Page 010: Black is the Color
Black is the Color
Summary: Eyrian offers a song to Lord Jaremy Terrick
Date: 22/07/2011
Related Logs: TBD
Eyrian Jaremy 
Jaremy Terrick's Tent
Room desc goes here!
Fri July 22, 2011

The hour draws very, very late, past the time of the feast. The assembled camps have quieted, save for the faint sound of light revelry and music. The Terrick compound has been seeing its share of entertainment, having paid the "Lady Blackmane" to entertain their entourage while the lords saw to the first feast of the evening. The feast has long since passed, however, and Jaremy Terrick still remains awake. His tent is open and he sits in a chair, sipping quietly from a mug of wine while leafing through a few papers, previews of the knights that are to be in the lists for tomorrow's joust.

Even the Lady Blackmane needs her sleep. Eyrian bids the smaller crowd adieu and with a whistle to her step, goes to find a place to rest beneath the stars. She weaves her way amongst the tents, some large, some small and really pays no mind til the flicker of candlelight catches her eye. SLowly drawing closer, Eyrian recognizes the tent from earlier and cautions a step towards the entrance. Dark eyes as black as the night watch the Lord in silence for a moment before her figure is thrown into some light. Her lyre in hand, lowering to rest against her bare leg, she clears her throat. "My Lord?" She asks, "The joust is tomorrow and should my memory serve me right you have a great need to win it." She smiles knowingly before dipping her head respectfully.

"A most resounding yes…and a most resounding no." Jaremy replies, tilting his head to view the minstrel through the strands of hair that brush over his eyes. He brushes a hand through his hair, shaking it quietly before he shoves the papers across the table, thoroughly done with his studies. "Of the many things that I could win in the joust, a woman's hand is not one of them, but there are other, less tangible rewards. So I still aim to win." He motions for her to enter, nodding to one of the guards outside that it's okay. "How was your evening, Eyrian?"

"Then it is worth resting for, tangible or intangible…I hear the knight to win the joust..gains a kiss." Eyrian gives a half grin as she is allowed past the entrance. She sets aside her lyre and moves to refill the Lord's mug. "My evening was tiring, the grass was blessing on my feet. I far prefer this to inns and taverns. Fresh air and sun…it makes songs even more vivid." She sets down the wine jug, her hand linering on the small table for traveling. Her gaze sweeps over the lists before she watches him, eyes flitting over his face. "You are too tired.." She turns, scooping up her lyre, strumming it she breaks into a very soft song, low.

"One last one. For the road." Jaremy replies, nodding softly as the first notes start, lowering his gaze to her knee. There's a certain focus to the look on his face, but the youthfulness that he's been characterized with has left for the evening. Instead, what's been left is a knight far away from home. "I am tired…" He reaches for the mug. "…just not yet defeated."

Eyrian's voice is low and haunting, guiding the tune slowly in the tent. It is meant to be for the Lord only and she gazes down at the path her fingers make on the lyre at first. But as the song grows, her gaze lifts to watch him.

Black is the color of my true love`s hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She`s the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands

I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes.
But some times I whish the day will come
That she and I will be as one

Black is the color of my true love`s hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She`s the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands

The music enough is a kindness to the tired, young knight. His mug filled, he brings it to his lips for a small sip as the words begin, eyes still passing between them to gaze over her knee in the direction of his tent's entrance. Then…the words come. His eyes turn, landing on the sight her fingers plucking over the strings. Moved he is…though quiet and calm he stays.

Eyrian watches the Lord, the song strung out, she knows well what it means for him. Her head bows and she closes her eyes. Her voice grows, mournful sounding in its warmth

I walk to the east for to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death ten thousand times

Black is the color of my true love`s hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She`s the sweetest face and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands
I love the ground….whereon she stands.

The next verse causes Jaremy to breathe in slowly. Holding the breath, he lets it out silently, turning at the hip to find himself more comfortable in his chair. His arm rises, letting the maiden's favor dangle from his arm, watching the white bow hanging from the ribbons and hair twist in mid-air before him as she sings. It's all torture, for even Jaremy knows at best he's jousting to get the last word in before she marries. It's a statement against the Tordane's betrayal, one many would remember.

The lyre is set down and Eyrian watches him. Envy in her gaze as the favor is caught in her attention. "Win her…even if it is only for that moment. It is a gift they give the Knight that wins…no one says when it has to end or how the kiss has to be." Apparently the minstrel has learned of the tale of poor Lord Terrick and his stolen bride. Rising slowly, she dips a bow and means to leave by the looks of it, to let the Lord have his time.

Raising his gaze from the favor to Eyrian as she bows, the young lord lowers his head in a deep nod of respect. The favor comes down and he rises from his chair, downing one last sip of the summerwine. "I will." He says with quiet confidence, nodding towards her heels as he glances toward his bed. Seems he's decided to finally get some sleep. "Thank you, Eyrian. You're a rare thing. I wouldn't ruin this moment by throwing you coin, but the next time we speak I will repay you for this song."

Eyrian pauses, a smile offered over her shoulder. "It is a rare thing to offer something of great meaning. It is payment enough. No need, my Lord." She nods her head, lyre in hand and hanging at her side as she turns to slip back out of the Lord's tent, lest she be thought to be anything but a minstrel. Once free an to the night air, she hmphs and eyes the area, striking out with barefeet to head for the rivers, her steps quickening. Her mind alive with words she needs to practice.