Sess 9, 229: To Speak of Suitors

To Speak of Suitors
Summary: Senga and Arlen decide to pay a visit to their daughter, hoping to discuss matters of her future over breakfast.
OOC Date: 23/02/2014
Related: None
Faerinia Senga Arlen Aidan Kierne 
Infirmary and then Kincaid Suite - Darfield Castle
The rectangular room has whitewashed walls and a stone floor bare of carpet and rushes. The air smells of vinegar, soap and strong herbs. On a far fall is a line of windows that look outside of the castle. Each of the windows has a widow box filled with fresh herbs and flowers. Along the wall opposite of the windos are about twenty beds in a row. The beds are narrow and simply made of sturdy oak and rope. Each bed has a fresh canvas, straw stuffed mattress covered with heavy unbleached and dyed linen sheets, a pillow, and a blue wool blanket. Next to each bed is a small square table and a stool. One each of the narrow walls are doors leading to other rooms. One leads to the hallway, which in turn leads to the main part of the castle. Across from the main entry are two doors. One leads to the apothecary and still room, and the other leads to the Royal Physician's office.
Sess 9, 229

An early day, servants long since risen to scrub and scour the castle. Those nobles priding themselves on being risers just beginning to gain their bearings. Faerinia is not any of those, ensconced within the infirmary walls before sunrise as the guttered candle can attest, delivering her practised if distant treatment void of the open faced compassion. That she would be, only even the crimson sighted girl proves mortal and has submitted ungracefully to rest in an abandoned pallet once morning routine is over.

There's a fair amount of respect for those who work in the Infirmary, her daughter being one of them. For Senga, it's not until after dawn that she rises that she sets out the days tasks and visits. One of which involve stepping into the infirmary, husband soon to be in tow but for now? It's merely the dark haired Kincaid noblewoman who does so, pausing to ask a passing servant where Faerinia may be at this hour. Pallet or at work - the former not to easy to spot, if there are a number of patients within.

Counted in the Lady’s favour is the amount of patients with the slow defrost of passing winter has thinned out the ranks among the sickly, those gaunt cheeked few still in residence are more permanent members. It would be an easy task to locate behind an inadequate curtain the girl herself, sprawled in unconscious reverie. Darkly tinted glasses absent, her features are relaxed in lines of sleep, the brittle mask smoothed out. All on behalf of the servant girl, nervy and pale.

Arlen follows on his wife's heels, having just stopped briefly to talk to some acquaintance outside. Feeling out of his depth here in this female environment, he remains silent, hovering behind his wife's back and leaves the talking to Senga.

Approaching the bed with quiet footsteps, Senga knows the measure of properly sneaking up on people and daughter alike. With a nod to the servant girl who may linger nearby, she glances over one shoulder at Arlen with a brief smile before perching along the bed's edge and a tender smoothing away of Faerinia's hair. "Daughter," she begins in a barely heard whisper. "You should have come upstairs to the suite if you were that tired."

Faerinia stirs, fingers blotched by deep indigo sweeping back the perpeptual massed curls at her brow. By increments waking up into a bleary eyed wakefulness that is the sign of those newly risen. It takes about several seconds to place face to name as her hand irritably brushes away the hand with a childish sulkiness that fast transforms into a faint terror and fiercely she attempts to grasp the intruder by the wrist in a vicious squeeze. The outcome is immaterial as she registers her mother and stiffly sits upright, glancing over to her father. When she speaks, it is with brittle formality. "Mother…Father. I was up preparing a few poultices and recording our patients when…it has been a busy time, after the tourney."

"Good morning, daughter.", Arlen greets in his usual restrained manner and nods to her explanation. "Yes, I believe the jousting would keep an infirmary rather busy. Still, your mother is right, you should come to the suite for a proper breakfast and rest."

