|About a Boy|
|Summary:||Lucienne and Anais talk after the melee - mostly about Jaremy.|
|Related Logs:||Grand Melee at Stonebridge|
|Outskirts of Stonebridge - Stonebridge|
|The roads are worn and well tended here and the fields on either side are lush and filled with wildflowers. The tournament tent is set up just north of the road and a grand pavilion rests to the central right of it, set with the colors of House Tordane. Knight's tents are being set up everywhere there is room and high ground. They dot the countryside and near the Tordane tent there is a cart of water and food, a small general area for the nobles to greet the hosts and partake in food to ease their journeys.|
|30th day of Seventhmonth, 288 AL|
Leading Anais to where his sister, Lucienne, stands before Ser Anton, Jaremy takes the last few steps calmly, turning to present Anais. Though just before he does so, Ser Anton takes his leave, forcing Jaremy to nod his head in a stern, masculine manner. What was once a four-square conversation turns into a small triangle, one in which Jaremy is please to put his back to the wedding party to begin. "Sister!" He smiles broadly, tilting his head in the direction of Anais, whose arm is in his. "I was hoping we'd find you, and gladly Lady Anais was able to spot you before I did. May I introduce you to Lady Anais Banefort." He smiles looking to Anais. "…and in return please meet my dearest sister, Lady Lucienne Terrick."
"Congratulations," Anais offers to Anton as he passes, her smile swift and easy before she's once again facing Lucienne. "Lady Lucienne, it is a pleasure," she greets, sketching a curtsey toward the other woman. "Though perhaps I should be congratulating you," she laughs softly. "The champion was quite impressive."
"As will I," Lucienne manages to murmur back to the knight before he takes his leave. There's no time for admiring her gifted roses, for they earn just the briefest look before she's addressed by a familiar voice in a familiar fashion: "Dear brother." Given the opportunity, she shifts a few steps from her parents to meet the approaching duo, slipping into a graceful curtsy in return. "The pleasure is mine, Lady Anais," she assures, her blush returning in a more muted flush of pink this time as she clutches the bouquet up near to her chest. "Wasn't he, though? I look forward to speaking with him this evening at the banquet. I thought our men put on a wonderful display, as well."
Gingerly, Jaremy eases Anais' hand from his arm, taking her fingers into his as he does so. "Yes, I did see our uncle and brother stepping from the field looking as if it was a rough fight. Because of this I should excuse myself to see them. I also have to meet with father and Lord Mallister." Jaremy adds, apologizing to the two ladies as his fingers let go of Anais'. "Sister, would you please be so kind as to entertain Lady Anais? She's come all of the way from Banefort, the northern coast of the Westerlands. She's very kind and wise, I'm sure the two of you will get along just fine." Jaremy bows his head to them, taking a long step back. His spurs ring softly against a nail in the wood as he turns, heading to insert himself into an entourage of Terrick and Tordane nobles, leaving to meet with eachother.
"They fought /hard/," Anais agrees with Lucienne, twisting to look after Jaremy a moment when he departs. "I'm afraid your brother is missing his chance at the melee." Because that's the more comfortable topic of the moment. "Though I do hope he'll be able to enjoy himself this evening. Probably more so than Ser Jarod," she adds with a faint, rueful smile.
"Indeed," Lucienne concurs, gesturing away from the crowds with a fluid hand. "Shall we retreat somewhere quieter, Lady Anais? More conducive to conversation, perhaps." The everpresent sworn are ready to move with, hovering at a respectable distance. "You've travelled from afar," she continues, pleasant and light.
"It was a very long ride," Anais agrees ruefully, shifting to follow Lucienne's planned route of retreat. "And we hurried at the end of it. We'd heard there was to be a competition of song, and I insisted we couldn't miss it. It's been years since we had a decent singer in the Banefort. Your brother mentioned it was a long way from Terrick's Roost to here, but I think he was thinking in…different terms."
