|Summary:||Jacsen and Lucienne briefly discuss the state of their family. Their crazy, divided family.|
|Date:||25 June 2012|
|AKA Anais' tent.|
|Mon 25 Jun 289|
The noise from the tourney grounds is faint all the way over here in the Terrick camp, but there is no mistaking the dull roar, occasionally rhythmic even. The campsites are mostly abandoned, though the squires melee isn't wholly responsible, and Lucienne finds herself wandering with her escort (four guards, an entirely ridiculous number) and her handmaid toward her brother's pavilion. She takes a deep breath before calling softly as she stands at the entrance: "My lord?"
"Hold… hold," comes the pained grunt from within, bidding her wait a moment. There's a shuffling, a stirring, and another grunt before he calls out, "Come in." Jacsen looks to be in a fairly bad state, painwise - he's dragged himself over to a seat, but the leg is moving restlessly and he's looking anywhere but. "Oh. Luci." He blinks when she enters. "You're not at the Squire's Melee?"
She'll wait patiently without until she's bid to enter, but Lucienne wears a frown the very moment she lays eyes upon her brother. Her entourage wait outside. "I have no squire to cheer on," she explains flatly, raking dark eyes over Jacsen with thinly veiled concern. "You're in pain?" She makes her way over to his chair, intending to fall to a crouch beside him.
"To put it mildly," Jacsen responds. Also in the tent is Kincaid, whom Anais left behind to 'assist' the Young Lord - but all he's done is delay and deny him from getting his next dose. Some help he is. "The pain is coming back faster. And worse. I had thought I could get through this without… showing… but." He swallows and looks up at her. "What brings you, dear sister? News?"
Lucienne shifts a wary eye to her darling goodsister's favourite guard, but refuses to be cowed. She falls to her knees by her brother's side, setting her hands instantly upon his injured leg. "Let me," she tells him gently, slender fingers already working at the torn and twisted muscle. "Not news," she adds, all apology with her tone. "But a question, actually. Have you been to see Justin, since the joust?"
"You always… were best, setting me to ease," Jacsen says with a small tight smile, pulling his own hand away and letting her work at the leg. "Of course I went to go see him," he answers with a frown. "It was his first showing as a knight, and he did spectacular well for himself. Of course I'd see how he was doing and congratulate him on his performance." He sighs and shrugs, the leg still tense under her fingers. "But I was told he was sleeping when I went by."
Luci runs through the old massage routine as though it were second nature, taught to her as it was so many years ago now by Seagard's maester. Jacsen's frown is met with her own remaining, her thin brows knitting worriedly. "They said the same to me," she confesses with a sigh. "I didn't know whether to press or not, but I'd have hated to wake him were something… horribly wrong, that needed rest. I barely know him as it is, it felt wrong to impose."
Jacsen relaxes into the massage, though his leg keeps jumping about occasionally - he's calmed even if the pain continues. "Whether we know him or not, he is our brother. Our only remaining one in the Roost." He doesn't say it like it's a bad thing or a good thing, just… true. "Jarod's doing well. I went and saw him after the melee. He and Rowenna seem… happy." He scoffs and shakes his head. "That seems to be all anyone cares about these days, happiness. Are we such simple creatures, we?"
"I know enough of him to be wary," admits Lucienne of their newly returned, and only remaining brother at the Roost. "Still. I should like some assurance that he is well." Her lips press a thin line, not a smile but shy of a frown, too. That is, until the mention of Jarod. "Justin told him our lord father was dying," she scoffs. "And your wife told him I was a pit viper. Honestly, Jacsen… how did our family come to this? All infighting and rumours and… it's ridiculous." Ignorant of his twitching, she continues to knead his leg softly, a gentle pressure designed to encourage the twist to loosen.
