Sess 35, 229: Not the Best Day

Not the Best Day
Summary: Ronan is poisoned, as are all of the members who attended the last Council. He lays about the Sutherland Suite being truly miserable while a patient Roslin puts up with ill manners and Kierne with no pants. Jarvice and Melissa help.
OOC Date: 03/21/2014 (OOC)
Related: Council Affairs
Ronan Roslin Melissa Kierne Jarvice 
Sutherland Suite, Darfield Castle
The Apartments that have been assigned to the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland smells faintly of mint and roses, and the windows are kept open, allowing in natural light and fresh air into the apartments. The rooms are decent-sized and there are finely woven tapestries that have been hung from the stone walls. Exotic carpets sit on the stone floor instead of rushes there are carpets which offer warmth and a splash of color.

One room is a finely and ornately decorated sitting room. The room has been decorated with hard wood and heavy furniture that has brocade upholstery and comfortable cushions. There is also a loom that sits in the corner next to a large fireplace; there is a sitting area round a small table where meals can be taken.

Sess 35, 229.

Roslin will surely have heard about the Council meeting for Ronan will have told her about it himself, or will. He and his elderly man servant Rosley returned feeling quite ill from poisoning. The Duke at once went to his personal chamber and voided the contents of his stomach into a basin repeatedly, and then tried to wash himself up. However, all night long he was ill and now today, he's no better. Yet, no worse either.

With poor Rosley just as sick and miserable, keeping to his own quarters most of the time, Ronan sprawls on a couch in the suit trying to sip a little tea occationally. He keeps a basin close to hand in the event he requires it and is quite miserable. Garbed in an older set of clothing in hues of blues and black, the Rioga hasn't even bothered to put his spurs or his boots on all day, nor his sword belt with dagger, as Ronan is keeping to the suite.

Roslin is a pale thing when adorned in all black - but her father, the King is dead, so waht is she to do. Yet through the trials, she's been strong about it, and she approaches her husband now with a new cup of steaming tea. She sets it beside him, and takes away his own. Her hair is up in the crown of braids she wears at court, and her black is a lovely brocade - someoen must remain dressed, lest the business of the Attache office faulter. Roslin has been seeing to it all while her husband is ill. Seeing him laid up for some reason makes her smile, a fond smile, though. "And here, you were just getting over your cold. It was quite silly of you to get poisioned, you know."

Following in Roslin's wake is Melissa. She wears the blue and red of House Crawford, but a black ribbon is wound about her left upper arm. The Crawford retainer carries the tea pot and another cup for the Duchess, should she wish for some tea as well. Setting everything down onto the table in silence she will offer a curtsey, her gaze lowered and hardly brushing the Duke at all.

Ronan's dark eyes focus upon his lovely young wife. Thank the Gods for Roslin, a blessing added to his life recently. With some effort, he pushes himself to sit up more and grimaces, making a nasty face, "I know. Rosley …. even tasted the wine for me. I am worried for him." Bad as he's got it, Rosley is worse and old, hurt with the wound to his arm. The Rioga scowls and rumbles low, "At least it's not coming from both ends. Bad enough as it is." The fever isn't much but … ugh, the waves of pain in his stomach doubles him over. Ronan grits his teeth and tries not to groan, growl or otherwise make pathetic noises when it hits him.

It takes him a minute or so before he can sit back up and accept the tea. His dark eyes flicker over Melissa, knowing her face even if he doesn't really know her well yet. "Thank you … both."

"Really, Ronan. I have no idea what you're refering to and I am even more certain that I don't want to know." Both ends indeed. How unseemly! Roslin pushes the tea into his hands and up toward his mouth. Talk less, drink more. Then less of those nasty words come out. "Rosley will be alright," Roslin promises. "/Mistress Piper/ here has been seeing to that too." Roslin adds a bit more emphasis to the name - just a touch, enough for Ronan to hopefully get the hint - that's her name. Remember it! Still, when he looks up at his wife, he'll still find fond and content eyes looking down upon him, even with the death of her father so near. Roslin was quick to jump to her feet and see herself to her brother's side, the moment it happened. There's not been much of tears yet. "Was the Council able to come to any decisions on anything despite the illnesses?"

