Several scenes Tyrel had during the month of Thedor
| Tyrel's Notes on Thedor |
| Summary: | Several scenes Tyrel had during the month of Thedor |
| OOC Date: | January 2014 |
| Related: | None |
| Players: |
 |
| Various |
| See below |
| Thedor, 229 |
Crown Prince's Office Darfield Castle
It is day 16 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 03:01 PM
A man's room. This spacious room is graced with a gorgeous view of the ocean. Three tall windows, topped with gorgeous stained glass look out over the harbour to east, and the ocean below. Dominating it is a truly massive, oaken desk, topped with assorted bits of small statuary and objects of art. The desk is ornately carved with an elegant vine pattern. Behind it is a rather grandiose throne of a chair, carved in a somewhat gothic style. What isn't wood is covered in black leather secured by silver studs. In front of the desk is a cluster of smaller black-leather chairs. The hardwood floor is covered in a thick purple rug with silver trim. A few silver candelabras spaced about the room in addition to a few wrought-iron wall sconces provide plenty of light. The walls are paneled two thirds of the way up the wall with a dark cherry wood. From there on up they are painted purple, and about a foot from the ceiling is silver stenciling. On one side of the room, a bookshelf lines the wall, from floor to ceiling. The shelf is filled with books from all across Daeren. A door leads to a private room for the Prince.
"You." The door of Tyrel's room opens abruptly, wood crashing as it does. Many guards, outside, show their incapacity to have prevented it. After all, not a single person in Mobrin would have dared to cross the path of the newcomer - even less in the fiery mood he is on. His tone is strong, thunderous, severe. "Tyrel Kilgour. Come here." Long strides guide Callem, King of Mobrin, inside hastily. His cloak waves furiously, even with the little wind Darfield can offer inside its walls.
The Lord and Head of the Royal House wears simple clothes, topped by the Golden Crown on his head. His eyes ablaze, but for someone who knows him well - and surely his children might - there is a hidden grief and tiredness deep within. Hidden enough to be clear he doesn't want it to change.
"Get over here." He commands after taking seat in front of one of the chess sets, previously arranged. "We need to talk. But, mostly, you will play with me."
Roslin just got here! She's innocent of all wrongdoing! She has never done a single thing wrong in her life! Only one of those is true - she only did just arrive in Tyrel's rooms. She's dressed as she has been all day, in a dress of navy blue velvet with a cream bodice and underskirt, both decorated with blue stones embroidered in starburst patterns. Her eight-pointed star and tiarra are both silver, and her hair is up in its elegant crown of braids. She was just, it seems, pouring herself a glass of wine. "We have a real opportunity here to-" And then? Father is there.
Ros at least has the presence to stop pouring the wine in order to stare. Otherwise it would have just been messy. "Father?" She asks, her tone and her face both entirely incredulous.
Tyrel rises as the door crashes open, his hand dropping to the short blade he carries, when his father enters he moves his hand away from it and instead turns to move to the sideboard gathering a pair of bottles before walking around his desk. He pauses to select a chess set made of stones from the far west and north of Weston, a curious stone that feels gritty and seems too soft to hold together but remains sturdy. Two colors of the stone are carved or chiseled into the pieces. Tyrel sets the chess set down then the bottles. "Of course, father, should you prefer to make the first move?" He fixes the few pieces that shifted in transit then moves to seat himself. "Roslin, I believe we will need to continue that conversation at a later point, would you care to observe the game, with your permission of course." He looks to Callem on the last then takes a seat.
"My child." Callem says lovingly to Roslin, as if his rage had taken a brief pause. Very brief, brief enough to return by the time he faces his son again. But, it is not rage, for the most observants. Or at least, not towards them. "I will move first." As always. Who would say no to the King? Well, hopefully just a few. "And I will tell you something."
The first piece, a stone pawn, slides through the board.
"Why don't you move the King first, Tyrel?" There is no time to wait. Actually, it would seem like he has not patience, for a reason or another, and still his tone is as warm and candid as it can. "Two reasons. One, you can't. Two, and this is important, but even if you could, you would never let your opponent to know you perceive danger. Am I wrong? Unless your strategy is absolutely outrageous, or it is a well positioned trap, you will leave your King to be moved later. At least, that is what I do." His finger, surrounded by a golden ring, stands just above the Pawn he has just moved.
"If you move the Relics, which I am sure you wanted to protect, for we all would even give our lives for them, when the enemy is so far away, well, you make everyone think the danger is imminent. Everyone will think the storm has reached Stormvale." the monarch grins, now speaking very softly, turning to look at Roslin from time to time to include her in his speech, "And some will even think that, in the time of an imminent invasion, we are protecting the Relics, but not the people." he sighs. "What would you do, my children, if you are a farmer - a poor one - and the King is so desperate that he takes, /almost by force/, the Relics from the Temple to hide them in the castle? Wouldn't you think that your life, and the life of your family, should be equally protected? Wouldn't you think that the only reason it is happening is because we are taking our last measures and there is an army that can enter our gates?"
After a pause, he smiles softly. Calmed.
"We all know that no army will reach us. We all know that no Kingdom will beat us. We all know that the Relics must be secured. But there, outside, there are many who don't. And those, the ones outside, the carpenter and the baker, the bookkeeper and the waitress, those are the ones we need to protect. And we always, always, need to make them feel safe. So, my heir, my future King and already hero of many battles, I have never doubted you want the best for us. Now, let me show you how I have prevented this Realm to fall apart for so many years." The King, the father, chuckles a bit. "And let me show you how the Kings of the past taught me to play. And win."
If the king is calmed, Roslin is certainly not. But then, she's spent her entire day running from place to place, scheming, schmoozing, and spying. And it has taken a toll on her nerves. But self-control is her key tennant, even for one so young. Rather than joining the men and sitting, she stays by the wine. By the time her father's speech is done, she has finished her wine. Another is poured before she makes her way over to the men. She's biting her tongue - she's behaving, she quiet. Both men likely know that seeing her in such a state is painful for her. She's likely about to burst. But she doesn't. She sits in front of the board, watching the two men, and sipping her wine. She seems to have more interest in Tyrel, though, and his cotenence than her father's.
Tyrel considers the board for a moment then says, "Your analogy is flawed, father." He selects a pawn and moves it forward, "Not against me, of course, I play an honorable game, the rules are followed and the pieces move as directed. However, if I were to reach across the table and sieze a pawn, break it and return it maimed, to sieze your rooks and throw them across the room, to be returned, perhaps, at some time in the future, and snap one of your knights in the process. Then to cause it so that your bishops would not move as you direct, and finally to break another pawn, snap your other knight and seize your queen. Then, father, I think it would be entirely reasonable for you to take hold of your king and protect it in your hand. For then I am not playing chess, as our enemies are not waging war, they are murderers, thieves, assassins, traitors, thugs, usurpers and oathbreakers." He works loose the cork of the bottle he has brought over and raises it to his lips but lowers it without drinking. "That was the source of my concern, and the reality those of the temple refused to understand."
The references are plan enough, Nimue and her guards, Caedmon, Wenna and thiers, Lady Serah Temple, the knights, and now Ciarrah.
"So, who is your enemy, Tyrel? The thieves and murderers, or the Faith? Because, in my perspective, the thieves are doing what they want, they are achieving all of their goals," Callem gives a look to the shown pieces, "And the Temple is the one that raised, closed the doors, was practically sacked against their will, and was forced to give up - at least for a while - what is more precious for them. Because, yes, we are faithful, but they have given their entire life to study and worship those Gods. If anyone can read that scrolls, it is them. And if you are so eager to protect that Relics, then, trust me, they would fight until their last drop of blood in a way you can't even imagine." Another pawn is moved. "Why didn't you enforce their guard in the first place, when they didn't agree to give you the objects, Tyrel? That would protect them. Not insult them. And we, the House Kilgour, don't insult the Gods or their Blessed Ones. Not even I, the King, would force them to take arms and close their gates. Now they fear us. They speak of dreams of blood on their walls. I have heard it. And the bandits?" A gesture of disappointment occurs, "They took your wife. So, my child, who is your enemy?"
Roslin is going to pop. Like a blueberry that's been squeezed. She's going to come out swinging, come out screaming, surely. But then, after a few breaths, and a few more sips of wine, she doesn't. She lowers her face a little. "They speak of dreams, Father. I have endured them myself," She says it low, so the two men can hear but so her voice doesn't carry any further. That's all she can let out without popping.
Tyrel considers the board, "My enemies are your enemies, father, you are the king. I move as directed and strike where you tell me." He moves another pawn forward, "What I have done I did as I judged to be your will, I have erred, I will not err in that way again." He looks over at Roslin for a moment before looking back to Callem, "Father, can we allow Roslin a moment to have her say, she looks near ready to burst?"
"Yes. But, in their dream, it is our House who murder them. Not Laniveer. It is not their dream what worries me, Roslin. What worries me is that they see the enemy in our family. Not outside. Is that pleasant to you? Because, if it pleases you, then you have my authorization to go and steal the bread of the baker. Go, do it. Will he be thankful? Will he feel protected? Will he still think that Laniveer is the enemy? When did you both forgot that it is better to fight a war and not two? Was it necessary to take the Relics by force? Couldn't you negotiate? Did I gave you the power, Tyrel, to be used in a direct insult to our own people?"
Then, dismissing the topic after the Crown Prince has spoken, with more disappointment than before, he looks at Roslin once more. Silently waiting. No piece is moved.
Roslin takes the look as the opportunity to speak. "Tyrel did what he thought was right. Perhaps he was wrong - but he was making amends. The scrolls had been returned, Father." She says, words flowing and allowing her cheeks to flush red. "He was making his peace with the Temple and the people. And now that peace is impossible. His mistakes will follow him longer because you did not let him finish making them right." She shakes her head a little bit, still looking rather incredulous. "You need not … lecture us, Father. Not patronize us. Without a leader this realm began to waver. Tyrel has done what he could to make sure it got no worse than it has become. Someone had to." She moves then, rising and moving back to where the pitcher is, leaving the men to their bottles. Yes. More wine.
"Roslin, I don't know if you have noticed, but things are worse." Callem says very dryly. "You said he made a mistake, but you tell me not to lecture him. So, how can he learn if you are not open to listen? Tyrel will be King. One day. And that day, I won't be there to fix the mess." He has had enough of it, more than he can tolerate. "You think that things were getting good? Today I was in that temple. And, trust me, Roslin, things are in no way good. If they were, I would be doing better things for Mobrin, instead of trying to bring peace between our family and the Faith, for a problem that we started."
The King rises from his seat.
"By the time you both were born, I had smashed entire armies and led a nation to victory. I don't ask you to never commit a mistake. I only ask you to learn from it. But it is clear that you don't want it from me. And well," he smirks a sad smirk, "So be it."
Tyrel says, "I am listening and learning, father, however I have no interest in misleading you. I consider the temple no better and no worse than any other foreign power. They see their temples bloody and broken and name me their enemy rather than look to me as a protector. They see my enthusiasm and declare me in error, then label me unforgiveable. If they are useful to me in alliance I will tolerate them, if they turn on me, I will crush them. They are no more men of god than you or I, only ones who think that claiming such allows them to rise above their station." He rises as his father rises and bows. "You will have no further trouble from me towards the temple during your rule, father, nor arguement from me about them."
