|Summary:||Anders explains what he needs from Orlagh.|
|Date:||2 February 2012|
|Related Logs:||Marriage of Minds|
|Private Tent - Flint Camp|
|The main pavillion in the Flint encampment.|
|February 2nd, 289 A.L.|
Bishops move diagonally. That's why they often turn up where the kings don't expect them to be. — Terry Pratchett, Small Gods
Morning comes, as it is wont to do. Breaking of the fast happens, though Anders' apetite is better for the lack of having not finishrd his meal last night. Food thus eaten and dressed and ready to face the day (albeit painfully slow), Anders finds himself looking for something he can physically accomplish, other than reading. Perhaps attend already attended armour? He stands then, briefly unsure.
Having already been up for quite some time - who else would have provided that breakfast and the perfectly blended tea to accompany it? - Orlagh wanders back into the main pavillion calmly; a bundle of her Lady's clothes occupying her slender arms, evidently to be folded and put away neatly. Not a sight nor trace of those hideous rags has been seen since the girl arrived. Maybe she lit the fire with them? Regardless, already a delicious scent wafts in from outside, along with the idle, quiet chatter of a few other serving girls. She must have put them to task while she tends other things. Roasting pork, from the smell of it.
Anyway. Sweeping into the tent, the blonde seems unsurprised to find the Young Lord just.. standing there. A warm smile is offered toward him, even as she's lowering her sapphire eyes and dropping low in a balanced curtsey, laundry be damned. "M'lord."
The food does smell good, now that he's got apetit back— though he's full from breakfast. Weight gain is one thing, but he needs muscle back too. Orly's entrance, arms full, gains his attention. "Orlagh. A moment, when you finish putting away your lady's dresses."
"Yes, m'lord." As if there were ever any doubt she would agree! But the willowy blonde rises smoothly back to her full height, given Anders' unspoken permission, and returns to her task. It's a simple enough one, in practiced hands; the linen chemises she has managed to mend are folded and set in a sturdy trunk against one wall, with woolen skirts and some plain bodices placed suitably elsewhere. It seems the fine gowns are seeing no use, as yet. No surprises there.
With a last look over her surroundings and apparently finding things in suitable order, Orlagh tucks a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear and glides back toward the waiting form of the Young Lord with an expression of polite enquiry, clasping her long-fingered hands properly against her own rather drab skirts.
"After speaking to your lady at some length, she has seen the need to.." Anders pauses a momrnt, trying to work out the wording, and he begins again. "Your lady has now recognized that things will change. It won't be easy, for either of you. Should things not.. progess the way it should, know that I will not hold you in fault." Exhaling slowly and softly, he knows how difficult and daunting the task ahead is. "It's gratifying to see the basics being done.. properly."
Listening quietly, her angelic blue eyes never wavering from Anders' features now that she's granted leave to look. There's no amusement apparent as the man struggles to properly phrase what he wishes to say, but at his subtly-voiced concerns for the challenges ahead she affords him a gentle smile. "If I may, m'lord.." she murmurs, when he trails off. "..I am here because I was considered suited to the tasks you require. To.. bring your household to the order and organisation that befits your station. I genuinely hope not to disappoint you." That much is very apparent, particularly as she shyly lowers her gaze from him a moment, sheepish in her earnestness. "..but do not concern yourself for me, my Lord." His pleasure in the way things are done, though, seems to hearten the girl and she dares another smiling glance upward toward him. "Thank you, my Lord. 'Properly', I'm afraid, is the only way I know."
"I remember, Orlagh." The train of little girls that passed through the corridors back home, years ago, the seeminly endless demands of a young Lise to the young maids. He chuckles softly, inclining his head in the begonnings of a nod- now that he's regaining motion there. "You are ideally suited in that your Lady must be taught what it is to be a Flint. I will encourage questions posed of you of the.. expectations and challenges within the House." Greywater is nothing in comparison. Anders cants his head slightly, as far as sore muscles will allow and studies the young woman for a long moment. Gods, is she pleas… no, no thought there. Did't he see Fen noticing the same? "You are more than suitable, Orlagh," is murmured. Anders straightens again, a deep breath taken to draw thoughts away. "My lady sister is… kind."
The slowly-drawn breath and shift of posture alights concern in Orlagh's wide blue eyes and she takes a half-step forward unthinkingly. As always, though, she remembers herself, drawing sharply to a halt again. And she makes no mention or question of Anders' injury. They both know he hurts.. there's utterly no need to draw attention to it, publically or otherwise. A Northern Lord cannot betray weakness. Especially now.
Just as well she's unaware of the hint of such in his wandering thoughts, really.
Focusing instead upon the heir's praise, the girl dips another low curtsey before him and holds, her long braid draped heavily between her nape and the slender expanse of her shoulders; visible with the respectful downward cant of her head. "Thank you, m'lord." Promptly enough, though she remains lowered, she turns her features upward to bestow a warm smile upon the man she addresses gently. "I very much like the Lady Cordelya.. though.." Her expression falters, just a little. Maybe ashamed of speaking out of turn, as it were. "..I think perhaps she finds me.. boring. I shall try to think of ways to better entertain her, with your permission, m'lord."
"She finds us all," Anders pauses to find the correct word, "..difficult to understand." He waves a hand briefly to bid her rise, though even in that position, is she comely. To distract himself, he begins to pace slowly, his words low and more.. conversational as if he uses her as a female sounding board. "She is the youngest daughter," or somesuch, "and it was not expected that she'd sit upon a throne." That should explain all. "You had the benefit of serving a lady who had every chance of rising suchly and so was raised accordingly." He continues to pace slowly, his hands lacing behind his back. "What she requires is she needs to learn that the expectations of her station does not require her to lose her person, but rather be incorporated. In this, she desperately needs your aid." The pacing ceases a moment, and he turns slowly to look at het fully. "You are far from boring, Orlagh. Know that you are important and I will brook no words or actions against you."
The blonde begins to blush faintly, though it seems to be something to do with the discussion of the absent Lady in question, rather than in response to the undeniably flattering words of the pacing Lord. "I did.. well, I was given to understand before I left, my Lord that.. your chosen bride was perhaps a little.. unusual." She phrases it as delicately as she can, but Anders knows his sister well enough, no doubt, to interpret. He picked a woman with no notion of how to behave, let alone see to the respectable running of the House he shall one day inherit. Orlagh plainly doesn't feel it her place to have an opinion on that matter; instead focusing on silently willing the heat to depart from her cheekbones, staring down at the floor even as she straightens back to a stand. "I will do my very best, my Lord, to find a way to marry the qualities that you desire, to those expected of the Lady." After all, he must love her wildness and fey-like exuberance? And once again, his seemingly endless praise of her own, far less important qualities elicit a subtle curve into playing across her lips. "Thank you, my Lord. Everyone, thus far, has been very welcoming, however." Particularly the charismatic Master-at-Arms, Anders' elder by several years. That part, she neglects to mention. She can handle it herself.
"Unused to the expectations," he corrects gently. That's his defense to his sister, and has been. Not all houses see to the necessities. However, the other choices of maids don't help matters..