Page 015: Dear Prince of Pyke
Dear Prince of Pyke
Summary: Igara helps Isolde compose the letter for the Prince of Pyke.
Date: 27/07/2011
Related Logs: Assumed Threat, What is Dead Cannot Die
Isolde Igara 
Isolde's Chamber - Tower Hall
A high headboard crowns the bed with carved flowers and vines at the top, a faded green velvet over blanket settled to decorate over the quilt beneath. A few pill pillows decorate the standard affair and a robe and dressing gown rest over the footboard. A chest is set at the side of the bed, open and showing a few personal items beneath folded blankets and robes. On the opposite side of the bed is the double slitted windows, a small table and chair set next to it with quill and scrolls rolled atop. Next to the chair and directly inward from the door is the hearth. Upon the mantle is strapped several dried bundles of lavender and rosemary that gives the room it's scent. An oval shaped rug of soft creams and greens decorates the main floor and the right wall holds the low chest of drawers.
Wed July 27, 288

Igara has been quiet this ride back to the town and tower— though it's hardly an unusual state in which to discover the Lady Frey. The horseback ride seems to take a lot out of her; she was never an exceptionally keen equestrian, and her sickly childhood has left her without the sporty edge that is often fashionable in young women, prone to exhaustion and fainting. But on returning to the hall and being administered some cool water, she revives, and soon joins Igara in her chamber, not one to leave her charge alone for long. But she lowers her head for Milicent, giving the woman a grateful smile to have seen to Igara while she was recuperating in the breezeway, meeting her eyes with a fresh and cheerful expression, even if her cheeks are still a mite red. Once the doors are closed, she unfastens the fur cape from her down, finding it dashed hot, and, approaching her cousin, she looks to her with a frankness of countenance that might look out of place there to one used to her general demeanor of innocent retirement. "Dear cous, I hear that you are Lady of Stonebridge," she tells her. A strange thing to say, perhaps, but it sounds from the heart, and as if it were meant to bear a point behind it.

Setting the writing table as best she can to let Igara have more time, Isolde is moving to grasp out the change of dress meant to visit with Lord Jerold. So much to do today and her determination is set at a new steel born high. She is tsking over a list in her head when she hears the question and turns, finding a rather restored Igara and her brow lifts, "Yes, that I am my cousin." Her gaze narrows a moment and a curious study of Igara is given. "YOu seem rather..restored. I am glad of it." The Lady intones and then sets side the dress as she turns to face her fully. Something is most definitely different in Isolde's eyes and she can not help but mull over that. "Speak."

"I'm feeling quite better, thank you, cous," Igara leans close up onto her toes to give Isolde a sisterly kiss to the cheek. "Horse-riding always tires me so." She settles down at the writing desk and mixes a well of ink with easy efficiency. "I only say such things because I do so care, Isolde, but as Lady of the Land you make apology and concession far too frequently. I am very sure there's nothing wrong with being agreeable. It is, after all, a fine thing in a man's eye for a woman to be agreeable. But you, of all, must be steadfast in your conviction, or else these men will see that where they push, you will yield." She pauses, looking back over her shoulder. "They can't help it. It's in the nature of man to run roughshod where he can, don't you know? All in all, I think you would be making some small error in sending off a letter of apology to the Ironers. Let it pain you, let your heart be touched for them, yes— but an apology is in part an admission of guilt. And that won't stand. You have done nothing wrong. Let the wrongdoing be upon them for their foolhardy pursuits."

The kiss is blinked at and then a faint smile curls her lips. Isolde moves to stand beside Igara as she takes to the seat, folding her arms before her as she shifts, moving to the fore of the desk to be able to look down at the Lady Cousin of her's. "Do I now.." She muses at the comment about her apologizing too much. "On some matters…I try to be agreeable." She admits and then silents to listen. A faint hmph sounds and she cants her head to regard the fifteen year old rather earnestly. "For now I do agree with your assessment, but do tell me…," she pauses and seeks Igara's gaze with her own sharp one, "Which is your act? This…or your lady like weakness before these men you ask me to stand to?" It is obvious by the way she speaks the options she believes the latter to be an act.

