(1866-10-29) A Match for the Chancellor's Son
A Match for the Chancellor's Son
Summary: Guillaume Tyres is informed by his father, Chancellor Frederick Tyres, and Councillor Mattias Thynne, that a bride has been found.
Date: 1866-10-29
Related: The Councillor and the Queen. Also, it's the first of three logs from Guillaume's birthday: the others are here and here.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Frederick  Guillaume  Mattias  

Four Corners - Darnis Palace

Unlike the fabulous manses of the Nobility of Aequor and Galenthia with their portraits of consanguine royalty lining the halls and the smell of vaunted history oozing up out of the walls and floors, the palace of Four Corners gleams with new, dangerous vigor. Polished ironwood floors from Galenthia, silk wall hangings from Fiorello, intricate wool rugs and embellishments of milky ivory from Parthia, beautiful green glass from Kentaire, furnished lavishly and with no thought to expense… The colours are rich and dark, and the smell of rich dark tobaccos, amber and vetiver, chocolate and salt tug at the senses. Meals are served on plates of gold-painted porcelain and drinks in crystal cut in diamond patterns, and everywhere there are vases of dripping red roses and bowls of sweet strawberries and portyguls.

Servants dressed in white move silently about their tasks, waiting faithfully on local Senators and council members, wealthy merchants and favoured guests. Banquet rooms and private chambers, halls softened from echo by thick carpets and doors with well-oiled hinges and polished brass fittings. Thick velvet curtains and alcoves to share a word in private. From outside will call the toll of the hour bells, but they seem a distant thing, muffled and alien to the luxurious hush… but despite all of this, it manages to somehow be just a little chilly in the Palace, as if the omnipresent green glass windows were leeching heat from the fireplace and bone alike.

Octobre 29th, 1866

It is early day in Darnis Palace, Four Corners, and Chancellor Frederick Tyres is hard at work. Despite the rumours, despite appearances and perceptions, the Chancellor of Four Corners, a prince in practice if not in title or blood, is a hard worker. His stooped, diminutive, portly appearance is just that - appearance. In reality, it is theatre, a shrewd ploy and game designed to both excite the rumour mill, disarm his enemies’ estimation of them and, partially, to amuse him. He walks confidently around his work chamber, back straight and not so short after all, eyes sober and always thinking.

Chancellor Tyres is the glue holding the Free City together, though in reality, it is more than just the city itself - a city state, a principality with vast, agriculturally rich hinterlands, a decentralised, laissez faire republic with the fabulously wealthy and sprawling port at its apex.

To Darnis Palace, then, the Chancellor who rules it all has called his son. He has chosen the early time of the day deliberately; he knows his son is usually asleep, or hungover, or both. Not only is it time to convey important news to his scion, but also teach him a lesson - never be caught off guard!

It is also a very special day of the year, although if this is indeed the reason for the Chancellor to summon his son remains to be seen. Guillaume Tyres knows his father well enough to be aware of a cunning mind hiding beneath the lecherous opium-addict facade. What he also knows is that his father has so far kept him out of his ploys of keeping the citystate together - apart from a previous marriage, to ensure a bond to another of those many merchant families of Four Corners.

The early time of the summons has indeed caused a slight delay, when the Chancellor's son had to be roused from his slumber, hungover - yes; in charming female company - no, not on this morning. Given it is his birthday, Guillaume may indeed have planned some extravagant diversion for later, to celebrate his 32nd birthday. A birthday, his father will probably have forgotten about, anyway.

A summons from the Chancellor is not to be delayed, and so the younger Tyres gets dressed, with the help of his master servant, Quenton. A doublet and breeches of dark purple samite are put on above a fresh shirt of white linen, a few drops of water splashed into his face that sports the usual negligently shaven stubble. Shave he does not. Deliberately. It would delay the meeting even more, would it not?

A kiss is given to his mother, Natalie Tyres, who waits for him at the door of the Tyres Manse, with a murmured "happy birthday, Guillaume" as she kisses him back on his cheek, her dark eyes flickering with sentiment as they watch him leave, with his two trusted bodyguards, in the direction of the Darnis Palace.

