Page 435: Finch Among Eagles
Finch Among Eagles
Summary: Rebecca happens upon her good-aunt Anathema with a brace of Mallisters. Things spiral downhill until Lady Anais terrifies Rebecca back to bed.
Date: 30/09/2012
Related Logs: Raven's Gift and Madness Sinner Rebuked, Penitent Forgiven...?
Anathema Nedra Martyn Rebecca Lothar Anais Justin Aeliana 
Courtyard, Four Eagles Tower
Besides a secluded bench getting increasingly less secluded
30th September, 289

"Ah-ha!" Ana laughs in that warm, flowing manner that harkens back to summer storms. "Well, I must write to my daughter post-haste and tell her that her little birds on the Cape are mis-tweeting." Warmth glimmers in the depths of those dark, sombrous eyes "Perhaps it is a good thing, all in all, Lady Nedra. You are deserving of a far better match than that to a Fenster, heir or not." Perhaps there is also some comfort there in her warm, maternal tones. "I'm sorry if my question set you at ill-ease. Gone for some months to see to my daughter, and I have fallen behind on the happenings about the Cape. I even heard something about a Nayland fornicating with a horse." There is a quirk of amusement in her smile now. As the other Mallister joins them, Anathema looks up toward Martyn with a bow of her head. "She does have a certain eloquence about her," Ana comments to how well Nedra answered her question.

Anathema is seated with Nedra on one of the benches in the courtyard. The golden finch that people are whispering was her former maid is in a little cage at her feet. Nedra's septa is close by and Martyn has paused mid-stroll to chat with the pair.

A rather odd little procession forms the next incursion into the courtyard, a group of four; two men, or rather, a green boy and a mature soldier; and two women, one no longer young (though, to some degree, appearing it), the other so ancient as to have practically left ages behind. The boy, cross looking, a commoner in a green leathern tunic, leads the assemblage, then come the women; the grown fighter, wearing Terrick livery, brings up the rear, scowling in a compromise between being bored and unsettled.

Thus recommences the erratic chapter of Lady Rebecca Nayland's adventures in the outside world. She's in a gown of her preferred shape and colour, long and verdant, and it actually fits; the dress she rode here in was patently destroyed, so she must have somehow acquired or been given this suitable new garment. Perhaps, then, it's partly the reassuring caress of new fabric on her pale shoulders that lends vague but real softness to her smile, tenderness to her often sinister, always itinerant gaze.

Nedra exhales a small breath, a light sound that's only faintly vexed as she aims a look up at her cousin, "Thank you," she says in a dry tone of voice as she gathers her composure together, using both hands and possibly some twine, glue and a few hair pins. The blush on Nedra's face does not abate right away and it only flares higher at the remark that ties 'Nayland'-'fornicating'-'horse' into one phrase, "As to the rumor involving the horse, my lady, it wasn't so much rumor as it was - from what I was told - a suggestion made by a lord of Nayland to Lord Aleister." Even the tips of 's ears are a bit pink at this point but she offers up a small glimpse of a smile, "Thank you, your compliment is greatly appreciated. I am entirely confident that, when my father makes his decision with regard to my future that I will be among the first to hear of it," said with a calm manner of confidence on this topic, entirely trusting her father to tell her before it's read out as banns. Her head turns as she hears, first, the approach of new arrivals and then falls silent as she casts a curious glance from first one person to the next, finally glancing up at her cousin Martyn in hopes that he can offer something in the way of illumination as to the identity of the new arrivals.

The grin that Martyn offers to Nedra at that look is rather wide it would seem, but he doesn't say anything for now, but pauses at the mention of the part about the horse. "Poor horse, no matter how it goes…" Shaking his head a little, before he looks between Nedra and Anathema. "Aren't you going to introduce us, cousin?" he offers, after a few moments, before he looks over at the odd little procession, studying them for a few moments. Not able to illuminate anything when it comes to their identities, it would seem.

