|Summary:||After her riding injury, Isolde is returned to Tower Hill and Josse is found by Milicent to attend the Lady.|
|Related Logs:||A Day's Ride|
|Lady's Chamber - Tower Hall|
|A high headboard crowns the bed with carved flowers and vines at the top, a faded green velvet over blanket settled to decorate over the quilt beneath. A few pill pillows decorate the standard affair and a robe and dressing gown rest over the footboard. A chest is set at the side of the bed, open and showing a few personal items beneath folded blankets and robes. On the opposite side of the bed is the double slitted windows, a small table and chair set next to it with quill and scrolls rolled atop. Next to the chair and directly inward from the door is the hearth. Upon the mantle is strapped several dried bundles of lavender and rosemary that gives the room it's scent. An oval shaped rug of soft creams and greens decorates the main floor and the right wall holds the low chest of drawers.|
|Tue July 19, 288|
There are faint streaks of dirt and water on the floor, puddles made by the two soaked nobles who had returned from a very eventful day of riding in the flooded northern plains between the rivers. The first layer of riding dresses is thrown to a bundle, their soft grey color made darker by the water held within the threads. The chamber door is open and the Lady is rested in her bed, head cushioned and propped by the pillows stacked to brace against the headboard. Her hair is damp, drying some now as some pieces still cling to her skin.
Her head lifts a little and green eyes gaze downward to the exposed leg. Her underdress still wet clings to her form but the skirts have been lifted to show the gash in her skin. She grimaces and stays still, fingers flexing against the green cover of the bed she rests on. "Milicent will be here soon.." She breathes, placing her faith in the Tower's head cook.
Say what you want about Ryker, but the guy is a gentleman. For the most part. His clothes are ruined, the man standing on a towel lain out on the floor with muddy glods stuck to his clothes and mixed into his hair with bits of grass and other unidentifiable biologics. The man looks deeply concerned for her, eyes turned down to her leg. "Rest easy, Isolde," he quiets. "Everything will be fine."
Soon enough voices echo up through the stairwell, and the tramping of two sets of feet. One of those voices is quite definitely Millicent's and the other masculine. The former is the louder of the two, the latter busy making a repetitive, monosyllabic noise…is that "Ow"? Tromp, tromp, tromp, and Millicent comes breezing in the doorway with Josse in tow — literally, her thick fingers have got the young man by the shell of the ear to make him hastier up that long flight — a heavy pack on his pack bangs against his legs as he nearly stumbles into the room on Millicent's fretful physical insistence. His right eye has a pretty black and blue shiner on the outer part of the orbit (luckily it's old enough that Millicent couldn't be the cause). Regaining his balance with a slight lurch, he shoots Millicent a look over his shoulder and she starts out of the room again, calling back loudly. "I will get your things!"
Josse exhales loudly and clears his throat, having the grace to sound slightly embarassed as he lowers his head. "My Lord, my Lady."
The sound alone is a good replacement for the nerve wracking wait that she has fallen to. Isolde's gaze once troubled now rests on the open arch of the door as Josse is unceremoniously shown in, without introduction. Though he would need none in Tower Hall, not at least to the Lady. A faint smile touches her lips and she does her best to try to push herself up, lying back not the proper way to greet anyone. She hisses an the pillows shift behind her, bracing her back against the headboard. "Septon.." She says as warmly as she can muster. "It has been too long, I am sorry for the rough summons. I think Milicent was far more concerned than she had need to be."
Hearing the ensuing bluster from the stairs, Ryker steps back to more face the archway and watches the drag it with a lofted brow. "Remind me not to piss that woman off," he mutters to the woman on the bed. With the greeting to the Septon, the Young Lord dips his head. "Septon." He'll let them converse. She can explain it. He didn't beat her. Right? Right.