"You have the law as your power, gentle cous," Igara meets the gaze, though her own less sharp than playfully inviting— come and look, and see whether you can find anything of note, it seems to dare. "You have been granted such power by law as has not been granted many women in the world, and certainly has not been granted me. For the rest of us, what capital we have lies in our beauty and our purity. As I have very little of the former, I take to the latter. It serves me well, and I serve it in turn," she rests her explanation. "Now, as to the letter, I have a notion as to how it may be framed to save you both from showing weakness and from treading upon any overly masculine sense of self-worth. Shall I pose it you?"

Dare she does and Isolde makes a study of her cousin now. Reaching back for the chair near the table, she pulls it up and sets herself down to sit in a conspiratol way across from Igara. "Power is only taken seriously when one is believed in. Men have an easy way of stealing that from anyone. Even each other..but…" she makes a motion of her head, "I am curious as to how you would word this letter. I trust you." She says. Faith and trust, "I do not think I have placed it wrong." She tells her cousin. Trust in a Frey. A faint smile rises to paint her lips as she admires the younger in a new light.

"They do. Only a word from the right man at the right time and a woman is lost. And so 'tis better to make known far and wide your virtue, that you might store it up against anyone who comes to speak against you. Have honor men think worthy of losing their lives to defend. There is a freedom in this servitude— as strange as it may sound to you to say so." Igara clears her throat. "Were I in your place, dictating the letter, I should word it thus:

"Ah—! Black the dawn that comes to Stonebridge. A champion basely slain; a camp of worthy men gone from the games. When I did hear of the slight upon your name perpetrated by a commoner and abetted so disgracefully that even the Lord Terrick cast the man in question out from under his colors, I consulted with my sworn and did prepare trial for the case. A rumor found me that switches were being cut for a duel to the death; but these rumors I blindly ignored, alas, since the challenge was issued on no authority and with no backing in the law. None of my sworn attended the duel, as to do so would have been to recognize its legitimacy. I understand well the calls of honor, and praise your defense of your name and nation, yet wish beyond wish that this matter might be settled in its proper sphere, by trial. I pray thee return, and offer thee a gift of three good mares and a cauldron of bronze for the tenacity with which you bravely defended your name. I pray thee let a trial ensue and Law take its course as to the disowned knight and his common mistress, the latter of whom I should think, when adjudged, will fall to you to do with as you will. And lastly I pray thee return in triumph into the tourney and win great glory and prizes in the spirit of celebration and peace in which this fest is being held. Yours."

Some of the wording steals Isolde for a moment, a brow lifting are a finger tapping to the table but never interrupting. When the letter in its full meaning is done and Igara is silent, there is a slow nod. "It is a great show of sympathy for an a named enemy. I know such actions or written word are done so to prevent further ill from taking place, but the matter is taken care of and rightly won." Her brows furrow. "Part of me wishes them long gone, never to return…but I know the need for diplomacy is prudent." She straightens where she sits and presses fingers to her lips in thought. Finally she regards Igara anew, weighing her and the words in silence. "Make the letter so…though I think they will grin at the half of it. It is meant to give them a measure of ..glory." She rises then, slowly, letting her skirts whisper as she paces.

"'Tis sympathetically put, but, in its essence, lays the blame for their man's death squarely upon them. If they accept the terms of the letter, which you may with whatever prizes you wish tempt them to do… they accept that blame, and in writing, that it may be on record, so," Igara points out. "Their rashness and ill-consideration, however it may have been motivated. How long will it take for a trial to be prepared? It were better readied before they arrive, if they arrive, though then you an they may agree to defer it until after the celebrations."

"Sympathetically put to Rivermen killers.." Isolde says, not truly liking such a welcoming affect the letter has to the islanders. The Lady of Stonebridge turns at the end of her pace to face her cousin, skirts shifting to rest still about her legs. "You write this and I condemn a man despite his glorious win…and if they return, they will demand this 'Lady Blackmane'." Frowning more, she hmphs and runs a hand to her forehead, eyes searching the walls for something writ there. There is nothing and Igara is being a voice of stark wisdom even if she doesn't want to listen. Her hand falls from her forehead to the neck of her dress, shifting it, running fingers to it and finally she nods her head, "Begin.."