Roslin sets the pitcher down with a soft thud after she's poured her cup. "You don't know bad things really are, Father. Or why," she says, turning and allowing Tyrel time to say his peice. "I do not see how anything is clear to you Father. Nothing is clear to me. I cannot speak for Tyrel. But we have been left entirely alone - all of us. Some things have been done poorly. But there is much afoot, Father, that we would seek to assist you in. As we have ever done. But if we are such failures, then we are I am sure forever sorry. And perhaps one day we may find a way back to your good graces, where we might be at all of use to you." She sips her wine again. "At any rate, it will please his Grace to know that the business with the temple is all sorted now that you are back, Your Majesty. He has been exceptionally concerned. Tyrel, will you be kind enough to escort me down there at his earliest convenience? Oh…" she looks back to her father. "Did you know I am betrothed, Father?"
Callem smiles to both of his children.
"When I started my retirement, I ordered my guards to spread rumors about my death. I wanted to see what would happen. How many would betray us, how many would stay. How many would help. How many would realize that a Kingdom is not a King." He moves slowly to leave the room.
"And I all see is disrespect. It is a shame, Roslin. I thought better of you."
With that, and a pair of gentle nods, Callem leaves the chamber accompanied by his personal guard.
Tyrel waits until his father is clear of the room before launching his bottle of mead towards the far wall.
Roslin spins on her heel as the bottle shatters against the wall. She watches it shatter, and looks to her brother. Now, at last. She is crying. It's silent, but the tears stream down her face. "He's gone mad," she finally says to her brother. "Stark-raving mad. It's worse than we'd feared." Her hands start to tremble as she looks for a place to sit. She ends up just pacing the room.
Tyrel looks to Roslin, "I do not believe so, Roslin. There is logic in what he does, though I would not do the same, I am not king." He moves to pick up another bottle and opens it. "I have some curiousity whether he has given consideration, or if the temple has, to when we will be entertaining the temples of Laniveer."
"The Temple? Tyrel, did you hear him? He abandoned us as a game." She moves over to her brother's side, hands still trembling. "He thought it would be interesting to leave without warning, to leave no one in charge. Had he been dead you would have been granted full power to run the kingdom - instead he … he just … he let all of this happen and then he lectures us, treats us like children. And hardly a mention of Ciarrah! He did not even know it was the Laniveer who took her. Bandits, he said, did you hear him? No…" she begins to shake her head. "And then he accuses us of disloyalty. What do we do, Tyrel?" She's crying again. Someone might want to see to that.
Tyrel says, "Father is aware it was Laniveer, I informed him of such, he baits us as I often bait you. If I had any emotion left to me, it might have elicited a reaction, but I spent my night holding my children while witnessing a dream that I am told is my sin. I am resolved on the matter, whether I am correct or in error is no longer important, the decision is past."
Roslin at last finds a seat and falls into it like she could just about collapse. "Months we have not seen or heard from him. And now he will not even listen to us - worse, he names us disloyal and disrespectful." She just can't believe it. She shakes her head, sounding bewildered. And then she starts to cry again, this time in earnest, lips puffing as air escapes every few breaths in the soft, unhappy choking sounds. A hand comes up to cover her face. "I am more frightened today than I have ever been in my life."
Tyrel walks over to Roslin, leans over and kisses her on the forehead. He stands there for a few moments then says, "I have no particular words of comfort you, Roslin. Father is doing as he sees best, I do the same, as do we all. You are no longer a child he can give comfort to, you are a woman who will shortly support him from Sutherland." He folds his hands behind his back, "Father seeks to test all those around him, I cannot fault him for taking the steps with us that I took with the temple. Insult will be given, it is only in moving forward despite the insult that we prove ourselves to him again."
"He just … doesn't seem to care. About us - about any of it. It was a game. He did nothing, absolutely nothing, and then calls us disloyal. Calls me disloyal." She uses her sleeve to dry her eyes after a few moments. Self-control. It has returned. "Tyrel, if it's true about this business with the temple … take me down there that we may finish this madness with Ronan Crawford. Lets do right by him, at least. Since we have failed in every other thing we have touched. Please. I want this done."
Tyrel nods, "The moment father is done his conversation with the temple, Roslin, we will see the matter resolved. I should also wish you to know that you have performed well, the marriage arrangement is made, Ronan is eager to see you wed. Do not overlook your successes." He looks about the room, "Lord Bowden has offered to swear fealty to father, he appreciates our treatment of the Stewerts despite their behavior…there is some good come of all this…proper behavior and honor, chivalry and pride in oneself…these things will be rewarded in time." He looks to Roslin, "That is done in no small part by you, you have won over with your kindness and propriety what our armies could not…and what father did not."
Roslin sniffles once more. She dabs her eyes a bit again. "That is kind of you to say, Tyrel. I never thought Father would be so dissapointed in me, while in the last months I have done more … well. Ronan is eager to be wed, you are correct. And he should not have to wait any longer. Our family has failed and humiliated him at nearly ever turn. It is time some good was done for hiim." She smooths out her skirts, finally looking through dry eyes.
"That is something else we need to speak on, Tyrel. I spoke to Rowena Stewart today. Is father still planning to exchange her for Ciarrah? It is a good idea, now." Roslin takes a deep breath, and lowers her voice. "You wish me to try my hand in subterfuge. Rowena Stewart will, I hope, be sending information back to me once she is home. She is all but sworn herself away from her father and brother. There are some … techniques. And if I am truly to attempt my hand in the world of spies, I must have spies working for me. I hope you are not angry but … I really must stress how much more important it is now that we return Rowena to Laniveer. It may not work, all of this. But I believe that it might."
Tyrel says, "Father has ordered I have no more to do with the matter, Roslin, so I will not. I believe he will return her and her people to Laniveer for the return of Ciarrah. He is, for reasons I have not understood, fixated upon her sitting as queen."
Roslin nods, taking another deep sip of her wine. "Do you not wish to know how Elisen escaped, then? Or how I believe he escaped? I think … he may have had additional collaborators, Tyrel." Sip. "And the luxary of some pittifully dumb servants." She laughs at that, looking down into her cup. "Gods be Good, he's back. I cannot understnad how you are so calm. It's rather remarkable."
Tyrel says, "I have report from the guard that Issani Manor may have been involved, prisoners were taken who appear to be local. They appear to have taken advantage of the corresponence priveledges we gave them to arrange for a ship. Beyond that…" He looks towards the wall the moves to take a seat in his usual chair behind his desk. "I remain calm, Roslin, because I must. To many would die if I were to become excitable…and father was never gone, had he been, I would have been king.'
"That makes it worse," Roslin finally decides. She moves to stand. "If you had been King, you would have had full control. It wasn't fair of him to play this game with you, Tyrel. Not to you of all people. I'm sorry if I upset you by being so angry with him. I could not help it. He did not come out for anything - not for Caillin, not for … anything." She sets her cup down. "I'll leave you now. But I am sorry."
Tyrel shakes his head, "Do not be sorry, Roslin, only indulge me in that when I have some time to allow the emotion that I am suppressing to come forth that you do not hold it against me." He rises and sees her to the door, "I will be in my rooms for most of the evening. I may be entertaining some of the guests of the castle." He looks towards the broken bottle, "We must keep up apperances."
"My darling brother," Roslin says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I could never hold your emotions against you, nor anything else. Never fear me." She smiles at him, a sad, trembly, exhausted smile. "I'm going to sleep. But send for me, please. If there is anything you require." She gives him one more sad smile before turning to head out the door.
Laniveer Suite Darfield Castle
It is day 19 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 12:02 PM
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.
Word is sent ahead that Tyrel will be visiting the chambers shortly. Hospitality is still being provided but those priveledges that the delegation from Laniveer once had have vanished.
Rowena barely acknowledged the message and in fact continues to pack up stuff as if she hasn't gotten it. In one corner a chest sits, opened, and clothing has been folded and put within it, it all done by rote memory by her and Odelia. No one else is inside the room.
Tyrel raps on the doorframe as he enters, the guards letting him through, he looks around remaining at the doorway his progress checked. "Rowena, please call for Lady Odelia, I should like to speak with you." He is dressed in his armor and armed, light plate suitable for wearing throughout the day, his head is bare though his helm can he seen being held by Bowen who waits outside.
Rowena turns slowly, her expression blank, the only thing that registers as surprise at Tyrel's politeness is a single blink. She bobs a curtsey quickly before calling for the other woman, Odelia then coming in from the room Elisen was using. "Yes, Tyrel?" She turns towards the chest to empty her arms of the clothing she has in them. "Odelia, please continue packing. The Prince wishes to speak with me." Once assured Odelia will be fine doing the packing on her own she sits down. "Please. Sit, Young Majesty. Should I ask for tea to be brought up?"
Tyrel shakes his head, "I've little taste for tea, it reminds me of medicine." He moves to sit with the stiff grace of an old cat, "I wished to inform you that you may not be returning to Laniveer as quickly as expected. It would be advisable for you to keep such effects as you require to be comfortable unpacked." He lifts his sword free from his belt so he can settle into the chair placing the sheathed blade across his knees.
There is a pause before Rowena nods, slowly. "Then mead. I seem to recall you like that." That being something she caught onto the night she last spoke to him and his mother. Odelia's asked to get him some and her some tea before the cruxo of their little chat is brought up. "I see. You are being very polite about it. Nice, even. Why?" If the roles were reversed she'd probably be very annoyed if she were made to keep one of her enemies for longer than she hoped and she can only assume that the same is for Tyrel.
Tyrel says, "Because it is what is proper to do, Lady Rowena. I have, to the best of my ability, remained polite to you. Such failings as I have had in the past I expect you to excuse given the events that led to them, if you choose not to, that is your perogative." He moves to rest his arms on the chair but finds the seat lacking, instead he rests his forearms on the sword and interlacing his fingers. "The drink is unneeded, and there is still some question regarding who in your entourage is not to be trusted with drinks."
Rowena knows she goaded him a time or two but she still hestiates in forgiving, especially when Tyrel's last lapse in proper manners resulted in bruises that are still healing. It'll happen, eventually, but right now it'd take a miracle before forgiveness is given. "I see. Well. I suppose we have both been guilty of bad behavior." There. At least she can confess she too acted out. The mention of the tea gets a brow to arch and a sigh to sound. "As far as I know, Tyrel, the only ones to touch the tea were your sister's healer and my brother. And if it'll make you feel any better, I'll have Odelia take the first drink for you."
Tyrel shakes his head, "I wish the Lady no harm and would not risk a noblewoman's health for my own safety. I am not so thirsty than I cannot wait and should I wish mead I would send my man for a bottle." He unlaces his fingers and relaces them again. "I should like to know if you are aware of any within your household who would be willing to return my wife to me, upon her arrival I will see you and yours returned to your lands or delivered wherever you should wish to be."
The concern Tyrel shows for Odelia gets Rowena's heart to thaw a little although she tries so very stubbornly to stay upset with him ; it grows increasingly more difficult the longer he shows this side of him, however and it isn't much longer before she gives up trying to stay mad. "I am sure she'll appreciate that, Young Majesty." Her hands settle on her lap and her fingers twine and untwine repeatedly, her eyes lowering as she thinks. "I am afraid that all those who would come to your aid at my request are all here with me. Those who stayed behind are those loyal to my father." Gods, how she wish she could give an other answer but he asked her and she owes it to him to answer truly.
