Page 343: Evening Stroll
Evening Stroll
Summary: Lord Anders and Lady Cordelya are out for an evening stroll on the beach at Terrick's Roost. Justin arrives and greets them.
Date: 28/June/2012
Related Logs: None related - they had not met before.
Anders Cordelya Justin 
Coastline, Terrick's Roost
The Cape of Eagles looms out over Ironman's Bay, a vast, blue ocean inlet, that spreads its watery depths out beyond the horizon. The path that leads down to this coast winds down behind the towers for several hundred meters before arriving at the rocky water's edge. Rather than sand, the coast is covered with innumerable smooth and rounded stones about palm-sized. They stretch up and down the coast in all directions with the battered remnants of driftwood scattered about. Above the beach, one every mile or two, are towers with a large bell and mallet atop them which are to be beaten to warn of an incoming invasion. A small dock is being constructed of thick northern timbers, with mooring space for two large ships, or perhaps a half dozen smaller craft.
June 28th, 289

A man rides alone along the top of the bluff upon a horse so pale a dappled grey that he is mostly white, with darker stormy grey legs, mane and tail that are nearly black. The man is dressed in black himself for mourning, a surcoat over partial chain maile. Justin's dark head is uncovered, his steel cap secured to his saddle. The horse is slowed as the grey comes to the edge of the overlook, wind blowing in from the sea. The rider looks over the water and over the beach below. Both are lightly soiled with dust from a day's travel and sweat.

Little was seen of the Young Lady Flint at the tournament, but the rumor was that Lord and Lady were both there. However, now that the camps are folded and everyone is returning to business, it seems Corrie is feeling better about the open air. Not the crowds, not the massive cheers and fighting, not the blood loss. The open air, coastline, and scent of water in the air. That's enough to help her soul feel better. So, she's agreed to go walking with her husband, though has been fairly quiet their entire stroll. The elegant Young Lady of Flint is clad in one of her newer gowns, no longer fitting at all into the old things. This is a pale, pale gray, almost a few shades off of white, with a brilliant blue underskirt. The Flint crest is embroidered on the breast of the dress in darker gray threads. The dress is also of the empire waisted style, leaving plenty of room for her clearly pregnant belly. There is no doubt of the lady's conditiont hese days. She pauses, going a bit stiff, as she and her husband come along another at the coast.

The Northland isn't made up of city upon city, but rather, vast distances between dwelling and another. It only makes sense, then, that the closeness of crowds does nothing to settle a spirit or a soul. One returned for business, the Young Lord Flint actually finds some respite at the water's edge. For some, it is a sight that brings bad memories. For Anders, it holds promise, and something of a peace all its own.
The quiet of the stroll is easy; at least on Anders' part. At the end of war, there are some things that take a long time to be taken for granted once again. "I am so glad to be away from Seagard," he breathes, his voice quiet. "The celebrations now seem hollow and desperate. Like they're trying to regain something lost. One tourney was fine. Two.. when will the next be? And the next?"

The stroll might be easy for him, but the moment Corrie realized they weren't alone, her guard has gone up. She's like a stiff and frightened bird on his arm, especially as night as falling and shadows are harder to see. It's difficult to tell friend or foe this time of the evening. Still, the Lady tries to push through it. She's elegant, she's brave, she's his wife. She cannot be frightened by shadows. She squeezes his arm a bit as they continue walking. "They are… they are trying to put glamour back into the viciousness of fighting. To pretend the mass destruction was noble and courageous. They… we will never be like these southerners. All we can do is… try and understand." Her slightly lilting voice reassures him. But the figure isn't going away and that is taking most of her attention. "We…we have company, Andy…"

<FS3> Cordelya rolls Mind: Failure.

The rider on the bluff can not overhear their words, but Justin's pale grey eyes have spotted the two, whom he doesn't know by sight. Keeping his grey from cropping the grass, he turns the gelding with the shifting of his legs to lightly direct the horse to start down one of the several trails that switch back and forth through the rocky descent. The grey handles the stony path with practiced ease, the rider sitting somewhat stiffly in the saddle and leaning well back. Justin grimaces with some pain as he's shifted about until the horse smooths out on the beach below. Though he is clearly armed and any house colors about him not obvious, he walks the grey slowly to approach the two who are on foot. If it takes a little time to close the distance the rider doesn't seem to care, allowing his horse to walk in the water and not caring when the incoming waves splash them a bit. Both Anders and his lady can see the black clad rider plainly for Justin is heading in the direction of the tower, not up from behind them.