The faintest trace of a smile can be seen on Jacsen's lips. "I'm always wary, Luci," he responds. Even of her? "Lack of strength, lack of control," he answers, shaking his head. "Mother dead. Father grieving. Jaremy banished to the wall. Anais would have you take a wealthy merchant husband instead of Lord Stafford for hope of infusing money to our family. Jarod yearns to return home but for my father. When you are gone, too, is this what I will be left with?"
Lucienne keeps her dark eyes upturned, rubbing away insistently as a handmaid might at Jacsen's leg. Her chin dips, though, as she hears him out, thick lashes fuzzing her view of his face around the edges. She is careful, as she considers her reply, eventually telling him, "There may be merit to that, though not as much as—" Abruptly, she changes tack. "You, my brother, will be left with what you build, with what you create. But you shall always have me, be I near or far." Just to reassure him she tips her chin back up, displaying a tender and loyal smile curved upon her lips.
Jacsen smiles back just the same, though it's interrupted by a wince and a sharp hissing breath drawn in. "I worry I won't be able to build faster than I'm being torn down," he says darkly. His meaning encompasses the Roost and his body both. "Were I a man who cared more for myself and my happiness than my duty, as so many others seem to be, I should have you stay at my side, not married away. But…" He forces a smile through the pain. "A man of position cannot give in to his common desires."
Her hands still for that brief barb of pain shooting through him, and then Lucienne begins to knead anew. "We would not be so happy starving to death together," she points out gently. "Kingsgrove is not so far, and advantageous. I should be happy to serve you from not-so-far, my lord." That last is spoken a little slyly, a smirk building in the corners of her mouth. "Either of us could ride back and forth in the space of a day."
"No, not so far," Jacsen echoes. "And yet, far enough." He reaches down and puts his hand over hers for a moment, squeezing it lightly. Just a brief, brotherly gesture of appreciation. "Any new developments with the Reach Lords?" he asks, changing the subject. "I should need to make my mind up soon on whether or not to pursue a loan for the short term. The Groves have asked the two fiefdoms for your dowry, though I'll try to talk them down to a piece of the second - and perhaps gold for the rest."
"Far enough, true," says Lucienne when it is her turn to echo, ducking her head and fluttering lashes to hide the roll of her eyes. She looks up, her smile renewed. "The ladies of the Reach are as lovely as they are empty-headed," is her droll pronouncement. "And I would not presume to approach the Lords on my own steam. I take it our dear cous has no word, either? Did you consider the notion of an ongoing tithe from the lands, rather than simply gold? Or — I can see that one might be more immediately useful where the other may not. It should be a short betrothal period, then?"
"No, nothing yet," Jacsen answers with a little shrug. The question of a short betrothal gets a single nod in response. "And I had considered it - but it would leave us empty-handed in the short-term," he says of the tithe. "If the lands are to go, we'll have gold for it." He doesn't seem all too concerned about the land. So he must have some kind of plan.
Luci hums a quick note, agreeing with her brother's sentiments on cash-flow. She draws a long, deep breath that fuels a longer, deeper sigh, and she arches a brow curiously up at Jacsen. Rather than enquire about his lack of concern for land held, she slides her hands down his thigh to his knee, and pushed herself up from the floor. "I trust you," she says simply. "Is there anything you need, or may I take my leave?"
"Sometimes, I feel you're the only one who does," Jacsen muses quietly, giving Luci another loving smile. "I'll not betray that trust, Luci, I hope you know you're not wrong to place it in me." He shakes his head as she rises, stretching out his leg a bit. "No, there's nothing else. Thank you for coming, dear sister. Your visits are always a boost to my spirits."
"You wouldn't want to," Lucienne warns good-naturedly, although there's probably some latent threat to the words. You know. CONSIDERING THEIR OTHER BROTHERS SAID THE SAME THING TO HER. "You're most welcome. I always feel… just a little more at ease after we speak on such, so my visits aren't purely selfless. I love you, brother." She dips a quick curtsy, because such courtesies are such a lovely noble indulgence, and spirits herself back out of the tent in a swish of silk skirts.