When Guillaume is shown into the room where his father awaits him, he is alone. A careful glance is given his father but then Guillaume's lips curve into a smile - a facade - as he greets the Chancellor with the confident display of a chuckle. "Good morning, father. You wished to see me?" The early time of day, the fact that he is not often summoned to the Palace. all of it points to something being afoot, and so Guillaume is on his guard indeed.

Uninvited, yet it is with an air of someone who should be present regardless that Mattias enters a short few moments after Guillaume. There having been enough time to be greeted by the father, for the Councillor would never seek to intrude upon that, at least for the time being, Mattias enters all too calmly and with a slight tilt of a smirk etched upon his lips. A gentle and deferential bow is offered towards the Chancellor and that smile broadens to a faint crinkling of the eyes as he sets his sights upon Guillaume also, “Chancellor.” The simple greeting offered with a tilt of the head, respectful and fluid as the black clad banker, clad within his black robes and adorned with his heavy gold chain of office steps further into the room.

“I see that Four Corners still stands, a testament to the hard work of our dour Gerrick and his men and of course our devoted Chancellor.” A brief smile, a flit of that gloved hand and the banker moves towards the desk to cast an appraising eye upon the papers laden upon it before diverting his path to lay claim to a nearby chair and into that warmth the be-gloved banker settles, his gaze flitting from Frederick to Guillaume and back again, “It would seem that Master Tyres here is to be wed and might I say…” Remembering that last conversation, Mattias looks to Guillaume, “She is beautiful, clever and full of fire. I think that in itself calls for tea…” A glance towards the servants, or the last direction in which a servant was witnessed gives the banker cause to twist within his chair.

Perhaps it was a lesson already learned, then. Frederick greets his son with a rather bland, neutral look; he is assessing his state, boring through him with constantly analysing eyes. After his son has greeted him, there is a moment of silence while the short man thinks, hands clasped behind his back. “It is morning indeed, my son, and good news I do have. News that the Minister here,” a hand flicks out from behind his back to motion to Mattias, “knows well, do you see? Though you’ve stolen my punch, it is as you say, Minister. This city of ours stands yet, even if our enemies wish it otherwise. And I will steward its bonds stronger.” He pauses, staring at his son. “Through you, Guillaume. Your ties will draw close the rift that the fool d’Armaz decided to tear open.”

Can it be that there is a slight hint of irritation flashing in the younger Tyres gaze when he half-turns and sees the Banker slipped in just after him? A glance he shoots then towards his father, an almost glare given Frederick, as if in silent reproach, suspecting him to have arranged this 'coincidental' meeting. The shadow of displeasure is gone as swiftly as it came, as he turns to greet the Councillor with reserved politeness. "Master Thynne. I had no idea you were already back from your business…", he intones, but before he can continue, the black clad man has already made his unsettling statement. "Am I?", two words that leave his lips, brought forth with a slightly incredulous chuckle. "Don't tell me, your mission was graced with success…" When indeed, it has been, obviously. Or the banker added those last words just for the delight of seeing Guillaume's reaction.

Attention shifts to his father, Guillaume meeting the assessing gaze of Frederick Tyres, one brow lifting as if in some unspoken challenge. "Good news…", an echo that lacks enthusiasm, when the Chancellor's son realizes that Mattias Thynne's announcement may be more than a cruel remark to indulge in his displeasure. Air leaves Guillaume's lungs, and his oh so confident posture threatens to slump a little. Even his smile dims when thoughts begin to race in his head, his gaze going distant for a moment, before they focus on Frederick again. Directing his question pointedly towards him, while outwardly ignoring Mattias Thynne who may still wait for his tea in the comfortable chair he has claimed as if he owned the place, Guillaume asks: "Who is it, I'm being sold to?". The tone outwardly casual, where it not for the slight tremble of indignation beneath the surface.

Never a man to hold back his thoughts, especially negative ones, Chancellor Tyres barks at his son, “Be a man, Guillaume! You’re not being sold. If anything, she’s being brought out here to you.” Frederick grabs his own doublet with the index and thumb of both hands, rubbing it between them. “Do you see this?” He reaches out to do the same to Guillaume. “And this? Who do you think you are? We’re Tyres; we treat on the same level as those nobles from elsewhere. What they took hundreds of years to attain, we, in Four Corners, have built up in a generation. It is they who are pleased to match with us, and so, a Lady of an illustrious, old house. In their minds, your children will be the scions of a family who has proven their worth from ruling and one that has all of their old trappings that they so love.”