"My nephews are quite a colorful bunch, aren't they?" Anathema says, only a hint of disdain hiding behind the words. She shakes her head, breathing out a patient sigh. "I suppose I am not to judge the words of men on the battlefield, but I hear this was before the swords were even drawn." The older Nayland takes great strides to not to allow her sheer loathing for most of her goodbrother's spawn to be seen on her features, but here comes one of those spawns in the flesh. Her warm, motherly expression settles into something a bit colder, a bit more Northern. It remains for a heartbeat before Martyn is questing for an introduction, and Anathema smiles serenely once more. "Ser, Lady Steward Anathema Nayland of Stonebridge. A cousin to Lady Nedra must make you in turn a Mallister as well." Her memory so precise allows her to deduce with some ease that he is, "You must be Lady Muirenn's brother then."

Somewhere a few gradations beneath the Game of Thrones comes the lesser Game of Names, and this is a sport that the Lady Rebecca, rich only in ancestral pride, learned only in romantic hauteur, actually plays very well. Before the names themselves emerge to haunt the air, they are, covertly, at this overgrown Nayland misfit's command, just from a passing surveillance of detail, attendants, devices, even famed physical characteristics. Generally too abstracted to notice if she were about to fall, say, into a well, Rebecca can still spot a Mallister at five hundred paces…and as for the 'Lady Steward'…other sources of knowledge supply her with a clearer picture still.

So it is that her fleetingly pleasant expression is extinguished, as she finds herself in a cruel predicament. An highborn lady does not, cannot, introduce herself without further ado. Yet she knows the Eagles, though they do not know her; and, most sorely of all, she knows that Lady Anathema has the tools to put all aright, and deliberately refuses to employ them.

This forces Rebecca to take a disagreeable initiative, but at least the (slightly) elder woman is a proper Nayland (if by marriage), rather than an Asterholm sprouted by blow. "Fair tide to you, my lady good-aunt," she consents to begin, in a low, lilting tone. They say the woman is a witch, and they are beginning to say such things, too, of her. Perhaps there is even some bond to strive for here. Perhaps.

"The horse?" Nedra says in a quieter voice, aiming a look at her cousin Martyn. "There's something to be said about putting the horse before the wagon, cousin. But putting the horse before the Lord Aleister's lady wife, well, that would say something entirely different about the sangfroid of the lady in question let alone that the lord Nayland would think this acceptable as a measure of peace offering." She gives a small shake of her head before feeling a small smile curve her lips, "Colorful is a very good phrase, my lady," she agrees before adding, "may I introduce you to my cousin, Ser Martyn?" she offers with a smile up at her Cousin, who has not - yet - earned any reason for his toes to be stepped on firmly. Her attention turns back to the richly clad lady who addresses the Lady Steward Anathema, offering a smile of greeting as well in turn. "Good day to you, my lady," is said to accompany her nod, glancing from one lady to the other, aunt after all implies niece, perhaps Anathema will do the honors.

Martyn pauses for a few moments as Anathema speaks about her nephews, and then again at the introduction. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Steward Anathema," he offers. He might even succeed in keeping away the something in his expression that comes up at the family name. "And yes, I would happen to be Lady Muirenn's brother, that's true." Another brief pause, before he nods again, "And yes, your nephews seem to be rather colorful, that's true. But then again, their father is an interesting man, I suppose. Had the pleasure of… working with him during the war against the Ironborn." Turning to offer the other lady a bit of a nod and a half-smile now.

The woods-witch tilts her chin toward the exiled Harpy as she is greeted, and Anathema settles back into that tranquil smile, a smile that perhaps acts as blinding fog to mask the true dangers ahead. The little golden finch twitters nervously again, jumping from perch to perch on her spindly little feet, finding nowhere to hide in the bare bones of her prison. Long, delicate fingers fold together as she considers Rebecca under that soul-seeing gaze. She hesitates just a moment before she graciously introduces Rebecca as she is bound to do. "Lady Nedra, Ser Martyn, this is Lord Rickart Nayland and Lady Sylvaine Groves's daughter, Rebecca Nayland. When last I heard, she was still in Kingsgrove." Again, she smiles. "Have you been enjoying the Roost, Lady Niece?"

