|A Proposal of Freedom|
|Summary:||Saffron has a proposal for Kamron … but not of the marrying kind.|
|Roof Terrace — Four Eagles Tower|
|This is open to the air except for the rookery at the opposite end of the open walkway. Parapets and crenellations are about.|
|30 April 289|
Despite the various debates and arguments, Saffron has managed to secure a period of personal reflection just after the noonday meal. Mistress Morla certainly was not going to let her do it in absolute private, and thus assigned dear Punbah and Timmen to look after her. They followed her about, keeping a distance that did not threaten retaliation from her quiet, personal reflection time being slightly less personal with the presence of the two guards. She sweeps up the stairs, moving through the keep until she arrives at the roof. The note that she had sent to Ser Kamron Mallister instructed him to join her. As she crests onto the roof, she gives her soft peach and dark green gown the smallest tug and brush to smoothen out the constant wrinkling that gathers at her waist; once more, the dressmakers failed to get her measurements spot on. She starts to search either for the Mallister knight or a place she can wait for his arrival.
Kamron is not about to keep a lady waiting. He's already established in the lee of the rookery, standing by the crenelated half-wall that tops the tower, his hands on the solid stone. It smells of bird a bit in the shadow of the rookery, but there's a bit of chatter, and it's out of the ever-present breeze. As the Saffron arrives apparently without escort, his eyebrows raise, but they lower again to a bit of a knowing grin as Timmen's tall head appears from the stairwell behind her. The two guards are given a bit of a nod, and Saffron herself a bow, "Good day, Lady Saffron. I appreciate your choice of locales after the hubbub of yesterday. I do enjoy the quiet now and then."
"Ser Kamron," Saffron says in a well-practiced voice, something she has learned from her mother—stern, soft, and steady all rolled together into those three syllables. She turns her head a bit toward her guards, giving them a pointed look. "Stay here… I won't even leave your sight, I promise… but, no eavesdropping." She looks between her two guards, Punbah and Timmen also sharing a glance before the latter gives a sharp nod and a glance toward Kamron. She turns from them, and only once her back is securely to them does she grin a bit toward Kamron. The Banefort daughter approaches the knight until she stands an arm's length away. "And what a bunch of hubub it was… I'm still waiting on the edge of my seat for what will come next."
And Kamron's brows rise once more at the commands given to the guards. He holds his hands up before him a moment, as if to say 'hands off, got it,' then flashes them a grin. Turning about so that he can lean back against the wall of the tower-top, and resting his hands down atop the stone, he transfers his attention entirely to the Banefort, "It was… quite the show. I hate to be suspicious of a fine lady, but the pronouncement did seem a little… convenient." One shoulder rises and falls in a slight shrug, "If it's true, I certainly won't complain, however. The gods have spoken, however. Although I'm quite curious as to what they spoke on. I never did hear exactly what Ser Stiffneck accussed the late Ser Gedeon of lying about."
As her left arm remains limp at her side, her right reaches behind her back to clasp the opposite elbow; relaxed posture shows its not a nervous stance, but something comfortable and familiar. She looks out across the view from up here, looking out toward the rocky coastline and its associated cove. She arches up a brow slightly, clear eyes turning toward the knight at his words. "It could have been something they were not yet prepared to announce, or perhaps Ser Gedeon worried that his new wife might be a target what with the change in his status… it is hard to know what the dead think." She frowns a bit. "And is that something you wish to investigate… what lies were thought to be said?"
Kamron shrugs his shoulders, "I would presume it's the lies about Lady Isolde's parentage. Elsewise, Ser Stiffneck was challenging the King as much as he was Ser Gedeon." A hint of a smile touches his lips, "But you're right, Lady Saffron. Lords Terrick and Mallister will just have to speak with the Lady Danae to ascertain the truth behind her claims. If the child is Ser Gedeon's legitimate heir, it will be the legitimate heir to Stonebridge. If not, then it is Lady Isolde and then her child. A right proper mess, all things considered." That smile curls up at one corner, "But you didn't ask to speak with me out of earshot of your noble guards to talk about Stonebridge, Lady Saffron. What can I answer for you?"
