Cri 22, 229: Scheming Sister

Scheming Sister
Summary: Duchess Roslin seeks a social visit with her brother, the King of Mobrin. Schemes are afoot, naturally!
OOC Date: 24/04/2014 (OOC)
Related: None
Players:
Roslin Tyrel 
King's Sitting Room
A fancy room
It is day 22 of the month of Cri, 229 2E

The King. Her brother, the king. Such things are to be remembered now that her brother is, well, the King. But he is still her brother, King as he is. And Roslin is no stranger to approaching Kings, having been raised by one herself. So she selects a time in the evening to call upon her brother, when he will be in his office but likely eager for a reason to set his work and take a cup of wine, thin about some supper, and visit his wife and children. Such nights have often led to pitchers of wine late into the night, discussing the maters of the court or laughing over some nonsense. Mostly it was arguing - not real fighting, little bickering. A comment about her complexion. One about his age. Things of this nature.

Roslin waits to be announced, her hands held directly in front of her rather loosely. She still wears black still for her dead parents, and the color makes her a bit pale, but otherwise she looks healthy. Why, she's even put on a bit of weight since marrying the Duke Crawford and becomming the Duchess of Sutherland. Her hair is pulled high in her crown of braids. She wears her normal gold eight-pointed star.

While life had certainly been a trial living as the Crown Prince, biting at the bit to make decisions, to be heard, to be respected and taken for the leader he would one day become, now that it had, the importance of what little family time he could get had grown astronomically. Unlike his father who would spend ample amounts of time in prayer, Tyrel used what evening moments he could to coddle his children and love his wife. Certainly, with the war having begun, it was even far more unlikely such moments could be spared and quite important were they now to him. As such, as his sister had called to request audiance, he ensured there was some time set aside from her, his wife resting now that the kids are to sleep. For now, at least, the new crown prince wouldn't be roaring with his screams.

The stewards announce the princess and he rises off the sitting room chair he had taken place in to see to her. He waits for her to be properly announced before he waves her within, "You're looking fat. At least I know my good brother is not starving you." He cannot resist getting the first jab in, inviting her to take wine or to greet him as they normally do.

Roslin doesn't rush to her brother, or giggle or swoon at the sight of him. With her head high and a look of pride upon her face, the Duchess stands before him and curtsies, low, pulling out her skirts in a dramatic gesture of plummage. A curtsey of a Duchess to a King that would be fitted in any ceremony. '"Your magesty," she says, revently, though she's smiling when her hands settle before her again. She glances over her shoulder, making sure the doors have closed and they are alone before she speaks. A mischevious little smirk. "I'm pregnant, actually. But we'll come to that. May I ask after the welfare of my nephews, and of our youngest sister?" She asks, tilting her head just so. Oh yes, she can't help that smirk. "And though I am but a Duchess now, it is customary to offer me wine, or tea, or some such thing. If you would be so kind."

The only hint of mirth is in his eyes, as often was the case. He steps over toward her and presents a formal chin nod to acknowledge her curtsey, "Your Grace," he intones with a wry wiggle of his one brow, putting his one hand behind to rest on the small of his back, chest up and shoulders straight. Kingly. Not that he has to try. He notices the smirk and as for the news that comes swiftly there after, he states rather impassively, "As is your duty to give your husband an Heir." The hint of excitement kept behind those eyes, gesturing as he does move toward the wine ready to be served and poured, "All well, I assure you. You are free to look in on them if you don't believe me." He looks back over his shoulder as he gets to the bottle, "Cage yourself sister, you let your horse loose as the rider makes to saddle up." He pours her a glass and himself one as well, carrying the two glasses over and offering her one, while gesturing toward the sitting sofas.

Roslin takes her cup rather comfortably, smirking over the rim. "As though you have not been riding hours before I arrived," she teases, settles into a chair by his desk. "As for His Grace, he is as yet unawares. You and Elisabeth Mowbray and one of the healers from the city are the only ones who know, just now. And I intend to keep it that way, at least until I can no longer hide it from Ronan." Her gaze turns, looking out the window for a moment in quiet, pleasant reflection. She's always comfortable here, with him. "I'd rather be as far along as I can before he knows. In case something were to go wrong." She seems a little worried at the mention of it, a little more pensive, but then she turns her gaze back to her brother. "Thank you. I will take you up on that and pay them a visit or three. I would like them to grow up knowing me. I intend to be around for quite some time to sneak them treats and share with them all the delightful ways of being a nuisance to you that I have discovered in the past 16 years."

