Thedor 36, 229: Love Between Father and Son

Love Between Father and Son
Summary: Faerinia and Hadrian are talking in the Ballroom when Aidan walks by. Aidan wins father of the year award
OOC Date: 06/02/2014 (OOC)
Related: None
Aidan Faerinia Hadrian 
Ballroom - Darfield Castle
Huge pillars of golden marble ring this room, silent guardians of the ballroom. Golden light spills over the pillars and onto the floor, shed by the huge chandelier which is suspended from the high ceiling. The floor is cool, pale golden marble, save for the large rose set in the center. Formed of a mosaic of rose marble and crystal, it shimmers gently. On the balconies above, huge arcs of rose silks have been draped expertly, bows tied at their crests. The same sort of drapery hangs above the wall of glass that forms the northern edge of the ballroom. Looking out, you notice that the ballroom is set flush with the ocean, the glass wall giving you an unparalleled view of the landscape across the sea.
It is day 36 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E

She remains mute and hardly registers those milling about the hallways at work, lost in contemplation. A face she had long anticipated would be gone, left to court a woman else dead, lifelessly turned to survey the stretch of sky. Her memories few, always intense and vibrant. If darkness could be given appealing shape, outlined and wrapped in disarmingly bright colours, it would she always imagined be the exact form of her cousin, heir to the Kincaid title. Always no more than a feeling, she had little to base it on. Perhaps she glimpsed in his dropped words and games, now was time to speak and she does falteringly. "Yes…maybe. At last."

Hadrian seems to let a light amused sound come from his throat while he listens to her. The two are standing by the large window that over looks the sea. He was in better spirits it would seem having to share good company right now. Had looks to her and nods his head a little bit, "Good, it means I can talk with you more openly without fear of some spoiled princess running around screaming like I'm some creature of the night here to steal her soul or worse case, her chastity. Not that I would mind doing that mind you." His lips form a smile but he never lets it known if he's joking or not.

Footfalls sound from the Great Hall. An echoing in the relative openess of the ballroom. A billowing cloak of black trails behind the confident steps that grow in strength the closer in distance they come to the pair at the window. Aidan's features are stern as he continues to walk the length of the ballroom, intent to continue on, having skirted around some of the busier parts of the castle to come this way, after all, not all trips to the castle need to be monitored by the Court. As he passes by, his eyes wander toward any that are -here- which means that he has to double take a look toward the window upon passing. And he's even a few steps passed them when he stops, heel making a scuff on the marble, turning back to regard his son… and his niece.

Faerinia opens her mouth to possibly issue a suitable retort, even a rebuke softened by her partiality, when the scuffed squeak makes its muted introduction. Twisting round, the darkly robed woman comes eye to eye with her uncle, dour colours serving to heighten the stern lines at his mouth and brow, the lean messenger able to snatch breath from her lungs. Wandering attention is not an option. "Your grace…uncle." All she can eke out, fingers bunching up the excess fabric that serves to conceal them from view.

Those footfalls weigh heavy on his ears. He knew them and didn't have to turn around to know the stride of his father. It was unmistakeable. It seems tonight was his night to be interrupted and his father was even the last person currently he'd wish to see. He turns around to face him and eyes almost like a viper seems to cling to that very sight of him. He offers a light bow as he merely says, "Father…" There was a pause, "I am sure the knight told you my answer?" He says a bit while his arms fold over his chest even as one hand seems to lightly slip into his jacket perhaps to warm it up.

The cloak swirls at the ankles of the Duke as he pivots swiftly and turns toward the two of them. His eyes are intense as they wander first to Faerinia, in question of course, brow lifted, as he answers her greeting, "Good niece, how do you fare?" His lips thin, waiting for her answer before he acknowledges Hadrian, with an appraising eye one would use for buying a horse in auction, skeptical and doubtful of his eldest's presence, "Had I known you were in the city, perhaps there would've been no need for a knight to send word to you." He shakes his head regrettably, "I should've known not to let you command the line. It's very much like you to leave your post, isn't it…" He is very aware there is no love between them, "Though I'm sure the Princess will be happy you have come to see her wedding to the good Duke Crawford."

"Well, far be it for the eldest son to have to go in his fathers stead due to his age. But we all know I'm the the son who was forced to go to the frontlines. Were you expecting me to go out a die? Do you think so little of me old man? Or do you favor the youngest brother?" He counters while his arms remain where they are. "Perhaps I came for her wedding, perhaps I came to challenge the man who dares takes her hand to see if he's even worthy of having it or perhaps I just came for the drinks while I watch then doomed couple be tied to the wrist for the rest of their lives." His tone was edgy but he remains calm for the most part, trying to keep his inner demons from making himself break. He has learned to keep such a mind when on the front line. To be shaken up by battle was a sign of weakness, something he was not. He did not wish Fae to see him like this but it could not be helped.