Lothar rides up from the town, dressed in a leather jerkin and some travel clothes, quiver of arrow slung over one shoulder as well as a bow with a broadsword hanging from the saddle, looks like the young squire decided to go hunting but unlike his brother Brogan wasn't successful this time. He glances over as he spots some people in the courtyard but dismounts and leads his horse into the stables first and after a proper ammount of time to properly take care of the horse and stow his gear he walks back out of the stables to do as his sister bid and not hide in the loft all the time.

When she realises that she has interposed within a conversation on the Asterholm woman's bastard get, the so-called younger Naylands, Rebecca assumes a stoic, composed demeanour, like that of a woman of good character placed in a position where she must listen to gossip about harlotries, but is far above complaining about it. Fortunately there are quite a few distractions at hand. She acknowledges lady and gentleman Mallister with a gracious curtsey apiece; by now the subject has shifted enough to let her sharply delineated, pallid face untauten. It is with much naturalness that she replies to her 'aunt', "Very much indeed. So much that I have decided to extend my sojourn a little. With the Lord Sheriff's approval, of course."

A frustrated grunt from the young groom in green draws her attention now, and beyond him, she espies the young Terrick squire swinging his comely limbs as he strolls about his no doubt admirable pursuits. With languorous musicality, she calls, "My dear Lord Lothar! Won't you come and join us? I expect you know all these charming people already. Perhaps you can help me get to know them a little better." Just a hint that her aunt's reluctance to do just that has been noticed.

Nedra quirks a curious look at her cousin, his use of the word 'interesting' and the small pause in his last remark intrigues her, but she doesn't voice it, simply letting the curious look speak for itself. She turns slightly back to glance from Lady Anathema to the now introduced Lady Rebecca, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rebecca," she offers, rising from her seat on the bench to offer a curtsy of greeting to accompany her words. "I hope that you are finding your stay here to be pleasant and untroubled," she adds, spotting the young Lord Lothar arrive then depart to the stables and eventually emerge again - sans horse.

Lothar waves and nods, "I'll come join m'lady but I well." He joins the group and hmmms, "I must admit that I don't know any gathered here very well." Pauses as he looks at some (Nedra), "Some not at all." But he properly offers bows to the ladies that grossly outnumber the men currently

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Rebecca," Martyn offers to the woman, offering a bit of a smile as well. He also notices the curious look from Nedra. "Lord Rickart was my second in command up to when the incident your brother had to save me from happened," he offers a bit quietly to his cousin. Listening to the others, before he nods at Lothar as the man approaches. "Lord Lothar, isn't it?" he offers in a bit of an unsure greeting to the man.

"Is that so?" Anathema inquires in that smooth contralto. "Amazingly, I was asked by Lady Anais just yesterday if I would be taking you back with me to Stonebridge when my business here is done." The witch smiles once more, tilting her head. "It is a rather precarious time for a Nayland of any breeding to be freely wandering about the Cape. I've already sent a concerned letter to your mother when I heard you were here. I even offered to provide you with a safe escort home as I will be journeying to Kingsgrove soon to speak with Young Lord Stafford." She casts a glance toward Nedra, honing in on her now with a small smile. "Lady Nedra, I was wondering if perhaps you would do me a favor?" She reaches down to pick up the little cage containing the anxious little finch. As she does, her gaze shifts toward Lothar, the boy with two homes, and she bows her head to him gently.

