Thedor 8, 229: Frosty Relations

Frosty Relations
Summary: Roslin and Rowena continue to seek common ground - or play the deceptive games of court.
OOC Date: 8 January 2013
Related: Frenemies and More Angry Words.
Rowena Roslin Elisabeth 
Laniveer Suites
This spacious sitting room is simply but stylishly decorated. Finely woven patterned rugs cover most of the marble floors and compliment two white leather sofas arranged to face each other near the center of the room. The wall to your left as you enter contains an oak door on the near portion and a spacious hearth on the far portion, where two additional sitting chairs and a small table rest. To your right as you enter is a mahogany door next to an extensive bookshelf which hosts a collection rich with both art and science titles. Tapestries of places throughout the continent adorn the walls on both sides. Directly in front of you, the far wall is covered with lush foliage, hanging and potted plants collected from exotic locales. The room is kept lit by small brass and crystal chandeliers.
8 Thedor 229

The Princess Roslin Kilgour is something of an expected, if not quite familiar, sight at the Laniveeri apartments. She makes visits every so oftne, to speak to the guests - prisoners, now - and sometimes even take tea. So it’s no surprise when the woman, done up in all her royal regality with a silvery blue dress of heavy velvet, makes her approach. The dress is a fine thing - a bodice made entirely of beads, an underskirt designed with woven strips of fabric to look like moving, rushing water. She wears a silver eight-pointed star around her throat and a silver tiarra upon her crown of braids. Behind her, the Lady Elisabeth Haravean, a Lady in Waiting, moves with her.

Upon her entrance, she bobs respectfully to the Nobles present, but makes no curtsy - there is no one here with a title worthy of it.

“Forgive me, My Lady, if the timing is poor. I thought perhaps I might visit you, though, if you have the time to recieve me for awhile.”

To say that Rowena Stewert’s demeanor has changed in her time spent in Darfield Castle would be both stating the obvious as well as grossly understating that fact. There has been a rather big change in her, especially since her last meeting with Tyrel, and by the time Roslin comes for this visit she’ll find a very different woman in the room with her.

Rising, the Laniveeri princess bobs a curtsey but this time it is different, only as deep as protocol mandates as being proper without being as respectfully so that those previously given to Roslin were. “Your Highness. I do not think I am in the position to refuse you permission to enter regardless of if now is a bad time or not.” A hand sweeps down the ivory satin of the gown she wears, the design of which is most certainly not Mobrin fashion. While that material is left without embellishment her crown is most certainly elaborate in design, the gold-and-silver, sapphire-and-diamond headpiece a gift her father gave her several years ago.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me my shabby attire,” she says once she’s sure she’ll be able to speak without letting any of her annoyance be heard in her voice. “You know the Laniveeri. We lack the fashion sense you and your subjects were blessed with.” Odelia is motioned towards. “Might I get you a cup of tea, Your Highness?”

Whatever may have caused the change, Roslin appears unaware of it. Her brows rise, and a small smile creeps across her lips. “Perhaps, in the strictest sense, My Lady, you may not be entirely permitted to — me away, given the circumstances.” Her smile faulters just a little at the mention of the unmentionable. But she repairs it. “But as I have always said, my designs here with you are to see that you and your brother receive every consideration that you require within the parameters of the situation. If the time is inappropriate, I will happily withdraw.”

She looks over the woman and her dress, and can’t help but nearly laugh. “Shabby attire? My dear Lady, I am certain I do not understand what you could possibly mean. Your dress is different from mine, but made no less well or with any less expense, I daresay.” She cocks her head a little, looking to Rowena as she awaits a response. She appears a little perplexed.

The last visit with Roslin’s brother has put a wall of doubt up, one that’s placed carefully between the two young women. It is a defensive reaction, one Rowena does instinctively and, unfortunately, has no control over. “I am sure that is exactly the reason you are here, Princess.” Oh my. Was that a note of disbelief to be heard in her voice. “Your presence does warm me and I find comfort in it and I thank you for taking time out of what I am sure is a busy day for you to come see me.”

