| Awfully Like Permission |
| Summary: | One Haigh woman is good. Four is better. |
| Date: | 30/03/2012 |
| Related Logs: | none |
| Players: |
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| Town Square - Stonebridge |
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| The surrounding terrain has several small gullies and streams that feed into the waterfront area just adjacent to the town square, the sails of the boats visible over the tops of the buildings. The square is floored in the same heavy stone that the east docks and castle are constructed of while the buildings are a mix of the stone, wood, and mortar. There are quite a few fish vendors with their fragrant catches for sale among groups of tables which tend to be busy most of the time. |
| 16th February 289 A.L. |
Mid-afternoon in the town square is no less bustling and hectic, as the forces of the Riverlands muster once again - their departure for the Iron Isles due only a few days from now. Some households yet linger, setting their affairs in order before they must take their leave, and the vendors of the marketplace are hardly wanting for trade as a result. A lively crowd fills the air with chatter and hawking, with groups of squires or ladies with attendants mingling amidst the running children and occasional solemn guard or knight. Supplies are ferried to and from the boats waiting at the landing and all seems, for the time being, a world away from the grim concerns of war.
Browsing the stalls and tables, waited on as ever by a handful of retainers - Charlton guardsmen, as well as her own handmaidens - the Lady Ceinlys strolls unhurriedly in the warm sunshine, letting her vivid blue eyes peruse an assortment of gaudy trinkets. Typical. A quiet word and a charming smile has the trader taking up a pretty, if rather simple, pendant, offering it out to the elegant noblewoman to take a better look. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, she contemplates it with apparently serious thought. It's a hard life.
According to recent gossip, the infamous raven-haired young woman is now appointed Castellan to the Lord Aleister Charlton. It hasn't done much to quell the previous whisperings of dalliance between the pair.. but Ceinlys, as usual, seems not to care one bit; refusing to confirm or deny, but certainly not avoiding the limelight in the meantime. Presumably her presence here means the Knight himself - and his wife - cannot be far away. The liveried guards? Well, that's just to ensure her day remains undisturbed. They do, though, remain at a fair distance, rather than trying to shoulder their way through this rabble. She's safe enough, by their reckoning.%r
Yirith stood among the youth of the court; the wooden and curved bow bent at it's extremities as he pulled the string, notching an arrow. The projectile leaned against his face, using the cheek bones as a sort of measuring aid. He instructed the group to the proper form and technique. "Three breaths; kill, kill, ki-" The arrow flung from the bow and as expected from a veteran marksman- it pierced the bull's eye made of hay and wood. "You release at the intake. If your arrow remains notched by the time you finished the last breath… You will be dead."
Eventually deciding against the jewelry - perhaps never having truly intended to buy at all, Ceinlys offers the trader a gentle shake of her head and an apologetic smile before stepping away from the table, allowing gliding strides to carry her in no particular direction. A hushed murmur to the handmaiden chaperoning at her elbow draws a soft chuckle from the attendant, who mutters something in reply. And so it is that, in the moment her gaze happens upon young Yirith and his gaggle of fellows, the Lady Erenford is actually smiling, for once. Recognition begins to dawn, however, and the noblewoman finds her path slowing, then drawing to a halt near the periphery of this more martial gathering, folding her arms comfortably across her midsection and watching as the arrow is loosed, following its flawless arc toward the target.
Her gaze is one of idle, distracted curiosity, though. Not the rather immediately smitten and rapt observation of the younger of her handmaidens. "..a fine display, Master Yirith." The familiar, velvety tone calls across the quiet applause of his current companions - far from shouting but easily audible.. and easily recognised.
Yirith 's attire did little to promote the young lord's status; for he was dress like a chicken hunter. Baggy wool shirt and tight leather jerkins tucked in to heavy boots. His hair lacked groom. Yirith glanced over his shoulders at Ceinlys. An annoyed expression evident by a crunched nose and curled lip. This was force aside once he regain awareness of the lady (and her handmaidens)'s identities. A smile, awkward, but never the less there. The trademark of this diamond in the rough, wild boy "one with the people". "My Lady." Yirith bowed, another motion that while familiar to him appeared prententious. He growled at the students who quickly erected and followed him in suit. In his bow, Yirith's eyes darted about the handmaiden, memories ensued which melded his smile to a grin.
The handmaiden blushes prettily, a rosy hue warming her cheeks as she lowers her gaze, having been caught staring. Ceinlys, of course, does nothing of the sort. And she plainly doesn't care if she's disturbing him. Then again, if a woman like this concerned herself over 'upsetting' people.. well, she would hardly be such a figure of speculation, now would she?