Tyrel considers for a few moments then nods, "I had some suspicion to that effect. I assumed that your brother was a dissappointment to your father, you and the others however do not share his flaws." He shifts his fingers again pressing the tips against one another, "I wonder if he has found favor in your father's eyes by this gambit." His eyes drop to his fingertips before looking to Rowena again, "Thank you for considering the matter." He looks around the room, "If you require anything to make what time you have remaining here more comfortable send word and I will have it arranged for you."
Rowena keeps her head angled down slightly but looks up at Tyrel, puzzled. "What flaws would those be, Tyrel?" When she was a girl she used to want to be like her parents, her mother as well but mostly her father, but now she finds herself so very relieved to learn that maybe she is not anything like Eldwin after all. Elisen, however, seems very much their father's son and it sickens her. "I do not know what my brother was hoping to accomplish." She can only assume Ciarrah's kidnapping was done in effort to spit in the faces of those who love her, almost costing Rowena her life in the process. Her feet are regained and she starts to move, going to join Odelia who has returned with their drinks. "The Prince won't be needing refreshments but pour me some tea, please." The tea is poured and tasted and then deamed safe. "You do not need to thank me for trying to help. I just wish I could." His offer of comfort is given a nod but she doesn't say anything, going quiet.
Tyrel says, "Your brother is a weak thing, physically, prone to illness. He has also shown himself to be lacking in honor, courage and self-control. Those are considerable flaws for a man who might have one day ruled a kingdom. A bookish man is not a worthless man, of course, I've known great men who prefer scroll to sword, but to act as he did speaks of a fearful nature…an inability to recognize what strengths he might have had and a prediliction to vengence over peace." He gestures towards Rowena, "I should think the list is similar to that you think of me save that he has not demonstrated restraint."
Tyrel rolls his hand, "The balance of the list, my health is quite good."
"He tries," Ro whispers, almost too hushed to be heard. "But in his trying he seeks to be like Father at the same time." Her tea is gathered and sipped from. "It throws him off balance and then…" Then what? It causes him to act the way he does. Brash, impulsive, that is what. All things Elisen has demonstraited more than once upon their arrival. Another sip is taken, the warmth pleasant, soothing and warming her from the inside out. "You have what he doesn't. Or at least you do when you're not being thrown off of the balance you manage to keep about you. You are the kind of ruler I hope Elisen can grow into being." Pausing, she looks at him, smiling sadly. "I used to think of you like my brother. I don't think I do anymore, though."
Tyrel says, "He might have made for a good lord, Rowena, with a king to guide him and provide such restraint as is needed, but he would not have made a worthy king, I worry from time to time if I will even prove worthy. These wars hurt the people and they gain us nothing." He looks towards her, "I should have much preferred had he stayed to play a game of chess with me. Should you wish a game to pass the time, do send word."
You paged Alasair with 'Nicely said, dearest.'
Rowena steps over to Tyrel and moves to touch him upon the arm, a friendly gesture if it is allowed to be given. "You will make a great king for your father is one. As for chess, I would love to. Maybe it could be our way of starting anew. Perhaps we can find ind a common ground in the game that we can forge peace upon if only for ourselves. Now, if you'll forgive me, Young Prince. I got a lot to do, still, and I am sure you are busy as well."
Tyrel wards off the touch, "A bad habit, Lady Rowena, best not begun." He then rises, "Forgiveness is not needed, I appreciated that time which you have spent with me." He dips his head to her then to Odelia and moves to depart.
Upper Hall Darfield Castle
It is day 20 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 05:41 AM
Tyrel stands looking at the tapestry of the last great war. He is wearing his light plate, decorative but highly functional armor meant for a commander.
Elisabeth has been staying in the Greenshire suite when not in the company of Roslin of late. Leaving the Princess to her meetings and prayers but always at hand when she is summoned. She steps out of the suite quietly still pinning her hair into place when she notices the prince and pauses in her tracks to dip into a curtsey. "Your Highness."
Tyrel turns and looks back to Elisabeth nodding, "Lady Elisabeth, pleasant morning." His eyes move to her hands in her hair and he smiles, "As this is one of the rare moments that I can offer the compliment, Lady, your hair looks quite remarkable when down. You should wear it that way from time to time." His hands are folded behind his back, a slightly awkward look given the metal, but he does not seem discomforted by it.
The compliment clearly takes Elisabeth by surprise as she rises from her curtsey and her cheeks colour at his words. The braid half pinned in place and dangling somewhat, she reaches up to remove a couple to let it fall back down on her shoulder. "Um, thank you your highness. It seemed more to the fashion here." Well with the older ladies at least and she has tried hard to fit in here instead of being seen as the country lady from the Shire. "How fare you this day, any news?"
Tyrel's eyes are easy to follow, as they lower from Elisabeth's eyes to her cheeks, when they raise again he says, "There is no need to thank me when I am recognizing something obvious, Lady Elisabeth, thank the gods for your beauty and compliment your maids on their skill, but I had little to do with the matter other than to enjoy it." He pauses for a moment then says, "However, you seem to have picked up a habit from Roslin of wearing too little powder, do see that you and she begin applying enough, you're both far to prone to turning pink." His eyes then move back to the tapestry, but he continues speaking, "Some news, it seems that Lady Rowena and her entourage will be remaining with us for some time yet. I believe you have been assisting my sister in her efforts to see them comfortable, do continue to do so. The guards have been given additional instruction on what priveledges they have lost."
Elisabeth looks up to the prince as he continues on the compliment with a dose of instruction. Such sets her cheeks a bit more pink and she drops her gaze to hide it. It is Roslin to whom the compliments do fall, not the mousy maid. It is clear she is not quite used to such. "I will inform my maid." She says in a quiet voice. As the other topic is brought up, it is almost with relief that she looks up again. There is a look of surprise at first, "Comfortable your highness?" She starts before she bites back any further words and nods to the prince. "Of course, I will aid her highness in seeing to their further comforts until such is no longer desired."
Tyrel nods, "Yes, Elisabeth, comfortable." He turns his head to look back at her when the question comes out and is bitten off. "We will continue to set the better example in the hopes that they return some measure of that treatment to my wife while she is in their care. I should never wish it upon you, Elisabeth, but should there come a time when you were held awaiting ransom how should you wish to be treated? That is how we will treat Rowena and her group. Not as we feel they would treat us, but as we feel should be done properly."
Elisabeth is quiet at the 'reprimand', thoughts going through her mind that she does not quite hide. Considering the words in conflict with her experience and feelings on the matter. Finally she nods. "Of course your highness. I had not thought of it in such a way. I will endeavour to see to their utmost care as if I was treating your wife herself." Elisabeth says in a soft spoken voice. "If this is one thing I can do to help, I will see it done if it might bring her home all the faster and avert war." Her maid Cassandra was a few seconds behind her out the door, but remains a respectable distance away.
Tyrel says, "I do not believe war will be averted, Lady Elisabeth. Such efforts that we make now will, I pray, see that the battles are fought with honor and those that are captured or surrender are treated properly." He looks towards the tapestries his arm raising to indicate several of the panels that show a victory and the gracious surrender and treatment of the ladies of the keep, the children as well. "It may not be as pastoral as the image here, but I do not wish for my sons and grandsons to look upon tapestries lacking this civility, nobility and mercy."
"I can only pray your highness that it might be, whatever I know may be otherwise true. It is not easy to think upon my brother leading the fleet though I hope he honours the kingdom as he does so." Elisabeth responds to the matter of war and looks up to the tapestries and whatever colour that was in her cheeks does fade. War may come here and she may be as like one of those ladies in the keep. "May the war never reach our shores so such civility is not tested." Her jaws tense slightly before finally she turns her gaze from the reminder of what may be in store. "If you will excuse me your highness, I must see to your sister."
Tyrel nods, "Of course, Lady Elisabeth, be well." He then turns his attention back to the tapestries.
With the permission to depart given, Elisabeth dips a hasty curtsey and heads quickly down the hall with her maid in tow in the direction of Roslin's room.
Throne Room Darfield Castle
It is day 20 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 06:54 AM
The feature of the Throne Room of Darfield Castle that draws most eyes immediately is the magnificent throne, raised on a dais at the far end of the room. The Kilgour Family coat of arms, passed down from father to son through the centuries, occupies a place of honor above the royal throne.
A rug of purple softens the path across the white marble floor, swirling patterns picked out in glinting silver thread. To each side of the rug, stand tall silver vases of Stargazer Lilies and Irises, their heady scent drifting through the air. The cool marble walls have been draped with mingling swathes of purple and silver silk, with touches of white for smooth contrast. Set about the room, tall silver candelabras hold long purple tapers, their soft glow gleaming on the rug and silks. On the balcony above, more swathes of purple and silver silk have been draped, shimmering with a scattering of silver glitter. More glitter is dusted across the marble floor, and over the soft petals of the flowers.
Tyrel has invited Bowden to join him in the Throne Room. Guards arrive to politely escort the knight down should he be willing to attend.
Summoned and escorted, the knight comes. This time the guards are a bit more polite with the tall knight. Hands behind his back he moves, pausing once inside the throne room. There's a glance to one of those flanking him, who nods, which brings the knight to step free and towards where the Crown Prince is. Now, a more formal bow, and even bent knee is given. This is likely due to the formality of the room, and the seriousness behind the meeting.
Tyrel looks to Bowden, "Be at ease, Lord Bowden, my father will not be greeting you today. His time is taken, at the moment, conversing with Lord Eldwin via raven." He gestures around the Throne room which is being rearranged for a larger seated gathering. "We've weddings in the future and I find it somewhat calming to be reminded that not all good things are set aside for war and strife. I wish a moment of your time to inquire whether you have any influence at the Stewert's castle which might effect the return of my wife. The negotiations are taking longer than I should wish them, and I suspect Eldwin is aware you and his daughter are not his firmest supporters so he may allow this matter to drag on without end."
There's a rise up and a nod of his head given, rather quickly. "Of course, your Highness." There's a brief pause as he mulls over the words before he is shifting in his stance. "I have never spoke out against the King, but it was known that my father was not a supporter of Eldwin, as he was the man before him." The knight answers truthfully. "I was sent to serve his daughter, as a way I suspect to insure my father kept the border for him." And there he nods. "Still my pledge was to Rowena, and not to him. I suspect the Stewert believes keeping me here is in her best interest. As for his, if he were to abandon me, I know that many in the Northern reach would not see that as a wise decision." And there's a faint drawing of his lips. "I would suspect though that Rowena has made a decision and likely I would suspect if there was one loyal of us still here it would be her Hand maid. She might have sent something. I do not know for sure, as I have remained in my quarters since our last meet."
Tyrel considers this for a time then nods, "It is possible, though I should think Lord Elisen may have carried a similar thought. Lady Rowena was willing to see the errors Lord Eldwin has made, while Lord Elisen refused to look at the truth of it. To certain men that could be seen as disloyalty. I've had such thoughts cross my own mind when my orders are questioned, even by those whose job it is to question them, fortunately my father has done well instilling some measure of restraint in me along with my pride." He turns to walk amongst the seats being placed gesturing to Bowden to walk with him, "It was an unlikely hope that you might have men that could effect the escape of my wife, Lord Bowden, but I felt it would be a disservice to her not to inquire of the possibility."
"I can assure you, were I to get word to my own, and tell them my plans, they would be behind me. If they could help they would. However, we do not have many in court. My men are positioned at the border to keep the clans back. However, I could easily send word to pull away from our outposts and defend only our land. That'd allow the Rychan access into Laniveer." A pause as he brings his hand up to scratch at his beard. "I assure you, Your Highness. If you can think of a way that I can be of service, I would gladly do it. If we could make it appear that I escaped-they'd be more apt to trust me. But, I can believe that you would be reluctant to do that. At least until I have bent my knee formally." Bowden falls silent for a moment, as he moves to walk along with Tyrel. "Though I do not know how it would look if I returned without Rowena."