Tyrel glances after Roslin as he moves to settle in a chair as well, in a space that is across from her yet has nothing between them as he pulls his chair around to keep it a little more relaxed. "That is either a good decision or a poor one, depending on the man," he retorts to her decision of keeping it quiet, "for it could possibly inspire him or it could see him worry to distraction." He settles his clothing about him as he sits, an idle hand swooped behind him. He tilts his head at her mention of something going wrong and choses to sip at his wine rather than comment on that one, since after all, both their parents are gone in a matter of months from one another and no one suspected anything to go wrong as it were. He smiles quietly at the last, nodding as his gaze strays toward the room where his sons sleep, "Then I will expect nothing less."

"Good," Roslin says. "As you'll recall, the maids came up with their own special ring on the bell to indicate that I was lose because of my biting. I think that's as good a place to start as any." Another smirk, another sip of the wine. It's been too long since she's had this fun, the endless banter with her brother. "Ronan is inspired enough, I daresay. He is Marshal of your Armies, Duke of the richest Duchy in your kingdom, newly married, young and fit and capable. I feel it would only make him worry. For not only does this child indicate the next of his line, it will be the only of his line. If he's struck down before any child breathes, it will be the last of all the Crawfords." Her face draws a little more into a pensive look. The serious look she gets when conversation is about to turn to business and the like. "That's why I'm here, Tyrel. I have a scheme, but I need your help. Your permission, after all. As my King."

"A ring that will certainly have to drive me up the wall," he grins over the brim of his glass before he sips on the wine, letting his other hand idly tap, recalling how annoying those bells could get, especially with how often his sister would play at escaping. His eyes shift back toward his sister, letting his gaze linger as he takes in the slight changes in her frame and countance that marriage has put her through. At least it was not a bad marriage. Not like… he takes another drink. Though he lifts a finger, "Ah, I've heard he may not be the only Crawford. Duke Kincaid has been keeping a secret, intentional as I'm aware, to keep the boy safe. His -squire- is a Crawford, a cousin." As if that would bring her comfort, even as she does grow serious. "What schemes do you have for me today?" the mirth in his gaze once more.

"So you've heard?" Roslin says, her brows lifting in surprise. "Gods above, it seems Duke Aidan intended to keep that from us for as long as he could. A very tidy thing, should anything befall my husband. Aidan would step in with the only known Crawford left, a boy very much under his thumb. A pretty position indeed." She sips her own wine again, looking a little bitter either about the taste or something else. "But Ronan believes the boy's father is still alive, making him the heir should it be. But if you will help me, none of that will come to pass." She sets her wine down, cupping it between her hands above her lap. She watches it, a moment, choosing her words carefully. She's sitting tall and proper again. "If Ronan should fall before my child is born, I would ask that you allow me to serve as a regent or steward for the Duchy of Sutherland until my child breathes. If it is a boy, and it lives, he shall be the next Duke and I shall assist him as he grows to take the responsibilities. If it is a girl, or does not live, I shall step aside and allow the law to take its full course. It is one of the only times in my life I intend to say that you shall have no trouble from me." She flits her gaze up, searching his face for his reaction before he puts words to it.

"My dear sister, I'm the King and have the resources of a King," implying as much, "Though whatever doubts I had about another Crawford appearing, this conversation has confirmed it." He rubs his chin thoughtfully and allows the finger to draw up the side of his jaw, "You believe he has designs to use the squire as his pawn?" It was all very intriguing, letting Thedor tick away at the hour as the mind considers and weighs on this. "If this squire's father is alive, then it should be a boon to your family and you should reach out to them - bind them tighter than what Duke Aidan can do, with blood ties." He sits forward, "And I suggest you make your displeasure known to His Grace for this kept secret." His hands circle the wine goblet as he waits for his sister to outline the scheme she came here to speak of. Regent. A light laugh falls over him, "Very good, you are thinking well for your family and their future already." The approval is clear as he stands, listening to her proposition further, though there is a mild hint of reservation about him, a design that would be from a King and not a brother needs to be made here. "This would have consequence and set a precedence, that while I surely would establish for you, my dear Roslin, I would have to consider for a night at least." He tilts his head, "But why are you thinking ill of your husband? Have you some indication that he will not return from the field for you and the one you carry?"