The tea is poured and the first offered to Roslin, the second cup then offered to Rowena who sips out of it. Despite being driven to ire she will at least make with that one show that she holds no ill-will for the Princess as well as a sign of her good faith that no harm will come to her. “Hmmm. Oh. You must not have had a chance to discuss my last meeting with your brother. He is of the opinion that my attire is inappropriate. “Shabby”, as he put it.” There’s the reasoning for her earlier choice in words. “He told me I was to come to you and ask you for your help in having clothing made but I will have to ask your forgiveness when I do no such thing. The clothing remind me of my home,” as it probably does Tyrel, hence his having spoken so cruelly about her clothing, “and I beg that I be allowed one show of kindness so I will not be homesick while your… guests.”

As Roslin has not been asked to leave, she does not, but rather moves to sit as invited and takes the tea with a gracious nod of appreciation. She sips, listening intently and considering the words that pass her ears.
And then? She smiles, an amused little smirk. “No, My Lady. My brother does not too often discuss such important business with me. But the words you say sound very much like his.” She sips her tea again, taking her time in her explination. “You need not have new clothes made, nor advice sought on the making of them. Tyrel is an exceptionally clever man - he knows exactly the sorts of things to say to we females to drive us mad. Every time I see him, he scolds me for not wearing enough powder because sometimes my embaressed blush or my angry flush shows through. It matters not how many times I inform him that wearing powder is for wrinkly old women - he will not stop hounding me on the issue only because he knows it irks me. Take as little notice of it as possible. He is only lashing out - he wishes you to hurt, a little. As he and our family hurt to find our cousins ripped from the world under a flag of peace much like the one you entered on.” She sips her tea again. “We know these actions were not yours, nor your brother’s. But you come as one sworn to your Father’s cause, and what he does in the name of it.” Her look softens a little bit. “Surely you can understand grief and pain, My Lady, and what it makes us do. I beg you not to judge my brother too harshly for having a heart to feel these things.”

Rowena by no means did not mean to leave Roslin to seat herself. It was an oversight on her part but thankfully the young lady has no qualms about sitting without invite otherwise she might still be standing.

Odelia makes sure both are satisfied with the tea and are not in need of anything else before fading into the background again, a quiet, unobtrusive presence who merely waits quietly until next needed.

“Oh. I am surprised you don’t speak to Tyrel. If I were in your position I would do so.” Rowena’s mouth curls into a thin smile, one that is marginally friendly, a slight thawing of her icy attitude. “I thank you for your permission to allow me to keep the gowns I have. I would be very upset if I were to have to give them away or be made not to wear them, somehow.” At the mentioning of powder she softly snorts. Yes, that was another subject the Crown Prince of Mobrin was so kind to bring up. “Seems like Tyrel is quite the fashionista. Perhaps he should start making laws and rules about how a woman should dress.”

Her cup is set down and then she reaches up, the crown she wears slipped off of her head and set upon her lap.”You say you know the actions were not of the doing of myself or my brother, Princess. But yet your family seems to believe otherwise. Your mother, the Queen, seems to take great pleasure in threatening us as if we were the ones to spill the blood of your family. And I am of an impression that Tyrel would sooner believe that the sun is green than of our innocent intentions which brought us here.” Her eyes lower as she adds, “We do know pain. We do know what it is like to mourn. The people of Mobrin are not the only ones to suffer loss because of the war. And, like you, I want for this whole thing to stop.”

Roslin shakes her head a little as she sips her tea again, setting it down to her lap. “He and I speak, quite often as it happens. But I leave such matters as diplomacy and leadership to his mind unless he invites them to be shared. His opinions on lady’s wear, as you say, he shares quite often.” There is a fond smirk on her features at that.

“I do not offer you my permission to keep your gowns, My Lady, only to reassure you that such permission is not required one way or the other. Tyrel and my mother both, as they have said, are hurting. And if I may be overly frank - I do not wish to offend, but - this war started with the unwarrented murder of my kin. Those that have died since are a result from what happened in Belcrest. Men die in war - it is the nature of things. But men are not so often murdered in cold blood under a banner of peace. In that you must understand my family’s heartbreak.”