"There's no need for my Lady to apologize," Josse assures her as he jerks at the collar of his robe, correcting it from trying to strangle him. "Her worry's only fitting." He yanks the heavy burlap sack up by the strap and heads closer to Isolde's bed, talking in his soft-spoken voice all the while. "Good grace I was close by; you know, I was just bringing you some papers I recorded on this research we did on wound wrapping out by the water's edges. Perhaps my Lady was meant to be shown." His blue eyes jump to Isolde's and he smiles a little, then they flicker between Lord and Lady. "May I ask what happened?" In a tactful tone, this is asked. Ryker didn't beat her. Right? Right.
"I would much like to see them, in time. But first, to stop infection.." She says regarding the leg as her eyes lift to meet his. Isolde can not help but smile. "Septon, Josse…meet Lord Ryker Nayland.." She motions slightly towards the hovering man. But as the question comes of her wound, there is a faint coloring to her cheeks. "In my great skill of riding, I was not careful enough and the wet lands hid a hole my horse went down into. The horse rolled atop, which was not the problem.." She admits. "Dem stood and his hoof caught my shin." She explains. Ryker did not beat her. Right? Right.
Ryker steps back once more to let the Septon work, though he watches as the man does his business. He's not hovering.. yet. But at the introduction, Ryker dips his head. "A pleasure, Septon. Thank you for coming." The man falls quiet again as Izzy recounts the events in a summation. Nope, he'll let her tell it without his input.
Josse kneels down beside Isolde's leg as she talks, pulling his bag open. He doesn't seem to mind being watched, a small bound book of pages pulled out and set aside, and then his mortar and pestle. Millicent gifted him with a few cloths on his way up, which are promptly unfolded. "My Lord," he repeats to Ryker at the introduction, again with a politely deep bow of his head. Then his attention's all on Isolde's wound, one cloth gently cleaning the leaking blood away from the edges so he can see better. "First, to stop infection. Indeed, my lady…I would be grateful for some water." This aimed towards the door, louder than it has to be.
Millicent's voice shouts out faintly from the stairwell, sounding rushed. And possibly adding on soemthing about Josse's mother.
He glances back at Isolde and beams a smile. "Love that woman. Almost as glad she's still here as I am for you, Lady Isolde." A chuckle under his breath while he keeps cleaning as best he can without the water for now. "Was it a nice ride otherwise?"
The comfort and ease that Josse feels within Tower Hall puts Isolde's worries too rest. She watches him work, grimacing as he begins to clean at the blood and probably flood water that has found the wound. Swallowing, she tries to ignore the throbbing as she hesitates, considering her answer. "One could say so…" She starts and then continues to save herself, "It was rather muggy after the last couple days of rain.." She says softly and then her eyes flit up to look at Ryker, lingering a long moment before she returns to watching Josse - pointedly.
"Milicent has missed visitors, my Lady Mother and I have been traveling too often so she is left to be alone. I am sure she would ike to haveyou stop by and talk to her." SHe says gently and then catches her breath, exhaling slowly. Her leg actually jerks away faintly, a reaction as she catches her words.
Rykersee's that his wife-to-be is being tended to so he seems to relax somewhat. If he's faking the concern, its likely tough to tell. He turns and strips off the riding jacket and sets it on another towel, slopping the excess water from his arm onto it. He totally misses the look from Isolde while he untucks his shirt and picks out park of a broken bush from his trousers. He gives it a stern look before unbuttoning his shirt. "Is there anything I can do to help? I should I just keep out of the way?"
Josse pays no mind to looks going back and forth — or if he does, he's surreptitious about it. "She has a lovely voice. Has my Lady heard her sing?" He goes on, apparently less concerned with the actual answer as he is to continue keeping Isolde's attention on something other than her leg. "The last time I was here she sang a beautiful hymn to the Mother…absolutely stunning. Perhaps she would for you, but don't tell her I mentioned it." He gives Isolde the tiniest wink, not rakish in the least. As Millicent breezes back in the room with a large bowl of water, he directs her put it down next to his leg, and looks up at Ryker. "If my Lord wouldn't feel it too unseemly" he prefaces with the caution given to any nobleman he barely knows, "it would be very helpful to have a hand wringing these cloths as I cleanse her leg."