"Oh, I intend to make my displeasure known. At the right time, when it is most useful," Roslin says, that smirk coming back to her lips. She finishes her c up and holds it out to him - pour her another, brother. "Besides, it was you who warned me not to trust a Kincaid. Rightly so. I lived with them for a year but I was a much younger girl then. Before Logen's fall into dispair. Caillin's same. The death of both parents. Yes, it is a lifetime ago. "And your prediction has come to fruition. Bask in the light of being right for a change, brother dear." She flits her eyes upward to him. "I am a student of the law, and have no intention of setting a legal precedent. All I would require would be a Kingly command - to seek, far and wide, all that remains of the Crawford line, among men and women, so that the rightful heir can be determined. That would take far longer than two months, and by then my child would be born and the matter settled. Ronan Crawford deserves to have his son rule after him, if indeed it is a son. What's more, the scheme helps you as well. I think you know that the country would be much harmed if Sutherland were to slow due to such internal squabbles as succession, with no clear leader. It is the purse of the realm, and during a war a King is much in need of a good purse." The mention of Ronan causes her gaze to drop a little. Sadness, and concern cross her face. "I have the utmost faith in the man that Mother married me to, Tyrel. Were it not for you I should adore and revere him above all others in the world. But he is a target for the enemy, a man who cannot stand to hang too far back from a battle. I would be a fool if I were to close my eyes and pretend all would be well. And we both know I am not a fool, as much as I sometimes wish I could be."

"Use the hand you are dealt when it is most evident you will win the outcome of showing it," he walks the room to fetch the decanter, coming back to set his own wine glass down, to reach for her own, so that he may repour it as is her pleasure. He tops up his own for he is not so easily swilling it back this night as often he would. His eyes glitter knowingly at the advice he gave her, "While we will not so quickly trust a Kincaid, the Duchy is as much needed in these times as is Sutherland and Weston, for the armories depend on Lakeshire's smiths." He shrugs, "Always feign neutrality, even if you would see them fed to the sharks." He grins at her then, "You must know me not, for I am always right, and now, I can go uncontested." A jest that while means to be wry, ends with him frowning in the ways Callem would, a spitting image as he turns with his wine. "Roslin," his tone settling into the severity that one needs to be King, to be taken seriously, to make a point, "Unless you think your husband will die this night, which would worry me for your sake, I will consider the implications of your request tonight. I will give you an answer on the morrow." For what he does for one Duchess, he would have to repeat for another. The last has him lift his wine some and drink heartily of it, putting it aside once she makes herself known of her concerns. To which she speaks of herself not being a fool he retorts, "Do I know it?" An impish gleam in his eye.

"Uncontested? As I recall you are a married man, and as such are often contested at every turn." She takes the wine back with a nod, content to have him consider her request. "Just remember I do not ask for the law to change, or be broken. Merely that you be particularly dilligent in searching down all Ronan's relatives before a decision is made." She smiles that mischevious smile and takes another sip. "But if you are truly uncontested, or feel as such, I must make more time to visit you. For truly there are many who think you ought to have been contested in the Moniwid business." She doesn't smirk so much as that - they're likely to disagree here. "I must ask what is on your mind, what play you intend to make here. My belief was that, knowing how you cannot stand to see a woman suffer, you used the excuse of Emerit's lineage to free Draventa from a marriage to our truly mad brother. Who I have not seen since the news, but imagine he is still as mad as he has been these past … well if you had asked me years ago I would have said he was quite odd even then. We were never much alike, he and I."

Tyrel levels his chin and lifts an eyebrow, "This point I shall concede to you, but only you dear sister. Do not encourage my wife." He settles back down in his seat, shifting some, with another lift of his wine, inhaling it now. "We must always be diligent and assuring we bring forward all the proper claimants before law can declare it otherwise known, for that I agree." Though the wine takes to souring at the mention of the Moniwids and the business with that family. He gulps at that wine, as if a cat who swallowed a canary and is not really willing to let it out just yet. "He is not mad," Tyrel protests once his swallow has been taken in full, "He's… faithful, as our father was." He crosses his leg over a knee, positioning his cup just so, clearly some irritation behind that sentiment, "He's gone from the castle for a time, to catch his breath from all that has happened." Though where, or when he'll be back, or what else has happened since, is left to speculation as the King says naught more of it. "Of course you weren't. You don't have a …" a beat, neatly putting, "sword at your hip."

Roslin looks a bit less amused. "He's mad," she counters back. "And toward the end, Father was not the same, either. More like Logen than anything else. Logen has made his own bed and must lie in it, and somewhere along the way he lost his way for the right path and the wrong." The sip of wine she takes next is a bit deeper. She's unhappy. "Before his marriage he asked me to cut his hair, and nearly cried to see it removed. He babbled nonsense. And I am close with Emerit, I have been ever since she was first sent here as Ambassador. I know of the things Logen has done." She shakes her head. "I thank the Gods every day that you have sons, Tyrel. I would not kneel to him as King. I may wear no sword, but I carry the small blade you gifted me always, and have the leather armor you bid me wear when you would take me upon the battlements to explain the defenses of the castle - uncomfortable as the stuff is. I am a woman, but I am not mad. And I have eyes to see that he is." She takes a deep, slow breath to calm herself. "I cannot understand the world he lives in, or how he sees it. I never hardly could. You, at least, I can comprehend." That brings a little smile back again. "What will you do, with Logen? I do not think he can marry again, it would be a diplomatic disaster. And he'll likely pull out his own hair and talk to the curtains if left to his own devices."