Lucienne cradles her bouquet carefully, starting off at a slow pace like many of the other people assembled. Her brows shifts downwards ever so slightly, and she shakes her head. "We're not far, geographically," she explains gently. "But perhaps, in another sense he is correct." There's an air of ominousness about the latter, but the lady moves on quickly. "Have you enjoyed the tourney, then? A long way to travel for sport."
"It's been quite enjoyable," Anais agrees, glancing over her shoulder toward the field. "I wish we'd been able to get here a little quicker, but my father was worried about the movement of the Greyjoy ships." Her smile quirks at the last, rueful. "And it wasn't entirely for sport. Unless you consider the making of matches among noble houses sport. It's certainly canny enough game."
Anais is sunlight over stormy seas, a glimpse of sun through the clouds. Around average height, just short of five and a half feet tall, she is lightly built, with a certain quickness and grace of limb in her bearing that sets her apart from other women. She's fair, with fine, ash blonde hair that falls in loose waves to her waist and long bangs that brush past her brow. Her eyes are the changeable blue of northerly seas, wide-set and sharp, and her features are fine, with a pointed chin and apple-blushed cheeks. Her lips are full, and if her features seem inclined to somberness, she herself is quick to smile.
Her clothes are suited to a lady of noble birth, in silks and linens shaped to her form. Though the colors of her house may be black and grey, she favors pale blues and greens, paying homage in silver grey or flame-touched trims. Most of her gowns allow for a comfortable range of motion, and the sharp of eye may note the marks of frequent mending around hems and vulnerable seams.
Lucienne reaches down to twine fingers in her silky skirts as she follows the glance back to the field. The mention of the Greyjoys sobers her for a moment, but the last raises a small smile as she looks back to Anais. "There are certain similarities to be drawn, aren't there?" The corners of her mouth tighten into an introspective smirk. "Will you be seated with us at the banquet tonight, then? My dear lord brother looked pleased to present you, if I might say."
Anais laughs, cheeks flushing with her own, guarded smile. "Well. We will both be at the banquet tonight, yes. And I hope he's somewhat pleased, at least. Today has been a difficult day for him, it seems." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, glancing around the grounds. "My sisters will be there as well, no doubt," she adds as an afterthought.
"Regrettably," is Lucienne's opinion on the day's trials. "Nevertheless, we move forward." Slight stress on the plural in that sentence, barely noticeable. She shifts a glance down to her roses, adding in a softer tone, "I would only see him happy - Jaremy is very dear to me." More conversationally, though: "You have sisters. Do tell me of them, and of your family?"
"Sisters and brothers alike, though only some of us came here," Anais answers with an easy smile. "My eldest sister is Shayla. She was married once, but widowed during the reaving season. Then there's Elinor, who's the next oldest, and dreams of knightly champions. She'll be positively green when she hears about you," she adds with a conspiratorial grin. "And then there's me. And Gwyneth is youngest. Sixteen, and with eyes for anyone who catches her attention. But you know how it is. I've two older brothers as well, and two younger. They were a bit jealous when they heard there was to be a tourney."
Anais' explanation is punctuated with smiles and gracious dips of Lucienne's head as is appropriate, showing genuine interest. "I'm sure Lady Elinor will find herself a knight bolder and braver than Ser Valentin," affords the Terrick's eldest daughter with a smile just as wry. "Ladies as fair as yourselves, of course. And are you close? To your sisters, your brothers?"
"More to my brothers than my sisters," Anais admits. "Though it isn't that my sisters and I are distant. It's just…that we're different. And there's always that element of competition to it. Brothers are easier. What about you? Your brother seems very fond of you. I think he may have mentioned you every time we've met," she adds with a small smile.
Lucienne dips her head in a sweeping nod, a show of understanding as well as an answer to Anais' question. "We are close, yes. I find immense comfort in our strong family ties. That, and I find him in possession of many admirable qualities." The inflection of that last invites a response, even if it is't posed as a question in return.