Saffron furrows her brow a touch as she looks back out at the coast. "Challenging the King is a dangerous thing," is all she says on that topic as she straightens a bit, pulling at her elbow gingerly. Then she glances toward him with the slightest arch of her brows, and a small smile quirks at her lips. "No, though I suppose they still could be related." She drops her arms from behind her, now drawing them to her front to cross her arms loosely at her chest. "I have a proposition for you, Ser Kam," she says, easily at first. She raises one hand idly. "Something that will benefit us both, I'm sure."
Kamron chortles softly at the first statement, "Gods yes. I wouldn't want him coming after me with that hammer of his." As the Banefort gets down to business, the Mallister settles back into the battlement, leaning easily onto it and bending his elbows slightly to relax a bit. His grin twists crookedly at the woman's words, and he nods, "I thought you might… but you might tell me the proposition before you try to sell me on it, Lady Saffron." There's a light teasing to the words, a chuckle not far behind them.
The Banefort daughter narrows her eyes a bit. "I'm that transparent to you, am I?" She inquires simply at first before she takes another step toward him, though it is merely to take up a half-lean against the adjacent half-wall that looks over the courtyard below. She sobers her features once more before she continues on with a touch of business in her tone. "Its simple… I've grown tired of Mistress Morla's constant nagging and harrassment after the death of Ser Etin—preparing me as it were, trying to present me in the best possible manner for the next possible suitor." She gestures off idly to the general Riverlands, as if she expects said suitor lies somewhere out there. Then she continues, "I know from what you have said that you are equally exhausted by the idea of hopeful ladies and possibly giving up your own freedoms." She then arches up both her coppery brows. "I think we could help keep both our demons off our backs."
Kamron blinks, "Transparent? Gods no, Lady Saffron. Like every woman, you are an enigma to me." As she lays out the problems as she sees them, a grin returns to his lips. "You have a plan, then, Lady Saffron? Besides becoming betrothed to one another?" That's obviously said in jest, "I feel the need to warn you of that — you are quite a charming lady, but a betrothal is a betrothal." Laughter infuses his words, evidently quite sure that that plan is -not- what the Banefort intends.
Saffron smirks, though the half-curve of lip still maintains that neat dimple. "Yes, I'm sure… a complete enigma," she repeats with a slightly humored tone. Then she gives a small snort of laughter at his words on betrothal. "Seven, no. That would just add a whole new set of demons to contend with." She glances once toward her guards—Timmen has maintained his focus on the pair, though Punbah has started to stare up at the skies as if watching something. She then returns her gaze toward Kamron. "I am obviously still too in grief to accept a betrothal anyway," she states, though its hard to see what grief there is to be had in her countenance and posture. "But perhaps a courtship. A public display of interest, but you in your knightly fashion wish to give me time to recover from the death of Ser Etin, as well as the death of my sister." She narrows her eyes a touch. "Thoughts?"
If Saffron needed any proof that she was indeed an enigma, Kamron's reaction to the suggestion is probably good enough. He blinks hard, frowning in thought for a long moment, "Forgive me for saying so, Lady Saffron, but that still seems to present some of the same problems. Assuming that our fathers would agree, it would put us on a similar path to the betrothal that we both just disdained. If we acted without their approval, then it might help my own problem, but not likely yours. Someone who has not been approved by your father, well… I bet that Mistress Morla would not like to have him around." A grimace twists his lips, "Beyond that, Lady Saffron, I fear that Mistress Morla and your father may not take too well to me demonstrating interest in you, if they have heard tales from the wrong tongues."