Laughter of two different stripes from Rebecca's little entourage is now aimed at the Terrick squire - the groom Lovel chuckles mordantly at what he sees as his rival's gaucheness, but the slightly husky ripple of Rebecca's mirth is quite otherwise - she sounds as genuinely delighted as ever by the stripling. "How wonderful, my lord! Then the task falls this time to me. It seems you know Ser Martyn better than either of you recall," she teases dubiously, "and this, I've just learnt, is his lovely cousin, Lady Nedra. My aunt, the celebrated diplomatist, you must have already escorted. By the by, aunt, I just gave you and Lady Anais the answer you sought. I understand of course that your company is more interesting than mine, but she is welcome to learn such things from me directly if she likes, as I hope she's aware! Alas, I haven't chanced to meet my hostess yet in this grand old castle, so much more spacious than the manor at pokey little Braeburn…", that last word is dispatched with a gasp of dismissive relief, "…so I must rely on her chivalrous good-brother…"

"It's a pleasure to greet you again, Lord Lothar," Nedra says with a smile to the young Terrick before she glances back to Martyn and nods, again, feeling more of the small pieces slipping into place. "No matter what happened, cousin, I'm glad my brother was there, and I'm even more glad that you're here still as well," she reminds her cousin and reaches out one hand to rest lightly on his arm before she turns back toward the Ladies Anathema and Rebecca, though at first her attention is more upon the Lady Anathema, something in the smooth tone of voice reminds her of the tone of voice she's heard a few times herself. "I'd be happy to, Lady Anathema," she says promptly, glancing from the little cage and the nervous little finch contained therein and back to the Lady Steward herself. Her attention is tugged neatly again, this time toward Rebecca, and feels a bit of reluctant humor rise as she listens to the Lady Rebecca's reply to the words of her Aunt.

Lothar nods towards each as they're introduced, "It's a pleasure to meet, or reaquaint myself with each of you ladies and ser." He lets the rest of the folks around do their talking as he watches reactions and listens to the conversation trying to catch a grasp of what the conversation's about, "Oh and yes m'lady I was part of the group that escorted your aunt here."

Martyn pauses for a few moments as he hears Nedra's words, expression a bit unreadable for a few moments, looking like he's working his way through some inner argument for the moment, before he just offers a bit of a smile. "Thank you, cousin," he offers a bit quietly. Looking over to the two other ladies for now, he keeps silent as he listens at the moment. Offering a grin to Lothar as well now.

The Lady Steward merely smiles toward Rebecca at her words, bowing her head a bit. "Oh, I believe she was a bit aghast by you attempting to claw the eyes from the head of a Frey courier, sweet niece. Certainly not the behavior of a woman whose blood is owed in part by a vassal of the Frey House, and then to attack a man on the land of a Mallister vassals land; it is as if we are dealing with a young maiden of fourteen than a maid of some and forty. That is enough to worry any hostess." Aanthema smiles calmly before she settles her attention back on Nedra. "Lady Nedra, this sweet little bird was given to me, but I've no need for her. She is not meant for the greater world, and would require a lady with a gentle hand to look after her. Balerion dislikes her, and he is a big bully of a bird all on his own. Perhaps you would care to have her?"

"Why, give her to me, dear aunt," Rebecca intervenes in a bright tone. "I cannot abide to see birds caged."

Stepping nearer to what she interprets as the protective shadow of young Lothar - even the fortifying influence of his youth - she adds, "But as you delicately remind us all, I've been of age for some time, aunt. My mother and my uncle's part in my education has reached an…appropriate conclusion, I think. Do send my dearest salutations to Stafford when you pass through Kingsgrove, though. Adorably pompous boy…" She grins fondly, turning to Lothar as if she is comparing him to her cousin's appearance at the same age, and granting him a clear victory.

There is certainly enough going on in Four Eagles to keep Anais busy, and she's been about her business most of the day out in the village, seeing to the disbursement of some of the Charlton supplies to families in need. Only now does she return to the keep, mounted on the massive plow beast of a horse sent by her brother and attended by a pair of Terrick guards and her lady in waiting. Despite recent events, there's only a slight show of strain in her features, a tightness at the corners of her eyes at odds with the steel in her spine. Sharp eyes take in the gathering in the courtyard, and out comes her best polite smile as she guides her mount in their direction.

