|Summary:||Rosanna puts Day's counsel into action.|
|Date:||March 2, 2012|
|Related Logs:||Attempted Distractions and A Different Approach|
|Gardens — Seagard Castle|
|There's ivy and shit.|
|March 2, 289|
"I think," Rosanna is saying, once again dallying in the gardens with a handmaiden, who she talks at more than talks to, "that this one might be lovely back home." She is admiring one of the flower varieties, up on her tip-toes to reach a vined blossom for an appreciative sniff. Her gown is a rich-dyed purple, well-made if not of the quality of materials as some of the richer houses.
Patrek is, as he always is these days, wearing black, saving for the purple and silver sash that serves to remind everyone of his new station. He slips quietly into the gardens, though perhaps Rosanna's presence is not so much a surprise, this time. "It is a type of blooming ivy, I am told," the young Lord says, offering the young Lady Groves a courtly bow. "I am sure the gardeners could provide you with a cutting for Kingsgrove, if you should wish, my lady."
"Oh?" If there is some victory in Rosanna's brown eyes, it is difficult to tell. She turns to offer a deep curtsy in turn to the young Lord (though no longer Young Lord) of Seagard. "It is very lovely, my lord. That is very generous of you to offer. I would be very grateful."
"Of course," Patrek replies, his own expression polite and a little tired, "It's no trouble, Lady Groves. I hope the day finds you well?"
"It does, my lord," Rosanna says, her smile curving a bit shyly. "Are you taking advantage of some time to breathe, I hope?"
"Perhaps a little," the Lord of Seagard admits, looking around at the greenery and blooms. "I have less such time these days. I am finding that it makes me appreciate it more."
"I imagine having less of something would do that." Rosanna shifts away from the ivy to draw closer — at least into an easier conversational range. "Would it be terribly ungenerous of me to speak of more official matters, then?"
Patrek blinks, brows lifting. "Oh, no my lady, not at all. Please, what matter needs to be brought to my attention?"
"It is not a matter as much as — well, I suppose it is to be an offer." Rosanna smiles, attempting reassurance through warmth of expression. "It's only that — well, my family understands that so many of the smallfolk of Terrick's Roost are left without homes. Kingsgrove was not untouched, but we have room enough that we could offer homes to some of them. And the extra hands to harvest would help us to feed so many more." She tips her head down demurely, though still watches him from underneath the copper shade of her lashes.
Patrek is quiet as Rosanna speaks, considering the girl's words. "Indeed, that may be so," he agrees gently, "but is this not a matter better brought to Lord Jerold than myself, my lady?"
"Perhaps," Rosanna admits. "Although I don't know that my father and brothers wish me to travel too extensively while I am without them. I am not someone to treat with great lords in earnest; I am only a maid, after all." She ducks her head, pushing back a stray curl that has escaped from the others.
Patrek nods a little, brows furrowing slightly. "I see. Then, tell me, my lady, what is it you should like me to do with this kind offer your family wishes to extend?"
"Lord Jerold clearly respects and cares for you a great deal," Rosanna offers. "And he cares so much for his people, I'd be afraid of wounding him with what is meant to be a kindness. But perhaps the words might sound sweeter coming from his liege lord and once-squire." She looks at him a bit hopefully, her lashes fluttering the briefest moment.
"Well," Patrek murmurs, "I can certainly bring to offer to his attention, if you feel ill at ease speaking to him on it yourself," The boy adds, with a small nod, "I shall include it when next I write to him."
Rosanna reaches out to touch his arm with a light, delicate brush of her fingers. "That is very kind of you," she says with every appearance of sincerity. She hesitates a long moment, drawing her hand back unsurely. "I — know your father had reason to mistrust my family, my lord, but you have been such a gentleman. I have felt so welcome."
"Of course, my lady," Patrek says again. He glances down at her hand, but doesn't make any attempt to remove it. "A guest in one's home should always feel welcome," he answers (or quite possible, parrots an oft-repeated lesson), "regardless of the history between their families."
"Of course," Rosanna agrees, offering a small smile. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth before turning slightly away and folding her hands over her skirts. "I understand—" She hesitates once more, her fingers twisting together. "I know what people think of my brother. I don't like to talk of him, or hear others do so. But I still—" She takes a deep breath, her lashes fluttering against a faint glimmer as she looks away. "I understand what it is to miss someone who is never coming home, my lord."