Tyrel looks down into his cup. The matter of his brother was a sore one. It was his brother and once they had been close, once they had an understanding and this decision made would surely cause a rift if it had not completely torn any potential left. Even brothers change. His eyes lift up at her countering, listening for once as Roslin begins to share with him the recent mentality of his younger sibling. "He is -our- brother," some final protest with a kingly voice behind it. Though he too looks disquieted from all this, frowning at the ask of what he'll do about Logen, "Marriage.." his eyes turn toward Roslin, "Do you honestly believe another marriage would help? I think it not." His jaw flexes and he takes another long heavy pull of wine, before saying, "I would see him spend time at the Temple, as was the given advice so far on the matter."

"Our brother, yes. And as our brother I charge him with being an idiot." Roslin says, speaking far more openly and honestly with the King than she would with anyone else. She finishes the second cup of wine. "And no, I think marriage is the worst possible thing for him and for the realm. I do not know that he's ever had a penechant for the Gods, but perhaps he ought to join the Temple. It would remove him from any potential succession, and perhaps he could find some peace there." She pauses, considering. "Mother told me once … when a man first attracted my attention. Nothing ill about it, mind, just that I noticed that I liked him in such a way. Anyway, I asked mother about it, how I could set all feelings away to avoid falling as Logen and Caillin have. And she told me it was lust with Caitlyn Crawford, not love. If it had been love, they'd have been honorable, she said. I believe her, naturally, but I think it's even more terrifying that lust can do that to a person while love, as mother and father supposedly shared, would see father married to a Princess nearly my own age a month after his beloved wife had passed." Oh yes, bitter much?

Tyrel cannot help but chuckle, "He is a fool in love perhaps, or lost in it, or completely out of it. I am not sure, but I have hope he will recover his senses." This a true brother's hope for his younger, "We have all been through so much in such a little time, he perhaps more than you and I both." He will not deny Logen has suffered, even if they all had. "What happiness he might have found in Draventa, he will say I took from him," even if that was the truth in the way the annulment came about, but a King has his reasons and they will not be known now. "I merely mean he spend time at the Temple, to reconcile his soul," a moment, though he waves off any measure of what the future for Logen could look like. The bitterness of Roslin's last has him frown, "Father paid for his decisions," he stands, "as every King after him will as well." He moves over toward Roslin and puts a hand on her head, on those braids, "Have you thought of names yet? He could always take after your Kingly brother," a soft smile, diverting all talk away from other souring topics.

"Your own children are nearly named after you. I do not think your crown could fit, with much more ego to your head." Roslin says. She lets him touch her hair, and it causes her to look up and smile softly. "I suppose I'll have to tell him, when he comes back. I cannot hide it truly. In my nightdress you can already see I am not as thin as I once was. He'll notice." She sighs a little. "I was thinking of a name that took after no one. The child, particularly if it is a boy, shall be the only living Crawford child in the main line. That is enough pressure that he need not live up to a name too." She sets her empty cup aside, moving to rise. "My dear Tyrel," she says, full of fondness. "I cannot know what it is to bear the burdens you do. But I have known for many years now that you will be a fair and righteous ruler, a bold defender of our people, and a gentle father. I thank the Gods every day that you are not only my blood, but my soverign as well. I shall always serve you without any question." She leans up to kiss his cheek. "Except for now. For the wine has made me sleepy, and the Sutherland suites are a bit of a walk from here."

"Your own children are nearly named after you. I do not think your crown could fit, with much more ego to your head." Roslin says. She lets him touch her hair, and it causes her to look up and smile softly. "I suppose I'll have to tell him, when he comes back. I cannot hide it truly. In my nightdress you can already see I am not as thin as I once was. He'll notice." She sighs a little. "I was thinking of a name that took after no one. The child, particularly if it is a boy, shall be the only living Crawford child in the main line. That is enough pressure that he need not live up to a name too." She sets her empty cup aside, moving to rise. "My dear Tyrel," she says, full of fondness. "I cannot know what it is to bear the burdens you do. But I have known for many years now that you will be a fair and righteous ruler, a bold defender of our people, and a gentle father. I thank the Gods every day that you are not only my blood, but my soverign as well. I shall always serve you without any question." She leans up to kiss his cheek. "Except for now. For the wine has made me sleepy, and the Sutherland suites are a bit of a walk from here."

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