, Father. The last thing I want is my family in danger."

Jevon snorts. "Well, I'm sure that your sister can smooth things out with the Granthams. I hear she's already getting rather cozy with Sir Jacob." The High Lord keeps his gaze level on his son, steel-colored eyes burning into his son's opposite hues. Then he surrenders his glass to Nitrim to refill, and he leans back in his seat. "I'll handle talking to Lady Marah. If she decides she wants to loan Sir Jacob out to the Sauveurs to continue your training, she can, but she isn't fucking dense enough to assume this is some slight against her House."

"Don't believe everything you hear, Father. Rumors are rumors, and half of the shit they print about me wasn't real. They get along, but I don't know how cozy they are." Nitrim starts, cracking open some fresh ale for his father and pouring it into the glass, his back to the High Lord. Ale poured, he quickly refreshes his bourbon and reseats himself, offering the pint glass over the small table. "And of course, this means, I'll have to continue straightening my act like I have been. The Sauveurs won't trust an imbecile unless he's useful, so don't be surprised when you see me liking being a Saveur, understand? Besides, I like this girl."

"I don't rumormonger, Nitrim," Jevon says dryly to his son, his tone quite precise. Then he shrugs his shoulders. "Well, then, you should be the one that tells Sir Jacob what the deal is." Because he apparently believes either Anabethe or Nitrim is the one to deliver the news directly to the Knight. "He gets his panties in a twist, you just tell him he can talk to me." Then he starts to smirk. "And your cousin Marus seems quite happy to be married to a Sauveur. You aren't the first Khournas to be sent to the Royal House." Then he shrugs his shoulders. "I'll respond to Prince Rennic, tell him he can send the banns to H.N.N. for announcement. The Sauvuer House is hoppin' with weddings, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and be ready, because with the Hand, then Lord Magnus, and now this I'm going to have to put up with a lot of speculation about a power-grab." Nitrim replies with a pair of flattened lips. Leaning back against his chair, he presses the glass to his forehead and starts thinking. His heavy, buckled-and-strapped boot thumps against the floor. "Alright, I'll break it to Sir Flint and I'll tell him that you asked me directly to be a steady mind in Landing and that the path of me becoming a knight isn't over, it's just on hold while other things sort themselves out." A sigh crosses his lips as he realizes he's just thrown himself off of a major turning point in his life, something he can't fail to commit to. He rises from his seat. "If you knew I liked her, Father, thank you. There are other Sauveur than Soleil. I won't let you down."

"Remind Sir Jacob that you're young, and that there will be more opportunities for him to raise you up to Knighthood if the Sauveurs decide to allow it." After all, once the vows are made, Nitrim is no longer his responsibility. He does smirk a bit as he mentions Soleil and whether or not Jevon knew. "Nor am I fucking blind," Jevon says as he shuffles through the stuff on his desk once more. Then he nods his chin a bit. "The banns will be announced tomorrow. Best get to it." He smirks up at his son before he becomes absorbed by other High Lord business.

"Thanks for the head start. One last question, though." Nitrim says on his way to the door, pausing to look back to his father as he places his hand on the doorknob. "Is this negotiation between you and the King Regnant or you and Prince Rennic himself?" Nitrim pauses. "Who initiated it?"

"It is between myself and Prince Rennic," Jevon says without looking up at first. Though at the second question, he does lift his gaze toward his son briefly. "I initiated it."

Nitrim's eyes lock onto his father's for a long, drawn-out moment before he slowly nods to the man and pulls the door open. "Be safe, Father." He says with an upwards nod to his father, omitting whatever the reason for his question was from his parting words. Whatever understanding the two have brokered, Nitrim is taking it before something breaks it. He closes the door behind him.

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