Inouv 15, 228: Cool His Heels

Cooling His Heels
Summary: After his summons to meet with King Callem, Ronan meets with the Princess Roslin. His temper is foul but somehow she manages not to take offense and quiets the Sutherland Duke. She even offers to help but he does not tell her quite what's going on, yet.
OOC Date: 04/12/2013 (OOC)
Related: Disturbance in the Force
Roslin Ronan Kierne 
Sutherland Attache Office, Darfield Castle
This is a small office, but it does have burnished hardwood floors, a light cream paint on the walls, and a single window looking out. There is a small table with three chairs close to the door, with a rug beneath to create a small sitting area. At the back, there is a desk, with a chair behind it. Several shelves have some books and art work, including a small model of several horses running. There are several table lamps, and some wall sconces to provide additional light, and atop the desk, there are several compartments for holding ink, quill pens, and paper. This appears to be an office made for work.
15th of Inouv, 228

The Princess is dressed for the storm today, in a heavy dress of midnight blue, embroidered with a creamy colored ivy along the skirts and bodice. The neck is trimmed in very tight fur, and the hat she wears on her crown of red braids is much the same - only furrier. A circlet of silver sits comfortably on her forhead, and a necklace of matching metal in the shape of an eight-pointed star hangs from her throat.

She pauses by the Sutherland offices, two guards and her usual maid in tow as she speaks to be announced. If she is accepted, she will step into the offices, leaving her guards behind. Her maid, as always, will be right on her heels.

There are two knights outside of the Sutherland Attache office and they both look like they are at high attentiveness. They offer the Princess their bows with fists over their hearts and she is allowed to pass, but only after one makes inquiry. Carefully.

"For Gods' sake, all right. Let her enter!" The baritone that barks is not one that belongs to a man who is pleased. Ronan is within, pacing the office with the fingers of one hand jammed into the back of his arming belt while in his other hand he holds a cup of wine. Kierne is busy polishing the Duke's armour and keeping his head down while his Lord Rioga stews his anger. Upon her entrance, Ronan stops and turns to look at her.

"Has your father sent you?" A very direct question without pleasantries. A muscle in his jaw tightens and he sets his glass of wine down upon his desk, "To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess? Wine?" He offers to pour her some of the strong Sutherland red, observing the minimum protocol.

Roslin is all smiles when she enters, and to her credit she does not loose all of that at the unusual greeting. Her smile remains, though it is tainted with confusion and concern. "No, my Lord," she says, after she has presented herself before him and nodded, lowly and respectfully. "I have come as I promised you I would, to offer my apologies for leaving so quickly yesterday. I have not been sent - my father has been exceedingly busy since he has returned, I have not had occasion to speak with him privately as of yet." She turns her head to the side just a little, looking over the man and taking in his clearly-flustered cotenence. "Thank you," the words automatically spill from her mouth as she accepts the wine. "Is there a reason he would send me to you, Your Grace?" She asks, her smile becoming more casual, and her conversation becoming more personal. She, after all, cannot forgo pleasantries.

Anger is what flusters him, makes his features and his baritone stern. Ronan quaffs his own wine, knocking it back and then pours first a goblet for Roslin, then refills his own. He picks them both up and brings them over to offer one of them to her.

"Of course he wouldn't." Brief eye contact, then the Rioga goes back to pacing his office. He should probably take a seat but instead Ronan makes himself stop at the casement to look out, the shutters left open. The glass is frosted with ice and setting his cup down, he knocks it loose opens up the casements to latch them open as well. Cold air blows in with flakes of snow but Ronan does not care. Let it cool his anger, if it will. Something clearly is upon his mind.

There he turns to lean against the stone sill and pick up his wine once more to watch Roslin as he sip of it, saying nothing.

"Why did you believe that he might send me to see you?" She asks, still amenable, taking her wine graciously and sipping it while she takes a few steps away from the blow of the window. She does so gracefully, making a point to look about the room appreciatively as she does. "If I did not now better, Your Grace, I would say something has made you very cross. I do hope you are not still upset by our discussion when last we found each other riding, before your most recent trip south." Concern once more flits across her features.

His gaze has slipped from Roslin to looking out the tall window. The air blowing in is bitter cold. Paying that no mind, Ronan looks out at all that deep snow piling up that will keep him from riding, from pushing on to anywhere anytime soon. Not without putting mens' lives to risk. He inhales a deep breath of it and mindful that Roslin chills, he finally reaches out to close it again.

"No, nothing to do with you, Ros… Your Highness." Ronan is in an ill mood. He picks up his cup and steps around to take a seat behind his desk. Papers are sorted into stacks all over it and he has to lean over and pick up a few that have blow off to put them back into their proper places. Cedric's papers mostly, but some are more recent. He lifts his gaze back to her, "What do you wish of me, Princess Roslin? I have much to do this evening."

Kierne looks up from the chair he's seated in, chain mail laid over his lap while he works on rubbing down a piece of plate with an oily rag. The Sutherland coat of arms is blazoned across the breastplate, Ronan's armour.

Roslin lifts her brows as he almost, almost refers to her so informally. But of anything she could be, she doesn't seem mad. Her cheeks flush a touch, and she smiles, but she surely doesn't seem mad. Both are covered, partially, when she spies another paper that has blown away from it's place of holding. She bends at the knees, royal fingers touching the floor as she lifts the note up and offers it over to the man, giving her another few seconds to survey and consider him. "Why, I have little wish of you at all, Your Grace, if it is inconvenient that I should do so. Though I would be something of a failure as a friend and Princess if I did not ask if there might be anything I can do to assuage your current concerns. They do appear grevious indeed, and if it is in my power I would see your shoulders lessened of them."