Answering the bows afforded her with a simple downward flit of her gaze, she then keeps it upon Yirith unwaveringly when it rises again, ignoring his fellows. It's not spite.. it's merely the way of the world that those sorts barely register in her thoughts. Calmly moving forward, closing the distance a little, she looks past the marksman to the target, her choice of place to halt demanding he turns a little if he wishes to keep his attention on her. And he should.
With a beguiling smile that doesn't quite touch the glacial hues of her eyes, the young lady looks back to Yirith. Yes, she remembers him very well. But those looking on likely have no reason to think anything of it. Don't they share a name? "Will you show me..?" she asks, gently, gesturing with a subtle motion toward his bow. A woman attempting archery? She must be bored.
Yirith was clearly displeased with the notion of a lady and his bow. The thought linger in his head until it was replaced by something more… different. He smiled and bowed his head. "Of course." He motioned for her to come to his side before the target.
Does the Lady Erenford mind about the young Master's displeasure? Of course she doesn't. They can play at being nice, with watchful eyes upon them, surely. Leaving her chaperones where they stand, out of the way of the makeshift range, Ceinlys obligingly shifts a little closer, both hands grasping lightly at her skirts; the curl of her fingers just enough to loft the hem from a straw-strewn patch of stone as she moves across it. Though fairly simple, by the standards of some, her attire is still obviously of fine crafting. Why sully it with the debris and detritus of the marketplace? Even if it is good sport to play a game of 'courtly chicken' with the loyal retainer of her enemy?
Eyeing the bow uncertainly as she takes up the indicated place beside him, the young woman clasps her hands now before herself, patiently awaiting his further instruction. It's fair to say a ripple of amused conversation stirs through those who have lingered to watch this spectacle. Ceinlys with a weapon. How entertaining! But the pleasant curve set firmly across her lips implies that no.. she still doesn't care.
A pair of sisters linked arm-in-arm and trailed by a single retainer manage to wind their way through the clamoring throng of bodies in the square. "No, Kat, she was rather more cruel than usual. I think she is upset that her brothers are all leaving, and she enjoys taking it out on me. Will you please say something to her?" Ilaria tosses her head, sending a few tendrils of loose hair away from her face, looking away as they inadvertently draw nearer to the impromptu archery demonstration. The sight of Ceinlys with a bow draws the younger girl up short, and she pats Katrin's shoulder to get her attention. "Look, look at that. Briallyn would eat her shift to be here."
Yirith adjusts himself behind Ceinlys, handing her the bow. "Are you familiar with the bow or do you need me to guide you?"
"I have tried it a few times, only, Lord Yirith.. usually for the amusement of my brothers, however, and with little in the way of instruction." Still, not to be outdone, the ebon-maned noble accepts the bow when it is offered toward her, handling it with surprising care. Men are funny about their weapons, after all. They're also a little strange when jests are made of their brother's deaths, as Aron was quick to prove during the recent council. He and Marvish Erenford never did see eye to eye. But that's neither here nor there.
Unperturbed by her lack of expertise, Ceinlys accepts an arrow from one of the nearby squires and nocks it; her long fingers uncharacteristically clumsy with the unfamiliar task. She doesn't seem to have noticed the approach of her young cousins, thus far. Not, one would expect, that she'd be likely to blush and hide her face even if she had. Haigh women are made of sterner stuff than that. Let them look. If everyone will insist on gossiping, regardless? Give them something to talk about.
Yirith scowled the noble-born "Your form is all wrong." He stood closer to her. His breath, innocently, against her neck. His hand guided her elbow out and brough the shaft of the arrow closer to her cheek. He hovered his hand over her chest and said "Breath in three counts. Kill, kill- And at the last during the intake, release the string. Make sure the arrow is align with your mark.
Though the shorter of the two, Katrin squeezes Ilaria's arm and offers her a sympathetic look. "If it will ease your mind, dear sister, I will speak with her," she offers softly. "I must apologize again for leaving you to her last eve but there were matters that needed to be seen to immediately or else it could have been detrimental for all of us."
<FS3> Ceinlys rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.
Admirably - depending on one's point of view - the young lady seems to pay no mind to the proximity of the Lordling, concentrating on listening to his instructions and adjusting her stance without complaint. She did ask to be shown, didn't she? Besides.. he wouldn't dare to lay hand upon her in any inappropriate manner. Not here. That's why it's always best to subtly taunt your mark in a crowd.
Levelling her cerulean eyes upon the target, narrowing them a touch as she gauges the distance and raises the arrow-tip just a fraction higher - it's all in the details, you know - Ceinlys does as she is bid, drawing a slow, deep breath. Seeing as most are looking at the target, rather than at the woman with the bow, for now, more than likely the majority of onlookers miss the fact that a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips a splitsecond before she lets the arrow fly. One. Two.. With a satisfying contact, the bowstring launches the vessel forward. And the noblewoman, perhaps betraying at least some idea of how these things work, holds her position as it soars through the air. She doesn't relax and permit a pleased smile until it embeds itself in the target with a solid *thwack*.