"These thoughts crossed my mind." Saffron breathes out a small breath. "Hence why I introduced it as a mere starting point of conversation, Kamron," she says simply, softly. She leans fully now against the half-wall, hands folded before her with fingers twisted up together. She looks out over her shoulder as the breeze comes in from across the coast. "There must be a way to satisfy both our needs without causing further fallout later." She then looks back toward him, brows raised. "Have you any ideas?"
Kamron frowns even deeper in thought, nodding slowly as he does, "Well, a short-term solution might be me showing interest, and you showing quite clearly that you are far too much in grief for the late Ser Etin," and even here, his lips press together momentarily to stifle a smirk, "to even countenance such advances. I bet that a proper display of grief would be enough to keep Mistress Morla off your back for a short period of time, and my demonstrating interest in you might discourage my mother from suggesting other ladies —" A dry chuckle rises in his lips, "Of course, there is the threat that my mother believes that me showing such interest shows I'm ready for a wife. But I'm sure that I can bear some risk, Lady Saffron."
"Then I suppose you will have to tell your mother you are waiting until the Gods have helped me through my own grief," Saffron states simply with the smallest tug of a smile at her lips. "You will just have to show patience." She also tries to smother out a small smirk that touches her eyes all the same. Then she shakes her head. "Another solution is that we merely champion for one another… I will tell all the ladies about your unfortunate foot fungus and you can win over Mistress Morla with your charm and good looks." And now she's fully smirking without restraint.
Kamron lifts one boot to look at it after the suggestion, arching an eyebrow as he looks back over to the red-head, "I think you might have the more difficult task there, Lady Saffron." Once again, his teasing tones are back, "No one could believe that I had any sort of fungus, and my charm and good looks almost do the work for me." A chuckle rises to his lips, "That seems the less dangerous path for us both. I will entertain Mistress Morla from time to time, perhaps even teach her those few songs that I know that would not offend her sensibilities, and so allow you to have some time away from her, and you will ensure that ladies who are brought to meet me show no long-term interest?"
Saffron smirks fully now before she waves her hand dismissively. "Yes, yes… you are practically perfect in every way." And then she crosses her arms languidly at her chest. "I'm comfortable with those terms. I will let you know Mistress Morla's schedule and you will let me know if you are being given more than usual attention." She finally smiles in her blossoming, dimpling fashion. "Though you will have to allow me some creative measures… after all, it will be hard to convince the swooning ladies of your imperfections if you are in absolute denial of them yourself." She pauses then. "Tell me, Ser Kamron, do you snore?"
Kamron grins crookedly, "No one has complained of it before. Then again, squires don't usually complain of their knight's foibles. I do know insufferably horrid songs, I have a tendancy to act before I think, and generally would rather be doing something rather than sitting about and chatting about the weather. I also have a tendancy to come home rather bruised, battered, bloodied, or at the very least dirtied." He doesn't seem particularly offended by any of these self-accusation, "That should deal with the wilting flowers. For the more glory-eyed ladies, you might recount my deeds at the Grey Gardens — as Ser Stiffneck a — " He stops from adding any 'ands,' restarting with, "As Ser Rygar sees it."
Is that a faint blush forming under the freckles of her cheek? Saffron shakes her head a bit with a small laugh growing in the back of her throat. "Those will definitely do for the wilting flowers," she remarks offhandedly, though she looks up a bit at the idea of the glory-eyed ladies, and then her mouth forms into a thin frown. "You would have to tell me about it, Ser Kamron, for me to recount it," she says simply, though the softness that has taken over her tones suggest that perhaps, maybe, she has heard a bit here and there through the gossip-mongerers of the Roost. "How does Ser Stiffneck — " And the name is not corrected, " — sees it?"
