Inouv 35, 228: Roslin Reporting

Roslin and Tyrel discuss the matters of the day.

Roslin Reporting
Summary: Roslin and Tyrel discuss the matters of the day.
OOC Date: Day/Month/Year (OOC)
Related: None.
Roslin Tyrel 
Room Name
Room description
IC date of RP

Snow continues to fall. Inside Roslin Kilgour’s rooms, however, everything has been kept warm with a low-burning fire. The curtain hangs as it always does, warming the forechamber even more. The Princess herself is not dressed to entertain, once more wrapped tightly in the housecoat dress that she often wears before she has dressed. It is heavy woven wool, with a high neck and long dagged sleeves and a slightly longer hem to keep her feet and toes warm. She has the sleeves pulled to her elbows just now, though, as she sits copying text from some old papers to some new ones. Perhaps official permission has not been given for her to scribe for the former Master of Laws. But she has offered to copy some of the older papers on her own, it seems.

She informed her brother that she wanted to speak with him at his convenience. In no way did it sound urgent, nor did the message sound angry. After recent familial discords, it might have been angry. But now, when she nods for her brother to be shown in, she seems calm if only a little withdrawn. Perhaps sullen. But mostly just polite.

Tyrel gives a rap of his knuckles against the doorframe then enters. He is dressed in finery, even for himself, a formal arrangement of purple and silver silks over scaled armor where each scale is designed to look as a feather. You’ve heard him declare the outfit ridiculous trash but he does look rather impressive in it to the untrained military eye. Adding to the air of royalty he sparkles and glitters like a mystical god. The moment the guard’s eyes are off him he growls and shakes at his clothing sending silver glitter all about the place.

“Roslin, I do not know whose idea it was to treat the Throne room in this, but if it was anyone other than mother I am going to do away with the tradition the moment after the crown hits my temples.” He looks over at her after his pointless execise at removing the glitter. “Now, then, what need did you have of me, I should prefer to be on my way to the baths to get this off of me…I look like one of those dancing boys from…well nevermind that.”

Roslin can’t help but giggle - just a little - at her brother’s prediciment. “I’m sure it must have been mother. Who else could have?” She moves to stand, not asking but rather simply pouring some wine for her brother. “Dust yourself off before you sit - I don’t want to look like you after sitting on my sofa.” She carries the wine over easily and offers it to him.

“I don’t mean to take up too much of your time but I wished to speak to you about the Laniveeri Ambassador - the Lady Rowena. I’ve met with her again and … well it was quite interesting. I thought perhaps what I learned might be of use to you in some way. Or that you might simply wish to know all the same.” She watches him, curious for his response.

Tyrel runs a hand along his arm and flicks it at Roslin but, of course, glitter does not ever go where desired and he just ends up with a more sparkly hand. He seats himself and gives a little wiggle that collects all the minute bits of dust and thread and attaches them to his shirt rather than leaving any glitter behind but such is the way of things. “You are welcome to what time I have, Roslin, you need not excuse yourself for taking what I would gladly give you if I had more of it.” He rests his arms on the chair and tents his fingers before himself, a brow working it’s way up as the sparkle catches his eye again. “I’ve recently sent invitation that they should come and present their case to me formally, I intend to have Ciarrah there to allow moderation of my reactions. I should prefer you not to attend on this occasion as I would like Rowena have someone to run to and confide in if things go poorly for them.”

He shifts his fingers one against the other rubbing the glitter between the tips. “What was revealed that might be of use or interest in your conversation.”

Roslin looks down at herself, and once she has made sure she is in no way sparkly, she moves to sit on a chair near the sofa. But not on it. Because being close to those sparkles may not bode well.

“I understand,” she says, nodding rather obediently when Tyrel explains that he does not want her there. It is so unfamiliar a gesture that it would not be surprising if her dear brother didn’t even believe her when she did it. But that’s done, and the Princess moves on, keeping her hands clasped across her lap.

“From what I can tell she has taking a liking to me. It’s been … rather difficult, but I am encouraging that liking to grow. Naturally I’d much rather scream at them both and toss them back to their father but …” she sighs a little, strengthening herself. “I believe I am more useful this way, and indeed - my discussion with her yesterday seems to have borne some fruit.”