Time trickles past, seconds left to tick past as she reflects an intense stare of her own towards Aidan, before those eyes flicker to scrutinise Hadrian. Held back by her clipped, polite voice entirely unlike her own to ears used to one an octave lower. "Tolerably. I spent a few nights at the infirmary with the Duke, as he saw fit to hunt and injure himself." Faerinia retracts into herself; there is no visible movement, barely a shift of weight. Only a sense she has in essence willed herself into a shadow of what was seconds ago enlivened by a crookied grin. The sole concession is a light pressure of her fingertips on her cousins shoulder as he unravels.

Aidan's eyes are shadowed with rejection and spite for this son of his, "Age was not a factor boy. My battles are here in Court, where witless tongues as your own would fail to find any foot hold. You wouldn't even begin to understand, for all my many years of trying to tutor you to do so." As for the matter of expecting the boy to die, he smirks, "Are you so afraid of the front that you come crawling back here with your tail between your legs? Honestly Hadrian, perhaps you should slink back into the woods with those rangers you love so much. You can pretend to be duke of the forest there, with them." He does not care if Faerinia hears him. This is how it always is. The hatred has made a no-man's land between them. "Your younger brother is representing us by the Prince's side, well, as he should, a squire for the Kilgours." An honour that Hadrian was not allowed. The last makes him step forward threateningly, the mention of challenging Ronan, "You will not interfer with Duke Crawford's marriage. I was too late to obtain her hand for you, though I did try, if you must know. Not that you deserve such consideration." The edgy tone earns a narrowing of a gaze from Aidan, especially when Faerinia's fingers turn up on Hadrian's shoulders. That earns a chuckle Hadrian will know has been used in regards to him several times, usually when the Duke calls him 'weak' …

The young man begins to calculate things. The exits to the ballroom incase he killed his father here on the spot. No…Perhaps stab him in the back with the poisoned dagger hidden in his back pants. A dagger he took from the corspe of a fallen enemy to make it look like it was an assassination. That could work effectively. Through his fathers words, his demons well up even more. Even though he wants to snap, he wants to yell, he wants to curse and spit his fathers name into the very bottom levels of hell, Hadrian stays his anger. But he does not give up this battle of wits and insults, "Oh yea, cause battling in the courts with a bunch of fat yellowbellys is so dangerous." He then lets out a small fake chuckle, "I am glad to have gone to the frontlines then to be spared of such horror of who should have exclusive trade right to this or that or even who will marry this spoiled princess or that spoiled princess. I weep silently on the inside father really I do." He wanted tp punch at him with everything he had. Challenge him here and now but he must not show his hand. Now was not the time, not infront of Fae. But his father revealed his crack in the armor, "Not interfer? I plan to do just that! Should I not test the mans strength? I would love nothing more then to show him up infront of everyone, to show him how weak he is infront of his future wife." A dark side seems to slide onto his face. The onlt thing keeping his demons at bay was the touch of Fae's hand on him. Her words only just forgotten. Hadrian did not feel weak having someone at his side to support him. "By the way, the Rangers you mock, without them to support you, you'd be in chains in a dungeon somewhere so I suggest you not go down that path. They may find themselves returning home sooner then expected."

The girl listens, scorched by the bubbling, searing bile and sheer hate that poisons and corrodes two men into little above snarling, spitting animals. Weapons tongue and murder heavy enough to choke. Faerinia merely stands, quelling the tremble ripping itself down her spine, not a single vocalised protest for them. Tugging at a loose thread, hard enough to blanch the finger it loops round bonily white. Echoing her own furious, inward battle with her brother except that her sibling was always open, left unaware to her fuming, glittering stare. There is no delusion in this ballroom, overseen by grandly ornate carvings.

The grin on Aidan's face is anything but warm and friendly, it's cold and filled with a deadly intent. "You have no idea," Aidan says again, coldly, "Keep believing that it is all about your actions on the field and your life will be considerably short." This was what it looks like to have two wolves circling eachother, testing one another for weakness, the old fending off his territory from the new. "You are clueless. The entire wealth of our House depends on such dealings and matters so delicate you will never fathom them completely." He makes no attempt to go for a weapon, if he even has one. It doesn't look like he carries. He says naught until the challenge of Crawford comes again, "The matter is blessed by the Eight and the King, you will obey that in itself, unless you mean to speak treason. If you challenge Crawford, I will see you are denounced as my Heir and exiled." This isn't a threat. There's a tone in Aidan's voice that is entirely sincere about the matter, not to be trifled with. He's worked too hard to secure Crawford as allies to have it ruined, you see. As for the rangers, Aidan does look away with a satisfied smirk, "You betray your intentions too easy son." And that's when his cloak snaps and he turns, stopping to say, "Faerinia, niece, please seek me this evening when you return to the manor. I should like to speak with you."