Senga may give a slight start which evens into a tense press of her lips together in a fine line as her, their daughter comes into full wakefulness. "Tournament aside, there are other healers and your father is right. Besides, he will be sailing soon per orders which cannot be ignored," she says with a glance over one shoulder at Arlen, no hint of consternation in her features. Merely acceptance as she looks back to the pale haired young woman, eyes taking note of her state and demeanor. "It might do well to spend some time as a family before then. Should I speak to the Head Healer to request time for you to have more time available, possibly? That way, it does not reflect against you and your commendable progress?"

Fragile, their family. What had kept them tied was now absent, her brother. His complete denial of subtlety and insular, self sustained joy for life served to diminish and divert the underlying tensions simmering hot beneath the veneer of scrutinised politeness. The sole indication to any emotion beyond detached calm lies in the stressed enuciation and faint crease between the pale haired Faerinia as she listens to her mother and father. Mainly her mother, who recieves her full, vivid stare. "There are a few, yet given the recent…tensions between Baroness Wenna and Uncle that have reached even my ears, the infirmary has taken a minor…I must stay to manage over the apprentices. Many of them are clumsy when it comes to sewing wounds and more hands on procedures."

"You are not helping anyone when you are overly tired and prone to make mistakes, Faerinia.", Arlen reminds his daughter sternly, "It is a Commander's duty to know when to take a rest and it serves him well to be able to but his faith in his assistants. I dare say, the same goes for healers too."

"I believe that the tensions between Baroness Wenna and your Uncle are solely based on matters of family and not reflective of your duties. She would be hard pressed to deny such a request," Senga states, rather matter of fact as she falls thoughtful with a hand briefly giving her daughter's arm a light pat. "And there is the matter of welcoming Lady Nylie into the family now that the betrothal is announced. As much as you are a healer, there are certain responsibilities that cannot be ignored as a noblewoman. I think that the Baroness, of all people, will understand that."

"I do not dispute it, father." By her tone, the opposite seems far more in keeping than her submission to his and her order. A disparity. Language floods her mind, dark and curdled by sourness more fitting withered spinsters than a girl not yet twenty. Bridling visibly, she swallows the helpless fury. Hitching her shoulders, Faerinia fumbles round for her spectacles. Smoky quartz, it hid the disfigurement, instilled a straight spine and unruffled countenance obscured by her little replica of an invention. At her mothers deftly outmaneuvers her in conversation, the girl concedes. "She would, though it will sorely test her to admit it. I suppose you have a suitor lined up me then, now the other ladies in our family are set to wedded off?"

"I believe that is something better discussed over breakfast in the quiet of our suite, wouldn't you agree, my dear?", Arlen asks, offering Faerinia an amicable smile. He is obviously ready to head out again, expecting his womenfolk to follow.

Wisely not remarking upon the glasses while seemingly playing to the whims of her daughter, Senga moves to stand without assistance with both hands smoothing out her skirts before extending one to Faerinia. Without a smile or anything to give away her thoughts on the matter or an answer, she adds, "Shall we? I think that more comfortable surroundings are better suited for such talks."

Faerinia assents readily to her parents, even mustering up a faint smile for her father and mother. Taking the extended hand, their daughter is quiet, tractable for the present as she follows them out, clad in her unremarkable white dress and slippers. Her expression suitably ironed out.

Arlen walks ahead as they return to the Kincaid suite and starts giving orders to the servants to prepare a big hot breakfast for them all. He is content to leave the talking to the females once they settle down at the table.

The glance which Senga gives to Arlen as she passes is a brief question before he sets to ordering the servants about. Gesturing towards one of the sofas for Faerinia to make herself comfortable, she opts for one of the other empty seating arrangements while sending a quick word the handmaid who peeks out of the room shared with both Kincaids. The request is met in the form of a thicker shawl, patterned in more winter-like embroidery as the weather is starting to warm in phases. "I think what your father means to broach is the same thing which I have heard," she says conversationally, dark eyes occasionally gauging reactions to such with the passing of the warmer cloth to their daughter. "It has been brought to our attention that you seem to not wish to marry. It would place your brother into the position of marrying as a necessity." He won't get a say in that matter. "If that is the case, have you given thought to the Temple or were you hoping to merely become a spinster?"