Drawing closer, Ilaria ignores Katrin for a minute or two as she circles around the group in order to get the best glimpse of Ceinlys's face. She smiles, faintly, and nods absently to her sister before nudging her with an elbow. "It is no matter to me whether you stay or go, sister. I was only irritated that you wanted to run off without a chaperone. You know the tongues will wag. Look, though, don't you think Bri would have a fit to see this?"
Pausing, Ilaria draws in a sharp breath and holds it while watching Ceinlys draw the bow and then release it. With a flick of her eyes, she follows the arrow's path all the way to the target - and she cannot help herself but to clap enthusiastically at the hit. "Oh, I would give my new slippers to see her face, Kat!"
Yirith understood the secret rules of combat in the court. He kept his place close to the woman. His touch, like braces, sustaining her form. "Good." He whispered. Releasing the woman, he turned to the children "A woman is a better shot than all of you. How does that make you feel?" He allowed his gaze to drift about the pupils, judgemental eyes of his. "Drill!" He commanded and they quickly returned to their practice. Turning back to Ceinlys "Is there anything else you need of me… My lady?"
Katrin's eyes narrow faintly as she watches the display, but she keeps a firm hand on her sister to keep her from running off. "Oh, you needn't worry over my reputation, dear one. I would have preferred you kept the guard with you to ensure your safety, especially with Bria around." She shakes her head, and finally sighs. "Would you care to walk over and meet this female archer?" It's hard to keep all of the distain from her voice.
Lowering the bow gracefully and handing it off to the young man beside her without immediately even bothering to look to him - perhaps as a subtle indication that he can safely step away from his place so close? - Ceinlys only belatedly turns her eyes upon him, meeting his gaze with a smile once he's quite finished scolding his underlings. "Thank you." Her murmured reply is almost as softly uttered as his approval. And likely just as sincere. "Do not be too unkind to them.. I am sure it was merely beginner's luck." It was no such thing and they bot know it. But it's always nice to be nice. Well, if you're Ceinlys, on special occasions it's possible to be nice.
"I should not distract you any longer from your lessons, Lord Yirith." replies the young woman, turning to better face him and once again folding her arms in a drape of shimmering green and copper. "..but for one last request. That you pass on my well wishes to our mutual friend? I do trust he must be here, somewhere. You never were far from one another."
Yirith ignored the woman as he tended to the student. It wasn't until after a moment that he returned to her, his focus kept upon the drills. "My lady, you can ask him yourself. I am no messenger." He turned to face her, cold blue eyes set upon the young woman. "I doubt he would mind." Yirith's glance drifted toward her handmaiden; smiles and winks.
Ilaria strains in Katrin's grasp - not with the desire to escape, but merely to find a better vantage point. She rocks back on her heels and lets out a frustrated sigh, turning her attention over to her siser. "What? Me? Protect me from what? Lady Briallyn would not harm me, at least not physically. We were almost home. You're lucky I'm kind enough not to tell Ian." Dismissing the conversation with a flick of her fingers, hazel eyes drift back to the noblewoman just in time to see her turn away from Yirith. "Ah, there, you see, sister? It is just our cousin. Come on." With that, she breaks free of Katrin's grasp and advances toward Lady Ceinlys with a cheerful smile.
"Physical harm is the least of your worries at times, dear one," Katrin murmurs, though mostly to herself as she trails after Ilaria at a far more sedate pace, her eyes tilted downward to the ground for a moment. She intakes a deep breath before a pleasant smile graces her soft lips and each footstep brings her closer to the growing group. "Quite the shot, cousin," she commends of Ceinlys once within earshot.
Arching a slender brow, looking more amused than anything else, Ceinlys holds the gaze set upon her unflinchingly. "..of course. You shall have to forgive me, Lord Yirith, if I occasionally find myself forgetting what it is you are." Turning to follow his boyish glance toward the ladies attending her, though, her smile becomes more a smirk by the time she looks back. "..I find, of course, it never takes long for me to be reminded." That seems as much a warning for them, as for him. The gentle rebuke has the women lowering their eyes once more.
Ah, a familiar voice. Turning slightly away from Yirith, leaving him to whatever tasks are so important - strutting about with a bow and such - the Lady Erenford offers a warm smile in greeting toward the pair who have approached outside her notice. "I confess, even I grow weary of embroidery, sometimes. Hello, dear cousins." A half-step forward brings her easily close enough to lean inward and brush a kiss upon each girl's cheek in affectionate introduction. And immediately, she's raising her tone just a little, including the marksman without so much as glancing at him, still regarding her kin. "..have you met Lord Yirith? A friend of my late husband's successor."
