| Blackbird and the Kitten |
| Summary: | The Blackbird speaks with the kitten in a gilded cage… |
| Date: | 21 Aug 2011 |
| Related Logs: | Lavender, Linens, and Molasses Candy |
| Players: |
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| Carriage - Terrick's Roost |
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| N/A |
| Sat August 20, 288 |
Igara pulls at that little ribbon and the bow comes loose, the red-dyed reed curtain dropping into place, the stark sunlight that had been filling the carriage now a pleasant, muted red, staining all and sundry within the same color. She scoots to her hip and pats the little bench seat next to her for the Blackbird to come and sit by her. "Blackbird… why, when you left, I thought I should be so long in seeing you again. Let your hair down— let me see what color your feathers have turned," she smiles warmly to the woman.
Eyeing that curtain for one long minute, Eyrian lets out a breath and then moves to sit beside Igara. A brow lifts at the request and a faint smirk presses those lips of her's. "They are still black beneath…and it seems that I will have need to paint them again." She intones and then draws fingers across the knot of the linen that is staining somewhat red, made even more so by the curtains. As her hair is released, the knot of hair spills into a glistening mess of curls and wisps. The hair, by the sheen of the light through the curtains suddenly gleams a deeper shade of red, no longer a demure auburn it seems to blaze with its own inner light as it frames her olive skin.
Igara smiles broadly as she watches the hair tumble free, resting one arm along the back of the carriage-bench, lifting her other one to draw at the fiery wisps of red. "Red… is the color of my true love's hair," she completes the lyric. "I did think that that would have been a better title for that song." The fact that she has red hair is of course no consideration in that analysis. Her eyes move to Eyrian's, "Are you back? To stay? You aren't going away again, are you?"
A rueful turn of her lip and Eyrian huffs a faint laugh. "My Lady..unless more such as yourself recognize me, I had plans to stay. It seems I may need a more complete disguise but in the Roost I am known as Deanna." It is none too catchy which is what she wants. "I don't sing too openly these days and only to those that I can catch..unawares enough to earn a few coin while serving thme." She coils a finger in the dyed hair and lets it free of the digit. "The Roost seemed the best if any place to stay if I desired a life in the Riverlands…but if things do get abit..unpredictable, I will have to spread my wings and fly. As much as I like surprises, being remembered for what was in Stonebridge is not amongst my key motives."
Igara's face falls, just a little. "And here, ay, me, I am about to leave. But surely you have nothing to fear in Stonebridge. If my Lady Cousin or her husband had wished to take justice upon you, surely they would have done so while you did live there with me. They both knew you to be under the roof," she points out. "The only fear you might have is in the return of the Ironborn, should they return… and they should not recognize you as you are."
As Igara's expression changes, Eyrian's brows raise and her smiles fades. "My Lady…are you suggesting that I return to Stonebridge with you?" Her voice has lightened and her usual jest is no where to be found. Instead the minstrel regards the Frey Lady for a long moment and then looks at her pink stained finger. "I am certain they would recognize me, perhaps not the Lord." She admits and then lifts her considering gaze to Igara again. "Besides, where would I be kept?" She smirks at this finally.
"My chamber lies empty without you there with me, Blackbird," Igara murmurs. "I feel your absence as keenly as I would a blade. There will always be room for you, did you wish to come with me. But as you do not wish it so, I will not compel you. I may be back, sometime, to the Roost. I am promised to a Lord who takes his residence there, for the time being."
"My Lady, I had not thought I left such an impact on you." Her head dips and her fingers curl about the skirts. Eyrian draws a slow breath; nobles. "It is for but my safety as the Terricks carry a measure of …forgiveness in them - most of them, I am not so certain the Naylands feel the same." She admits and smiles plaintively. Her head remains bowed as she finally cants it and gazes upward at Igara. "My lady did appreciate my songs more so than most."
"You had not thought so? Not even after you shared my bed with me?" Igara whispers, looking almost stung at the notion. "Well, so be it, as you wish," she turns her eyes away. "I would not bring you were you don't feel wanted. I have turned sixteeen since last we saw one another, and so am in full count a woman, and strong enough to endure without you."
Shocked, to say the least, Eyrian lifts her head to watch Igara's reactions play out. A faint amused smile barely touches the minstrel's features and she can not help but let the gaze soften some. But there is danger to riding in this as she reaches out to touch the Lady's forearm if allowed. "My Lady." She says gently. "You are far older than sixteen, if by my accounts can be made, but you are yet innocent in many ways. YOu most certainly are strong enough to endure without me…though I heard you were to be wed." She says and tilts her head.
Igara turns her head back, levelling a flat gaze to Eyrian as she touches her arm, letting her body language carry a good dose of girlish churlishness. "No. I don't suppose that I will be. The Lord I am promised to does not fancy the match, and will go off to the King's guard, if he's let. It's a sad thing. He's very nearly as pretty as you are."
"Very nearly is not just as pretty then," Eyrian smiles and tilts her head, keeping her hand where it is. "I am sorry to hear such a thing, my Lady. It is his loss then. But I do think you are still quite so strong as to not need me." A gentle squeeze of her arm. "Besides, your bed is meant be shared by your betrothed." She tries to ease the young woman.