Anais's smile quirks at the last. "I've hardly met him, but he does seem kind," she agrees. "If hurt. I can see that he wants so badly to be everything he has to be. It's hardly fair that he has to face all these obstacles at the same time." She looks toward the banners of all the houses present, lips pressing together for a moment. "Though I fear he's being outmanuevered thus far."
"He is wonderfully kind," Lucienne agrees quickly, nodding. Her eyes drop to the ground, watching her step carefully. "Fair," she muses thoughtfully, drawing out the word as she chooses her next carefully. "Fair is not a concept often applied to the political arena, is it? A shame."
"It is not," Anais agrees, shaking her head slightly. "Which is what makes it so difficult." She looks to the other woman then, a faint smile curving. "Would you tell me of your brother?" she asks. "I try to trust my own perceptions, but a few meetings can hardly stand to the measure of a lifetime."
Lucienne draws in a long breath, enjoying for a moment the scent of her rose bouquet. Her head inclines, and she smiles placidly. "Of course. He is kind, he is loyal. He is fierce. When we were children, he dreamed of fighting white walkers, slaying dragons, growing to join the Kingsguard. He is a man of honor, my lady Anais. He loves his people." She pauses, perhaps to let that settle before adding, "He is loved by his people, also."
"You make him sound the hero of a song," Anais smiles crookedly as she walks, taking in the aftermath of the tournament. "Surely no man is so perfect as all that. Has he no flaws?" She twines a piece of hair around her finger as she speaks, inspecting each individual hair intently.
"And I believe him to be, my lady," replies Lucienne with great conviction, her eyes flitting back down the bouquet abashedly after uttering it. She lifts her free hand to trace along the lines of a rose petal, bestowing a warm smile upon it. "I would think that his flaws have been made apparent in these recent days," she says quietly, smile dulling just a touch. "As has his strength?" She lifts her gaze again to Anais, eyes questioningly wide.
"As I mentioned, I've only been able to speak with him a few times." Anais carefully untangles her finger, smoothing a hand over her hair. "He seems very kind. Very caring. I…worry that perhaps he has those traits in too much abundance. That he thinks too well of people who will betray him." She pauses at that, smile touching one corner of her lips. "It's silly, isn't it? Imagining that the perfect knight of song might need someone to protect him from himself."
"Perhaps you are right," Lucienne deigns to estimate in return, with a knowing quality to her smile given as she sweeps another singular deep nod. "Some would say," she supposes contemplatively, "That a great woman is a great man's best asset."
Anais laughs, smile flickering. "So I've heard," she agrees. "Though I think it might be a bit vain to presume to call myself a great woman. I'm simply…me. Though I'd hope I could at least be enough." She looks to the other woman, then to the shadow of Tordane Tower. "It's hard, being the aftermath to a personal tragedy. Those don't often show up in song or story."
Her hand leaves the rose petals to stretch out toward Anais comfortingly, and Lucienne's smile bears much sympathy all of a sudden. "I can… only imagine, my lady. These matters - this sport of ours - is sometimes every bit as brutal as the grand melee can be. I am sure," her hand is gentle as it brushes at the other woman's shoulder, then back to her own chest to indicate her heart, "That you have the heart for it. Perhaps it would be wise to pray on this."
"Perhaps," Anais allows, shrugging one shoulder. "Though I find it hard to imagine the Seven should take time away from the great important events of the world to worry about whether or not I can be happy or make someone else happy. I think that's one of those things we have to do for ourselves." She reaches over to give the other woman's hand a brief, grateful squeeze, smile quirking.
"Modest and strong," Lucienne compliments, the squeeze of her hand prompting another smile. "You are greater than you give yourself credit for, my good lady Anais. Come, shall we walk to my tent, where we can take refreshment until my good lord brother is done with his afternoon's engagements?"
"That sounds perfect," Anais agrees, smile flashing. "I know there were things at the tournament, but I was so caught up in the melee, that I didn't even have a chance to enjoy any of it."