The quiet look that Nedra sends to her cousin expresses silently her acknowledgement of the internal debate that he endured before he made his reply, and she gives another light brush of her hand against his arm before as she turns toward the Lady Steward to hear her words to the Lady Rebecca. Nedra's blue-grey eyes widen slightly, noticeably really, and she glances toward the Lady Rebecca with renewed surprise and a faint trace shock. Her eyes shift back to the Lady Anathema, down to the bird in the cage, back up to the Lady Steward before she nods again. "I would be happy to, my lady," she starts to say, finding the efforts of the small finch to hide in plain sight to be rather endearing, only to fall silent again when Lady Rebecca volunteers to take the finch instead, feeling a bit caught between the two ladies, back and forth she glances now, hesitating to say more.

Lothar hmmms, "That is a pretty little finch, my sketch papers and charcoal are up in my room but at some point I'd love to draw a picture of it, haven't seen too many little song birds like that mostly just hawks and falcons."

Martyn pauses for a few moments as Nedra brushes her hand against his arm, and offers her a bit of a quiet smile. When he hears Lothar, he offers him a bit of a smile. "You draw pictures, Lord Lothar?" he asks, sounding a little bit curious now.

"Unfortunately, Lady Rebecca, this particular bird is best kept as a companion than let to freely fly about the wilds of the world," Anathema says to Rebecca even as she offers the organic-looking cage crafted from wild branches to Nedra. "She will not be able to recognize a dangerous situation when she sees it. I have every faith that Lady Nedra will see that she is looked after properly." Nedra is given a confident smile before she turns her attention back to her niece, but pauses to regard Lothar with a smile. "Do not let my Balerion hear you offering to dote on songbirds, or he may try to start to sing to get attention." Now she looks back to Rebecca. "I will be sure to send your regards to Lord Stafford, of course."

"Perhaps she tires of her beautiful little arbour," Lady Rebecca speculates, her voice syrupy with melancholy insinuation. "In her heart, perhaps she longs to ride the winds, and even would fain seek the firm embrace of some handsome hawk of prey…"

Apparently half absent-mindedly (though the groom Lovel, who knows her patterns well, is gnashing his teeth again), she has extended a lissom arm in the general direction of Lothar's chin, adorned with a young man's downy beard; for an awful moment it seems as if she might even touch it; then on a sudden, her left arm lolls innocently back beside her emerald side.

"Of course he draws pictures," she teases to Ser Martyn of Lord Lothar, "you can see it, in those dreamer's eyes. Each bespeaks precious, precious talent. Talent that cannot," she concludes cheerfully, "know confinement."

Lothar chuckles and nods towards Martyn, "I enjoy drawing, I'm not a great artist but I make decent enough charcoal pictures." He smiles and nods to Lady Anathema, "If he can sing as well as a songbird I'm sure I'd love to listen to him. If not I'd of course humor his song and give him his favorite treats…" And then blink blink blink at Rebecca, "M'lady there's plenty of talent in me but I'm not sure it's the artistic type?"

"Ladies," Anais greets as she reaches the group, dipping her chin politely and slipping gracefully down from her mount. "I hope the day finds you all well?" She arches a brow slightly at Lothar with Rebecca's praise, then levels a steady gaze on the older woman. "And you must be Lady Rebecca," she greets, smile tightening.

Nedra tugs her attention way from the Lady Anathema and Rebecca upon spotting Lady Anais and sending a warm smile of welcome to the Lady of the Roost, "Good day to you, Lady Anais," she calls with a wave of one hand before giving another curtsy to accompany her greeting. "How ever do you get any bird to hold still long enough to work any of the smaller details into any sketch?" she wonders in a quieter voice to Lord Lothar before she instinctively accepts the offered cage that the finch is housed within. "I promise to take good care of it, my lady," she says while lifting the cage slightly to glance through the wicker frame at the small bird, another soft smile tugging at her lips, even as she sends another glance toward the Lady Rebecca.