Yirith turned to the ladies and bowed "Lord Yirith of Erenford."
Ilaria turns her head to receive the kiss with the same cheerful smile, grasping Ceinlys's hand briefly before she passes on to Katrin. "I understand the tedium of sitting hunched over needlework, cousin. It hasn't driven me to hone my marksmanship yet, though." She busies herself with straightening her skirt, running her fingers over the soft folds of silk and listening to the feminine chirps of a reunion. At the sound of an introduction however, her eyes widen and she glances up from beneath her lashes to focus on Yirith for about one second. "No, cousin, haven't had the pleasure," Ilaria murmurs, dropping her gaze quickly and dipping into a curtsey for the man.
One might hope Briallyn isn't a stalker, but it cannot be confirmed, as she has the eerie knack for showing up where and when least expected. It's difficult to discern whether or not she recognizes the elder noblewoman, or pays half a mind to the young man tending to her, because she immediately saunters up behind her two cousins with a smile on her face that indicates less than seemly thoughts. "I heard someone was taking themselves too seriously, so I thought that I would…" Her voice trails off, and she coughs. Violently. Probably to destroy any hints as to what might have followed that train of thought as she closes in on the group and discovers that Ilaria and Katrin are far from alone.
"So I see, cousin," Katrin replies, returning the brush of lips across Ceinlys' cheek. She offers a throaty chuckle and shake of her head. She seems prepared to speak again but is cut short by Briallyn and shakes her head before providing a polite inclination of her head to her cousin. "A pleasure, my Lord," she speaks to Yirith.
Yirith nods, acknowledging the women. He turns from them tending to his job at hand; making this young boys in to fighting men. He is strict and cruel with the lesson. A wooden blade in his grasp, which he uses to harshly correct their bow form.
"Goodness, is everyone here?" laughs Ceinlys, at the sudden appearance of yet another Haighling in the background.. and with a faint note of 'well, there goes the neighbourhood'. If anyone in the infamous family is at risk of being even more troublesome than the Lady herself, it's this one: Katrin. She still recognises them all, despite it having been quite some time. One of the few benefits of age. "Is there some manner of party I have not been made aware of? Because, frankly, I really don't know I have the time for such things. How depressing it is to say that aloud."
Ignoring Yirith because, well, let's face it, it's fun, Ceinlys regards the trio before her thoughtfully, taking a half-step back in order to look over them. "You are all well, I trust? It has been long since I heard anything from home.. this is a pleasant surprise." Never mind that they caught her practicing her marksmanship in the middle of the town square. She's unruffled.
Yirith says, "I have little patience for failures. Our duty as scouts is a cold and dangerous one. We are abandoned behind enemy lines, entrusted to gather intelligence on our enemies. If they don't kill us, mother nature will." Yirith did allow a subtle glance to shift toward Ceinlys; it was flirting and miniscule in moment.
The town center is home to many, many different market stalls, one of which is the tanner's. Einion is behind his counter, in the work area itself, finishing with a hide that lays stretched upon a drying rack. The young man moves slowly in his work, deliberately, and when it seems that he deems it complete, he begins to pull it from its stays, whistling as he works.
Tia is still all dressed in black (no matter what her desc says). She's walking along, with a guard and maid, at an easy pace which doesn't do much to hide her approach. Course, she's heading incidentally towards the group of mostly strangers, harp in hand, and a thoughtful look on her face. At a distance still, but moving closer.
"No, everything burned to the ground. Even the river. All of it. Gone. You wouldn't believe the smell," Briallyn is quick to assure the Lady Ceinlys, lowering her voice purposefully while affecting a glance about herself to indicate something akin to.. pity? Empathy? She neither curtsies, nor does she seem inclined to kiss anyone for any reason. Those moss green eyes, however, slide away from the women to fasten upon Yirith with poorly concealed curiosity even as she lifts her arms to rest them behind her head.
"No, everything burned to the ground. Even the river. All of it. Gone. You wouldn't believe the smell," Briallyn is quick to assure the Lady Ceinlys, lowering her voice purposefully while affecting a glance about herself to indicate something akin to.. pity? Empathy? She neither curtsies, nor does she seem inclined to kiss anyone for any reason. Those moss green eyes, however, slide away from the women to fasten upon Yirith with poorly concealed curiosity even as she lifts her arms to rest them behind her head.