Her brows will move upwards with concern when Melissa now can't help but notice the Duke's painful state. "Is there anything else I can get you, Your Grace?", she will inquire, her eyes shifting from Ronan to Roslin. "Something to ease the pain? Some bucket, perhaps…?" Hearing Roslin's remark about Rosley, the Piper woman will nod, a shy smile playing about her face, as she looks towards the Duchess when she gives her reply. "Aye, Your Grace. He was unwell, and got rid of what was left in his stomach, but he is safely asleep now." With a bucket close by, in any case he should feel the need to throw up again.

Several letters have arrived for the Duke. Ronan has broken the seals on all six of them and read them, some of them marked with the seal of Lord Stuurok Ruxton of Weston. He glances at them but hasn't yet requested nor gone to fetch for himself quill, ink and parchment to make replies. Roslin is being insistant with that tea so Ronan takes it and leans back on the couch, taking a /very/ tiny sip of it. There's been no keeping anything down today but he keeps trying small sips.

"Thank you. Not sure … if he'll regain use of his arm. He's getting old. Served my father before me. Said he … had failed me, did not detect the poison." Yes, it is very nice that Roslin is looking at him like that and not disgusted with the stink of him. The stench of vomit isn't strong but it lingers, unpleasant. A slow nod, "Aye, more than one of them nominated me for Deputy Marshall and then for Marshall, to lead the war effort. The Lady Naiya Ruxton, your father's Castellan, was among them. But it was /she/ who poisoned us herself. Caught her when she tried to escape." That draws his attention back to the letters and Ronan frowns.

His attention returns to Melissa, "I have a basin and tea… a towel, and perhaps … something sweet smelling or the window casements to be opened?" Air the chambers out!

"Flowers, I think. Dried lavender if there is any. And yes, a fresh breeze, I think. His grace is not ill in the traditional sense, so I doubt we need keep this place as a sick room." Roslin agrees, looking back to her husband and, curiously, to the letters. "He has always done his duty, and will continue to do so. But he shalln't be around forever - old age will see to that as it does to all of us, eventaully. You may wish to start grooming a new man whom you may trust." Those letters catch her eye and she looks down at them, curiously. "Marshall would be an appropriate position, given that Tyrel shall now have far too much to do otherwise. It must be decided soon, all this. Despite everything that's happened, we must be prepared to fight. I daresay you shall be riding off as soon as you are able, if the nomination goes through. As I expect it will. You shall have Tyrel's support." Those letters. Hmm. "Is there anything I might assist with, Your Grace, while you're unwell?"

"Certainly, Your Grace," Melissa will reply to Ronan, her brows furrowing a bit at the smell, but her lips still curved into that concerned smile. Nodding to Roslin's opinion she moves over to open the windows. Then she will walk over to one of the cabinets and get some dried lavender they usually use to keep the clothing smelling fresh and nice. She will take the small bags and place them close to where Ronan sits, on the table and another one close by. Lingering still in the room, as if something was on her mind.

A few moments of trying to breath and hopefully keep the sip of tea down, rather than retch it back up. Yes, no vommiting for the moment, "Also … discussed nominations for other possible Deputy Marshalls, should I be appointed Marshall. My cousin, Lord Hadrian Kincaid, was … strong willed to be nominated and argued impetuously. He was repeatedly almost removed from Council. Sir Shepard was nominated, and … Sir Ruthgar was considered." A pause to rest, weakened somewhat from his ailment. Ronan lightly sips the tea once more, finishing his account for Roslin, "Count Haravean was nominated for Magistrate, to work with Duke Aidan Kincaid as Master of Laws. All of which … depends upon the King's approval, when your brother formally takes the throne."

Ah, yes that's better. Melissa's movements he watches somewhat, then Ronan lifts a small cloth to his mouth to try and not retch. Fugh.

Roslin can't help but laugh a little. "Hadrian, while a friend, can be an impetuous brat. He is not the same man I knew when I was but 14 and keen on learning the trade routes of the Lake. Ruthgar Ruxton would be a decent choice - the Ruxtons have few great representations here at court, despite being one of the major families and with royal blood in their own. But he is young, and was elevated to the position recently, and I think it would be too clearly political without the benefits of skill and ability that some others of similar political merit posess." Her husband gets a soft smile as Roslin perches her tush on the edge of the sofa arm. "Sir Shepard would be the most decent choice, I think. And I think Magistrate is a good place for Aldren - he will carry out our laws with vigour. Was anyone else recommended to be Marshall?"