He wanted his father to be gone from his sight before he lost the nerve to keep his anger caged. He'd rather see the wealth of their house gone then to have his father trying to remain on that high horse he rides. His father only further increasing his ideas. Oh yes, he planned to have much fun at the wedding. This was just getting started. He wasn't worried about the statement about him being clueless. He focused on the exile part which gave him his best idea yet. As for the Rangers, his words were taken just as he wished his father to take him. Plan accomplished. However, he says nothing more and merely lets his father think he got the better of him for now. He then turns his back to look out the window, his arms still folded over his chest. His hand inside his jacket, the one he wanted to keep warm tightens it's grip on the dagger hidden within it's inner pocket, and tightly indeed. He waits for Fae to join back to his side.

In. Out. At her name being spoken, it brooks an immediate answer. "Yes." Her own courage is on loan to her cousin, keeping her fingers now at his elbow in what may be a warning squeeze. Her counsel is kept hidden from outside view, for that is what the healer has managed since her early years. Reservation, concealment. Expression deliberately ironed out, far as she can keep at bay the workings of emotion that slither and twitch beneath the skin. "Hadrian." Her voice low, "You baited him." State the blatant, for it had to be spoken in order for her to feel, this was not an unreal nightmare. She had suffered many of late.

It is a hard thing, to turn from his son with such practiced hatred and poison spewing from his mouth. Aidan exhales a long breath as he's a few steps away from the pair, stopping only once to look back and frown thoughtfully. Why now? Why when everything was going so smoothly… Always a challenge, the road was always the one less walked. Then he's continuing off, walking out toward the west hall and beyond.

He heard his father leaving. Once the foot falls were way out of ear shot, the man growls deep and long. His fist ball up and he feels like coming unglued completel. War was something to make a man into someone else. He was not weak. He was not a coward. He felt his father hated him. It's why he was sent to war, it's why he was not to wed Roslyn, and why he was not meant to be where his brother is. He knew for certein his father hated him. If it was not for her calling his name, the man might have chased after his father in a blind maddening rage to strike him down where he stood. He takes in a deep breath and lets his fist open up. A light turn of his head towards her as a little bit of a voice come from him, shaken still, angry hanging from his tongue as he speaks, "I apologize you had to see me like that. I would not blame you for walking away."

Her smile when it surfaces, is an ungainly approximation. "I will not, cousin. For I have not shown you the most worthy places in this domicile." A reason shabby from the onset, used to cover the more loaded desire to stay and calm a creature more shaken and frantic than herself. Ever since the gift, she had felt unusually bereft of the anxiety that had gnawed at her for years. Numbed permanently, she could not determine. Merely it had instilled her with a patience and more empathy. Paradoxically, in light of the giver. Again, fingers blotched over with the abstract markings and smears of ink tighten their hold.

Hadrian turns his form completely to her and looks at her with his eyes. He takes in another breath letting his heart slowly calm from the choas of the earlier attacks between him and his father. His arms move to rest down at his side but he does raises an eyebrow a little bit, "Worthy places?" He wonders a little trying to forget but finding it hard to push the words of exchange between him and his father. His hand balls up to try to stop the trembling he feels within his arm muscles.

Faerinia lifts her gaze, releasing her grip to fumble at her belt, detaching a small string tied pouch. Stuffing it into his limp hands, closing her fingers round his to close on the bag and its dried, rustling contents that audibly crunch on added pressure. Herbs, as verified by her next response towards him. "Relaxant. Dissolve in hot water, pinch nose and try hard to not gag." Reverting to safer territory, the straightforward life of ailments and cures. "Then…we can wander a little, cousin." Back to more formal addresses, the single indication anything may have altered between two cousins that have not been in contact for a long time is her parting gride over his cheek, intended to be brisk and empathic.

He can't snap his finters and make water appear. But her hand touching his was relaxing enough for his shaking to cease. The man glancing her her hand with his to back up into her gaze. "We can wander now. I'll be fine as long as we do not run into any more of my father." He hopes for anyone of that matter. He was growing tired as the day had been long and he could tell by the window that the sun was starting to set and evening had arrived. "I will save this for later, you ahve my word on that one." He seems to smile although weak to say the least. He had a darkness in him but one that was kept at bay for now partly due to her presence. The touch over his cheek does a bit more good for the man, "Did you have some place in mind or merely a stroll?"

She steps back, retaining a modest distance between them in light of her recent act, that has her pulse fiercely beating. "A stroll, then home for a deserved rest." Her look implies it will be him resting, as he may learn fast she has not given up the late nights, spent poring over texts and at her trestle table by guttering candlelight. If he has a keen eye the faint, ridged lines of old scratches might be visible as if clawed by animals running down her arms. Ones bearing hooked claws, no less. "When you feel ill, visit Sir Cian and I in the infirmary. He is talented at basic medicinal treatment."

He notices her stepping back and then he nods to her. "Alright, a quick stroll and then off to rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day. I have much to do and so little time to do it. Only a few weeks…." He trails off letting that statement linger in the air before he offers an arm to her to escort her around the castle. He would of course escort her to her chambers before departing only to enssure he made it there safely before he retires.

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