"Try and understand.." Anders shakes his head, "The longer I'm in their lands, the more I wish to be done and leave them to it. The port is my concession to the land, and the hope, even if it ends in vain, that something can be done." He takes a deep breath of the sea air, feeling the change of manner as she holds to his arm. There are fingers that dig, and with that, he places his hand on top of hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm here." He doesn't even have to look at her to know.
Company? Pausing in his step, Anders catches the form on horseback. "There will be riders here, Corrie.." he says softly. A little louder, he hails now, "Evening, rider.."

Bird-thin fingertips rub against her husband's arm for another heartbeat or two, trying to areassure him about the port, but she's lost her voice for the moment in nerves about their unknown companion. She remains stiff, but diesn't protest, giving a breathless little nod in Anders' direction that she is fine. The rider is perfectly normal. But her pale green eyes stretch even beyond the rider, at the night, staring into shadows. The lovely, rounding Young lady at Anders' side is otherwise a pretty statue with him, and not much else right now.

As the rider nears, the more observant might pick out details about him. Young, maybe around 20 years though his face is weathered enough to mislead one to think he's older. His face is much shaped like Jaremy's if either of them knew his elder brother, his brow lightly furrowed much as Ser Revyn's oft once was. Very minimal purple and gold threadwork edge the otherwise unrelenting black of most of his attire, eagles tooled upon his arm guards and a brass eagle's head matched with blue-violet leather hilts for each his dagger as well as for his sword. Silver spurs are upon his boot heels. Chain maile glints in the evening light.

The rider eases his horse over a bit so that neither man nor woman will need alter their own path to pass by him. Justin halts the grey quietly, "Good evening." Ander's silk shirt, the fineness of Cordelya's gown, her state of pregnancy noted, as well as the colors they have chosen. "Might I be correct in my guess that you are Lord and Lady Flint, guests of my Lord father's?"

Anders knows that he's the one standing firm for the pair, and his hand squeezes Corrie's hand once again, and leaves it in place. With the rider in plainer view, he can see the style of dress, the manner in which he bears himself, even for the seeming fatigue. "You are correct.. Ser Terrick?" He pauses, then, "I have already passed my condolences to your Lord Father, and to your Young Lord, but in meeting you face to face, please accept them once again from us."

<FS3> Cordelya rolls Mind: Success.

There's a few moments where the young lady's eyes are somewhere else. Lost in the sea, or the shadows beyond the unfamiliar rider, but her husband's words and greeting towards the Terrick son is enough to bring her back to the present situation. Corrie releases a small breath she didn't even realize she was holding and her smile blossoms just a moment. It's like the lady is transformed, from some scared bird to the elegant, confident woman who should be standing at a Young Lord's side. She squeezes her husband's arm and then lets it go, elegantly offering her palm face down towards the young Terrick, "…You must be Justin… I have heard honourable things about you, young man… I am so, so sorry for your losses. These times have been tragic for… All of us." If he takes her hand, she gives his big palm a tender, almost protective sort of squeeze. "And your father has been a wonderful host all this time. As well as your good-sister, whom I am honoured to call a friend."

Ah, if he detected any of the lady's former unease, Justin gives no sign of it. He nods to Anders, "I am Justin Terrick." And then Cordelya is moving forward to greet him, guessing his name even as he stated it. He smiles a little, shifting in the saddle to dismount. His movements are stiff, of a man who's suffered injury though his attire bears no damage. He slides the reins through his arm and tugs off his riding gloves to accept Cordelya's offered hand. Justin carefully inclines himself over her hand but not quite low enough as though he were going to kiss it. "It is a pleasure to finally make your aquaintances." Justin straightens and does not keep her hand captive, "Thank you both. I am pleased to hear you are well looked after as our guests, as you should be."