Tyrel shakes his head, "I've no wish for this war to be bloodier than it must, or to sacrifice those borders that your men have held so long." He touches his hand to his belt pausing, "I should say that I'm not willing to do so, Lord Bowden, I've a great wish to see the Stewerts suffer but I'd not put our people through such hardships to strike at them. We will wait a time then and see what results my father has from his discussions. If things go ill we will look to other options, I've no wish to deprive Rowena of your arm unless needed but I also cannot see a way to return you both until my wife is safe."
"As I have watched her some time, as my own charge. May I ask what is to be done with her?" Bowden asks with a brief turn of his head. As for the rest the Lord nods. "I'll still deny the Stewerts use of my men, and of my vassals. Once I am back in Laniveer, I will make sure to sway as many of my Northern friends as possible. You'll find we're an easy lot to deal with. As long as we have support in keeping the Rychan back and aren't broken by taxes, we will be loyal to you. It's a balance some of the Stewerts have not known how to handle." Perhaps some further insight into Laniveeri politics, for the crown prince.
Tyrel nods, "You may ask, though I can only answer to my intent. When you were all placed into my keeping I expected you to remain with us until such time as the war was settled then see her married to a man of reasonable birth and unquestionable loyalty. I'd hoped the same for her brother but to a lady of course. Now I should wish to return her and her people into her father's care in exchange for my wife. I will not attempt to say that I did not wish her ill at times over the last few days but I can swallow such wishes and see her forward." He gestures towards Bowden, "While I've no understanding of what lies between the two of you it has crossed my mind on several occassions to inquire whether the two of you would be a suitable match, but such things would be far forward of me to ask until the war is settled."
"I understand completely." The knight replies as he remains in stride and pace with the Prince. Eyes do look about the room, but he does tilt his head to show he is listening. There's a glance back over before he nods. "Again, I do understand-And with war on the horizon and likely to spill out. Such things are able to wait." There's a brief chuckle, before Bowden responds. "We are very close, she and I. As for whether we would be a suitable match. I am certain if that was your wish we would be. I do care greatly for her, and would be favorable to the match. It'd also cement loyalty of those in Laniveer lands who support her. Which she has her own following." And would likely be a sign of good faith. "I would ask her, Your Highness, as well. As I cannot claim to know a woman's mind. But I would be for it."
Tyrel chuckles, "I've never known a wise man who would claim to know a woman's mind, Lord Bowden, and I've known many fools who believe that women a women claims she speaks her mind it is the truth you should expect to hear, but should the matter progress I will keep it in consideration. My father would, of course, be the ultimate authority should her father fail to see sense and remain unable to make the arrangements himelf."
"Then, I would appeal to your father, that she should be joined to me." Bowden says with a glance over to the Prince. "To the people of your rightful country, it'd be a wise move." And there's a pause there as he keeps walking. Only to stop. "When I swore my oath-it was to her. Not to Eldwin Stewert. When I give my oath to your Father, I will be giving it to a King." A key set aside thing there. This notion of Oath and one's word. That it means something to give to someone.
Tyrel says, "It is a move that would be beneficial to you, Lord Bowden, and quite possibly to us all, however to do so now, before those other lords have acknowledged my father's right to do so, would seem insulting to them. I do not wish them to think we plan on taking their daughters and giving them away to those who we favor, no matter how beneficial the match or deserving the man. She is not so old that a year of waiting will do the match harm." He continues walking, "I appreciate your foresight in giving your oaths with caution but some others are not so careful and we will be asking many to recognize their oaths were given on bad information. Not all will realize such a thing with grace."
There's a nod. "Aye, that it would. I will not deny that." And there the Grimm, folds his arms at his chest. "I can give you some insight into the mess you will find yourself in with Laniveer, if you like? I know that the Southron lords have been the most favored-by taxation and in general. Most of them view us in the North, as kin to the Rychan who do raid from time to time. And a good portion of us have Hillman blood in us. Such as m'self." A nod there. "So the Southern Lords will apt be harder to get to bend. I am sure you can find vassals, looking to usurp there that will readily bend. Your middle grounders will split as they might want to for petty reasons. Th' coastal will go with the money..Your west." And there he tilts his head. "I don't know, but has Jadda decided where they will sit in this?"
Tyrel says, "To my knowledge Jadda has decided to sit with Jadda, and the political sumarry you've provided seems sensible. My personal inclination is to move forward and only disturb such lords as do not accept the right and the truth. Those who do hold to their error will be captured and their lands granted to those who are deserving. Taxation and such will certainly be reevaluated though I feel that the distribution of those funds that the Stewerts have held should ease much of the burdens placed upon your people in the past. The goal of all, I should hope, is a stronger kingdom so such taxes are still gathered would be put to works such as a roadway so that the people may all share in what bounty or challenges face us."
The knight nods. "Well then your West will be like the middle an the south. You'll find your doors. The North will always move for a right and just king. Which, your father can easily prove-the fact that the Princess." And there he turns "My apologies, your Highness, that Lady Rowena?" perhaps trying to see if she has been indeed stripped of her status. "And myself were left while a cowardly act was perputrated by the Elisen Stewert to ensure his own skin. It won't go well." The news that is. "If you put money to shoring up the borders and to a good roadway, it will go a long way over extravagance."
Tyrel nods, "There will be indeed quite the shifting about." He looks over at the slip of title, "Lady Rowena, Lord Bowden, she cannot be a princess as he father is not a king. When she should marry her title would match that of her husband in any case. In regards to the behavior of Elisen, while it has certainly colored my understanding of the matter the core of it remains that the research of the Ruxtons and the behavior of Lord Eldwin have shown him to not be the rightful king. These other actions will, I hope, encourage those lords of the land to accept the truth and ease the worry that comes with such a transition." He says, "Our south lands provide good gold, the heart provides food, your north, has iron and people. We would do well working as one kingdom as we did working as one empire. It has been the divisions since that fall that have stunted us."
There is a brief nod given back to Tyrel. "Thank you, Your Highness." In all he wants to make sure Rowena lives long enough to be happy. That is his true goal. If the King or else has other plans for him, that works as well. "If you do not mind Your Highness. I should send a raven to my people. If you like, I can show you the letter or a trusted man before it is sent. I would like them to be ready for the coming changes. And I would like to meet your father once he is ready. I believe regardless of what Eldwin Stewert decides, that I would like to bend the knee to the true King of Laniveer before I return."
Salon Darfield Castle
It is day 22 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 05:37 AM
A haven of serenity amidst the rush of the castle, the salon is designed as a place for relaxation or socialization. A hearty fire burns in the massive, marble fireplace, throwing a russet glow across the room. The walls are divided top from bottom with pale wooden paneling above and lapis marble with silver veins shot through it below. Several armchairs, a couch, and a loveseat are set around a beautiful table for an intimate tete-a-tete, the furniture finely made of deep mahogany wood with blue and silver cushions. An azure rug covers the center of the room, but at the edges the dark wood of the floor can be seen. A side table holds tea, coffee, wine and several small hors d'oeuvres, and desserts.
<FS3> Elisabeth rolls Instrument: Good Success.
Elisabeth sits at the hearth in this early morning hour. A lute perches upon one knee as fingers softly pluck out a tune on the instrument. A Greenshire guard stands outside the door, while the maid stands within to wait upon her Lady's pleasure and chaperone her. It is a melencholy tune the lady plays but played with good skill. Soft words are song to the tune but not so audible to be heard from the door. Her hair is worn in a single braid that falls down her back past her waist. It seems she has taken the prince's suggestion under advisement.
Tyrel pauses in passing by the Salon, he steps inside then pauses again. He waits there with his hands folded behind his back. His lead pair of guards move to take position inside the room and he raises his hand to still them, the jingle of his chain and clank of their armor growing quiet again as they hold there.
<FS3> Elisabeth rolls Perception: Good Success.
<FS3> Tyrel rolls Stealth: Success.
Tyrel is relatively quiet, though certainly not unnoticeable.
The lady seems quite lost in her music as she plays by the hearth. The maid looks prepared to announce the Prince's presence but as he hushes his own guard she put dips a silent curtsey, eyes going wide. The song is played to its finish before Elisabeth bends her head up from her concentration. Only then does she get the inkling of presence at the door way and turns her gaze. "Oh sorry your highness, I did not see you." She says as she rises to give a curtsey herself. Though she at least is confident enough in her music that there is no blush at being 'caught playing'.
Tyrel says, "You need not apologize, Lady Elisabeth." He gestures and his guards resume their movements to take positions and he crosses to a chair and seats himself. "…and do please sit and resume your playing if the mood for such still has you. If every musician were to pop up and bow when a member of my family entered a room our processions into the throne room would be a cacaphony of jangles and sour notes." He waves one of his servants over, "Jasper, go and fetch me a bottle of mead. Lady Elisabeth, will you have anything or are you already seen to?"
Elisabeth takes to her seat again at the direction of the prince, "Though surely there are different ettiquette for practice or performing. I would not expect you wait upon my time when I am but playing for myself." Elisabeth says with a hint of smile upon her lips though her eyes still hold the hint of sadness. "Is there ought that you wish to hear?" She asks as her fingers strum upon the strings lightly and shakes her head at the offer of drink.
Tyrel nods, "There are countless rules of ettiquette, many of which contradict each other to the delight of matrons who while away the hours of the evening in debate of them. If I had required your attention then it would have been upon me to call for your attention in some manner, then allow you to make such gesture as is appropriate. As I did not indicate your attention was required there was no formality due, though this rule is often used to place someone at a disadvantage by taking affront as if attention should always be called to a royal person, but I rarely employ that techinique save for in the throne room or when acting as commander of troops." He settles back into the chair, his arms finding the rests and his finger steepling in front of himself, "As for what I should like to hear, play what you enjoy playing or what you are moved to play. Songs played against the artist's emotions strike me in much the same way as a forced smile, unless there great need for it I should rather avoid it."
Elisabeth listens quietly to the words of the princess and can't help but offer a smile at his explanation. "Such true words. We are drilled into etiquette by the time we can speak and yet there are many rules and exception that as you say are contradictory." She pauses for a moment, "You strike me as someone who will be fair and yet frank on the situations before you and will remember such advice for the future." As he directs her to sing to her favour she nods and bows her head over her lute once more. Her fingers pluck out a folk melody from Greenshire of a fair maid courted by a Lord. He offers her all the riches and a castle and maids a plenty. Yet she prefers her flocks and the meadows of home, yet he professed his true love to her and in the end she did consent. A lyrical song that holds well to her soprano voice.
Tyrel considers the songs for a while then says, "I've never understood the fondness many have for that sort of story. That lord has either left his wife to wilt unattended while he lavishes affections on a mistress or else he is foolishly pursuing the ennobling of a woman without concern for his people and his family. The maid was right to refuse him and should have been better served had she remained true to her response." His drinks arrive and he drinks a small sip from the bottle, "I suppose the views of the listener do color the tale, in that I see only frustration and foolishness."
As she finishes and listens to the Prince's commentary and shakes her head, "It is a song popular with the common and noble ladies of Greenshire. For the commoner it is a wish that a young noble may find them and carry them off to a better life. For a Lady a wish to be married for love not name. A dream for both that is rarely fulfilled." Elisabeth responds and then lets her fingers play upon an instrumental piece, a more local courtly tune yet she puts her own little flourishes upon it.