Martyn is unable to hold back a bit of a smile at Rebecca's words, before he nods a bit at Lothar. "It's always good to have something you enjoy to do, so you can take a break from all other kinds of worries, after all." Spoken like a man with a lot of those worries, it would seem. Turning to offer a smile and a nod at Anais. "Lady Anais. I hope your day finds you well?"

Anathema elevates a dark brow at Rebecca's insipid words. Again, she has become as dry and chilled as the Northern snows, though perhaps somewhere in the depth of all that life-choking cold is a seed of admiration. She casts a smile toward Nedra before she places a hand gently on the girl's hand. "It was good speaking with you, sweet girl." She starts to stand, that leaf-colored dress falling around her in a warm embrace. "Lady Rebecca, perhaps we will speak again before I am to leave for home. Perhaps we can enjoy a cup of tea. Some of your… cousins are about. I will let them know that you are about." She nods her head gently to Anais as she approaches. "Young Lady Terrick, good to see you again. I'm just off to see where my sons have disappeared to." She bows her head

"My lady!" Rebecca is already busying herself with breathing - and, let there be no mistake, she's wasting no more time on that dour-frowned schemer of an 'aunt', but addressing the Lady of the Roost now, to whom she expatiates a curtsey that's halfway to a bow. "The ways of the Crone have too long debarred me from greeting my kind and fair hostess. How fare your gallant kinsmen in the West?", she enquires with opalescent concern. "I recall you have a brother by blood, as well as by the gods' decree, called Justin, now some years a knight? Did he fare as well as the heralds hoped, at Lord Farman's second daughter's marriage tourney?"

A few horsemen arrive into the courtyard, iron shod hooves sounding on the paving stones. Leading them is Justin wearing his maile and plate, his pale grey's nostrels blowing from the stretching out for the last distance. The horses are pulled up well clear of the others and the riders dismount. Justin allows a groom to take his horse's reins, "Walk him out to cool him down well. I'll be back out later to feel his legs." He's starting to get used to letting others tend to his horse though he's still careful to double check how the animal is being handled.
His helm off, his dark hair wind tossled, Justin turns his grey eyes upon the others as he strips his gloves off and starts to head towards the tower. The groom will see that his helm, crossbow and saddle bags are sent in.

"Thank you, my lady, both for the finch and for your kind words," Nedra says with a smile in return to Lady Anathema, taking a seat again beside her Septa, holding the natural-looking cage containing the Finch in her hands as she does so. Of course, she takes a seat just at Lord Justin arrives, so now she rises to her feet, again, this time to prepare to greet Lord Justin properly should he decide to join the gathering of Nayland, Terrick and Mallister men and women currently engaged in conversation in the courtyard.

"My lady!" Rebecca is already busying herself with breathing - and, let there be no mistake, she's wasting no more time on that chilblain-addled schemer of an 'aunt', but addressing the Lady of the Roost now, to whom she expatiates a curtsey that's halfway to a bow. "The ways of the Crone have too long debarred me from greeting my kind and fair hostess. How fare your gallant kinsmen in the West?", she enquires with opalescent concern. "Is the Young Lord Quentyn of the Banefort in good health? Did he fare as well as the heralds hoped, at Lord Farman's second daughter's marriage tourney?"

"Quentyn attends tournaments to have his name heard more than to win them," Anais answers Rebecca with a faint smile, slipping gracefully down from her mount and passing the reins to one of her guards. "But he is well, thank you. I hope you'll forgive me, Lady Rebecca, but is it the ways of the Crone that require you to offer injury to guests and messengers within my keep?" she asks in honeyed tones. "Because if so, then I think this is perhaps no place for the Crone. The sept might suit better." She manages a faint nod to the others, but is, for the moment, all business.