Listening admist the rattle of cutlery and teacups, Faerinia situates herself on the sofa with a muted groan for the far superior luxury of cushions versus a hard if servicable pallet. Spartan is the guiding principle of the directors beyond the infirmarys construction. Lightly she unfolds the shawl, unable to disguise a twitch upward of lips for its stitch, running fingertips across the fine knit wool. Draping it round her shoulders, the daughter contemplates her choices, tired yet interested. Wafting steam from a close teacup perks her senses a little, infusing pale cheeks with much absent colour. "I do not feel many man would be willing to join themselves to me, mother. Few want for a bride like me and even fewer are fit to be called men." Under her breath amending the slight grammatical accident from a tongue burred by sleep, she pauses. "My brother…has no interest in marriage and women tire him. He…never speaks outright of it." Raising her cup, she gulps down the sour brew with open relish.

"Your brother is young yet… it's hard to find women anything but tiring in that age.", Arlen comments dryly, "However he knows it is his duty to marry and carry on the family name. It is true that this burden does not fall on you, but be that as it may, you can still make a lovely bride for some young nobleman. Is there anyone who interests you at all?", he asks,apparently not as willing as his wife to entertain the idea of Faerinia turning spinster.

"That does not answer the question," Senga points out rather directly, opting to add a touch of sweeting to her own cup of tea once set onto the table nearest to her while leaving room for Arlen should he desire to sit. "And your brother is not here to make his own preferences known. Which he does not have the choices as you do, being firstborn," she says, even though her eyes set on her husband knowing his thoughts on the matter. "As second born, I am willing to accommodate you - to a point. Hence my choices. Should you desire a choice to marry then we will confer with your uncle on suitable matches. If not…" With the intervening silence making the point for her words unspoken. There's still the earlier query to be addressed.

"Not a single suitable match, father." Faerinia drinks deeply, fingers crooking round the cup when brought to her lips. As silence intervenes, she nurses it until the answer cannot be further politely delayed, mouth twisting before she selects an suitable reply. A singular emphasis on suitability. "There is security to be had in marriage and a…there are several acceptable ones and numerous unsuitable." Marking the silence with her significant lapses in speech. "I was given notice that the Grand Duke Mantilo was partial to me. The Temple is not for me, mother. Not yet."

"The town's full of people, surely there are some suitable young men among them?", Arlen heaves a sigh, "Especially with the tourney going on. You should spend more time at the fairground and less at the infirmary." The Kincaid family is actually having breakfast together for once, though food seems to be a minor concern as they are in a serious discussion with suitably grave faces. Well, Arlen might think grave, others might say, he just looks grumpy.

"Then you would rather be married." It sounds like an answer to Senga who is seated on one of the sofas, teacup held in hand in a poised manner as if this isn't such a troubling conversation. Much unlike her husband. "That being said, I am sure your uncle can lend his opinion as to who would be the better match. Since the Grand Duke Mantilo has expressed interest, we can keep that in mind. Not, that it would happen given the political climate but any stirrings should be considered."

Arlen eyeballs Senga when she uses the word stirrings in this context.

"Over restrictions the priesthood grants, mother. The Duke remains until winter for what I have determined by perusing his family lineage is…a match outside his homeland, since all nobles on the island are closely related." Faerinia has her smoke coloured glasses donned and her face is on cue, suitably impassive. Seated on a close sofa and wearing a shawl, the young Kincaid looks tired, if awake.

The doors open to the suite and the Duke himself happens to walk in, dressed in leathers with a sword at his hip. This is quite unusual for the Duke unless he means to ride out to the field, which could indicate why there are anxious knights left just outside the door. Either way, upon seeing the family seated for breakfast, he nods to them as he walks in, "Morning," looking to head toward his own suite, footfalls heading that way.