Kierne arrives from the Upper Hall.

If the name dropping of any contenders for political positions ring a bell at all, it does not show on Melissa's face. She'll move forward when she notices Ronan raises the cloth, but then stop somewhere behind Roslin. Waiting for the Duchess to ask her to help if needed. Her eyes moving from Ronan back to the window, and smiling as she feels the light breeze of fresh air conquering the room.

Jarvice arrives from the Upper Hall.

Ronan is seated on a couch in the main foyer of the Suite. He is dressed in black as is befitting for mourning the loss of their King, but … he's only wearing pants and doublet, no boots and spurs, no sword belt and dagger. The top of his doublet is even unclasped. At the moment the Duke holds a small cloth to his face and urgent puts the cup of tea aside to double over and try very hard to puke his very guts out into a basin set on the floor. Nothing much happens as there really isn't anything in his stomach to retch out since his poisoning the evening before. Gods be good, that looks like it must hurt. After the painful dry heaving, the Duke manages to half sit up, "Inouv's cock!" Oh wait, women presant. The Rioga let slip language he shouldn't use before dainty ladies. Ronan gives Roslin a hasty glance before he sits back into the couch and wipes his mouth, "My apology."

A few breathes and after a long moment, he nods to what Roslin says, "Aye … I get along well with both of them. Neither …. have as much experience as I should like but, are better prospects … than my cousin." A negative momvent to Roslin's question of other nominations for Marshall, "No others, yet."

Roslin looks most displeased at her husband's choice of words. She takes the teacup back, lest he throw up on it or drop it. "Really Ronan, I know you're not feeling well but you're going to live - perhaps stop using words that would see the opposite true." She'll kill you, Ronan. Roslin is flushed a bit and she rises quickly to go and put the teacup … somewhere else. She is also dressed in mourning, a fine dress of black brocade with her hair up in a crown of red braids, but without the tiarra that used to sit there when she was addressed as Princess.

Melissa flinches at the curse that leaves Ronan's lips, her hand moving at once to cover her mouth as her eyes stare at him, wide-eyed. But not so much as to hide her displeased gawping, but a giggle rather, that leaves her with a low muffled noise. She wears the Crawford red and blue, but a black ribbon that is wound about her left upper arm. The King has died, and even retainers that have had little to do with Callem Kilgour are supposed to wear mourning these days. Her gaze shifting to Roslin, she'll lower her gaze at once but remain silent.

Jarvice has been one busy and tired steward, having learned of all the posionings and the like as he's been scrambling left and right mostly with the healers and cooks. As he enters thru the door to the Sutherland Suite, Pushing a cart that has a large turine on it that is lidded. Beside that is a platter with a white towel covering something loaf like and a small bottle, that is corked and at least six cups just to be safe. Normally Jarvice doesn't carry his longsword only his dirk which is hidden beneath his station robes for protection, but with all the attackes lately he's doned his sword as well to make sure that his Grace and his wife are well protected. The bottom of the cart is filled with at least six small serving bowls and a laddle a small cutting knife and a smaller trunchen of honey butter. He wheels the cart in and looks to his lord and lady and those assembled. "Your grace I know it might be hard to handle just now but I have brought you something to ease your ills and aches as I've been to the healers and have had a light broth created to help ease you and anyone else who might be afflicted. "

Kierne is just barely what a person would call dressed. The plain cream-colored linen tunic-gown he'd been clad in by the infirmary staff has been covered over with his own thicker woolen tunic, giving him a layered look of brick red to mid-thigh and cream thence to below the knee. He might well be wearing breeches underneath, but it's just as likely not, given that he's shuffling barefooted from the infirmary. He moves briskly enough for a man not two days out of surgery, but the young bounce back fast. He's been given the use of a cane and instructions to use it, so he carries it dutifully, but doesn't seem to be relying on it much, hurrying along to the suite, hot on Jarvice's heels. "My Lord Knight," he salutes with the hand not holding the stick, then bends his shoulders into a bit of a bow for the Duchess, as well. "Your Graces." Uttered with an outward composition lying overtop a certain terror.