Tyrel listens to the lively little tune though he seems lost in thought for a bit, his fingers lifting to tap upon his lips, "Is that a dream of yours, then, Elisabeth?" He asks as the next tune begins to fade, "You are my sister's lady, and while still quite young she is known for getting that what she desires. If there were some nobleman that has caught your eye and the match was not too ill thought of I imagine that could be brought to the attention of your household heads."
Tyrel listens to the lively little tune though he seems lost in thought for a bit, his fingers lifting to tap upon his lips, "Is that a dream of yours, then, Elisabeth?" He asks as the next tune begins to fade, "You are my sister's lady, and while still quite young she is known for getting that what she desires. If there were some nobleman that has
At the question of the prince, Elisabeth looks up to him eyes widened at the question. "I fear I may be the Lord in this song and such that has caught my eye may not be something that I may truely consider. I will take my leige's direction on this matter, though I would see to my brother's happiness in this regard before mine own." She answers to his question after a moment's hesitation and quickly look back down to her instrument. She glances up to the prince for a moment as if to ask him a question before looking down again, her fingers setting to another tune.
Tyrel makes a rolling gesture with his hand towards himself, "Come closer then, Elisabeth, and give it voice. If a man has so impressed you then he is a man of whom I should be aware. He'll not suffer for it and you might benefit as I've found many such infatuations are more the product of their secretive nature and repression than any lasting interest."
Elisabeth takes a breath and shifts to rest the Lute upon her lap. "It is no great love my prince, only an interest based on proximity. I can not expect the hand of the first young man who is kind to me and I think not that he has any interest in me. I feel these are words best suited to the ears of a fellow lady as gossip, then the request to a prince to see to my hand." Her gaze tilts to the window to catch the morning light before looking back to the Prince, "If it pleases you, I must make haste to see to your sister."
Tyrel says, "What would have pleased me, Elisabeth, is to have heard this young man's name. See to my sister but keep in mind I much prefer the truth from a person's mouth than to hear things in gossip and whispers." He rises and offers her his hand to aid her in standing. "Though if you mean to say that the Lords of my castle have been lacking in courtly manners do let me know, as a woman of your beauty should not be able to count those who have shown her kindness, let alone think back to the first so clearly."
At the his first words Elisabeth tilts her head slightly, "Kierne, Duke Ronan's squire. The courtship of your sister and the Duke has brought us together in proximity that is all." Elisabeth responds hastily of what is no doubt little more than a crush. She shakes her head, "I think it is not the lacking of courtly manners but the fear of the Admiral of the Seas that may keep too much attention from me your highness. He is a good brother, but a brother all the same." That said with fondness at least of her brother known to be a little protective of his sister since she has moved to the big city.
Tyrel dips his head when she speaks by way of acknowledging her revelation, "Not so unusual a match, and he is a good young man and will not forever be a squire. I'm pleased to hear it is no scandal but only a man who has not yet achieved a reputation of his own. If, as time passes, you should wish the match considered give word to me and I will at least see the topic broached."
Library Darfield Castle
It is day 22 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 11:46 AM
Your footsteps are muffled by the thick, dark blue carpeting of the library. This room has been furnished to encourage the pursuit of scholarship and learning: Several large, comfortably cushioned mahogany chairs invite you to sit and read for hours. A few tables and desks of the same deep red wood are provided for more serious studies. The room is well lit with chandeliers.
Heavy doors to the north lead out to the hallway, and cut off any sound from that direction. To the east, ornate windows let in the indirect sunlight, and a door leads into the royal gardens. An alcove contains a message area, and an archway leads into the Library Collections proper. Stairs lead up to the second level of the library.
Tyrel raps his fingers against the door to the library as he moves to enter, his guards moving to take their positions as he enters. Jasper, his aide, follows along with a small stack of tomes in his arms.
Draventa's tucked up in the Library. While her heart is heavy, for many reasons, she's finding comfort in her art. She's sitting at a table, sunlight pouring over from a window onto her and her sketchbook. She's dressed in mourning clothing, although there's smudges of charcoal on the sleeve of the dress. Alice her hand maid is in a corner with needle work and there's 3 guards in the room. The princess, and everyone else, looks up at the noise on the door. Drav will move to stand and bow to the prince, "Lord Tryel…I can leave if you need the Library for something." Her eyes go to the stack of books and she'll quickly close her sketchbook, in hopes he won't notice the drawing of the Temple.
Tyrel moves to raise his hand and there's a little jerk as he's caught off-guard by something, then he continues the greeting looking to Draventa a little curiously. "Princess Draventa, no need to move away, your company is pleasant enough." He raises his other hand stopping his guards and Jasper from moving forward and gestures for them to step back. "You'll pardon the directness of the question, Draventa, but it is not often that people mistake my title and my name in the same breath, or move to leave so quickly when I arrive. If you should like your privacy or you are entertaining someone you should wish remain private from me then I will depart."
Draventa blinks, did she misspeak? Her cheeks turn a light pink, "I..I apologize, Prince Tyrel. I meant no offense. My head has been crowded with too many worries." She'll offer him a sincere smile, "I am not waiting for anyone, I just did not wish to be in the way." She always feel like she's in the way. She'll move to sit back down. "Please, if you would like, join me?"
Tyrel waves his hand, "I'm certain I've slipped in far worse ways, Draventa, and these days many of us are distracted." He moves to take a seat waving Jasper forward, the Aide moves to put away the books. "It seems likely that you will be around the castle often enough that you'll discover it yourself so I will speed things along and inform you that I enjoy catching people off balance. My siblings have had the benefit of years to discover that it is easiest to defend against this by remaining honest and open, I've a terrible curiousity for secrets and very little patience for lies, so I've made rather a game of it so I do not grow morbid and dour." He offers her his hand to assist her in sitting before taking his own seat near her. "Can you guess why I bring this to your attention?"
Draventa blinks, confused, "I…no?" She's being honest, she doesn't know what he's referring to. Do all the Kilgours like to play games like this? The only thing she can think of is Emerit did or said something. She'll nod her thanks in the assistance to sit but her head tilts in confusion. "Did I do something?"
<FS3> Tyrel rolls Perception: Great Success.
Tyrel reaches across towards Draventa and indicates the edge of her sleeve, "Charcoal." He then points upwards to her face, "Distracted." He then swings his hand around in a circle, "Library." He taps the side of his nose, "Obviously, you've been burning boots in the corner of the library and did not wish to get caught." He pauses for just a moment then says, "Or I could take into account that you quickly shut your sketches up and assume you've been drawing something you did not want me to see, then were so worried I might ask after it you moved to leave the room." He leans back in his chair tapping his chin, "I'm willing to wager it is not the book burning as I do not smell smoke."
Draventa blinks again, the talk go burning books throwing her. She'll even frown at the idea. Once she realizes what he's talking about, her eyes drop, and she'll swallow. Her hand goes to her sketchbook and she'll flip it open. Though the page she turns to isn't of the temple, it's of a beautiful portrait of the Queen. "I didn't wish to upset you." She sound sad. "I tend to pour my worries out onto pages." Another flip of the page and it's the Temple, including Sess and all the broken statues. It's set up more like a study, if Tyrel has any eye for it, the composition would make for a good painting. Her fingers linger on the page, but her eyes go up, making sure she's not upset him too much.
<FS3> Tyrel rolls Painting: Failure.
Tyrel looks over the works, "You'll not upset me by doing honor to my mother, or the temple, despite what may have been said of me I am a servant of the Eight." He considers for a few moments then says, "Of the two, I prefer the first. You've a deft hand, though I think you must listen to strange rumors about me. Since we talked last I've found some small time to retry my hand at painting, the works have not turned out well, but they have helped to ease some of my mind's burden."
Draventa actually raises an eyebrow at the Prince, "Your majesty, I've not listened to rumors." She was there. The page is turned back to the Queen, and a very small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Drav's lips. "She asked me to join her, the night before….She gave me-" Drav's voice doesn't tremble, but catches once, "She informed me of the betrothal being finalized. She gave me a dress. Told me I should wear pearls in my hair." A deep breath and she'll focus on his words. Tilting her head in surprise, "You have? If you would like help, please ask." Drav's never taught anyone, but she's sure she could try. "I am glad that it helped your mind. That is all you can ask as art."
Tyrel says, "A bad habit of mine that I sometimes assume others are succeptible to, I applaud your ability to avoid gossip." He turns his attention back to the portrait. "My mother was never one to hesitate when something needed to be accomplished, I'm pleased to hear the match was finalized, you will excuse me, had I known I would have already congratulated you…and possibly hugged you…I'm not entirely sure on that."
It's not that Drav doesn't listen to gossip, it's just she didn't need to with that. She saw him in the Temple. Her head tilts the other way, unsure how to respond to his sorta warm congratulations. "It's not been announced. I'm assuming it won't be till after. But I was not told it was a secret." She's also not sure what to think on the possible hug. "The Queen and I spoke on it, the betrothal." Well, they both cried, but then talked, and then cried. It was very emotional, "We both thought it would be best to have a smaller affair. With possible war on the horizon… It didn't seem right." Drav seems to shrink into her seat a little, although it's hard to say if it's the talk of the wedding, or war. or both.
Tyrel nods, "That seems reasonable, it is difficult to celebrate and mourn at the same time." He watches Draventa shrink down then asks, "Are you unhappy with the smaller affair, the match, or are you reacting to something other that has you shying away physically from the topics at hand?"
Draventa 's cheeks stay that light pink and she'll shake her head, "Oh, no…I don't' want a big party…that doesn't…No." Another shake of her head, "I don't think any of the Rustle's Isle traditions will be appropriate, but I'll make due with the pearls in my hair." She'll force a smile, she knows it's silly, but she's homesick already. "I worry that too huge a celebration would be dishonoring those out fighting, if that comes to it." Unless they can get the Laniveer's to call a truce.
It is Tyrel's turn to shake his head, "You're mistaken, Draventa, we go to war so that you may celebrate, if you wish to show honor to those that fight present yourself in the finest light possible and take what cheer and enjoyment you may from that which they earn for you. In regards to the traditions, tell me of them, I've studied many cultures and I confess they blend together so that I cannot tell one from the other some times."
Draventa won't comment on the size of the celebration then. The Queen said one thing, the Prince is saying the other. It will be up to the King, she supposes. "It's..our traditions are more for winning the right to courtship. With the betrothal already done, I don't think it would matter." After a moment though, she'll continue, "There are contests. The Grand Duke pits the suitor against three of The Isle's best. Competitions are held for swimming, archery and knightly sparring. If the suitor impresses the Grand Duke, then the last thing the man must do is bring a treasure from the sea. Some legends say the greater the treasure, the greater the marriage will be." Drav smiles softly, looking down at the sketchbook in front of her. "I've heard tales of great kraken begin brought in, to pearls as big as a man's fist!" She'll bring her own small hands up to demonstrate the size.
Tyrel looks over at Draventa, "I would argue, Princess, that having brought you to us from the sea my brother has done far better than any man of your islands ever has, but I will remind him of the tradition so that he might present you with something as well. As for the tourney, few can stand against my brother, though I do not know of his prowess in the water." He taps his chin considering for a bit then says, "I believe we can see to at least some of the traditions and for those that were skipped I suppose we must simply hold a number of tourneys in your honor."