"Maybe if he were a lass, he would be so pretty," Igara sighs softly, leaning back and resting her head on the back of the carriage-bench, turning her head to keep her eyes on Eyrian. "That's not even… the same thing," she posits, "I would not have him near by bed 'til we were wed," And then, only with severe trepidation, her expression seems to read.
"You fear such things as a man. They are not all that bad…sometimes." Eyrian says, not wanting to sugar coat truth. "Some can be gentle..or passionate." A smirk curls the edge of her lip. "But those that are brutal often feel they are entitled and I do not think you will ever find yourself in a match where a young Lord feels that way." She tells Igara and tilts her head. "Though I do not envy you the …innocence you must keep at that moment." The minstrel watches the Lady carefully.
Igara cringes a little into herself as Eyrian seems to hint at something dark and disturbing, a foreboding shape of terror lurking in the sheets of the marriage bed. "I don't know what you mean," she mumbles glumly to that last. "I will obey my husband, whatever he shall ask of me," she sighs, "And no other man will be able to claim to have touched me." No other man, note.
"My Lady….union is not suppose to be a obeying..you feel as much as he." Eyrian instructs gently. "A true man will recognize that and want you …to enjoy it. But there are others who are selfish and only think of themselves." Her brows furrow to this and there is a soft sigh. "Forgive me my Lady, these are the truths of sharing one's bed. And as you do not get to ultimately choose..though you have some say, you must be strong of spirit to let him know what you long for. Innocence is overrated in such things…it is meant to trap a woman, make her fearful of such things and to obey without thought of herself. In such a place, you must think of yourself. It can be enjoyable." She says with a smile.
"Ay, me, Blackbird," Igara sighs, "I have already chosen. I hardly wish to choose again, though I will have a year to wait before I must do so. Until then, I will wait and see if the one I chose will marry me. And until then, I will not need to worry about finding out what a man's bed is," she smiles just a little at the offered respite, then more, wider, when she reaches her arm across to settle on the Blackbird's hip, shimmying just a little bit closer on the small upholstered seat. "And can feel free to enjoy my own."
As Igara becomes her spritely forward self in her enigmatic way, Eyrian hooks a wry smile and then watches her. "And who have you chosen then?" She asks. A brow lofting as she lets the Lady draw closer. Her gaze flits to the red curtains, thinking that certainly all can see. "I hope he is kind." She admits and then states with a softness. "Your bed, my Lady is a soft one, new and untouched. I would wish not to soil it."
"Lord Rowan Nayland," Igara lowers her voice to a whisper at such close quarters. "He is— kind, and gentle, and fair," she lists off his good traits, hooking her pinky finger underneath one of the laces on Eyrian's grey bodice, letting it perch there with a little swaying of her bent elbow. "I could not be soiled by you any more than a stream of fresh water is sullied in mingling with another. Both continue clear and bright, tumbling with merry songs over the stones and down the mountain. 'Tis only when the fresh water hits the ocean salts it becomes brackish and unfit to drink."
"I thought…the Lord wished to be one of the Kingsguard?" Eyrian starts but falls to silence. Her eyes linger on Igara and feel the invasion of the bodice lacing. "Such a beautiful image you paint, my Lady." The woman says and adds, "You paint me as clean and bright. I am hardly thus. Though I dare say, we all have our shadows." She says softly and considers the words again, "You have a songstress in you, my Lady. If you were to be ought but a noble, I would declare you a writer and one of great make."
"He does. But still. I have made my choice, as ill a choice as it has turned out to be. There's nothing for me, now, but to wait and to hope my choice has not been completely in vain. I will not look for another lad to be my second choice. If the marriage comes through, I do not wish Rowan to think there could have been another. But surely there is no shame in lying abed with another woman," Igara points out. "Why, sisters sleep so, all the time, and Ladies with their Ladies-in-Waiting. I shared a bed with my cousin Isolde until she was wed, and nobody thought a thing about it. Thus, the parable of the rivers. Nobody would hesitate to drink from a river that has mingled with another river," she explains her own poetically spoken notion.
"My Lady.." Eyrian says at the metaphor and then smiles some. "You flatter me to think that you would mingle with me." She offers and then shakes her head. "I have matters to attend to here.." She begins and then looks to Igara, a nod of her head given. "But I will visit the Lady and you will know when to find me in the town of Stonebridge. A single black feather for the blackbird's arrival will grace your presence in some form or another to let you know I am near. For now…I can not go. There is someone I must speak with first." She admits gently. "And never give up on your chosen, it is admirable in what you wish."
Igara draws her elbow back, pulling tenderly on the bodicelace with her hooked pinky, leaning up and close to give her Blackbird a little kiss to the side of her mouth, just where mouth meets cheek, and then leans back with a quiet smile, letting go of the lace. "Alright," she whispers. "Fly, Blackbird. It is good to see you again."
"I will bring you a song, Igara." Eyrian finally says her name without title. "Till then, rest well." She smiles and shifts, reaching for the linen she had discarded from her hair. Rising with a stooped posture to get to the door, she casts a look to Igara. "Save journey, my Lady." SHe says and the door opens, bright light of day washing over her, causing her to squint and blink to adjust to the difference before stepping down and closing the door snuggly behind her. The guards are given a look and she dips her head, turning on foot to take a rushed leave.