“She is most unhappy with her father. She let it slip that she even believes him to be in the wrong in this war. I don’t know if I believe a word of /that/ but all the same, her tension with her father was palpable. It seemed real enough to be. I honestly believe he sent them here with little purpose. His daughter I can understand. But I cannot fathom what would make a man send his only heir to his enemies without any goals for him. It’s impossible for me to imagine.” She sighs and shakes her head.

“The Lady Rowena seems to be entirely out of her element as a diplomat. I don’t question her abilities as a Lady. But she appeared to have thrown up her hands already on the whole business. I managed to encourage her to find some things to bring to you, to discuss with you. I thought that better than having her be silent and resentful.” Here Roslin pauses to watch her brother’s reaction, and see if she has done well so far.

“Your conversation with Mother seems to have altered your attitude rather dramatically, Roslin.” Tyrel observers as he continues to worry at his fingers and the glitter adorning them. “Perhaps you will finally take to wearing powder or of more value outgrow your need for it.”

The glitter transfers itself from his fingers to his lap and from there to his legs then back to his hands, “You are basing your logic on that of a rightful King. Rowena and her brother have no legitimate claim to the throne so no true value as heirs. While they are his children I have met many men who would willingly sacrifice a child or several for a claim to nobility much less a throne.” He stills his hands tenting them again and glaring the glitter off.

“If I were in his situation, I would consider a ploy wherin I sent my children off to settle what I would claim was a misunderstanding. When my enemies responded as I would expect them to, by slaughtering the children, then I would have a banner to raise and distract those under me from the truth. Lacking a ‘rightful’ heir I could then offer the throne to one of my supports should my line fail before I could produce another. Of course I would hope to produce a son before that time but until then I am putting the throne up as reward for supporting my false claim.” Tyrel spins a potential strategy for such actions with the calculation and inflection he uses when describing his favored ploys in chess. A move, a counter, a reverse, another move, “Ultimately he has placed us in a situation where we cannot easily have his children removed without looking the aggressor, it was a sound move, even if they have no purpose here that they are aware of.”

Tyrel shifts his gaze back to Roslin, “What topics have you drawn from her to discuss? I should like to know which you have encouraged out of her and which she drew from herself or her father when we meet.”

For a brief moment, a bit of hurt flashes across Roslin’s face. But she glances downward, and after a few moments more it is covered. “Mother has made it very clear that I have been harmful to this family. I have no wish for that.” She moves on, then, as quickly as possible from the topic.

“When I said heir, I only meant the heir to their family name. Most men, at some level, have a desire to continue their family lineage beyond themselves. Sons, after all, are important to Kings as they are to Barons. But that is neither here nor there - killing them would do more to harm us in this war than anything else. A fact that even the son does not seem aware. He seems to be under the impression that we limit their movements out of spite, instead of anything else. I …” she pauses for a moment. “There are times when I find myself doubting their every word, glance, and motion. That perhaps they are so clever as to pretend they are not clever at all. But the more I see, the more I believe they really know nothing from their father. At any rate, when she comes to you expect that she will open negotiations with neutral trade routes between neutral territories and setting up a mechanism for prisoner exchanges. I thought those would be innocuous enough topics for now.”

The Princess shifts a bit in her seat more. “Tyrel. I have a scheme that I have been swirling in my brain. It is not fully formed yet, so I beg you not to press me on it. But if the Lady Rowena has been honest with me in our talks, as I am beginning to believe she may be more than I initially expected … I think it could potentially be possible to have her swear allegience to us. We convinced Princess Emerit to do the same, before her brother arrived.”

Tyrel nods, “I will not press, though do keep in your considerations that children swearing allegiance while under ‘threat of dire injury and torment’ will be of little benefit to us. Most any action we take treating with this children can be twisted to the ends of their father. If they do not bring word of negotiation or some sense of the rational from their father then they will most probably remain as our guests until the war is resolved. Of little importance other than to see to their safety as we would any other noble.”