Patrek swallows quietly and then clears his throat. "And I am sorry for your loss, my lady," he replies quietly, "Wars… take from us all."
"They do." Rosanna looks back to him, a glimmer lingering unfallen in her eyes that she sweeps in study of him. "I was so angry at them for leaving again," she admits in something of a tumbling rush before stopping herself. "I'm sorry, my lord," she says in a quieter voice. "I shouldn't bother you with such things. You have so many more greater concerns."
"It is no bother, my lady Groves," Patrek replies, giving his sash an idle tug. "There are moments, of which I am not proud, when I am angry at my father for leaving. But I do pray that the men of your family return home safely to you and need not leave so again."
"It is natural, I think," Rosanna offers a bit hesitantly in response to what Patrek has shared, "to be angry sometimes." Her smile curving weak and wry, she adds, "Or I hope it is, or I am terribly unnatural." More sincerely, she says, "Thank you, my lord. I wish very much for your own heart's healing."
Patrek has a weak but sincere smile for that little joke, and he nods a little. "Everyone says that it will, in time. I can only hope what they say is so. Did, um, did you find it to be the case, may I ask, in regards to your brother?"
Rosanna's smile and humor, weak as it is, falters. She swallows quietly and draws her gaze away. "I am still very angry at — him — sometimes. Very. And at how much I still miss him." She inhales slowly. "But yes, my lord. I know it is not your own loss, but mine is easier borne now than when it first fell to me."
"That is a comfort to hear my lady, thank you," Patrek replies with a small nod. "I do not know what I might say to offer you equal solace, but I think you've a right to your anger. And your hurt."
There is something of pleased surprise in the warmth of Rosanna's smile, and a particular sincerity when she says, "Thank you. I feel that my family — understood him better, maybe. My anger was just a tantrum." With a faint, flittering laugh, she adds, "Although Ser Tommas did give me Barristan as a kitten to cheer me when they came back from war without my brother." A bit shyly, she adds, "Perhaps you'll meet him. He's very affectionate." With sudden color to her fair cheeks that brings her freckles into sharper relief, she says, "Um — Barristan, I mean. My cat. Not — Ser Tommas."
"Your brother made a choice," Patrek says softly, "and he picked what he believed was honorable over his duty to his family and his land. I… cannot find such a choice admirable, my lady, however worthy a man he may otherwise be." The Lord blinks as her cat is mentioned. "Ser Barristan," he repeats, a corner of his mouth lifting wryly. "Did he accompany you in your travel here?" There is a quick laugh as Rosanna corrects herself. "No, I hear your Ser Tommas is very large but, I hope, not quite as affectionate as a pet feline. That should be, er, awkward."
"I was perhaps a bit of a fanciful child," Rosanna admits with a slight smile as he recognizes the name. "I always admired the stories of Ser Barristan's feats, though." A laugh escapes her in turn, light but bright. "Yes, Ser Tommas is — quite large. But yes, I did bring Barristan with me. I hope that's all right."
"I do not think an additional cat should put us out, though the barn mice may not agree," Patrek assures with another quick smile. "We were support a significant portion of an army not so long ago. I do not think even a cat so largely named could eat as much."
"He is quite good at catching his own meals," Rosanna promises. "It would not do if he were not as fearsome as him namesake, after all."
"Certainly it would not, my lady. I am sure he is the best of mousers," Patrek agrees.
"Perhaps you can visit sometime and meet him, my lord," Rosanna says with a warm smile. "I think I have my own duties to attend to for the moment, though." She curtsies, her head dipping, then reaches once more to touch his forearm. "Thank you for your company," she says, her smile growing shyer. "And for your kindness and aid. You are very gallant, my lord."
Patrek's gaze drops a little for the compliment, and his cheeks turn pink. When he looks back up again, there is a servant of the house waiting politely by the garden's entrance. "It seems we are both called back to our duties, my lady. There is nothing to thank, it was a pleasure. Until next time, I wish you a good afternoon, my lady." He offers her a bow before retreating towards the waiting man.