Senga blithely regards Arlen with a querying tilt of her head as the cup is lifted for another sip in entire innocence. Whatever he meant, she doesn't rise to the bait as her eyes shift back to Faerinia and then the doors as they open to allow the Duke entrance. Family as it is, she does pause to nod towards her brother-in-law before remarking, "Aidan? Could we interrupt your morning for just a moment? Feel free to partake of the breakfast spread we have laid out as well."

"Brother." Arlen seems relieved when Aidan arrives. "Please do join us. We are discussing potential suitors for Faerinia's hand." And clearly, by his expression, the commander is already heartily sick of the whole subject.

Faerinia hardly seems over-enthused by the entire discussion herself, the silent shadow until directly targeted by the painfully astute mother. Catching her fathers sickened intimation of a bird whose wings have been clipped, she disguises a crooked grin. Over the rim of her cup, she acknowledges the sweeping in uncle with eyes alone, before turning to her breakfast.

There's a look toward the spread that has been laid out, nodding at the invitations. "Excuse me for a moment," and then he'll duck into the suite with something important on his mind. The door will remain open so they can see he's moving toward his desk there and retreiving a few rolled up pieces of parchment. Tucking these under his arm, he comes back out into the main suite and considers the matter before his brother's family. "Lynette will be married within the week. Make sure you can arrange yourselves to be in Lakeshire for then," he notes as he waves the scrolls toward one of the knights, "These, make sure they get to the Tournament Steward." The said knight walks in and salutes before he takes them and excuses him back out. That leaves Aidan open to turn back toward the family, shifting his blade to the side to be able to take a proper seat, "And who is on your potential list?"

Kierne has had a long night. Having passed out several hours ago in the stables, and only recently woken by the stablehands trying to get hay out from underneath his prone form, he's washed his hands, face and neck without going to the trouble of fully bathing, changed into some simple work clothes and put enough wine into his system to drive him back from groggy and hung over to pleasantly buzzed without getting quite drunk again. That done, he's come to pay the familials a visit, though he hardly seems to expect catching so many of them still at breakfast, stopping on the threshold with a briefly uttered, "Woah." Then, "Good morning, Kincaids, all," he tips his shoulders and head down in a casual but respectful slice of a bow.

Husband? She can endure his reaction. Daughter? Well, she falls into the same category now that the answers have been given thusly to one Senga Kincaid. As Aidan departs and returns with scrolls and announcements, she nods agreeably with a glance towards her daughter before answering with a forward lean to place the tea aside. "That is quite the problem. To my knowledge, only the Grand Duke Mantilo has expressed interest but then again? My daughter is to be commended to her duties, but needs to give time to meet suitable men of marriagable age. Perhaps you might have some suggestions?" Kierne's arrival is met with something that borders on politeness and expectations befitting a nephew. Perhaps that's why she merely nods in greeting, "Good Morning, nephew."

Arlen nods a greeting to Kierne when the lad enters, though his focus seems to be on his brother as he's to and fro - and reminds them of the wedding in Lakeshire. "You know I will come if duty permits.", he reminds him once Aidan is back in the room. Then he falls silent again, so people can go on dicussing potential grooms.

Kierne hones in on Senga, grin sprawling crookedly amid his features as he approaches her with a rather more courtly expression, somewhat cloying. "My blessed aunt," he returns her greeting, and will take her hands to press them tenderly and issue a filial kiss to her cheek should she deem it appropriate to give her cheek to her nephew.