“On the thought that they may be more clever than they seem, that is certainly true, as such we must continue to limit those they come into contact with and watch them and their servants. I intend to deplete those as I am able, sending them back with such messengers as we send to vouch for our treatment of the children then not having them return. The fewer we have to watch the better it is for us.” Tyrel lays out the moves he is making to counter the moves of his opponent reviewing each with a short thought before moving to the next. “I was personally tempted to give Rowena to Logen so that we might show an interest in maintaining their line, but that could be construed as our attempting to grab at a right to the throne which we already have.” He taps his fingers on the arm of the seat. “My impression is that this side of the board is locked and the war will one in another area, likely on the field of battle.”

Tyrel falls silent seeming to wish Roslin’s thoughts when something strikes home, “Wait, you mentioned Elisen, you have spoken with the brother as well?”

“I know, Tyrel. I will think on it more, but I do not wish to dismiss a potential opportunity here.” She becomes visibly tense at the mention of giving Rowena to Logen, her hands clasping each other rather tightly for a momentary squeeze. “I had considered the idea as well. But I do not think Father would agree to it. In such…” She begins to speak, that sense of openness and honesty coming from her for just a moment. But she decides against her words and settles back again, relaxing her hands.

“Yes, to the brother as well. I spoke to him last night. Have you had the opportunity? He is a lover of poetry and the arts, it seems, and has little interest in swords and war. He also seemed somewhat indignant, the way he is being treated here. Each time I go to see them I impress that I only aim to act the hostess, and see to all of their needs. That seems to relax them, somewhat. By the end of our discussion, he was …” Ah, that powder. It is needed again, as the Princess flushes unhappily. “He was flirting. I took my leave when he suggested I penn a poem of ‘lusty’ nature.”

Tyrels fingers visibly tighten on the arm of the chair when Roslin mentions the word ‘lusty’. “I do wish they would make it easier for me not to kill them.” He states then relaxes his fingers and steeples them one against the other again before him. “Mother really must find you a husband soon, or father. If your consideration was for you to take the seat in Laniveer in that way you should dismiss it. It would leave supporters of their claim too much hope. If he makes such a suggestion again do have him struck for it, a lord should not make such advances or flirtations upon a princess, it would not be tolerated and by doing so you give sign that you consider him more like a prince.”

He stares at his fingers for a time, “I wonder.” His gaze travels around the room ensuring that their discussion at its current level cannot be overheard, even by the sharp eared maids. “Perhaps I should extend to Rowena’s brother the opportunity to entangle himself.”

Roslin swallows, sitting up a little higher. “I left the room directly then, Tyrel. I had two guards and a maid with me - there was no impropriety on my part. And it does not matter so greatly - for our schemes to continue to work as they have been I shall be in this Lord’s company again. I will be careful to defend myself. I promise. But the consideration was not mine. Father has indicated that he would like to see me play a larger role in the fate of the Laniveeri lands. There are ways, Tyrel. It … could work.” She doesn’t push the matter any further, though.

“Whatever do you mean, entangle himself?”

“If you need to ask, sister, then you are not yet ready for that conversation.” Tyrel offers, “And no, it would not work. Within a generation we would have your children and mine contending for rights to the thrones. The Stewerts must accepts their positions as lords and not be tempted to do otherwise.” He settles back, “I’ve no wish to see m y sons faced with this challenge or yours tempted to take the role of the usurper…and before you protest, I do not think you would fail to instruct them properly, I think it is some flaw in their blood that causes their thoughts to twist…consider the madness of the father, the uselessness of the daughter, and the idle nature of the son…that is not a line of royalty and I would not have it taint you.”

“Logen could be sent as it would break the line, a second son and a daughter do not carry the right to rule, but a first son and princess? No, that argument is too easy for me to make, and I’ve no interest in making it. Those that are desperate for power could easily twist it.” He runs a hand through his hair settling it to sparkling. “If you are to sit the throne of Laniveer it will be beside a nobleman of their land who has stepped up to deny the right of the Stewerts or beside a man of Mobrin who will support you while you remain a Kilgour.”