In her honor? Drav shifts uncomfortably, not used to this kind of attention. Back on the Isle, she was always the crippled princess, and father and Mantilo always doted so much on Emerit…. "It's…That's not what the tradition means…I'm not a treasure.." Her voice actually drops and her pale eyes dart back down to the book, her safety net. "It's not presented to me..It would be for the Grand Duke. It would be up to him to decide whatever happened to the treasure." Sometimes it went to the feast to be prepared if it was a creature, other times to the royal treasury, other times to the princess. Knowing Drav's luck it would end up going to Emerit! She'll nod though, she's heard the prince does well in tournaments. "I…I mostly just wish to have something of the sea near my heart." She'll smile softly, her hand going up to touch her throat, "I was going to write to my mother to see if she had a necklace I could wear…"
Tyrel spreads his hands, "Whether I've tradition properly does not change that you are a treasure, Draventa, though it does make comparing treasures easier as I believe each man would think his own the finest. So, it's to be a gift for the Grand Duke then, I'll make sure that's clear to my brother. As for the sea, I can throw a stone and hit it from my balcony, I believe Logen can do the same though I've never tested him on it."
Draventa's cheeks stay that light pink, and she'll swallow again, unsure what to do with her gaze when Tyrel talks of her begin a treasure. "I sound be something he's fought for, earned." She's trying to help, to give an idea of the concept, but that could be taken as a bit bitter. "Do…Do you speak to Prince Logen often?" The realization that she'll be changing rooms suddenly hits her , "Oh…well…I hope so. It would be nice to be that close to the sea again." From her window, at least.
WEATHER (BETA): It is a winter evening. The weather is cold and clear. The planet Cri dominates the sky from east to west.
Tyrel nods, "He is my brother, while we do enjoy a good fight now and again we'll not be rid of eachother easily in this lifetime and he is one of the few men my age that are still challenging to play at chess. As for the treasure, Draventa, I believe I mentioned to you earlier that he has an odd preoccupation for being judged by his deeds alone…I do not think you will be disappointed with his efforts and you certainly do not need to concern yourself that the effort will be other than his own."
Draventa frowns, looking down, "I didn't mean…." She meant her, he's done nothing to earn her. But that's neither here nor there, she guesses. Biting her lower lip, "He likes to play chess?" Maybe she should learn.
Tyrel says, "You didn't mean what, Draventa?" He rolls his hand, "He does enjoy chess, but what do you mean that you didn't mean?"
Draventa inhales, steeling herself some and then looking up, "I just meant that I didn't mean he wouldn't earn whatever he presented to the Grand Duke. I'm sure he would kill a great beast, or find a lost treasure at sea." SHe'll even smile at that. She always though those were the better stories, the pearls, the recovered jewelry of some ancient Isle Queen. "Is there anything else he enjoys I could learn?" She's not learning tournament things, so….She doesn't know much else about him.
Tyrel considers for a time, "He was ever fond of poetry and literature, given the skills you've already shown I should think an illumination for some of his stories would be a welcome distraction and by reading them you could tben converse about them." He leans back in his chair looking upwards, "I think, however, it is nearing time that I see myself back to my room. Jasper has been looking at the same three books in an attempt not to intrude on our conversation for quite some time now."
Draventa blinks, thinking on that, and then will nod. "I'm sorry for taking tour time from your books." She'll even throw Jasper a small apologetic smile, "Thank you, Prince Tyrel. That you take time to speak to me calms my worries."
Tyrel rises and offers a smile, "You need not apologize, Draventa, I spent such time as I did because I enjoy your company." He then moves to leave.
Draventa bows her head as he leaves, her hand going up to touch her book, before stopping and asking Alice to find her a book on chess.
Tyrel is seated in the library, a tome held in his hand. He flips between two different sections comparing illustrations. His guards are spread about the room and his aide, Jasper, is looking through the library shelves.
Cassius loudly pushes open the doors of the library and walks in. He is garbed in the finery typical to his royal station, the primary colors themes are those of his house: white and black. He is donning a lengthy white surcoat over with a black leather jerkin and then a large golden chain hangs from his shoulders over his chest. He spots his brother in law and moves towards him, he bows as he approaches giving the customary greetings of: "Your Highness." He then takes a less formal tone and says, "Brother Tyrel, I had wanted to come see you earlier…"
Tyrel rises lifting his hand in greeting and setting the book aside, "Prince Cassius, come in, sit if you should like." He then reseats himself, "It has been a busy two weeks, I certainly do not hold the delay against you and expect you will not hold it against me."
Tyrel is dressed in a purple, silver and black tabard over fighting leathers with light chain sewn to the leather.
Though he is young, Cassius is doing all he can to project him as a thoughtful adult…he really desires to be taken seriously. He nods at Tyrel and takes a seat beside him. He looks at the prince and leans forward. "I want to know where we are on the Ciarrah issues."
Tyrel reaches for his book again as he says, "My father and your uncle are in discussion for her return, to my understanding they have not reached an agreement. My father has asked your mother and father to speak with your uncle, I do not believe that has had much effect either. Ciarrah is in good health, her spirit is unbroken, but I do not know that she will be returned to us as soon as I should like." He opens the book and begins turning through the pages, "Additional steps are being taken but I hope they will not be required as they would increase the risk of harm coming to Ciarrah."
Cassius grips the armrest of his chair hard. He leans in even closer to the prince. "This waiting is intolerable, Tyrel. This…kidnapping…it is base. Wretched! Foul! Is there a ransom? If so it would not surprise me…Eldwin is dead to me." Cassius sits on the edge of his chair now, eyes fixed on Tyrel, "It has taken all my discipline not to go after her myself…unfortunately, I know me. I would spend all my time pouring molten silver into my 'good' uncle's eyes, ears, and ass." He is visibly grinding his teeth. &r&t He then sits back and raises a hand to brush at his hair…making sure it remained perfect. "Forgive that outburst…she used to protect me as a kid. I owe her a lot. I don't like feeling so…powerless."
Tyrel says, "Elisen left a note as he made off with Ciarrah that she would be returned if we recognized your uncle's claim to the throne which has been proven false both by bloodline and by action. I am not familiar with the terms Eldwin set that my father has seen fit to refuse them, but I imagine they are much the same. My own offer to deliver Rowena and any other who care to go to Laniveer was ignored." He looks upward for a few moments thoughtfully, "In regards to pouring molten silver in his orifices, while that strikes me as a fine idea, I should prefer to show a more tollerent face. There are many who still cling to false information for fear that my father and I will treat them poorly." His gaze drops down then moves over to Cassius, "No forgiveness is needed, I've had several years more practice at patience and I am only just barely maintaining my composure."
Cassius looks the Crown Prince over, "You are holding that composure quite well." The younger prince rubs his forehead, "I told Father to send everything at Laniveer…every ship, every ranger…it sounds so childish. But that is how I felt when I heard. As for the ransom, Eldwin knows that your Father will never give up the claim. But it is not about trying to 'win' anything. No no…" He closes his eyes to think as though imagining his uncle's motives, "He has not responded to the request about Rowena because he is leaving it open to say in the future that he is open to a trade. But right now, he is doing it to hurt you. He is a bastard…he is trying to make us squirm…make us angry. Yes, maybe that is it…when we get angry, we do get foolish…like what if I ruled the Kingdom of Tanara and actually did send out the whole fleet at once in a rage…it would be incredibly stupid. They would be defeated…and the way to the islands opened…"
Tyrel says, "As I mentioned, Cassius, I've had an unfortunate amount of practice in maintaining my composure." He sets the book on his lap and brings his hands together, steepling his fingers. "Had you done that, he would likely have called for his lords to defend their lands, rallied his troops to the banner for fear of our agression, and cemented that there would be no peaceful, or even civil, end to this war." He taps his fingers together, "There is some madness in him, and in his line, I think it comes of knowledge that they are false. Guilt causes strange behaviors."
"In much the same way I cannot send my ships, despite having an army within a day's sailing of my wife. That haunts me, in the evenings when the children cry for her, but at such an attack I do not know that Eldwin would not order her killed while he fled inland." He folds his fingers looking down at his knuckles then unfolds the fingers to point towards the ceiling again. "I hold myself to task that I must behave as I should wish my enemies behaved, not as they do behave or as they deserve I should behave."
Cassius's knuckles turn white as he grips his chair even harder at the mention of his nephews crying. "He would not kill her. He would take her with him if he fled…then if pushed into a corner he would take her with him then too. She is too powerful a shield against his enemies." He releases his chair and tries to relax. "Father sent my brothers and I a message instructing us not to be stupid and go running off to save her ourselves. Sooo….that is off the table…"
Tyrel says, "If you should like, Cassius, I will take you to see Lady Serah's corpse so you might disabuse yourself of the notion that he would not kill her. That was a lady of Aberdeen, struck down for no reason save your cousin and uncle's madness. He places no value in the life of his daughter, and little in that of his son, I doubt he even recognizes Ciarrah as family."
Cassius looks down in thought and nods. "That's…that's true. Did not think of that. I hope if he does not think of her as family then he does not think of me as it either." He becomes quiet for a moment then asks, "Is Rowena married?"
Tyrel looks over at Cassius for a few moments considering him before saying, "No. She is unmarried, I suspect one of the reasons she was sent here was in the hopes that we would take some vengence upon her or Elisen that Eldwin might claim we seek to mistreat them. I'm of the belief that Elisen even poisoned himself to that effect, or at least sickened himself."
Cassius leans in conspiratorially. "She could be made to wed someone here in Mobrin. Imagine Eldwin's face when he hears. Ha! But, now that I think about it…it would eliminate a chance of Eldwin making a matrimonial alliance with some faction he brings to his side. And if, say, she were to have children…she would be less likely to want to leave…" It seems clear that Cassius is more interested in the prospct of hurting Eldwin.
Tyrel nods, "That is a possibility, Cassius, but that is not an option to be invoked lightly. It is very rare for a king to order the marriage of a Lord's daughter, so rare it is almost unheard of. Further there is that many of the lords do not recognize the truth yet so it appears we are simply stealing a princess." He looks back to Cassius, "Do you really wish to be the one that makes it seem alright to give a princess to another man, for I should certainly not wish Ciarrah given to a lord of Eldwin's choosing…there would not be enough blood in Laniveer to cool my rage."
Cassius looks even more upset with himself. "You are right, of course. I just wish…there was some why of…getting justice. And getting in soon." He reached up to touch his hair again…obsessivly making sure it remains perfect. Cassius then sighs and gets to his feet, "Very well, your Highness. Thank you for your words of wisdom…I think it is best I retire for th evening." He bows deeply.
Tyrel nods, "If it should help, Cassius, the man who slaughtered Lady Serah and enabled your sister's kidnapping is currently being held in my dungeons. I've not thought of something appropriate to be done to him, you seem to have the imagination for such tasks, would you do me the favor of devising something appropriate to be carried out so that both Aberdeen and Mobrin should be properly represented in his sentence?"
Cassius smirks, "I'll give it some thought…" He bows again and then departs the library with a nod to Jasper.
Upper Hall Darfield Castle
It is day 23 of the month of Thedor, 229 2E - 09:15 AM
Pools of golden light shed by the candles that line the walls collect along the marble floor, adding warmth to the cool stone. The candelabras are made of finely carved gold, gracefully arching arms of light. All along the great vaulted ceiling hang the banners and arms of the noble families of the realms, their colors and designs a testament to the variety of peoples in the land. Some of the doors have guards outside them, armoured and blazoned with the crests of the Kingdoms, Duchies or Counties for whom they are working. Footsteps echo against the marble as people walk down the corridor, muffled only by the tapestries that line the walls. These tapestries depict several scenes from Mobrin history and from the mythology of the land.