Taking her lead from Ceinlys, Ilaria turns her attention to her family and otherwise ignores the other bodies milling around on the periphery. "I think everyone is migrating away, cousin. Father once wrote that the halls were much quieter, but he prefers it that way." Clasping her hands together demurely, she glances over her shoulder to greet Briallyn with a quiet, "Arms down, Bri, you're not a bird. And hello." Just as she's turning away, the outlandish story calls her back. "Wait, what? What burned down?"
Yirith was a man renown for his alertness. He caught Briallyn's glance and met them with his own; eyes reserved for a noble born in war. Yirith broke the stare and continued to correct the children in marksmanship, using the wooden sword to fix their form.
A small hand reaches out to swat at Briallyn's elbow, "Remember yourself, cousin," she chides sternly. "You are in the presence of those far superior to you and your childish stories." With a shake of her head, Katrin returns her look to Ceinlys, dipping her head down. "We have been sent to stay with our brother in a hope to expose ourselves to other parts of society outside of those within Haigh lands." Her eyes travel around the square. "It has… certainly been quite the experience." But even behind the open curiosity is a calculating of each object and person she sees.
"I am not quite that far out of the loop, Lady Briallyn, that I would miss such a thing. At least I would hope not. I have rather a large number of dresses stored, still, at the Keep." replies Ceinlys, adopting a musing tone as her blue eyes wander skyward. "I should hate to have them befouled with the stench of smoke." Unlike the others, she doesn't trouble herself with chastising the girl for her lack of decorum. It's no particular concern of hers how she behaves. And look at that.. apparently the key to attracting the gaze of a professed nobleman is an ill-advised stance. Were it any nobleman other than Yirith, that might come as a surprise.
Returning her attention to Ilaria, and Katrin in turn, following a fleeting glance over that little scenario, the eldest of the women nods her understanding, arms remaining folded comfortably. At her back, her two handmaidens have edged a little closer, and the Charlton-liveried guardsman are not far behind, as usual. She pays none of this any mind. "Well, I hope you are making the most of the 'experience', such as it is, cousins. No doubt the courts will be far more jovial upon the triumphant return of our forces from the Isles.. but in the meantime, other duties do tend to take much of the daylight hours." This much is spoken upon a quietly weary sigh, before she musters another smile into play.
With the leather thus released from its stays, Einion takes it over to the table, pulling out a dye pot and a brush. There's another smaller bit of leather on the work table as well, though for the moment, it's ignored. Taking up the brush, the tanner dips it to the well and begins to paint out the shape of what will become a device of some sort. Glancing up from his work at the differing crowds that walk the market and chat, he spots Yirith and his wooden sword, going after the young archers. He stares for a long moment before returning to his work, the whistling ceasing.
Tia continues along her way, her steps not even hesitating as she spies a fairly substantial group ahead of her. Her attendants simply stick with her, though poor Jacob rather looks like he's eaten something unpleasant. As she nears and spots Ceinlys, Tia smiles. "Good day, m'Lady Ceinlys," she says. "And to everyone else as well. This is quite the crowd to be standing about in the middle of affairs." She tucks the harp under one arm easily enough, glancing at each of the folks here in turn curiously. Her bright blue eyes certainly reflect that emotion easily, though her expression is schooled to a pleasant neutrality.
"Katrin, I promise that if I ever need a mother who takes herself as seriously as you do, I'll let you know," the young woman retorts dismissively, ignoring the swat. She's good natured like that, and not eager to pick a fight in public. Yet. Even as she addresses Katrin, those green eyes remain upon Yirith and his students, studying each of them in turn as they practice. Her arms stay comfortably behind her head, fingers intertwined across the back of her neck. "I was just trying to make the day more exciting. It's little better here than home. Everyone is.. gone." Bri's nose wrinkles faintly with distaste.
Yirith took a step back, watching his scouts performing to his standard. His instruction elevated. Yirith smiled. Every arrow met it's mark and the children were quick to load another and shoot.
Ilaria blushes at the sound of the minor squabble, staring down at the cobbles and waiting with bated breath until they finish. It is a mercifully short conflict, allowing the younger girl to exhale quietly and resume a more polite conversation. "I find the whole of this business to be incredibly boring, and my sister knows it." She pauses, cutting a quick glance to Katrin and offering a faint smile. "But—Lady Ceinlys, what duties have been settled upon your shoulders?"
"Lady Tiaryn." The dark-haired noblewoman's voice is both pleasant and genuinely warm as she turns, hearing her name, and recognises the approaching blonde, inclining her head in a slow nod of more formal greeting. She's never one to forget proper etiquette. She just dismisses it intentionally, at times. Less so, nowadays, it must be said. "How lovely to see you out enjoying the day. Come.." She unfurls one arm in order to wave Tia closer. "..do come and meet my kin, as I have had the pleasure of encountering your own. The Ladies Ilaria, Katrin and Briallyn, of House Haigh." Seeing as the young man who had been flitting about nearby seems otherwise indisposed, she foregoes introducing him for now. "Ladies, the Lady Tiaryn Flint."