There is a brief pause, a glance down at himself, "My apology. I have am only now returning from tournament and haven't chance to bathe or change out of maile. All has been quiet here, or did you yourselves go to Seagard?"

Leave it to the Young Lady Flint to offer the fine words; she's been a help in navigating the shoals of the Southern lands, through the ladies. Anders watches and extends his hand once the proper greeting with his wife is concluded. It won't be held long at all, if accepted. "Tourney.. my lady wife and I were just discussing that. How fared you in the circuit?"
Taking a deep breath, Anders lets it out slowly. "We have just come from there ourselves, though we don't compete. Lady Tiaryn was keen on attending to ease her mind, and take enjoyment where she could find it. I certainly couldn't say 'no'.. and if anyone else knows the Lady Tiaryn, the would understand completely my position." He chuckles wryly, and continues then, "We are looked after quite well.. and it is only a little longer that we will remain, I think. Once I am able to speak with your brother and Lord Father, we will not intrude upon your kindnesses shown much longer."

"Aye, we did attend ourselves, though in my condition I found it all to be a touch… Chaotic, so we left the moment matters ended. I wished to come to calmer, less crowded lands and my husband does spoil me so. Even if he wished to stay to give proper congratulations." Yes, Corrie has learned her politics quite well in these southern lands. She's also learned what a valuable excuse carrying the heir to a house can be! She withdraws, now that her hand is free, but she did give Justin an elegant little curtsey when he bowed his head. Warm and proper, that is the Lady Flint. No longer on her husband's arm, her free hand rests against that soft roundness of her stomach, painting a fetching picture of mother hood.

They each will find Justin's hand to be calloused and no stranger to rough use, though his grip is no more firm than it needs to be for politeness sake. "It was my first tournament to compete and I did far better than I could have hoped. At the end of the first day, it was down to myself against my half brother, Ser Jarod. He unhorsed me, though I had unhorsed three men before him including Ser Kittridge, Ser Calvin Mallister, and Ser Frederyke Tarly." Yes, he is pleased though Justin adds quietly in his baritone, "Ser Frederyke had the best of me the following day, after three passes." The young Terrick gives a soft laugh, though it pains his mending ribs, "I'm familiar with the delightful Lady Tiaryn, aye." Justin then quiets to hear out Cordelya.

A soft nod to what she says, "You and I are in agreement for prefering … quieter places, Lady Flint. I prefer the sea, deep wood or high mountain to crowds and walls." And thinking upon that quiet, Justin adds low, "And here I have disturbed your own quiet. Please do not allow me to keep you from enjoying the peace of the evening."

The grey stamps a front hoof, pawing at the ground and digging up stones and sand alike. The gelding blows out his nostrels and rattles his bit, eager to be home and unsaddled.

Anders remains on the side now, watching his wife, though he does chuckle at the news of how the young Terrick did in tourney. "Then all you need say is that you were tired from the first three bouts. And well done on your showing." His congratulations is genuine, though there'll never be a Flint entered in those tourneys.
"We shouldn't keep you, however, with ribs to nurse and your horse does seem eager to find his stall for grain and hay before sleeping. Welcome home, and I'm certain there will be opportunities for us to speak, and I would like that."

"Aye, now that we all know the other's faces, we must get to know each other better. But this is not the night, we are all weary. Good night, Ser Justin. It was an honour…" And with that, she turns back to her husband, slipping her arm through his again. Cordelya has that look in her eyes. The look that says she's ready to go home as well. "And with the falling night, we should get back also, Andy… it has been a very long day."

Justin gives them both an incline of his head, "Indeed, it would please me to speak with you again, if you need not depart at once. And thank you. The coin I bring home is much needed, here, though I fear it is not nearly enough." With that, Justin turns and puts a boottip to stirrup, stepping back up into the saddle. It makes his breath catch short with the effort but nothing a few weeks won't repair. He takes up the reins, "I bid you a good eve." and then sets his horse to walking quietly on up the beach towards a place further ahead that he might rise back to the top of the bluff by avery narrow track nearer to Four Eagles Tower.