"I have not met this Grand Duke Mantilo," Aidan is honest in that, showing with a shrug as he reaches for some of the breakfast spread, working at filling his mouth as he rips apart some of the bread, dipping in a cream sauce available. His eyes lift up at the entrance of his nephew, for Kierne there's a smug look, "Looks like you enjoyed yourself well. Good lad." And there's no hint of anger in his tone or anything that would suggest there's a rift like the rumors do. He turns back to his meal and starts to eat though, realizing with his early start he hadn't had much more than a handful of nuts and grapes. "Like I said, Baron Wuold does need a bride. I haven't been able to speak with him lately though." A shrug, since there had been other things going on. There's a look that considers Faerinia, "Though I do agree she has to be wed soon. Perhaps we can strictly marry for politics at this point, if she has not expressed interest in anyone in particular."

"It was a good night, uncle," Kierne agrees. "I only regret missing the joust," is the only allusion he makes to the rift, looking over toward and over the table like a dog silently waiting to be invited for scraps. "My father isn't to be found in the place, is he?" he wonders, insted of asking permission to feed the rampant growth he's still undergoing. It's no secret to the family that Kierne and his father don't get on very well at all, even if it's not a well-known fact outside the house.

Senga relents in having her hands taken, turning her cheek to allow Kierne the pleasure of kissing her cheek with a ruefully amused smile. "I see you are in good spirits," she says, giving the young man's hands a brief squeeze before waving towards the table. "Sit. And I should think that we can give Faerinia perhaps a month's time to make her preferences clear as well. If she has no one else, we can press for that avenue. With the wedding in short order, we can take every social event to its fullest as an opportunity. Provided we can," she notes with a look to said daughter. "Keep her out of the infirmary long enough."

Kierne sits eagerly when bidden, beginning to heap up rather a plate for himself. "But my dear aunt, don't you know that all the best men are to be found in the infirmary just now?" he jokes gamesomely after the number of noblemen injured in the games. "A month? Surely my sweet cousin's not so ancient as all of that, yet," he tosses her a look of condolence even as he indulges in his usual manner of drunken jestfulness.

Arlen is totally silent now. Happy that others are doing the chatting and he can focus on his breakfast. Yum, breakfast. Gobble.

Kierne is, to note, not making any effort to cover the giant bruise that covers a good half of his neck. Though it's already got healing colors coming up through it, the greens and yellows drawn to the surface by potent healing herbs.

"Those that do interest me oft locate a few match for themselves. Are not suitable, the universe conspires against me at times." Faerinia remarks quietly, her next line more audible. Alluding to her mothers percieved jab, she adds, "Actually I did venture out to deliver a rather ardent love letter to…a Prince of Aberdeen. All possess the letter C to start off their name. An inconsiderate writer." Her mouth twitches into a wry smile for Kierne and his boisterous manner, keeping strictly to her tea.

Her brow furrows a little on sighting the bruise, though it appears more than en route to mending. Just his inebriation that wanted curing. Debatably.

"No, I haven't seen Donnal," Aidan absently answers his nephew, saying nothing of him missing the jousting, for that would only prove to wedge more ill feelings between the current on goings. "Last I heard he was in Fenway, marshling the forces," as is his task these days. As for Faerinia, he nods, "Yes, Wenna would keep her locked away. So I recommend she take a break from that, for a month, to spend proper time seeing to her own future." There's a tightness in his jaw, feeding though between the words. The mention of a Prince of Aberdeen has him considering Faerinia with a light smirk, "Aberdeen hrm… You would be agreeable to leaving behind the lands of Mobrin and all that's within it?"

A silent husband is a husband who is given a look to deduce his opinion on the matter. Done so while applying butter to the toast held in hand, Senga remains unflustered as she nods briefly to the mention of Aberdeen. Country with good terms, even though as a mother that does send her dark eyes flickering upwards in a glance between Aidan and Faerinia before continuing to butter with the knife set aside. "I will speak to the Baroness then or at the least, a letter requesting as such. Would it be generally better received if I wrote it, Aidan?"

Arlen arches a brow at the mention of an Aberdeen prince as a potential suitor. But since Aidan is already asking the question that interests him and Senga busies herself with making contact, he can go on being silent. Yay.