Melissa's brown eyes shift towards the door when it is opened, and her face lightens up. Are her cheeks even colouring a little? As if aware of that she lowers her gaze at once, remaining standing where she is, somewhere behind Roslin, her hands folded before her. Her gaze shifting ever so briefly to the cart, her lips will curve into a smile, and she will shoot Jarvice a glance seasoned with a smile - although if amused or fond, who can really tell? Fact is, she can hardly imagine Ronan eating any of this in the next two hours.

Kierne's entrance seems to startle Melissa however. Maybe it is the insufficient clothing, but even more likely it is the emotional state of the squire, she will sense there in his gaze and his bearing. Her hands will tighten their grasp on each other, and her gaze will shift to the Duke.

Wow, if Roslin only knew the language knights sometime use among themselves, she would be /livid/. Haha. Ronan resists the urge to roll his eyes and only nods, because yes, he's Rioga as well as a Duke and should strive always to conduct himself as a role model for others. And then, there is Jarvice arrivina with … food. The Duke's face almost turns green when he can smell it, "I … appreciate the gesture, Sir … but I have been unable to keep down even tea, thus far." Ronan glances to Roslin to see if she will remain ired with him but then Kierne walks in.

The Rioga stares at his squire for several seconds, "You are on your … feet." The Duke looks half like hell warmed over himself. "Kierne, please do come in. Rosley .. will be pleased to see you." Poor bastard's half dead, sick as a dog in Ronan's bedchamber.

"Melissa, help Sir Jarvice, please. To see the food away. And Jarvice, I need to speak to you, when there's a quiet moment." She doesn't sound happy about that, either, but then perhaps it is just her husband's poor choice of words that's got her irked. "Kierne, sit down, won't you? As His Grace says, Rosley will be happy to see you. But a bit of tea first, I think - it's the most fashionable thing to have in the keep, these days. With everyone hurt and ill." She nods to Melissa - yes, see to that too, please.

Jarvice has expected such a reply of his Grace and anyone else who's been afflicted as he pulls out a small vial and says. "the healers provided me with this Your grace, as its to help with the affects so that you might better keep down sustance.. They say that those afflicted are be comming dehydrated and need all the fluids they can get into them. "

Jarvice doesn't lift the lid to the truncheon, before saying "the broth is simple and not only were there guards in the kitchen but myself as well, making sure nothing was slipped into this or the bread. Just to make sure I did sample and have suffered no ill effects. Even the healers who are roaming around said it was okay.. " He looks to the Dutchess and nods, when she speaks to him as he's been up for more hours than he'd care to think upon trying to make sure his grace and his family recover. He looks to the dutchess as second time and asks softly. "would you see please that his Grace and rosley get some of this, only a spoonful I was told no more until after they get something into their stomaches."

Kierne looks briefly pallid at the thought of sitting. Or perhaps having tea. The last time he had tea it did not end any sort of well, and the memories of barfage are still haunting him. He makes the saddest eyes at Ronan when he reveals himself to be in very much the same position. "I thank you, your Grace, but my portions are still under the say of the infirmary. They were kind enough to give me leave to walk up here when I heard of what happened at the meeting. What have the doctors said?" he asks, stepping closer, giving Ronan a sollicitous looking-over. "What was it? Is there an antidote? May I go and greet Rosley? Is he going to be alright?" All the questions. Rosley is rather older, after all, and might not handle the poison as well. Oddly enough, given his job.

Melissa offers a quick nod to Roslin's plea, and she will move over to the cart. "His Grace is in no state to eat anything at the moment," is murmured with a wide-eyed stare of concern in Jarvice's direction. Her eyes growing wider at the steward's proposition, briefly glancing at the vial, before she notices Jarvice being distracted with advertising this new medicine, so she will use the opportunity to move the cart out of the room and giving it into the care of some servants. Once she is back she will search the cabinet for another cup before she moves over to the table, to pour Kierne some tea. "There," Melissa hands it to the squire with a smile, really trying to keep her gaze to his face. Her brief absence having her prevented from hearing him decline the offer of tea.

