| Carry On |
| Summary: | Isolde gifts something precious to Stragen. |
| Date: | 28/07/2011 |
| Related Logs: | A Tale of Glory |
| Players: |
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| Outskirts of Stonebridge - Tourney Grounds |
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| 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 journies. |
| Thur July 27, 288 |
The small entourage that parades in from the east and Tower Hall is led by the Lady of Stonebridge. Her grey dappled gelding hooves the ground and she sits astride, slowing to allow foot traffic to make its way past the group. They bow and whisper greetings that she smiles to and nods her head. A dress of deep blue and beset with silver embroidery is worn, her dark hair pulled up and wound about, dripped in a silver circlet and sapphires. Her head lifts and clicks her tongue, urging the horse on. Her gaze sweeps, as if trying to find someone.
With her are Tordane sworn and her Lady Cousin, Igara. Across her saddle before her is something wrapped in the livery of Tordane and held with one of her hands to make sure it stays.
"So you're telling me this is siler fox, Fjall?" Says a bedraggled merchant to the aforementioned blonde barbarian fellow, who is standing with arms crossed and a damning grin on his face. "Aye, it is," he responds. But the merchant will have nothing to do with this. "Looks like a bunch of squirrel, you liar," he says in return.
Stragen pauses before he responds, scratching his chin in brief thought. "Would it make a difference if I said they were silver squirrels?"
Throwing his arms up in disgust, the merchant flicks a penny at the man's broad chest, which gets caught. "Just a penny? You bastard!" Stragen calls after the man, but he just heads off back to his cart. Shrugging, he marvels at the single penny in his hand. "A penny for a fox's tail," he chuckles, and tucks the coin away.
Igara rides alongside her gentle cous on the little pony with the side-saddle, one hand before her at the reins, one hand behind to steady her as she accompanies the Lady of Stonebridge on her errand, only too happy to do so, a cheerful expression granted to those they pass by even as the little pony bumps the inexpert horsewoman about in a manner she finds close to dreadful. It's only when someone ahead begins to shout words not meet for a lady's ears that she pales, then turns red, lilies and roses battling for land in her complexion as she looks plaintively up to her cous.
The commotion is perhaps what Isolde was looking for, but it is really hard to miss a man like Stragen amongst a crowd. Not when he stands taller than most. Glancing towards her cousin, she smiles, "We go to meet the man who brought the bodies of my Lords back to me, five years ago." She clicks her tongue and a soft canter is taken up to direct her through the crowd.
A sworn lifts her voice. "Make way! Make way!!" But Isolde is already slowing as they get near Stragen, other merchants looking up as the Lady turns her horse, drawing up in a way to look down at the tall Fjall. "Starting trouble already are we, Fjall?" She asks fondly, a brilliant smile on her lips. The gelding hooves the ground, tail swishing at the flies that attack it
The sworn wait, pulling up behind her as the lady dips her head to him, lips parting further in her delight.
Stragen turns to see who is coming, and prepares himself to get out of the way, but he sees Isolde and instead draws closer to the retinue. "Can't make coin without a little trouble, my lady," he says in response, giving a respectful half bow - more a dip of the head and shoulders than anything, really. He glances quickly to the young woman on the pony, accompanying her, and gives her a little bow in turn. "Can't say I've had the honor. Must be a Tordane; only Tordies weear a green that can be spotted in a forest."
Igara steels herself at Isolde's explanation, the shock in her eyes melting into compassion before she pins her sights on that safe spot beside the pony's mane, presenting a demure and retiring demeanor to the tall man as he addresses her. How she knows he's addressing her is anybody's guess, for she doesn't raise her eyes to him, but nonetheless she answers: "I am the Lady's cous and companion, Igara Frey. Well met, sir." And to that she limits her remarks.
"Ahhh, a good day then for you." Isolde remarks and then looks to Igara about to introduce her but is beat to the chance by the Lady herself. "Travelled all the way here from the Twins. She is to see to my…preparations. A lovely companion, more than I could have asked for." A soft smile and then she looks to Fjall. The Lady hesitates and then makes sure the gelding is still before she unhooks her right leg and lowers herself to the left side. Her hands hooks her reins over the pommel of her saddle. Divided riding skirts flare a moment and then settle once her left foot is extracted from the stirrup. She now rests upon the ground beside the mountain of a man, though not short herself by any means. "I will not lie, I was so hoping to find you." She studies him. "I had wanted to give you something now that it is within my power to give."