Kierne wrinkles up his nose a little bit in between scarfing down breakfast with the fervor of one who seems afraid someone'll take it away from him in the middle of his finishing it. When he gets a moment without a mouth full of food (he may lack some basic manners when he's drunk, but never so badly as to speak with his mouth full), he speaks up, "Ah, you mustn't go so far, Rini. We would miss you something terrible here," he effuses with a boyish affection that doesn't quite match the blossoming manliness of his features.

Fielding the smirked query is more her mothers forte and it shows itself in her flushed cheek, moreso when Kierne demonstrates affection. Despite being her younger, for once the girl is struck in the role of the fumbler, one she saves from total loss of dignity by the consumption of hot, buttery toast. Between large bites she replies to man and boy. "The land and sea are not insurmountable. We proved that many years ago, Uncle. I…would go where my path might take me. After all, if not marriage…priesthood. You always were the one to get seasick, Kiki." Deliberately, name for a name.

Aidan seems to be as hungry as the youngester Kierne, of course, though he's not wolfing it down but is constant with his eating. "Have the scribe draft up a letter Senga, and I will review and sign it for you. It would be better if the Head of House sends it direct to the Aberdeen's. We wish not to offend them and with foreigners, it's difficult to say what would." With that he cleans off his mouth with a napkin and stands, his leathers making a creaking sound and his sword clunking a little as he rises. He regards the interaction between cousins, then nods to Arlen, and says to the family as a whole, "Excuse me. There are yet further matters that require my attention this morning. Thank you for the breakfast." This to Senga as she invited him over to share, looking briefly over to Faerinia, "Priesthood would not befit you my dear niece." And then as he walks by he claps Kierne on the shoulder, already making for the exit.

Kierne's eyes widen, swallowing hard about the new mouthful of food he's trying to swallow with a minimum of chewing so that he can protest, "Hey, that was, like, once," he sticks up for himself, in re: the seasickness, lifting his hands as though to maintain his innocence. "So, yeah, I'll sure get on a boat and come and see you if you sail away from us. Still, maybe don't," he suggests. "Hey, how long do we have until the, uh, the thing today?" he wonders. Presumably he means the end of the tourney.

Kierne aims that question at his departing uncle, hopefully to garner an answer before saying good-bye.

Rini? Kiki? Arlen looks at the young ones with the mild disgusts one usually reserves for ugly bugs that somehow found their way into the bedroom. Then Aidan distracts him with his words and departure and he offers him a smile. "Thanks for your help, brother." Finally his gaze finds his daughter thoughtfully.

Aidan looks back over his shoulder, "Around early evening." And with that he departs with those knightly shadows and squire following him about.

Senga shakes her head, lifting a hand to gently pat at her lips with a napkin, "I mean to Baroness Wenna. You can send the letter to the Aberdeeen delegation. But speaking of such, I should excuse myself to pen that missive. Perhaps, you children can continue over breakfast in the meantime?"

Kierne tosses Aidan a salute in recognition of the answer.

Aidan does stop and look back with a laugh, "Do not ask me to pen a word to that witch." And then he's gone.

Faerinia appears mildly amused by the antics of her erstwhile cousin, though she conceals it behind a teacup and one large piece of toast, drenched in butter. Swimming.

Kierne tosses his cousin a crooked grin, just the scampiest looking thing he can summon up as he sops up the leavings on his plate with a scrap of bread, stuffing it into his mouth and then pouring himself a glass of wine to wash it all down with. "Rini, will you walk with me after breakfast? I want to show you the new puppies that were born in the stables."

Senga pauses with a bemused as she looks towards Aidan on his way out, lingering next to Arlen's side to murmur something that may be more along the lines of they should speak later. Just not now. She has a letter to write.

Arlen looks around, content with how everything has gone. He nods his agreement to Senga's quiet murmur, then rises to his feet. "Faerinia needs to sleep.", he tells Kierne, then turns to Senga: "I am going to the harbour. I'll be back for lunch." And with that the man fleeeeees.

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