Anathema is a bit taken aback by her niece's exclaimation, and she regards her with those dark eyes questioningly. For another time, it seems. Now she shakes her head and bows a nod to those present before she starts to step away. As she does, her gaze does fall on Justin even as he tosses his hair. Ah, to have a man with hair again. Poor Ser Tyroan was already starting to bald by the time they exchanged marriage vows. Alas. The lady starts back toward the Tower with a flourish of her skirts.

Aeliana sweeps out from the keep; a tall woman adorned in a flouncing gown of golden hues, with a high waist, accented about the hem with bits of holly. It's as whimsical as her hair; a wild fey mess shot through with ribbons of green. A fan is clutched between her fingers, while the girl seems to be in quiet speculation with her handmaid, who is still going on about the suggestion that the Lady Nayland may in fact, be a witch. "And she turns…she turns, milady, you really ought to. Oh I just…There she is!" At which point Rayleen nearly turned her ankle trying to put herself on Aeliana's ohter side and as far from the approaching Anathema as possible. "My Lady," Ae greeted with a smile, humor in her eyes as she looked on towards the cluster.

Anathema cannot help but smile at Rayleen with a kind of lingering glance. Wherever Miss Mara has gone, if she's not the finch that has just been given to Lady Nedra, she at least is providing quite an interesting continuation of the Nayland witch's reputation. She bows her head, pausing just once to speak with Aeliana. "Lady Aeliana, paths crossed so fatefully. I sent a letter to my husband suggesting that my next destination be Highfield, but before I depart that way, I wonder if you would join me for a bit of tea. Tomorrow perhaps?"

Justin gives Anathema a polite inclination of his head when she looked his way, tucking his gloves into his belt. He notes Anais speaking in 'that' voice with the lady Rebecca and takes up a position near to his goodsister to observe, though he's not saying anything. His gaze slips past them to watching the lady Aeliana briefly.

Martyn keeps quiet for the moment, just listening to all the conversation now. Expression turning a bit thoughtful as he seems to be lost in thought for the moment, shrugging a little to himself now.

Rayleen, will not, no matter what, meet Anathema's eyes. Not at all. She is content trying to fit her robust frame within the depths of Aeliana's long shadow. It becomes a pinch harder, when she offers courtsey in turn; to the Lady. "It should be my pleasure to join you, Lady Anathema, I was actually hoping for such a thing myself. Tomorrow would be perfect. Shall we say…brunch?" Inquired; though when Justin's gaze settles on her Aeliana dips a low bow of her head for him as well, a smile flirting at the corners of her lips. But only a moment, ere her attention returns to Anathema.

"Brunch would be lovely, my Lady. I will see to it's arrangements," the older of the Lady's provides with a gentle bow of her head. "Tomorrow, then." And now the Nayland witch turns to her original path to check in with her sons and all that business.

Rebecca's irises manage against the odds to enlarge at Lady Anais's mild irreverence, but she bows her head as humbly as if before the High Septon himself, and, in a frame of mind apparently wholly distinct from her duelling with her good-aunt, appears tangibly humbled. "My lady, I was guilty of taking a name of one of the Seven in vain - in itself, a sin deserving of grave penance, quite apart from my insult to yourself and yours. I have spoken with your good-brother on this matter, and…forgive me, a rehearsal of what I feel at heart…"

As her pallor intensifies, she turns for assistance not to Lord Lothar, not to the eager groom, but to the long-ignored Septa, who lets her lean upon her with cosily maternal, or perhaps senile, indifference.

"Since Ser Justin is now at hand, I will allow you both to speak of me what you will, when you will…he knows what I have hoped, and what I have promised, my lady. I must hie back to my …nay, of course, to your bed, or else again weary your healers."
This rambling retreat of a speech once guttered out, the all-too-visibly ailing Lady is hustled off - well-attended, including by that Terrick guard.