She looks down in her cup for a long moment, considering. “I can say, easily, why my family distrusts your words, My Lady. Your father gave us his only son and heir and his daughter - gave, with no real intention for negotiation, no defenses, nothing. He has just given you away to his enemy. We cannot comprehend such an action, and therefore we must distrust it. What man would surrender his heart and blood to the enemy he created? No - if Tyrel chooses to believe your innocence in the matter, then your father is playing you for pawns in some larger scheme that we do not understand. If he chooses to believe you lie in your statements of innocence, then you are guilty of involvement in the death of his kin. But without knowing for sure what is going on, we are caught in this precarious position that has us both seated here. Why are you here and to what end?” She shakes her head, holding up a hand. “I have heard what you have to say on the matter, that your father gave you no good reason for this. But then he must have his own reasons.”

She lets her hand fall and looks apologetically over to the blonde. “I am sorry if I have spoken too freely in regards to your family, My Lady. I mean no offense. But if we are to talk on the subject, we must talk plainly.”

It is an endless loop, the conversation once again brought full circle and yet again this subject is brought up. Fairly so, of course, but Rowena grows tired of trying to defend herself over and over again. At least it draws them away from the subject of her gowns and everything else, that in and of itself a subject she no longer desires to converse upon.

The crown is set down beside her and her cup is re—ed to her hands, her grip steady despite the weariness that suddenly threatens to take hold of her. “I do not condone the actions of my father, much to the displeasure of my brother. If I could, I’d beg the gods to allow us to go back in time so that atrocious chain of events can somehow be kept from happening. But such prayers would only fall upon ears that might as well be deaf since such is not possible.” Her eyes lift suddenly as she says to Roslin, “But keeping us here will do nothing but further inspire my father to violence. If good is to be done, Princess, ask your brother, your mother, your father to let us go home upon the thaw so I can speak to him and try to get him to stop.”

Shifting restlessly, she realizes she didn’t truly respond to anything the red-haired royal said but she can not find it in her heart to once again discuss the reasons for being here. What she does instead is shake her head. “No, I am fine with frank talk, Your Highness. In fact, I prefer it vastly over deceit and talking in circles.”

Roslin listens, smiling sympathetically. “I only frequent the salon and other public gatherings as a point of requirement, My Lady. You will most often find me in small situations like these - I much prefer the ability to speak one’s mind in this way that one cannot always do so in public.” She finishes her tea and sets the little cup aside, gently and gracefully as a Princess ought.

“I cannot ask my family to release you, My Lady,” Roslin says, a little sadly. “Your father has already been incited to violence. Not only war, but murder. Keeping you and your brother here may be one of the few things that may incite him to peace. And if he continues with this crusade against my family and against the Gods … we will know for true what manner of man he is, in his heart.” She looks almost sorrowful as she says the words. “It pains me to speak thusly of a person’s father to them, My Lady. It must pain you to hear such words. But this situation is of your father’s making, and we cannot continue to allow him to make the situation worse. I know you only wish to stop the bloodshed. In this way, it may well be stopped. Your life, I fear, and your future has changed dramatically this winter.”

Roslin looks down at her hands a moment. “When Princess Emerit first came to us and her brother pretended to have —ed his forces against Mobrin, she was in much a position you are in now, I think. Frightened, unsure, alone. I tell you as I told her then - we cannot control the decisions of the men in our lives. We can only strive to make them better men for it. And when that is failed, we must look to our own conciences.”

There is a moment where Rowena has to wonder if Roslin speaks sincerely of if this is merely an act, words spoken to try and put her at ease and get her to lower the walls recently erected. She doesn’t allow them to do so, however, not yet ready to allow her close. “I think such would pain my brother more, if he were to hear them,” she eventually manages to get out. “He has inspired to be like Father and to someday take his throne. To hear that the man he calls Father and King has been wrong for all these years… it just might very well undo him if he were to finally be made to see such is true.” Her hands raise and her face cradled, her cheeks allowed to rest against her palms. It is as if doing so will somehow make her feel better but it does nothing to give her comfort.

Mention of this person she doesn’t know gets Ro to blink but she also listens, wanting to hang on to every word Roslin speaks. By the time she’s done she is nodding and looking a bit less worn out. “My conscience is clear, for the most part. The only stain I feel it has is how I’ve been so easily led astray thanks to my desire to do my family proud.” Her eyes close and for a second she feels like she could very easily begin to cry but she staves off the desire to weep. “If allowed, I would like to meet this Emerit. Perhaps meeting another who was once in this position will help me find more clarity.”