The sheet of paper is accepted back. Ronan glances at it and places it into the appropriate stack. Mostly trade proposals, something about a marriage of for a lessor house, another about a stone shipment, other things are various reports. "No, forgive me. I do no mean to be crass, Your Highness. My mind is upon difficulties I am trying to solve, and possible solutions that … complicate matters. I will sort out what course is best to take."

He takes a long, slow breath and leans back in his chair to regard her, folding his hands over his abdomen. "We do whatever we must. Whatever is best for our people." Ronan tries to smile a little thinly, "Did not you and I have a conversation upon such topic not so long ago, Princess?"

"If you are being crass, I will be sure to let you know. I do not stand for such things - certainly not among nobility." She smirks a bit at that, sipping her wine again. Nodding, she walks again, pacing lightly as they speak. She is making no moves to leave, just yet. "Indeed, Your Grace, I am sure we have. We do what is best for our people - or try to. So recently members of my own family have not managed quite to live up to such standards, but it is what we all strive for." She looks over at him, her smile fading into a private, pensive look as she tries to read his mind. No doubt she cannot. "It is not always easy. I become angry with those who fail in this endeavor, but I confess it is not easy to do this. Or to differentiate between a good course of action and a better one - or a bad one and a worse one, I should say. In such times, counsel is priceless."

"Aye, but good counsel is hard to come by and poor is cheap and easy to find." Ronan finishes off his cup of wine again and finds it empty. Vaguely annoyed with himself, he makes no move to refill it again. Last thing he needs right now to get himself intoxicated. Temper enough without that. He shifts his jaw and starts to pick up the various papers to put them into their respective folios. Some things are better dealt with when he can better clear his mind to focus upon them.

"What do you know of Jadda, Your Highness? I hear there is a Jadda Prince here in Darfield, or there was when I was last here. Have you ever been there? Or to the Kundari lands?"

"It is - but surely a man as renowned as yourself has those he can turn to - trusted allies who can speak clearly as to his concerns and help him understand the paths before him." She moves to sit then, lowering herself gracefully in the seat as he speaks to her again. The question causes her to blink twice. She turns her face away in consideration. "I know what my tutors taught me of Jadda. But I have never been there, no. I know that my Father is recently returned from there - I am sure he shall have some interesting things to say on the matter. The second son of the God-King is acting Ambassador for their country here. Prince Naazil - you may know him from the large beast that walks with him. A tiger, I think it was. Otherwise he is surprisingly … cultured, given what we know of the rest of his people. As for Kundari, I know a bit more of them - I speak the language. Not quite perfectly, but fairly fluently. I have always enjoyed languages."

"My fellow knights are rarely politically astute, Your Highness, and generally know less of running a Dutchy than even myself." Papers go into folios and Ronan binds them off, "Kierne." His squire stops what he is doing and carefully setting his lord's armour aside, gets up to come over, "Put these away for me, please." More papers are put away and when the last is done, Kierne takes the folios to lock them up in a cabinet dedicated to such things.

Ronan picks up his wine cup, finds it empty, and sets it down again. "Most everyone I might trust who has served my family were put to the sword four months ago, Princess Roslin." A wry smile twists his mouth. Ronan rubs his brows, a touch weary.

"I've never been to either place. Useful that you speak Kundari, I suppose. I wondered if you have met their Ambassador."

"I have not had the opportunity," Roslin explains, bowing her head a little when he speaks that his trusted advisers and friends were killed. "Nearly as soon as the Princess arrived, she went with my Father's party to Jadda and, one assumes, to Kundari as well. I have been very eager to test my language skills with her, though." The Princess is quiet again, frowning softly at some thought. "I cannot imagine how difficult all of this must be for you, Your Grace. The recent attacks, the loss of your family, your new position. What you face … well, I cannot imagine it. At least now that Father is returned you may begin to discuss the future with him, as I know you had plans to do."

"Oh, aye, discuss /all/ manner of things with him, your father." That is laced with some of that bitter anger flaring back up. Enough that Kierne stops with the folios and looks worried, watching his Lord. Honestly, the Duke's squire looks almost afraid. The young Kincaid steadfastly turns his attention back to what he's doing and then returns to the armour he'd set down. He'll busy himself with working on that and listening carefully.

Ronan gets back up out of his chair and his desk now more cleared, pours himself another cup of wine. He glances to see if Roslin's finished hers, but likely she's hardly touched it. His tone quieter, he adds, "Yes, we will discuss many things, your father and I. Of that I have no doubt." A shift of his jaw and then he takes a drink of wine.

The Rioga looks back to Roslin, "If you wish to do me something, then go and speak with the Kundari Ambassador. Get an opinion of that wom… Princess and tell me what you think of her, and her people, Your Highness. You seem sharp for your young years. I'd like to know what you think of her."

"If you wish it, I would certainly not mind doing so. If I am well-prepared, I may speak to her only in her native tongue. Perhaps it will put her at ease." Roslin drains her cup and moves to set it aside, standing and stepping with grace. Her skirts ruffle as she moves, creating little whisper sounds. "And if it will put you at ease, I am glad to do it." She smiles once more at the man. "But for now I shall leave you to your work, and see myself to my new task."

No, he's not at his ease. Momentarily his hand tightens on the cup and he might well crush the goblet, the tendons standing out before Ronan makes himself set it down, "There are many I must try to see in the coming days while the snow yet will hem them in. Most will be eager to see the King." His gaze goes to Roslin at the swishing of her skirts as she moves and his eyes follow her, if only briefly. The Sutherland Duke goes back around to retake his seat behind his desk. Ronan gets out fresh parchment and opens his inkwell.

"I … appreciate your coming by, Your Highness. Thank you. I will bid you a good evening."

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