Milicent is a welcome distraction and the mention of her singing voice makes her smile. "I won't say a word.." Isolde promises, though the Lady knows her voice well. She is oft to sing while preparing the meals. The Lady grips at the coverlet, biting at her lip as the throbbing continues. The gash, though deep has missed bone and is clean for the most part.
The request of Ryker from the Septon lifts the Lady's chin to regard him. His answer is one of interest to her but she leans back, feeling sick from the heady pain that keeps spiking up her limb and into the base of her spine.
Ryker dips his head in deferrence to the Septon. "Not at all. If that is what is needed, so be it." He settles to his knees at the side of the bed beside the bowl of water and sits at the ready. "Just hand them off. There is no need to address me for it," he directs gently. Let the man work. Again, the man misses the look from Isolde, but what else is new? He's more concerned with wringing cloths when needed.
"Thank you, my Lord." Josse scoots over a bit on his knees to give Ryker room to sit, tossing the clean cloths into the water but for one. "Alright, my Lady. First, we're going to clean this wound all through and make sure there's nothing lingering inside. Then I'll put a power-paste on some dry cloth and wrap it, that will help keep infections out and should help the pain of your skin. After that we'll make you a tea if you like that help keep you calm while you rest. It isn't terribly deep; I think my Lady will be just fine. It won't take but a few minutes." A cloth, wet with warm water, brushes down Isolde's leg, dripping liquid against the bloody gash before the fabric itself dares to touch. "There we go…" His blue eyes flicker to Ryker, handing him the first bloody one to wash and wring. "You are of Hag's Mire, my Lord Nayland?"
As Ryker moves to kneel, Isolde's pain fogged gaze truly considers him. There is a moment she seems about to say something when Milicent harumphs, "Be going to get that water started for the tea." She eyes the two men and then the Lady. "Very well, Josse.." She says softly. She winces and grits her teeth as he starts to clean the wound, gasping. Her head bows and she sucks in deep breaths, focusing on small details to keep from recognizing all the pain that shudders up and through her spine from her nerves. For her part, she doesn't make any outward sounds, just faint ones that are muted by the press of her lips together.
Ryker watches the man work in silence, not saying a word about the bedside manner. Even if he were offended by something the man doesn't really seem the type to explode. He's just eerily calm about it despite the concern on his face when Isolde starts gasping at the pain. Taking the rag, though, he dips it beneath the water and wrings it as best he can to get the blood out. He doesn't even look up to the question. "I am. First son of Lord Nayland." And heir and Isolde's future husband. "I've been away for some time, though. Are you from the Riverlands, Septon?"
The future husband part, Josse may not be aware of. Who knows what gossip makes it to septs and what doesn't. "Yes, my Lord, Terrick's Roost. But I too have been away for some time…" His attention gets slightly distracted mid-sentence at Isolde's small sounds, but he calls no attention to them. With his fingertips he gently picks a tiny bit of sticking brush out of the wound, flicking it aside. The next rag he hands Ryker will run much cleaner. "I am glad to see my Lady so well accompanied." A slight bow of his head towards the nobleman. "Will you be competing in this tournament at the week's end?" As he talks his eyes divide their time between what he's doing, Ryker, and Isolde, keeping tabs on all three.
Nostrils flare as Isolde sucks down the pain and trembles a moment. She lets the pillows drains some of that tension away as she tries to rest back. The mention of Terrick's Roost receives no reaction from her, green eyes focusing on the pattern of the fabric in her hand. The coverlet is seized a moment when Josse presses back inward to clean out bits of vegetation and clots of dried blood. Her chest heaves a moment and her brows furrow, lines breaking against her skin as she wages war with her bodies default reactions.