The Duke indeed doesn't want any soup or bread at the moment. He lowers the cloth from his mouth and looks to say something to Jarvice about the vial, and then looks to Roslin. A nod to her from Ronan, "It is good to have a capable wife, when I am brought low." He smiles a little, feeling wretched. The Rioga watches Melissa deftly seeing to what she was asked to do and he lays himself over to set his head on the arm of the furniture to close his eyes for a breath. Fever burns yet burns low as he waits a moment to find out what Roslin decides about Jarvice's offerings. If the vial's contents help…

Kierne had spoken to himself. Ronan opens his eyes, "You may see Rosley - he's in my room. The healers say they think we'll live but it may be days or a week of suffering. Not sure … they know yet, what she used on us." Aye, Rosley isn't faring well at all.

Jarvice watches as Melissa takes the cart and ushers it off for later. Jarvice retains possession of the vial he had been given by the healers ment to aid in helping keep down food and fluids, until such time as His grace or her Grace ask for it. He doesn't wish it to be placed into anyone else's hands.

Roslin does seem to have no problem ordering people around. "Sit or don't sit, Kierne, but we're going to cover you up right away. We may be locked in the castle and the realm may be crumbling, but that's no reason for vulgarity." Kierne isn't the only one who gets taht little glare. Ronan. "If everyone has said the men will be alright without the assistance of any mystery medicines, all the better. There is still some question as to who may ahve supplied Elisen Stewart with the poision he gave himself, and a healer's apprentice was at least involved. And now a Castellian. No, His Grace can manage without, I think." She looks at her husband again, sympathetically. "I'll see to Rosley now, you just sit, Kierne. And cover yourself, somehow." She nods then and moves to head toward Rosley's room.

"Wh— where?" Kierne is taken by surprise at having tea thrust upon him, though he turns aside and takes the cup in hand, looking down into it as though he'd never seen one before in his life and had no notion what to do with it, or he were just confused about being offered it. But he holds onto it well enough, neck whipping back to direct attention to Ronan when he speaks, heart thudding unseadily in his chest. They think they'll live? He nods numbly to the information. And then is being chastized for his bare feet by the Duchess, whose chiding he takes with a bow of his head. "Sorry, your Grace," he offers an apology, finding a sofa's arm on which to perch wincingly, drawing up his feet into the cream swaths of his tunic with a shift of his legs. "Please give him my well-wishes."

Melissa's gaze will shift from the vial in Jarvice's hand to Roslin. A slight smirk trying to get the upper hand of her mien, when she hears the scolding and call for propriety. But luckily enough, that smirk fails in the end. A brief nod is given, and a blanket fetched, before she holds it out to Kierne with a friendly smile. "There, my lord," Melissa will state, with a faintly amused eyebrow raised. "If you do wish to follow Her Grace's bidding…"

Ugh, Roslin's right that he … must be very careful just now. Yet miserable as he's feeling, Ronan was tempted to ask for the vial. His breathing is a little rough, then he shifts a hand to his abdomin and grimaces as a fresh wave of painful cramps dig into his guts. "Nnnnn." Ronan grits his teeth hard against the pain that wracks him. Several very undelightful seconds of agony, frak him. Give him a minute or two and then Ronan can get his breath, try to look to Jarvice, "I … your effort is … appreciated. As you can surmise … we have a … security issue." Castle staff can't be trusted. "Give … a little to Rosley, if he wants it, but … only if Roslin will allow and watch." The Duke is in no condition and is going to leave it up to the Duchess to decide at this time. Ronan closes his eyes, willing the pain to subside and let him rest, if only for a few minutes.

Kierne slips back down onto the floor, still a mite uncomfortable in sitting down, and he trades the teacup back to Melissa for the blanket, which he wraps around his waist, sucking in a swift breath as he does so, creating a nice long train for his increasingly dress-like outfit, the blanket draping to the floor and then some, hiding his feet properly even as the big baggy arms of his sweater-tunic swallow up his hands. Nothing offensive to see here. "And so was this done by the same person who worked with the attackers, who let them onto the castle grounds?"