The squabbling doesn't bother her. Girls squabble. It can't be helped when one doesn't have a horsewhip in hand. Passing Ilaria an appreciative smile - and perhaps one of agreement - Ceinlys reaches to sweep aside an errant tumble of her raven hair, smoothing it back behind her ear as she replies. "Oh, I suppose you wouldn't have heard, not being at Broadmoor any longer. I have been appointed Castellan to Lord Aleister Charlton." As rumors and gossip go, the ones surrounding the pair are far from subtle and they are whispered more often by the day. How scandalous! Not that you'd think so to look at her, accompanied by the man's own guards and perfectly content to be seen out and about in Stonebridge.
Tia has of course heard the gossip, and is fairly well acquainted with Lady Cherise as well, but there's no call to add to the scandal, really. She inclines her head politely, turning her attention to those now introduced. "A pleasure to meet you all. How are you finding Stonebridge so far?" she says, her own voice light and pleasant on the ears. She listens quietly to Cein's additional information about her role with the Charltons, but there's naught to be said on that note. "Is this just a coincidental gathering? I trust I'm not interrupting with my desire to look for new harp strings. With as much as I have been playing Lady Isolde's harp, I am thinking to replace the strings is the least I can do."
With the outline thus drawn, the tanner pulls a couple more pots out, as well as a couple more brushes and begins the strokes, filling in the lines. The colours are immediately recognizable as Nayland, even without the argent creature in the middle. The whistle isn't far from his lips, however, and it's not long before Einion begins a distracted tune once again, proving that music is not his strong suit. However, the care that he takes with the escutcheon does point to his ability with leather!
Etiquette is the perfect cover for trying to avoid laughter, which Briallyn appears to begin choking on in that very moment. Those dark green eyes whip back to Ceinlys, drink in Tiaryn, and they glitter with mirth and intense curiosity. She smothers the laugh, coughing softly as she affects a surprisingly graceful curtsey with a short-lived dip of her head. "Well met, Lady Flint," she manages to choke out through fingers that try to obscure the inappropriately wide grin curling her lips upwards at the corners. "Stonebridge is…" Her mouth opens, wisely shuts, and she says nothing further about it. But. "I'm here because my ears were burning, and because I have to remind people to live a little." She doesn't even attempt to hide the fox-like smile directed towards her cousins. A shame, really, she was doing so well there for a moment.
Yirith sighs; his focus interrupted. Girls, every where. He turns to face the gathering, assessing the noble from naught.
Ilaria lifts her chin and looks to the aforementioned Lady Tiaryn, but her gaze settles on the harp tucked beneath the woman's arm with a curious lift of her eyebrows. Still, she affords the woman a deep and respectful curtsey, fingers grasping the red silk of her gown, "It is a pleasure, Lady Flint," she murmurs, drawing back a step and falling silent to allow the women to converse. Instead, she clasps her hands behind her back and twists back and forth at the waist, swishing her skirts and taking a moment to people-watch as their group grows. The impatience of youth has affected her, and Ilaria's focus wanders from maid to maid to guardsmen to take in their accoutrements, and then accidentally she spies Yirith turning to glare at them. The girl's smile is brief as she meets his gaze unwillingly; her pale cheeks redden noticeably as her gaze dances back to Ceinlys. "Ioh, I had heard aboutwell—I mean to say that it sounds like very fulfilling work."
Yirith is not the kind of man that lets an opportunity pass. He catches Ilaria, catching him. He smiles, the pink of her cheek an interesting response.
Another half-smile quirks upon Ceinlys' lips as she, too, notes the warm color stealing across Ilaria's cheekbones. But she doesn't intervene. The young lady will have to get used to Lordlings and their staring, after all. Instead, she comments calmly upon the words spoken.. or stuttered. "Fulfilling? I suppose so, yes. Though, this shall likely be the last opportunity I shall have to dally about a marketplace for the foreseeable future." With her Lord departing with his forces and his pregnant wife to keep.. well, quiet, if not happy.. along with all the other duties of her station, the Lady Erenford will no doubt be rather busy in the coming months. Being young and carefree and blushing at archers will be very much a thing of the past. Falling thoughtfully quiet for a moment, she settles to merely observing the interactions of the younger trio with the Lady Tiaryn.