Tyrel steps out of the game room looking quite distracted, he still pauses and offers greeting Robben, "Lord Robben."
Robben is making his way back towards the Weston suite, offering a brief nod to Tyrel now. "Prince Tyrel."
Tyrel slows his pace enough for a question in passing, "Will you be attending the war council or will your father or a war leader be taking the seat?"
"I don't know yet," Robben admits, before he adds, "I sent a message to my father to discuss that, but I haven't gotten a message back yet."
Tyrel considers for a few moments then nods, "I look forward to seeing more of your family should they choose to travel, if not then I look forward to hearing your input. We seem to find little time for each other despite how long you've been in the castle and how often our paths cross."
Robben nods a little as he hears Tyrel's words, offering a brief smile. "Well, I supposes we both have a bit of things taking up a bit of our time." A quiet smile is offered, before he adds, "How are you coping with all that's happened lately, if I may ask?"
Tyrel smiles in return, slightly, and says, "I'm not. Much of what is happening is entirely beyond me so I've put it to the side to deal with what matters I can. If I were to address those that are vexing me, we'd already be in ships most of the way to the Stewerts castle by now, logistics be damned."
"Even though I'm sure I would have felt the same way, it's probably good that it's not happening that way." A brief pause after Robben has said that, before he adds, "Just do your best to stay sane, even if it's quite hard at the moment."
Tyrel nods, "Likely, as we would lose a great many ships and I do not think our enemies honorable enought to see to my wife's safety." He lifts his hand, "I will endeavor to remain sensible, and should you or your father have any guidance to offer know I invite you to speak with me. I'll be needing your opinions on the construction of the roadways through the kingdom, though that will be for later discussion but one I should like you involved in as some of the keenest minds for trade the kingdom has to offer."
Robben offers a brief smile as he listens now, before he nods, "I'm sure I'll have more to offer on the subject of road construction than I have on war, to be honest." Spoken a bit quietly, before he nods once more.
Tyrel says, "One is not entirely exclusive to the other, Lord Robben, those paths our men march to war set the path for the roads to follow. I'll be watching the troop movements closely and listening to their input on marsh and bog, hill and thicket to determine the best pathways to be expanded. I'll be asking the lords to do the same so that when it comes to laying stone, we do not place it improperly."
"Of course," Robben replies, with a nod. Looking a bit thoughtful for a few moments, before he shrugs a little bit again.
Tyrel lifts his hand bidding Robben farewell and moves to continue on.
It has been a long winter, the death of Logen's wife, the kidnapping of Tyrel's wife, the death of their mother, the madness of their sister Caillin, the birth of Tyrel's twin sons, the birth of their newest sister just weeks before mother's death, the betrothal of their sister Roslin, the……It is almost a relief when Tyrel sends words to Logen that he has military matters that require discussion. Clean, simple, bloody and violent military matters, thank the gods for the gift of warfare.
Tyrel waits in the Marshal's office, dressed as usual in his light chain under the purple and silver tabard. Black bands have been added for the period of mourning to the outfit, but black bands have been added to everything. His guards are positioned at the doorways with instruction to permit Logen inside when he arrives.
A request from his brother was initially met with a less enthusiasm. He opens the missive and got ready. He arrives in good time wearing the black bands and his proper attire. He's wearing a deep burgundy shirt which is tucked into his black leather pants and those are tucked into well worn riding boots. He wears a thin coat of mail and a top vest. His broad sword is attached to his hip.
There is a slow nod to the guard before he enters into the office. He lifts his chin and stands ready in front of his brother but does not speak to his presence. His demeanor somber. Finally he speaks, "You summoned me?" The voice sounds tired and gruff.
Tyrel lifts his hand in greeting, "If you're not going to greet me in good cheer, Logen, then at least use some formality. I'm willing to forego one or the other but your habit of letting both slip is quite vexing." He gestures towards the squares of slate laid out on the table, each is engraved with the topography of the land, laying out the squares in order makes the map Tyrel favors using. The chalk in his hand and the lines drawn on the slate indicate paths across the kingdom, easily guessed to be the most recent troop movements from what you've heard.
"I require your insight. This year we must think defensively and that has ever been your strongpoint. I've dwealt on other matters for too long and need rational discussion, give me your thoughts."
Logen lifts a brow and tilts his head. "Most technically I did not greet you are all." He bows his head. "Oh Crown Prince Tyrel, Marshal of the King's Army, Heir to Mobrin, thank you for allowing me in your most busy presence." He speaks it all in a deadpan. He walks over to the slates and looks down to them. "Well, defensively speaking, if you…" He goes into a plan of how to build the most defensively possible. "That will save lives on top of lands." He leans over the slates and rubs his chin, huming quietly. "Actually, you could pull some more there…" He points at the one slate and frowns at it while he explains it's weakness.
Tyrel touches his fingers to his forehead, "Someday, Logen, I'm going to learn all of your titles and awards and have a bard follow you around for a day reciting them." He drops his fingers from his head to his middle pressing in to keep his tabard back as he leans over the table to look at the defenses, "We've some support from the Kundari." He points to the far western border, "but not so much that I would wish to leave us completely undefended, perhaps half of what you've arranged there could be used to move the line forward and secure it, here at the ruins was my thought." Tyrel's plans, as most of his are, are agressive and rely heavily on coordinated movement of his troops. Chalk lines are drawn and erased and redrawn as the brothers talk.
Logen turns his eyes to his brother. "Don't do that to a bard. That's cruel." He watches what his brother does. "Yet if you move some of the troops there, than this is weakened. The smartest thing is to move without really moving. Don't let the enemies see the shift because then they will shift to overcome our weaknesses." He erases one of the chalk lines. "Move them at night from here to here." He points to the places he's drawn. "The point of defense isn't to actually be perfect…it's to appear perfect. Appearance and the vision of it, that's what prevents raids or attacks."
Tyrel considers it, "I'll take that under advisement. We've some three weeks before we present the overall strategies to the war council. I'll call you in to review it again before then." He takes one more moment to look over the lines, a gesture you're familiar with as he commits something to memory, then he wipes them clear. "On the note about the appearance of perfection, are you aware that Draventa's people gather a treasure from the sea to be presented to the Grand Duke whena marriage is to take place?"
Logen frowns and nods to his brother. At the mention of his wedding he grumbles, "I don't know why this was arranged. This is a bad idea." He moves around the other side of the table. "I know about their people. I have been thinking about what to do. I could give her a shark in a tank but that might be taken wrong. A starfish is too small. I don't want to destroy their coral. A dead whale again seems like a bad idea." He finds a seat and takes it heavily. "Perhaps, I'll get a guppy. That's how I feel this marriage is going to last." He doesn't seem like the happiest about this.
Tyrel watches Logen move about, "She's a charming young woman, and favored by the gods, Logen. Sess cleansed her of the poison that bound her legs and weakened her just as mother began to make arrangements for the match and the match itself was one of mother's last acts." He looks towards him, "As for the gifts, Draventa's stories were filled of Kraken and pearls and treasures lost to sea. There have been many a ship sunk in our harbor, and near the ruins of Caedwyn, if you wish to make a proper face of it, I should think that would be your starting point."
Logen frowns. "Be sure I only do this because of mother." He brings his hand up to his forehead and rubs lightly. He shakes his head again. "Those ships have probably already been picked apart. Next to a kraken… everything else falls short." He leans back in the chair. "I am not ready, brother. I was happy before. How is she, that frail thing, going to replace Caitlyn." His eyes close while he leans back. "I will not be a good husband to her."
Tyrel says, "Next to a kraken the treasures are nothing? Some slimy beast whose worth falls apart from the moment of its death until it is nothing but smelly squid bits? I think you place strange values in things. Countless ships were sunk in the first empire and many treasures remain unclaimed, and should the treasures be gone, then raise the ships, and should you fight a kraken in passing feel free to send it on to the cooks." He waves his hand dismissively, "You're a Kilgour and my brother besides, no islander will ever be a match for you, as for your wife." He pauses, "I think mother knew well what she was doing and that she will be better for you than you understand."
Logen shakes his head. "I don't know, brother. A pet kraken would be… pretty amazing." He has an idea and grins. "I could raise a ship, leave the treasures in it and fix it up to present it. A reclaimed relic from the sea." He nods at that idea. "Yes, I like that idea." His brothers words shock him and he stands up. "To have me forget about her? How can I even touch someone so frail? I will break her. My wife was powerful and beautiful and was claimed. How can this frail woman take anything close to what she did?" He moves around the edge of the table and leans against it. "I trust in mother. I just don't see what she saw."
Tyrel says, "Because, brother, as in everything but war, and even there from time to time, you lack finesse. Your wife was beautiful and bold, but you and she struck forward without consideration, and it did harm to you and this family. The gods and mother have arranged a wife for you who is beautiful but requires care and consideration, something in which you could use practice." He gestures towards the maps, "Those lines you drew, militarily they were near flawless, but to have set them there would have insulted half the lords. We might have held back the enemy and save their lives but they would not have thanked us for it." He points out the doorway, "The woman you are to woo, may prove much the same, though I should think you will find she has a great deal of strength as well, few are favored by the gods as she was and not often without reason."
Logen's eyes narrow. "Than the Lords needs to shut up and accept the defense offered." He shakes his head and crosses his arms. "Get off their pride and save their lands." The man licks his lips and glances at Tyrel. "Brother, I'm telling you that Caitlyn is half my soul. Not this woman. I will not be able to be a good husband to her. She'll want something closer than an occasional acknowledgment. I am not sure I can give that." He turns his eyes to his brother. "How are the twins? How is Ciarrah?" He tries to change the subject.
Tyrel pauses for a breath then says, "I've no knowledge of Ciarrah since the first letter from her some days ago, but do not let word of that spread. The twins fare as well as they can deprived of their mother, fortunately their nurse is healthy and was able to see to our sister too as her nurse adjusted." He then waves his hand, "Now stop trying to change the subject, it might work on others but we've been brothers for far too long."
You paged Alasair with 'The inns, he made a procession of it to make a scene. The shore he was out with his knights looking for you.'
Logen nods his head. "You must be fraught with worry. I can only imagine. Those children too. Crying all the time, wanting their mother and not having her there." His eyes narrow slightly but he keeps going. "Have we gotten any ground on how to find her? Any clues?" He moves towards his brother. "It's important for me you know. She's my friend as well as your wife and to have anything happen to her… I don't know how to take care of twins and neither do you. Mother would have but she's… Brother, we need to find your wife."
Tyrel stills his movements and can be seen to take a deep breath before saying, "I'm aware of that, Logen." His fingers tick slightly: thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinky, then the same on the other hand, a ten count before he continues, "The nurses are seeing to the twins, and our sister, they will remain healthy until her return which father is seeing to." His eyes barely shift as he speaks, focused on some point in the middle distance between them until he finishes and refocuses on Logen. "You need to concentrate on what duties you have, see to the courtship of your betrothed and aid me in the defense of our kingdom. I will see to the tasks father has set to me."
The proclamation of a few days past, that matters of the Temple and Ciarrah's disappearance would be handled exclusively by the king return to mind and give insight into the frustration Tyrel expresses.