Jarvice nods his head as he's quite aware of the security problem, which is why he watched as the soup and bread were being made just to keep his grace from further harm. "As you wish your grace as he waits for her grace's permission to proceed. " as he knows damn well how severe this is and will do anything to protect his lord and his lady.

Melissa will accept the tea cup but deposit it on the table. Hazel brown eyes follow Roslin as she moves to the door, and Melissa seems for a short time undecided whether to follow her or not. "Your Grace!", she will say after a moment, gathering her skirts to walk after her at a slightly hurried pace. "Let me accompany you." Pausing at the doorstep to shoot a glance over her shoulder, brushing Kierne until her gaze finds Jarvice and she smiles faintly, inclining her head in a silent goodbye.

Ronan could probably use a blanket himself, his feet bare where he's laid himself out on the couch in his misery. His eyes re-open to focus on Kierne, "We … don't know yet. The Castellan was taken to the dungeons and the Lady will be questioned." The Duke tries to smile a little for Jarvice, "You are a good man. If … the Baroness Wenna herself says … I am to use the vial… if you will bring her here, then I will." Otherwise he'll suffer. Ronan is a strong, powerful man so it would have to be a strong poison to kill him. But Rosley? Melissa is observed to slip out after his wife and Ronan's gaze settles upon Kierne. He tries to smile a little, "I was .. nominated for Marshall … of Mobrin's military." The King approving, of course.

Kierne lets the tea sit, to all evidence uninterested in it. He shuffles along , blanket trailing after him, toes just peeking through the garment when he steps forward with each foot in turn. "Marshall of the Military? Wow, uh. That's a huge deal," he points out, fairly obviously.

Jarvice moves to assist the Duke with the Dutchess's leaving as he finds a blanket and will drape it over his Grace making sure the man's feet are well covered. "Well your grace you deserve the post. " as he smiles, then goes to get a wash cloth and soak it in water, as he wipes his graces face and forehead. Which then ronan can even see how tired the man is. Its sheer willpower that keeps jarvice moving now filled with worry and the desire to see his liege back on his feet.

"Aye … if the Crown Prince Tyrel, our new King, approves … I would work closely with him. Unless he prefers another." They will have to wait and see. Ronan trembles a moment with a shiver caused by his fever. Fugh, how he hates to be ill and this is worse. His dark eyes flicker to Jarvice, watching him as the Senechal knight brings him a blanket and does even more - doing what Rosley himself would be doing if he wasn't so sick and injured himself. The Duke isn't so far out of it not to catch a sign of Jarvice's fatigue, "Perhaps … you will sit with us a while, Sir Jarvice. Rest here. You look tired." And now Roslin is not hovering, he adds low, "Rosley … may have need of your vial more than I. If he be willing." And if Rosley is willing and improves by it, then Ronan will try it. It's not a lack of trust in Jarvice, but healers he doesn't know whom are not Wenna.

Jarvice looks at his Grace and smiles. "No offense your grace but I'll get plenty of sleep once your well. " Yes jarvice is quite the stubborn one. He'll fear your wrath once your well enough to dispense it until then he'll work for as long as his body will let him while making sure your well and safe.

"I don't see any reason why he wouldn't approve," Kierne speaks up, but less than enthusiastically, knowing little about the politics of the council, himself. "But with all that's been going on who knows what might happen next. Was there anything said of, ah," Kierne drifts along, floating in his blanket-dress. "Retribution?"

"Retribution?" Then blanket for some reason makes him feel a little better. Ronan lays his hand on the blanket, not really following Kierne's meaning too well. His eyes drift closed, too tired himself to keep them open as he rumbles a low reply to Jarvice, "I think .. I will rest, a little. You should as well." After all, if he can sleep, surely Jarvice could as well if he stays right here? That way he'll know if the Duke awakes and starts retching his guts up again, or moans in pain, or whatever. "Kierne … will check on … Rosley." Yes, Ronan is worried for his man servant more than he's concerned about himself. Finally, he can sleep.

Kierne will certainly do so, letting the matter of plans for the future slip away to that future date, smiling just a little bit at his Lord Knight as he can finally rest, then going to take his leave and see to Rosley, the poor fellow.

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