Stragen snaps his fingers. "Bloody Freys. I thought you liked grays and shite. Not green. Oh well; I never did know my heraldry." His attention is drawn back to Isolde, eyebrows raising curiously. "Preparations? Going to spin you into a coccoon so you can change into a butterfly, then?" He shakes his head, putting his hands out, palms forward. "No, my lady, your family has given me enough, these years. Which is to say, you giving me anything personally is sure to drag your reputation down to my level."
The Lady of Stonebridge's kind words are good, to be sure, but the foul language from Stragen makes tears prick at the corners of the Lady Igara's eyes, makes her clutch onto the back of the saddle in a carefully restrained distress. Who speaks like that for a young girl of good upbringing to hear? She can barely breathe for the Bastards and Bloodies and Shites.
"A butterfly to fly away.." Isolde says with a faint wistful smile and then shakes her head. "My mother paid you, but I have forever felt the need to give you something for the spirit you offered my father and brother. I know they would approve." She turns, reaching up to extract the wrapped item in the Tordane green and gold. She handles it gingerly, taking a moment with care to the covering and nod disturbing it. She turns to face him and as some of those about stop to watch, the Lady smiles, "What level? To Tordane you are forever a man of honor" She says it evenly enough, her gaze reflecting the seriousness of her words.
She shifts, pulling a little at the cloth to reveal to him a hand made blade. Battle worn, tested and tried. The longsword is something of great importance and she steps towards him. "Fjall, my brother has no son and there will be no Lord of Tordane anymore.." She extends it to him. "My brotherw ould want you to have this as do I." Half of it remains covered. "Take it, the hilt has been inscribed with my marking to show that this is a gift to your person."
Stragen's gaze falls upon the partially unwrapped blade, and his eyes widen with shock. "This… is Ser Geonis' blade?" He asks, but he already knows the answer; he would recognize that blade from a hundred paces. The look of shock begins to melt into a scowl, and he starts to shake his head. "No, no, I can't," he states. "Ser Geonis' greatness would be tarnished if I took up his sword. I'm just a lowly barbarian, a thief, and a liar. His sword deserves a… a better hand."
Igara lets some of the top layers of that tension begin to lapse from her when the meeting turns from crass to tender, her shoulders losing their stiffness and her knuckles returning to their usual hue— as do her ears, which for a moment looked as though they had been actively burnt by the language used.
Isolde looks as though she had expected his reaction and she shakes her head. "You are no such things to my family, to the Tordanes. Some of these sworn remember you. Know well, the great honor you did to bring my father and brother home when so many never were seen by their loved ones. This blade knows you as well." She still holds it out to him. "It would do well in your care. For it but just sits and rests alone, untouched and a blade such as this needs a strong hip to reside on." She insists, her green gaze locking with his.
"I…" Stragen begins to protest again, but he doesn't seem to have the words to argue with Isolde. Brow creasing in determination, he holds out his hands to take the partially unwrapped gift. "I'll make sure it's well taken care of. And maybe when you have a son, I'll still be alive to gift it back to him, aye?" Coarse hands move to return the wrapping around the blade.
It's a touching moment, and the slip of a Frey child there on the pony can't keep from seeming touched, despite the courseness of the man's nature. She rubs the pony's neck with her pinky finger and glances shyly up to look upon the sword, ostensibly, but by need the fellow who holds it.
As Stragen finally accepts her late brother's blade, the Lady Isolde dips her head to him. "If any man were to live that long, dear Fjall, it would be you." She puts her faith in him. Once he has a firm grip on the sword, she withdraws the green coiled wrapping of the blade and sheath, folding the liver of tordane over her arm to let him see the leather straps crisscrossing the finely made sheath. She looks from the blade up to him, I would like it if you would visit enough to see such an event, but for now. My brother's blade is in your care." Several of the sworn make sounds of approval, those that remember Fjall. The Lady remains, drawing a breath. "Before you leave, call upon me. I would care to take you to see their graves. Until then.." She dips her head faintly, silver circlet gleaming. "I must attend to more…political matters." She says and then turns, moving for her horse to resaddle herself.
"Aye. Before I leave," he repeats with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Or, perhaps he's just distracted by the tremendous burden he's just been gifted with. Still, Stragen manages a stiff bow to both ladies as they head off to do their nobless' duty. And, poor Stragen, he's left standing there with a sword.