Igara does begin. Ink on paper with a quill scrolling all sibilant along the way. "What is this 'Lady Blackmane,' even if they demand her? A very unwise female, as far as I can tell. If you're going to go about telling lies, you really ought to make sure you're skilled enough not to get caught. And this man is obviously suffering a similar lack of good sense, although that's much less of a rarity in men. So let them have the woman, and in return for that harshness of penalty, be lenient and but fine the man— say, the cost of the prizes given to the Ironmen upon their return. You'll come out even, won't you?"

"Ahhh we would win the Ironborn, with that wouldn't we?" Isolde says and steps towards her cousin, "But we would lose our own people and make enemies of them. There is a line, my dear cousin. Ironborn are very disliked here for what they have done to these people and their ancestors. Let us not go too far. Let this Lady be the sacrifice to their pyres…leave the Knight be. He has given heart to his people and to fine him would weave us the enemy. Instead, we will offer a feast in the Prine of Pyke's name for the loss of his man. Drink and food…but it will just be one of the feasts we would normally offer. But the guests of honor are the Ironborn." She expresses directly. "None of this need go in the letter except that the Lady will be theirs for such an affront." She presses away from the table.

"Blackmane," Igara mumbles. "Not even a proper lady's name— a horse's, more to the point." She looks up from the writing. "Shall the mares and the cauldron not be part of the letter, then? And is the knight so impoverished that these few costs would be a burden to him? If Terrick has abandoned him, I see very little need for us to stand by him." Except that it might sow more discord between Terrick and Tordane. "But as you wish."

"I do not fear Terrick.." Isolde says boldly, "I need the faith of the people. FOr the moment, this Knight is their champion and he won in fair duel. The Greyjoys will recognize that. But a thief is a thief.." She instructs. But regarding the mares, she narrows her gaze in thought. "We can spare the horses, yes…but do they have the room on their ships or did they come filled to the brim? I think perhaps the gift offered should be vague. Offer the mares. But if they will not work, we will find something else." She states, finger to her lips.

"They can always sell the mares for coin and bring that back. Coin costs less to feed on a journey and is less likely to panick aboardship." Wise words on trade from a fifteen year old girl. Perhaps growing up in the Twins will produce such a keen mercantile sense in a person.

"Well the time will come to deal with it if they return, cousin." Isolde refolds her arms and watches her cousin work, the skilled and elegant hand given a nod of approval. Her gaze lifts to look over the younger girl and a thought crosses her mind that she keeps to herself. Milicent comes to the door with a knock and the Lady turns, moving for it to open it. The try of wine is offered and she takes it, thanking her and the door is closed again. She moves over to set the wine and breads down on the table. "We have much to do today yet, please eat as well once you are finished."

"Hm," Igara nods in assent, leaning over the work and crafting each letter with a steady, even hand before she returns to the initial magiscule, creating with honed skill a fine illumination and leaving it to dry there on the table, putting up the quill and standing, stretching her back and turning to go to the table. "It is ready for your sign and seal, cousin," she smiles softly, settling in and taking of some bread, not bothering to eat like a bird as she always does in public, but tearing some bread and eating with appetite.

Isolde has been lost to thought until she is called over to look at the finished letter. The Lady of Stonebridge looks to the illumination and smiles. "If anything might win them, it will be your gift for artistic representation, dear Igara." She compliments her. The Lady watches for a moment at Igara partakes of the food. She smiles and taking up the quill, she takes er hand to it and scrawls her name. The seal is not far off and she moves to get the candle let to help melt the wax. The seal is grasped up and the candle brought over, tilting the wax block colored green to drip on the bottom near her name. Quickly she presses the seal to it, waiting to let it cool before pulling it away. "Done. The maester will see that is likewise sealed before given the sworn. For and eat til the heat of the day passes. Then we attend to business."