Frederick’s expression is understandably haughty; he’s obviously referring to their own pseudo-house Tyres as the proven rulers. He chuckles. “Lady Milicent of House Avathor in Galenthia is her name. Minister, why don’t you tell my son a little bit about her?”

A hint of indignation flashes in Guillaume's gaze when his father reprimands him; even so he straightens, meeting the gaze of his cunning father with a mirthless chuckle. "Oh. I know. We are wealthy. We have power. You are the Chancellor." His eyes drop to where Frederick has a feel of the fine fabric of his attire. "And I am your son." He frowns, dark eyes lifting to meet those of his father. "And, of course! I can see why you are so keen on this match… to enhance our family with noble blood…" There is a slight tinge of reproach in his tone, some deeply rooted reservations towards his father boiling underneath - which, as so often, remain unvoiced, and rightfully so, when another cunning mind is listening. The younger Tyres is very well aware of the banker's gaze lingering on him, even if Guillaume does not spare him a glance at the moment. The name his father mentions to him, the name of the bride-to-be, does not ring a bell, and so Guillaume Tyres finally does turn to face the banker, one brow lifting in silent question, when Frederick encourages Mattias Thynne to elaborate on Guillaume's future wife.

There is a pause and a smile, albeit a quirk of a smile, a veritable twitch of amusement as the banker lifts his gaze to the young Tyres, “Lady Milicent Avathor, recommended by the Queen herself. She will of course retain her title and you shall of course gain none.” A gentle gesture of that gloved hand is followed by the faintest of twitches of those fingers that are so tightly bound within the leather, “She comes from a good and noble lineage, she is young and full of fire as I believe I mentioned, why give or take a few years and the Chancellor here shall be overrun by grandchildren seeking a spot upon his knee to be dandled. As to the details, they can easily be worked out… I am sure that all parties seek a suitably robust wedding in view of the One and all worthies who seek to latch upon such events like ticks and fleas upon a dog.” There’s a pause once more, “A pedigree breed of course.” His gaze unseeing and distant as it seeps up from Guillaume’s toes to the very tips of his ears.

“But wed you shall be, it was a most profitable time in Firen and I am pleased to have served in such a capacity. I am also pleased that such a match was found, she is lively and certainly not what one would expect for a noblewoman, but to see such a lively soul is a heartening thing and I speak as I find, you Master Guillaume will be happy. I made a promise to you before I left afterall did I not?” And with that said, Mattias falls silent and plucks at the left cuff of his robe, setting it just right before the cloth falls aside once more.

“My boy, frankly I don’t care if they have the blood of Parthian apes or northern ice bears in them. Their blood means nothing to us here, but it means everything to them and to the low classes in their kingdoms. Your children will be, for all intents and purposes, be as noble as they need to be to carry on the work we’ve done here.” Frederick laughs, a harsh, one note affair meant more as a punctuation mark than anything mirthful. “What is important is that the hole that the un-aptly named Minister of Trade tore asunder in his ill advised, self glorifying little war will be mended by the mingling of you and the Lady Avathor. And to think I trusted him! Bah!”

Understandably perhaps, that there is less amusement to be found in the younger Tyres' mien than in the face of the banker. The remark on titles elicits at first a slight twitch of Guillaume's brows, before he shakes his head ever so slightly, lowering his gaze, one corner of his mouth lifting as Mattias Thynne continues about the noble lineage of his future wife. A glance, perhaps holding a hint of hope, is shot Mattias' way when the man speaks of her youth and temper. "There are already grandchildren, and I see none upon your knee, father," this the Chancellor's son addresses towards the father in a slightly reproachful aside. A short "hah!" escapes Guillaume at the Thynne's use of the word 'robust' in reference to the wedding. His slightly fatalistic amusement increasing at the term 'pedigree breed', which draws a chuckle from his lips, somewhere between flattered and offended. "You did," he finally admits to the banker, "make a promise. And I see you came back with a hot-tempered young broodmare. Who am I to complain?" He pauses. “When will I meet her?”

