Jorian Storm's Manse

Hearing that his friend, Sergio Delinaal, had returned home, Jorian sent a message to Sergio's manse, inviting him to visit for drinks.

Jorian has the servants lead Sergio in, and greets him warmly, his arms open to offer an embrace.

"Sergio! Welcome home!"

Jorian kissed Sergio on both cheeks and grinned.

"You are older than I, and neither of us are old men yet," he said, in a playful tone. "I have been here a year. My additional dealings here have been quite beneficial. What can I get you to drink?"

"Just a little bit of work on the side, nothing special," Jorian said, with a wave of his hand as he went to a nearby cabinet and plucked out a bottle of wine and two goblets.

"You have been gone too long," he said, deftly opening the bottle and filling the glasses, passing one to Sergio before sitting down near him. "You were missed."

He gave Sergio a flirtatious look as he sipped the wine.

Jorian sat in a relaxed position, cradling the bowl of his goblet in one hand. He thought for a moment, taking a pondersome breath.

"The Iron Bank grows more annoyed with the Crown each day. There has been an influx of Westerosi coming to Braavos, trying to avoid the current conflict. Daario and Celine got married at last. And the parties just haven't been as long or as fun in your absence."

Jorian laughed at the last remark, but his face grew serious swiftly.

"I have also received word this week that my brothers have died, lost at sea."

Jorian was grateful for Sergio's hand, and squeezed it a little with a thin smile.

"I will, though it has come as a great shock. We were close, the three of us, even though I'm a bastard. They never treated me any less for it."

He took a deep drink of his wine and looked into the distance.

"Though, it is bringing a change to that. My father... well, the man I call father, wishes me to return to Westeros soon. He wishes to make me heir to Tarth, since his trueborn sons are gone. There is an ugliness to it, for me to benefit from the loss of my beloved brothers. I am not sure how I feel about it. There is also the matter that I have spent more of my life here than in Westeros. And with the way things are there right now..."

He trailed off, and looked back to Sergio, his violet-flecked sea green eyes sad.

"Then it is worse than I thought," Jorian sighed. "Well, since I will be headed for calamity, can you, perchance recommend any eligible noble maidens?"

"Yes, I heard of that quite recently. It made me glad to be in Braavos, briefly..." Jorian replied.

"My father has allowed Maekar to amass ships at Tarth, so he is undoubtedly on that side of things, though it surprises me. He will likely expect me to do the same."

Jorian took another drink of wine.

"He and I will both have to court his favour if I am to be legitimised."

"That was close to my thought also," Jorian nodded. "Baratheon has declared for Maekar, so I expect my father and then myself will be forced into line with them eventually, but I really don't feel like gambling on this one."

"You speak truly," Jorian replied. "Perhaps I can convince father to make his petition without me, though that does run the risk of him making promises on my behalf. Promises with which I may not concord."

He leaned his head backwards a little looking at the ceiling;

"What a mess that place is. When I left, there was a war on. And now, I am being called back, and there is a different war. They cannot even manage six months of peace."

"Whereas I, were it not for duty, would prefer to be alive, safe, and quietly wealthy. A drink in my hand, and some pretty young thing in my lap."

He smiled wryly.

"Sounds like a ghastly fate," remarked Jorian.

"Who would you back, of the contenders?"