Tia's smile is gentle as she looks over at Briallyn, acknowledging the reply appropriately. "Excellent reasons to be out and about," she says, her eyes dancing a bit more at the ill hidden laughter. She does glance over at the lone male so bravely holding his ground, inclining her head that way as well. There is no blush on her cheeks, merely a polite nod, as he's not introduced himself or been introduced. "Archery? Perhaps I too should join in, though regretfully I did not bring my bow." Surprising that might be, but Tia doesn't fuss about it. If she catches the blush and the additional staring due to it, she makes no mention of it, nor does she even seem to see it. Her stance however is perfectly ladylike, even with that harp under her arm.
Katrin squeezes Ilaria's arm gently in reassurance but her attention is instead caught by Ceinlys, her brows arching upward with both curiosity and awe. "Such an impressive position, Lady Ceinlys," she says softly, unable to keep the complete admiration from her voice.
Yirith sighs and turned away, woman and weapons. He shook his head and continue the lesson.
Despite glaring jackassery on her part, and the constant shit-eating grin plastered all over her otherwise pleasant features, something flickers in the depths of the gaze that brushes over Katrin. Whatever it is disappears as rapidly as it comes, smothered or hidden away, and Briallyn turns her attention back towards Tiaryn. "Nor mine. Or, should I say, I was told that I would have no need for a bow unless I intended to hunt people." Her lips purse with displeasure. "Nor my brace, or…" She frees a hand, dropping the other to her side, to make a flippant gesture. "You know. I have to be delicate. Enigmatic. Maybe even frail. Does frail work?"
Once more, something seems to distract Katrin from her conversation at hand. With a polite curtsey and a murmured apology, the Haigh steps away and hurries down the street and diverting down a side alley and out of sight. The shared guard just watches with a dumb look of confusion.
"It seems as if everyone has had a turn with a bow except for me," Ilaria observes, lips turning up at the corners in an amused smile. The mirth manages to carry her through all of Briallyn's outburst without faltering, but she pauses for a deep breath before replying: "Oh dear coz, you? Frail? You could be pale and gasping, bent with a pox, on the verge of death—and still nobody would mistake you for frail. Something to do with your mouth, I think."
"Well," Tia starts, pausing as Ilaria joins in. "My older brothers taught me, though at home where I grew up, I daresay there was not a single person who could not at least shoot an arrow, even if they might not hit the target squarely." She then tilts her head a bit, before she says, "I think frail might work in some cases, though it would depend on what it is you are wanting it to work for. Or on." That's forthright at the least. "I doubt very much anyone would believe me to be frail - at least not usually." Her bright gaze darkens slightly, though it is barely noticeable.
"Your kind words have made me a better person, Ilaria," Briallyn declares, her grin waning to a somewhat genuine smile. The hand that previously covered her mouth falls to rest on her hip casually. "My brother Einian taught me. He's always been much better about archery than he has with swordplay. Complains that whacking away at someone with a blade endangers his pretty face." Her eyes glitter with mirth as she speaks, and she gives a small shrug of her shoulders. "I don't think I could ever pretend to be frail, but I can pull of 'demure' if necessary. Not forever, mind you, but long enough. For what, I couldn't say. Or shan't."
"No one with an ounce of sense would believe any Haigh woman to be frail." observes Ceinlys, barely rousing from her reverie as her gaze roams the square awhile, but still with a note of evident pride in her tone. Flashing Briallyn a knowing look and a conspiratorial smile, sidelong, she adds, "One should never strive to be anything other than what they are. But the freedom to act upon it comes only when one learns to speak carefully and behave as the occasion demands." Perhaps due to this consideration, the young woman tilts her head a little askance, looking between the remaining pair - wait, where did the little one go? Her vivid eyes cast about sharply, before she offers a curt order to one of her handmaidens, in an undertone. Whatever it was, the older woman curtseys stiffly and departs along the same path that the now absent Lady took. Brigid is not a chaperone with whom to.. mess.
"We should arrange a dinner, in the next day or so, before I need depart once more. It would do me good to spend time among family.. other than my brothers." Well, they all know that feeling, don't they? Waving a vague hand toward the nearby inn, the Lady Erenford straightens subtly, apparently preparing to bid her farewells, following this offer. "I have a suite at the Crane's Crossing. It's.. well, far from luxurious. But comfortable." And it's where the Charlton household is staying. Not that that makes any difference to this invitation.
Yirith turns to Lady Erenford, watching her and the gathering.
Ilaria listens intently to Ceinlys, hanging on to every word with a sort of dewy-eyed enthusiasm only seen with the very impressionable. There is something in the grand speech that leaves her smiling faintly and looking sideways to Briallyn. "Behave as the occasion demands," she echoes, shaking her head quickly and reaching up to tuck stray strands of dark hair behind her ears. She sashays sideways as the chaperone makes a beeline for the departing Katrin, not even bothering to look back. "Dinner would be lovely, if only because it promises more company than just Ian."