His arms cross before him and Guillaume turns to face his father raising a brow. Only to glare at him in astonishment. "You don't care? Really? About the triumph to have your own blood matched to one of those degenerate noble Houses." He snorts. "I don't believe you. Either way…" and here his indignation fades a touch, into a slightly more sensible attitude. "I understand why this is necessary." His dark gaze meets the cunning eyes of Frederick Tyres. "We need to clean up the mess, one Viscount Adriono d'Armaz has brought upon us."

“Ah yes, broodmare, ever a term to bring a smile to the lips of one’s wife to be. You are quite a romantic Master Guillaume.” Mattias replies with a hint of amusement etched upon his lips as he pushes himself from his chair and takes but a moment to straighten his gold chain and robes, “The mess can wait till after, no one is going anywhere after all. Take the time to plan this wedding, revel in it and spend a good many days enjoying the company of your wife, she is indeed excellent company and were I the sort to find envy digging its claws into my soul, I would indeed find myself envious of your good fortune Master Tyres.” There’s a quirk of a smile, so brief and fleeting, “I am however happy for such a match and if there is anything I can do, you need but send word.”

With that said, Mattias nods to Frederick and then to Guillaume, “If you’ll excuse me. I believe the two of you have much to discuss.” And with that gentle and respectful nod offered, Mattias turns and moves with ease towards the door, opening it with his gloved hand and a faint yet stoic gritting of teeth as the sharp pain within that afflicted hand lances up along his arm. The door closed behind him and the faint hint of his voice speaking to someone or some people beyond only to be cut off as the door closes completely.

Frederick’s voice lowers a touch as he approaches his son. He puts an arm on his taller scion’s shoulder, saying, “I am no romantic and I don’t pretend to be a doting grandfather, my son. What I know is that we provide for all of your children. Geoffrey and Amalric are already secure, you know that… but for us, the more in our clan, the more we may offer to this fine city.”

Turning once more from his son’s gaze, he strides over to Mattias with a quick, purposeful set of little steps. “Master Thynne, Master Thynne, or should I call you SIR Mattias now? How can we ever thank you indeed? You know you’ve done the Free City a service, not for my son’s sake or my sake… diplomacy.is difficult to come by in these days and times, you know.”

Guillaume casts a glance about him when Mattias rises to his feet. Can it be that the banker has not been offered any tea, he had sort of requested upon entering? “I’ve never been,” the Tyres heir grins back to the ironic quip about him being a romantic. “And neither has my father.” Confirming his own father’s admission soon after it is made. The comment of the Chancellor’s grandchildren, his son will meet it with a low snort that could either be affirmative or the contrary. His dark gaze follows the departing Councillor, before it flits back to Frederick Tyres. “SIR?” He frowns. “Our fine banker was knighted?” More questions come to mind, once the door has shut behind Master Mattias Thynne, caused by the one remark he left them with. “Do we have that much to discuss, father?”, Guillaume inquires with a slight frown, his arms crossing before him. “Ah yes. Has there been a day fixed yet, upon which I am to wed this lady? And when am I to meet her, to see if Master Thynne’s praise does indeed reflect the truth?” That easy smile has faded from those negligently shaven features, the look of his dark eyes intent as it lingers on the most powerful man of Four Corners.

Frederick listens to his son silently for a moment, letting the younger man speak. Finally, he says, “Yes he was, and no it hasn’t. We will talk soon, this I promise my son. Your responsibilities will not end with this marriage, but today I wished to present you with something you would like as a … birthday gift. “ It appears that he has not forgotten the day, after all. He smiles at Guillaume.

“Go now. The Minister is waiting for you to show you something. Someone.” He motions towards the door. “All will be well.”

An inquiring glance is cast the way of Chancellor Frederick Tyres, when his son finds the his questions not to be graced with adequate replies. Guillaume exhales with a hint of exasperation, giving his father a faint glare, but otherwise keeping his composure - that much he has learned, since Frederick acquired this position of power in Four Corners. “Thank you.”, he intones flatly. “Even if you must be aware I never wished for it, I’ll accept it.” The smile returns, even if it is a rather faint version. “That, and my responsibilities.” He inclines his head to his father in a respectful nod, then moves to leave.

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