Kamron's humor fades almost entirely, and he turns about to face the battlements. Leaning his forearms on the cold stone, the knight looks out over the coastline, "Ser Martyn accepted the challenge of The Harlaw — Lord Rogr Harlaw." His voice has lost most of its life, dying down to a mere recitation of fact, "I was his second. The Harlaw struck Ser Martyn time and again, finally knocking him unconscious. The Harlaw raised up his blade to take Ser Martyn's head, and I named Ser Martyn defeated, since he could not do it himself. The Harlaw did not stop, and so I caught his blade with my shield and dragged Ser Martyn from the fight. The Harlaw claimed treachery, and his men came out of the Gardens to attack us. Ser Rygar," he emphasizes the name a bit, the first sense of life in his voice since he started his description, "and Lord Mallister, both believe that I cost Ser Martyn honor, and greatly dishonored myself. Many others agree."
Saffron strides forward until she is resting against the battlement beside him — with an appropriate distance between their elbows. She listens. Never at any point during his recitation does she speak, either in question or comment. She does not even react in the proper feminine reactions when being told of such violence on the battlefield. Once it is complete, she is silent — thoughtful — staring out across the coast with those pale cornflower eyes. She inhales deeply then through her nose, looking over toward him. "And what does Ser Martyn say?" She inquires with a tilt of her strawberry-haired head.
Kamron shakes his head slightly, "Does it matter, Lady Saffron?" A wry, self-deprecating smile stretches across his lips, "This is for those glory-hound women who find a dirty, bloody, knight who knows songs that should never be sung in polite company attractive." He pushes up with his arms, straightening up and raking the fingers of his right hand back through his hair. His left hand remains on the stone of the battlement, "Lost honor and a failure to understand the honor systems held up by others should be plenty for them to chew on."
Saffron frowns at the deflection, but she does not further chase the question. Her gaze follows him as he begins to step away from the battlement, and she nods her head. "I will keep that as a last resort, Ser Kamron… I wouldn't want to be seen as begrudging your own honor." She looks up and over to him even with her arms still folded lightly against the stone.
Kamron shrugs his shoulders slightly, "I believe that I acted in full accordance with my duties as a knight and a second. Lord Mallister does not agree." There's the heart of the man's bitterness. Drawing in a breath through his nose, he lets it out with a hiss, "Ser Martyn… Ser Martyn is glad to be alive. He's not pleased that some have said I robbed him of his honor, but he's been quite kind." He shakes his head slowly, "The story is already out there. I'm sure it will do well enough for those women who find the stories of Rodrik Greyjoy exciting."
There is a frown that builds in her brow at the man's tone, the words that are spoken through them. She even dares to touch his shoulder with an open palm and clasped fingers as if to draw him out from such emotion. "You are not a bad sort, Ser Kamron… if you were, I would not have extended this proposition to begin with." She offers one squeeze before her hand returns to her own bubble of personal space and she steps backwards a mere stride to add a touch of distance—after all, even if its her guards, there are eyes upon them. "You are lucky," she says after a moment, "that I find both stories to be quite boring." And she gives him a small smile.
Kamron glances down at the brief touch, shrugging the opposite shoulder. A chuckle bubbles up in his throat, a little bitter still, but also some real humor, "That's because you haven't heard the full story of Rodrik Greyjoy. And some day, I may even tell you, Lady Saffron." Still, he nods his head, "I think we have an accord. I keep Mistress Morla busy now and then so that you can spend some time walking barefoot through the grass with the good Timmen and Punbah, and you make sure that no ladies show undue interest in me."
The Banefort daughter gives him an amuse smirk. "Oh, you tease me, Ser Kamron," she says in a deliberately swooning voice. And then she makes several steps back toward her guards, pausing to turn to face him with a warming smile. "We have an accord, Ser Kamron Mallister… you keep the hag off my back and I make you the most undesirable marriagable man in the Seven Kingdoms." There is the smallest wink before she gives him a small curtsey. "Good day to you, Ser Kamron… I'm nearly late for my lessons with said Mistress and I would hate to have to blame that on you." She grins slightly as she turns to reunite with her guardsmen, who are looking terribly bored by this point.