Logen walks over to his brother and puts his hand on his shoulder. "I trust she will be back." He removes his hand and stares at the tiles. "I don't want to focus on the courtship but I will focus on the defense of the kingdom. You know how to get a hold of me." He turns slowly and walks towards the door. "Oh!" He turns. "Thank you for your most gracious presence Crown Prince Tyrel, Marshal of the King's Army, Heir to Mobrin. It's been an honor." He bows his head.
Tyrel hefts his chunk of chalk, "Shall we wager on whether I can bounce a piece of chalk off that block of stone you call a skull and leave a mark?" He waves his hand, "Be along, but attend to your courtship with your actions if not with your heart. Love can come later but we must put our best foot forward in this. Win the accolaydes of her people now, worry over whether you win her heart and she yours when your time is your own."
Tyrel has invited Rowena to breakfast, the message could almost be considered warm given the tone of their relationship to date. The table is set with a number of dishes and drinks and the prince is speaking to one of the servants. He is armed and armored, but lightly so. His tabard is cut in the current fashion with the purple and silver of his house represented along with the black of mourning.
While hospitality has been in abundance kindness has not be found quite as often, making for moments like this as a pleasant surprise. Dressed in a modest gown of heather gray, Rowena comes and is shown in, announced as is common for when people visit one of the royal family. She stops just inside and curtseys, her expression openly warm. "Young Majesty." The black is noticed and she adds, sincerely, "I am very, very sorry for the loss of your mother." That was something she wanted to do last night, offer Callem and Tyrel both that, but with the jovial mood during dinner she hesitated.
Tyrel dismisses his guard then turns and bows slightly to Rowena before moving to offer her help to sit, "Your consideration is appreciated, Rowena. Though I am one who does not believe our loved ones are lost, only gone on ahead in the journey sooner than we should have preferred. While on the topic of sorrow…" He takes a breath and holds it for a moment then says, "I apologize for the discomforts you experienced during your stay, on several occassions I behaved with less consideration towards you than I should have and I ask for your forgiveness."
Rowena sits but even as she does Tyrel has her attention firmly, her head turned just enough so she can look at him while he speaks. "I have never thought of it that way," comes once she's comfortable. "I do like the way thinking of it that way makes me feel. Makes it seem not so sad." Tyrel's smiled to before he apologizes, the giving of it giving her reason to take pause. "There truly is no need. You were under a lot of stress, Tyrel. If anyone should apologize it is myself. I am sorry for having put you through all of what I did."
Tyrel moves to take his seat, "That is polite of you to say, Rowena, however you have been my guest and my prisoner, it is my responsibility to make certain of your comfort and to maintain my composure, I failed, and I apologize." He takes a moment to take some from each dish and eat a bite of each before gesturing for her to begin. "Have you heard yet of what Lord Bowden has done?"
"Thank you, Tyrel. I appreciate it." Now prompted to serve herself, Rowena does so although her portions are noticeably smaller than those of the Prince, nothing more than several bites of each. As Bowden is mentioned she pauses, looking at him with a slight blush. "He told me of his meeting with your father and his request." Her eyes lower and she blushes a little harder, the flushing of her face enough to perhaps cause Tyrel to take notice.
Tyrel looks at Rowena for a few moments then says, "Before you depart, do speak to my sister and her Lady Elisabeth, you all seem to share the same problem where your emotions rush straight to your face and yet you consistently fail to apply the proper amount of powder, I imagine between the three of you that you might find a solution." He then continues, "I suppose I should have said both pieces of news from Lord Bowden. He has, or intends to, give an oath of fealty to my father. I wish you aware of this so that should things go badly for you at your home you know to whom you can look for protection."
Rowena merely stares at Tyrel for a moment before she laughs. "It is almost as if blushing is some kind of personal offense to you. What is it about a lady doing so that makes you seemingly want to rush her off to be… it is simply a natural response and I find that I rather like the little bit of color it lends my skin." Her skin tone is fairly pale so it really wouldn't take much to pinken her cheeks to the point of looking almost red. The amusement slowly ebbs enough to make conversation possible once the laughter dies but while that is silenced her mood is allowed to show via her smile. "He did mention that, yes. Thank you, though. It is something we do have to think about. And again, thank you for your willingness to help. We most likely will return to Mobrin but not right away."
Tyrel says, "They strike me in much the same way as a man fidgeting before battle, emotion being expressed when it should be stilled. Past that, it drives my sister quite to distraction when it is mentioned so I send you to her more to annoy her than anything else…I find when the women of the castle have something minor about me to annoy them they spend less time inventing other reasons." He takes a sip of mead, "When you do return I hope I will be able to welcome you in more fitting fashion. It has been quite troublesome to treat you in as I have, I spent rather a long time in my youth planning how I might court you."
Ah. Now the truth of it all is revealed. Rowena reaches up and pats a cheek, noticing that it is still a bit warm even though the redness most likely has subsided. "Your sister and I have stuck up a friendship so I ask that you to not ask me to torture her too much," she points out, her tone not quite chiding. Her fork is still held in hand and, in fact, has yet to be used and it'll continue to do so as now she finds herself positively floored, food now no longer even remembered. "You did, Young Majesty?" Well. That right there is not what Rowena expected to hear, especially after how everything's been between them. "I… I am touched."
Tyrel smiles, "It is the most fun when I manage to have her friends bring the powder to her attention. After watching her flush from the mention of it you'll never worry that your cheeks have taken color again, she goes quite crimson." He continues eating in small bites then drinks and says, "Why would I not? You were the most logical match. The daughter of the King of Laniveer to the son of the King of Mobrin with the reverse to be offered. It would have made a horrible muddle of things when the truth was revealed but at the time it was a sound strategy."
Rowena shakes her head in feigned disapproval. "I will not be used as a tool to torment poor Roslin, Tyrel. You will have to find someone else to take part in your games." Now she remembers she's hungry and the first bites of the morning meal is enjoyed. "Hmm. Well, I suppose it would have been advantagous for us to have had a match to be made. But it is rather moot now." The fork is set down and she looks at Tyrel. "Do you love my cousin?"
Tyrel says, "You would need to define the word before I could answer that, Rowena. Love, I mean, not torment. Though I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity to play the game. My sister plays it as well as I do and you'll appreciate her creativitiy once you join in the game." He pours himself more mead, "You do also have several cousins, but I'll assume that you mean my wife, not Cayden."
"I do not think I will have time to play in it now," Rowena points out with a sigh, "but perhaps you can convince me to play in it the next time I am here. Assuming you haven't grown tired of it and moved on to other forms of entertainment, of course." When it seems Tyrel is asking for clarification she nods, causing a few strands of hair to fall from its braid and come to rest upon her shoulder. "Yes. I meant Ciarrah. Do you love her?"
Tyrel says, "You've still failed to define the term, Rowena. Explain what you mean by love and I will answer. As for the game, it can be played by at a distance as well as face to face so do consider taking part." His eyes track the fall of her hair then return to his plate as he combines a few of the dishes into a bite, before taking it he adds, "I've found most people have a very specific thought in mind when they ask about love, but they very rarely explain themselves before wanting an answer."
Rowena chews her lower lip. "You're being difficult. Love. Romantic feelings, in this case, oppose to the kind of love one feels for family or beloved friends." Roslin's no longer discussed, that part of their talk having reached its end, or so she feels. "I don't really know, to be truthful, Tyrel. I just want to know. Not that it is truly any of my business." Tyrel can answer if he so wishes or not with no prodding from Ro.
Tyrel says, "You're asking a difficult question, Rowena, it is no particular action on my part that is causing it to be troublesome." He pushes his plate forward and pulls his cup to him done with food for the moment. "Generally when a young lady asks such a question, especially when a lord has indicated an interest in her hand, it has more to do with the nonsense that bards prattle on about and that men of dubious morality claims leads them to despoil young women." He takes a drink, "Otherwise I do not know why you would exclude the love of family, she is my wife, she is my family, the closest to me there can be. Without her my family, my personal line at least, would end."
A wrinkle of her nose is given to Tyrel before Rowena tries to explain herself. "I did not mean to imply that she isn't a part of your family and I apologize for it sounding like that was what I meant." Much to Rowena's credit she doesn't fluster despite the fact how she's not doing well in putting her thoughts into word. "I am curious as if to whether or not political marriages… and I only assume yours is because of your being the next in line to rule Mobrin… can also be marriages of love."
Tyrel nods, "I understand your curiousity, I've been asked a similar question several times of late, however I think you are misswording it. You are not curious whether a political marriage can be one where love is found, that has been proven countless times over, my parents being amongst those proofs. Your curiousity, I should think, is specific either to yourself, your cousin, or some other person." He brings his cup to his lips holding it there for a time, "Or am I mistaken?"
Rowena nods. "Yes, that is what I am curious about. Myself. My situation. And because I am, I am reaching out, wishing to see if it is possible to find love where it might not necessarily be found in the beginning." As she speaks she studies the food left on her plate, unable to look the Prince in the eye at the moment. "It is silly, I am sure. Perhaps a reminder that, being a silly woman, I am one of the weaker sex or something."
Tyrel laughs lightly, "The weaker sex? Hardly. Given to different foibles than men, certainly, but weaker, I doubt that very much, and I imagine Cri would agree with me." He looks over to her, "If you wish to find love in your marriage, you will. You are not the sort of woman to fail at goals you set before yourself. It may not be the sort of passion that bards sing about, in fact I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but there should be nothing that would prevent you from finding love in a match."
"I'd like to agree with you on that. But I did fail, Tyrel. I failed in being a diplomat. But thank you for the compliment." Rowena very well might've been set up so she wouldn't succeed but that truly isn't given much thought. The point is that she did fail and it cuts her deeply to think about it. "But you're right otherwise. I will find love, if I want to."
Tyrel to his mead for a few moments then back to Rowena, "My father and yours will be meeting some days from now, and within a few hours a prisoner exchange will be taking place in an organized fashion. Despite the murder of a Lady and the kidnapping of my wife you've kept your company intact. Lord Bowden and my father have negotiated an amicable settlement towards peace and there are hopes that other lords will as well. I should think, Rowena, that history will consider your abilities as a diplomat exemplary." He lifts his cup and takes a drink, "Though I imagine tutors will debate for some time as to what your intentions where when you arrived and how much of your intent changed once you had met with us."
"The meeting of your father and Sir Bowden went as well as it did because both were willing to listen to the other," Rowena says, "and I think also because there was no pride involved. And that is by their doing, not mine. All I did was speak for my people to make sure they'd be taken care of and be unharmed." Her itentions yet again brought up to discussion, Ro shakes her head and says with a chuckle, "My intent changed quite a lot once I realized what was happening."
Tyrel nods, "Then I should suggest you withhold your judgement as to whether your efforts were a failure." He sets his drink down, "To answer your question though. I do not believe that I love Ciarrah in the way she wishes I would, and I doubt your husband will love you in the way you wish he would. I do believe that he will love you in his way, as I love Ciarrah in mine, and that is the nature of men and women that we should not ever completely understand or satisfy one another, else what would be the point of us?"
While she has been distracted from eating for the majority of this viit she finds herself not lacking even though she is still hungry. The conversation has been fruitful for them both and that is more important to her than breakfast. "Thank you for your honesty." Her eyes linger on Tyrel's and the Prince is watched for a moment as if she is seeking to dedicate him to memory. "I hope you'll forgive me, Young Majesty, but I should return to preparing for our trip. Thank you for everything."
Tyrel nods, "Of course, Rowena. Enjoy your travel."