For whatever reason, that makes Roslin smile. “I had … suggested the same to father, some time back. Before you returned from Aberdeen. A lord of the land who was willing to turn against his false king might be rewarded with noble blood for such an act. And in that way, I think, Father has sometimes intended that should be my fate. And it is one I wish for with all my heart, if you do not think me too wicked or selfish for saying so.” She looks up, openly and honestly, to her brother’s face, searching for his reaction to what she has said.

“If you have a scheme for the brother, then, let me ask you for an explanation. As much as you can give. I shall keep a strong stomach through it all and I shalln’t breath a word of what you might say. But as I believe both the brother and the sister do not see me as a threat, I may well be able to assist you in some small way in this.” Ah, there’s the pushy Roslin that Tyrel knows and, hopefully, loves.

Tyrel chuckles, “It would not be your stomach that is tested, but your cheeks, dear sister. I refer to providing him the opportunity to tangle himself in the sheets with one of common blood. There are a number of servants in the household who seem to consider it an ideal way to better their position in lives. If he is such a man then perhaps opportunity to disgrace himself as Logen nearly did would serve us well.”

“And I do not consider you wicked or selfish for saying what is obvious. Ideally a house loyal to the crown would be elevated to act as Duke, Count or Baron of the land. Some adjustment to the titles would be in order. In such a situation you would be ideal. If such a house is not found then a new house might need be created. In that instance we would require a representative to sit the seat there while things were arranged, I would think one of our younger brothers would do well to seed the house while you and a lord or prince of standing sat the seat in Laniveer as the royal representation.” Tyrel muses now sounding somewhat uncertain, “Those plans are not entirely clear to me as they are too many moves out.”

Tyrel seems to have made Roslin happier, and her sullenness has nearly faded at his words. She would beam if she did not have the presence of mind to try and stifle it. “I know, Tyrel. I know what you speak of is no promise. Father has said the same. But … I would wait for it, were such a thing to come. Rather than marry someone of our lands or others beyond. I would wait for this. Learn. Do my work with the old Master.” She shifts a little in her seat. “As it is now, Mother seems to intend to wed Logen to the eldest legitimate daughter of the Grand Duke of Rustles Island. I intend to befriend her, when I can, but as yet I have been unable.”

She smooths out her hands, reaching over toward the sofa to brush off a few of the glitter sparkles that have since fallen from her brother. It’s an excited gesture, done idly to keep that beam down. “I must say, I am … so very happy to know that this sits in your mind as a possibility. In truth I did not think you would like the idea much.”

Tyrel chuckles, “Roslin, I have put up with you hounding me for many years now, I do not expect that to change and if I am to be hounded I would have it on behalf of a people who need your protection and care as I have grown weary of the Laniveeri as a whole and if they were in my care today they would likely suffer for it.” He points a glitter encrusted finger at Roslin, “Thus, I rely on you, and Ciarrah, and the other ladies of our house to remind me when I am no longer facing an army led by an enemy but those for whom it is my duty and right to rule and care.”

Tyrel rises, the scaled armor clinking as he moves and walks to Roslin’s wine stash selecting a bottle and taking it back with him to his chair, “If anyone ever tries to compliment me by saying my tongue is gilded I will pour glitter into their mouth, this is unbearable…I think my spit is worth several copper at least.” He opens the wine, looks to Roslin for sign that is is safe, then drinks if it is received.

Roslin nods idly at her brother to indicate that the wine will serve to safely wash the glitter from his mouth. “All the same, Tyrel. Thank you. I will rest easier tonight knowing that you have enough faith in me for such a task, and that you have the best interests of my mind as well as my person at heart.” She motions for him to pour some wine for her.

“For now, you are still facing an enemy. So we shall not slow you there. But do keep in mind the Lady Rowena’s misgivings about her family. If she is able to warm to us, perhaps we may use that to our advantage. If not by her allegiance, then some other way surely. And it may well reason that if his own daughter has doubts about him, what must his lords think now?”

Some thought seems to cross her mind and she turns to tilt her head up at her brother. “Would you really put a woman before Lord Elisen in the hopes that he embaresses himself?” She seems entirely curious, not judgemental.