After a moment, green eyes turn their doe-eyed stare back to Tiaryn, and she picks up a conversation with the woman. "So it was very common for everyone to learn the bow, even girls and—children and such? Does not sound to me as if any of your people could be deemed 'frail' either, my lady."
"No, indeed. The Camdens have always been far from frail," Tia says softly. Dead maybe, but not frail. "Although my family now is from the north, I am a Riverlander by birth, having grown up at Tall Oaks, not too far from here." She smiles, though it's a far cry from her original smile. "I shall leave you all to your dinner plans, if you will excuse me. I have harp strings to acquire, so that I may continue to play in tune. Another day, perhaps we may find a spot in which to practice archery." She inclines her head politely, gives a small curtsey and then steps back, making to depart towards the shops where she can purchase what might be needed.
Only when Tiaryn is safely out of earshot, Briallyn giving a cordial nod to the woman as she departs, do those green eyes fasten upon Ilaria with unreadable expression. "I don't see anyone beating me with a broom, Ilaria, so I haven't overstepped my bounds so much as you think. I speak my mind, and I've much mind to speak of. I know how to curtsy, I know how to be respectful. What more could you ask?" She ruins this all by slyly sticking her tongue out at the somewhat younger woman. "It isn't as if I'm going to some clandestine meeting with a strange man," Bri says airily, with a razor-edged smile. "And without any sort of subtlety, too."
Yirith sighed, he missed the boys and the woods. The young man grew bored of the teaching and so he dismissed them. The wooden sword returned to a barrel and the bows and arrows collected for the chest. With that, Yirith departed swiftly and subtly under the guise of the crowd.
At the unwitting near-gaffe regarding Tiaryn's late kin, Ceinlys turns her azure eyes toward the blonde, discreetly measuring her response. It's still a touchy subject. And, nowadays, it's of interest to the Lady Erenford for more reasons than mere sympathy. She returns a smile in kind, though when Tia bids her polite farewell, slowly inclining her head in a nod of acknowledgement and respect. "Good day to you, Lady Tiaryn. May all the Gods watch over you."
"Lady Briallyn.." she continues smoothly on, obviously having overheard the exchange between the two younger ladies, despite not having been openly paying them any attention. "..I would hope you would not be attending clandestine meetings with any man, stranger or otherwise." A wolfish smile reveals a flash of white teeth as she steps closer, arms still folded, and leans inward to offer the pair an authoritative, confidential few words more. "..at least until you are certain it will be worth your while. And you have not been here long enough, quite yet, for that." In a fleeting moment, a gleam of wicked mischief makes itself apparent upon the elder Haigh's expression. But it's for her cousins alone, and is easily smoothed back to that mask of polite indifference when she straightens once more. "We can discuss such things when we dine, however. For now, I ought to return to the inn and ensure preparations are well underway for Lord Aleister's departure." That's how you do it with subtlety. "If you will excuse me, dear cousins." Flitting her blue eyes downward briefly, in a semblance of a curtsey that doesn't quite manifest, the tall Lady turns on her heel in a swirl of copper and green, making a graceful and unhurried retreat toward the inn across the way.
The girl has sense enough to blush at Ceinlys's words, but it might very well not be why one might expects. "Of course, Lady Ceinlys," she murmurs, bobbing half-heartedly. At the woman's retreating back, Briallyn breaks in the familiar grin and peers at Ilaria intently. "That sounded awfully like permission to me, eh, Ila? Not that it matters. All the worthwhile men are off at war, but it sounds like they might be home very soon." As she speaks, the youth smooths wrinkles from her silk dress, brushes back a few strands of hair that have come loose from the gentle breeze pulling at them.
Ilaria's gaze drops, and her attention drifts even as Briallyn is scolding her for speaking. She watches Tiaryn's departure with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy, and something in the perceived sombre undertone to the once-Camden's bearing sends a chill up the young girl's spine. She reaches up to rub her arms briskly over her sleeves, and her attention is called back long enough to bid Ceinlys a goodbye. She dips her cousin a respectful curtsey and watches as the woman and her retinue depart.
Only then does the girl pay any mind to Bri. "Oh cousin," she replies with a heavy sigh, turning to offer Bri a puzzled expression. "I confess that I do not and may never understand your motives."
"What does any woman want, Ilaria?" There is a strange seriousness to Briallyn's normally humorous voice, and she glances away from Ilaria to follow Ceinlys's retreating form. The unreadable expression is subverted by something more shallow, a smile, a flash of teeth and her tone resumes its playful qualities. "Some war hero under me. Yes, under me. A good marriage. Maybe some.. freedom? Good hunting grounds. And lots of money."