“I will see if it is possible,” Roslin promises, honestly. She nods a little at the idea - evidently she thinks it might be a good one. “Tell me, how fares your brother? I have spoken to him only in passing, and I have not had the opportunity to see what other needs he might need to be assisted with.” And while she waits for an answer, another thought occurs.

“May I ask my Lady, a question which might give you some more distress? Perhaps I shouldn’t,” Roslin glances down at her hands, frowning. “I have brought you so much distress already, I fear. But it will ache in my head until I have asked it, based on what you have said. If you had known your Father as you have come to know him recently, what would you have done differently back in Laniveer?”

Rowena looks around before answering, making sure Elisen isn’t there as if about to divulge Roslin in a secret or say something that may make him angry if he were to overhear what it is she is about to respond with. “I am afraid he is growing more discontent and has started to question me as to why I now feel the way I do about Father. I am of a belief that my change of heart causes him distress, Princess. And nothing short of re—ing to my former beliefs I held before our arrival here…” Her head shakes, causing her hair to fall free from one of the pins that holds the rest in place, still, “I disappoint him.”

Now she has to think although it doesn’t take long, Rowena perhaps having asked this of herself already and came to a conclusion. “I do not know what I could have actually accomplished as most of what happened occurred when I was but a child but perhaps I would have been strong enough to at least try and stop him.”

“Perhaps it is better I have not seen him, then,” Roslin reflects with a little frown. “I am sure I would only have infuriated him more. I imagine your brother was raised much as Tyrel was,” Though falsely. “Has he spoken to you at all of his opinion of your father’s actions regarding my cousins? It may be helpful to more fully understand why this was done. If we can understand, perhaps we can apprecaite your brother’s feelings a bit better.” She too lowers her voice in order to match that of her apparent co-conspirator. Elisabeth, her Lady, in the meantime talks softly with Rowena’s maid.

“I love my brother, like I am sure you do Tyrel. But I fear his ambition will be the end of him. Maybe it won’t result in his death, but it will finish him.” There’s an undeniable hitch to Ro’s voice, her expression as crestfallen as her tone. Chewing on her lip, she leans in as well, prompted into doing so by how Roslin closes the space between them. “I haven’t asked about that subject directly but I did ask him if he approves of all of what Father has done.” Not the exact wording but that was at least the spirit of the question she asked her brother. “I can not remember what he said exactly, Roslin, but I do believe he feels what he has done is wrong and, I also believe, that if given a chance he might be willing to try and fix everything that has been broken.” Or at least she hopes as she knows Elisen would not give up the throne and that’d just further encourage aggression.

The crown she removed is picked up and Roslin rises, her ivory gown straightened quickly. “I am feeling unwell, Princess. I do think I will need to have a cup of the willow bark tea I had suggested to me by one of your healers the other evening and lay down. Please excuse me.” She curtseys while Odelia moves into action, getting a pot of water on to boil for the very tea she requires.

Roslin listens, nodding as she moves to rise. “Of course, My Lady. I shall have something else sent along too - a light soup that I favor when I am ill.” She —s her attention to Rowena’s maid. “If there is any worsening of her condition, or she becomes more ill, please alert the Royal Healer imemdiately.” After that’s done, she —s her attention back to Rowena.

She bobs respectfully, as she would to any Lady. “I thank you for taking the time to see me. Please, send word when you are well that I may visit you again, or that you may visit me.” She offers a reassuring smile before —ing to go.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Odelia says with a smile to Roslin, the maid curtseying to her before re—ing to the making of the medicinal brew.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to have Odelia bring it to my chambers so I can enjoy it while it is still warm.” Rowena smiles and sees the Princess out only to then have that smile fade once the door is closed. Part of her is grateful that Roslin came to her and once more offered reassurance but a part of her also has to wonder how much of this conversation, if any, will make it back to the ears of the Prince. “I suppose I’ll find out next time we meet.” That gains her a worried look from a guard but she waves a hand. “Ignore me.” She goes into her room and closes the door, that being where she’ll spend the rest of the morning.

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