Tyrel considers the bottle for a moment then rises and gets another and offers the bottle in it’s entirety to Roslin along with a cup so she can pour for herself, “You underestimate the amount of glitter I have in my mouth. I scarcely understand how father tolerates it, except that perhaps when seated on the throne you are above the worst of it and I remained a tier down.”

Once reseated Tyrel continues, “I will keep in mind her misgivings and give her opportunity to do what is right and seek a nobleman to marry and live out her life in peace. I have no interest in putting a noblewoman in distress when it can be avoided.” He takes another drink from the bottle then says, “In regards to Elisen, yes, I would put a willing woman in his path. It would reduce the value of the pieces in play from our opponent to have it preoccupied with a pawn.”

Roslin sits up a little taller to pour, carefully, before setting the bottle on the small table beside her chair. “Thank you. Although if you can, do try to see the woman as the ambassador she has been selected to be, even an ambassador on behalf of a false king. A bit of respect might go a long way unless you intend to antagonize her and send her crying to me.” Which is an entirely legitimate position.

“I cannot say I disagree with you. IF the man is unable to fight temptation, the Gods will see to his punishment. But the maid - she would have to be a girl to be trusted. Not the sort who would fall in love with him as Logen has and begin to bring him information. Unless, of course, he marries her.” Even Roslin can’t hold back a grin at that. “In which case many of our problems with Stewarts will be lessened greatly.”

“Any information available to a servant would be as easily found as makes no difference. I will see that those girls known to be inclined to make themselves available to lords are included in the rotation of his rooms. If I have in my employ such temptresses as could be instructed to pursue him intentionally I should prefer to be uninvolved in their activites and leave such things to the Master of Spies.” He takes another gulp of wine, then says, “Ah, speaking of Masters. I’ve spoken with Aldren regarding him replacing the esteemed Master of Laws. He seems willing to accept the idea leaving the current Master free to act as his Vice and work more in your tutelage. Though it seems as though you may be leaving the court someday I should like to see you prepared if you stay to continue your path to that role.”

He sets the bottle down and touches his fingers together again, “Though I’ve had reports from the Master that your hand at writing is abominable, your figures are wanting, your artistry in illumination is poor, and your spelling and punctuation irregular. I had been under the impression when you took on such duties that your skills were to match but it seems your theory is stronger than your practical ability. You’ll have some time to improve upon those skills as I do not believe father wishes to review such cases until the dark month is passed, I suggest you work to better yourself if you wish to continue as his scribe and aide.”

Roslin frowns. A true, deep frown. “Really, Tyrel. I’d thought you a bit more clever than that,” Roslin explains, sipping her wine leisurely. “You trust the reports of a man who, while his mind is sound, lost most of the use of his eyes when I was barely a babe. There is a reason he is no longer the Master at Laws. As such, it is of no surprise that he cannot read what I pen - he has not the ability to pen it himself. Review my work if you like - while you shall find no illuminations there to bring tears to your eyes, my spelling, punctuation, hand, and yes even figures are all preceisly as ordered. I spent most of the last year in writing - the hand writing at least is of the finest quality. Unless, of course, your advancing age has caused your eyes too to fail. Perhaps you may take up a scribe of your own, then, if you find yourself so inadequate already.”

“I have a scribe, several in fact, while my handwriting is legible I would certainly not consider it book worthy as I do not often have the time to sit and carefully craft each letter. Such notes as I must jot are generally a string of short orders and only written to confirm what the bearer has heard and repeats.” He sips his wine again, “Save for my poetry, of course, that is so beautiful that it illuminates itself in the mind of the reader.”

“Be that as it may. I’m sure you and the Laniveer Lord can have some lovely discussions on what you believe appropriate poetry to be. Perhaps you may even alight some of his versus, if they strike you as fanciful enough for such a purpose. I would say I have written some for you, but it seems they would be as illegible as a child’s and therefore of no use. You’ll have to write your own to recite then. Or have your scribes pen something passable.” Roslin nearly ‘hmphs’ at the end of her little sentence, sticking her nose in the air a moment before putting it back in the wine cup for another sip. “How are your children, at any rate? I’ve yet to even meet them. And I surely do not know what they shall be named, if you yourself have any idea.”

Tyrel laughs, “Even you cannot be that deaf, my darling sister, the criers were given their names within minutes of their birth, Ciel my eldest, and Tylar his brother. Ciarrah has not been much out of our rooms, save to visit Mother, but you are welcome to come and visit us and them. I would invite you now but I wish to bathe before returning there lest I give the impression I have started keeping company with the sort of women who cover themselves in such.”

“Both the children are quite well, Ciarrah is, perhaps, a little insistent that she be the one who feeds him, but they are her first and I think she still lacks some confidence of her place in the household. Competing with Kilgour women is a daunting task and it has not entirely settled with her that she has become a Kilgour woman.” Tyrel smiles a little as he talks of the children, “If you should like give me perhaps an hour and then come and visit the rooms.”

“I know their names, brother,” Roslin says with an amused smirk. “I was merely exageratting my lack of exposure to make a point. But I am glad they are well. May I ask…” she wrinkles her nose a bit. “Do they /do/ anything? Our darling little sister is … well quite darling, naturally. But she does not do anything at all, it seems. As for Caillin’s ward … I don’t know anything about him. But it seems the punishment of her maid has driven her away from court. I would not be surprised if she keeps away from quite some time, this time. I do not think she was happy with any of us, when she left.”

Roslin moves to rise, setting the empty wine cup nearby. “I shall, if you wouldn’t mind. At least I daresay your wife has no cause to compete with me. I have no husband, nor children. There is really little to speak of, where I am concerned.” She moves to take a step toward Tyrel and trhinks better of it. “I would kiss you goodbye, but … I don’t wish to sparkle like an old dowager draped in her own wealth.”

“It takes some time to get them into their armor but once properly equipped they are quite skilled, Ciel’s footwork could use some finesse and Tylar has no sense for the proper use of a morning star but the battles have been entertaining.” He moves to take another drink of the wine but can’t seem to keep a straight face or repress laughter as he’s shortly choking on the drink. He doubles over bringing his arm up to cover his mouth. “Gods…” he says trying to catch his breath. The arm of his doublet took that wine which he couldn’t hold, the fine fabric quickly soaking in the color.

“They do not do much but eat, sleep, and other requirements of life, Roslin. They are very young yet.” Tyrel straightens slowly setting the bottle down and looking down at himself. A moment only of consideration then he just tugs the fine doublet up and off. He uses it to remove the last of the wine from his armor then tosses the clothing aside as if it were a rag leaving him still fully dressed but less formal. It has also left him with a large amount of glitter on his face.

Roslin would roll her eyes, if this were such a place and a time for it. Instead, she merely sighs. “I am sure their prowess is already showing itself, brother darling,” she teases. “They shall take after you in every respect. I just … I don’t know. I really don’t know what to make of them. Laela just lies there. I know she will grow, but it seems so far away that she will not just be a little lump.” And then the clothes start coming off.

Roslin steps back, pulling back the skirts of her robe to make sure she is not glitter bombed. When the result is revealed - the result being Tyrel’s face - she bursts out laughing, hard and true, to the point where she is forced to cover her own face. “You cannot … walk through the halls … like that!” She declares, before stumbling back a half step to find a chair to collapse on - and laugh still.

Tyrel runs a quick hand across his face coming away with a mass of glitter. He considers it for a few moments then scurbs his face again. There is still a great quantity of glitter but it is at least no longer a ring around his mouth. He runs his hands through his hair then and sighs, “If I can’t avoid it I suppose I must flaunt it. Though I would not be so quick to laugh, I could have cause to require your company for hours on end in the throne room as well.”

He stands up, “If you have dire need of me, I will be in the baths, send a male servant this time, the maids can barely speak for giggling.” He then turns to leave. A moment’s pause before one of the looking glass as he adjusts the lay of his armor and shifts the positioning of his sword belt. “You.” He tells his reflection, “Are a very pretty man.” He gives a quick wink towards his reflection then opens the door to leave.

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