"It is a good thing to have time away and see what lies beyond the fields. I hope your time was as well spent as my own." Ryker takes the next rag and once again wrings it to wash it out, careful not to slosh the contents of the pot around. He gives a warm smile as thansk to the Septon for his compliment. "I haven't decided yet. Without bragging, I'm quite good with bows. But I'd rather see others compete for glory. I know I can throw an arrow or bolt when needed. My interest is more in seeing what others can do." It sounds like he's leaning away from it. Though his attention drifts to Isolde again. "Are you alright, m'Lady?"
While the Lord has Lady distracted with a question, Josse tosses the last bloody cloth away and picks up a dry one, laying it down over the wound. He sits back on his heels, digging a small bag of…something…out of the burlap sack and sprinking a few cloves of it into the mortar and pestle. His blue eyes flicker to watch Isolde as he grinds them up. The powder sends a faint smell into the air like cold tea, dark and a little sweet.
Sighing delicately, Isolde manages a weary smile, tight and drawn. "I will be fine, just a little ..tender right now. Josse will see to it that I sleep well." The Lady manages to say, meeting the Septon's gaze with a warmer smile yet. "Won't you?" There is no question really, just a way to bolster her belief in his skills. "The tourney is soon and I would like to walk by then, seeing as we are hosting it." SHe smirks some and then it wears away, giving her attention to the grinding of the pestle, eyes distant.
The Young Lord continues doing as instructed, wringing cloths and handing them backor setting them aside. He's not above a servant's work, apparently. But by the way he handles the cloth, the man is obviously used to cleaning such items in water. Its a set of very practiced movements that seem ot have come back to him. His eyes lift to her last and he almost looks chiding.
"We'll not only have my Lady walking, but dancing the evening away if it pleases her." Josse smiles at Isolde and adds just enough water to the odd mixture to turn it into a mild paste, spreading it very thinly onto a dry cloth with the pestle. "I'm looking forward to it myself. It's been a few years since I was able to attend good sport. What is my Lady's favorite competition these days?" This paste side is laid face-down on the gash, the 'dressing' kept loose while he carefully binds it all together. A little nod of thanks to Ryker, the bloody stuff now done with.
As the paste is settled to the gash, she cringes and sucks in a breath. Isolde focuses on her breathing. "Archery, Josse…" SHe admits softly, "The other events are…entertaining but I worry." She says, "Far too many accidents and injuries in the others for just sporting fun." Her gaze dips down to the binding, watching it with care. "And yours? I find it odd you like such sport considering your gentle hand." Attempts at continuing converation so as not to move and ruin his work. Her fingers twine into the coverlet still, the appendage near the young lord shows her tension quite clearly.
Ser Ryker can't help but smile at the Septon's assurance of her well-being. "Thank the Seven," he breathes, obviously pleased. At the man's nod to the Young Lord, he settles back onto his boots and turns a bit more to face the Lady on the bed. But spotting the turn of her finger he sips his head and rises to step back and provide some distance. He'll watch from there.
"Well no, they don't have competitive writing. By grace, I suppose. Quill stabs are nasty." Josse ties the binding over uninjured skin and tugs her light sheet over top of her leg, settling back with a rag to clean the sweet-smelling paste off his hands. "I like the grand melee myself, m'Lady. I couldn't explain exactly why, it's something about all the…all the chaos at the start that just becomes thinner and thinner and sharper and sharper until this horde mess has become one…perfect…end." The septon's a storyteller at heart and one can see it when he gets into these modes, his hands illustrating as he talks. By the end there's just one slender index finger lofted, hard writer's callous on the side clearly visible. A shrug. "I think it's beautiful. And, I think now it's time for tea."
Her gaze averts for but a second as Ryker gives her more space. Isolde's pain subsides some as the leg is left to just be and go untouched after wrapping. She watches the gesticulated story that is writ in the air by the Septon. A soft smile slides to her lips, "You make it sound even more beautiful than I remember it being." She tells him. Still in some discomfort, the Lady manages to 0nly allow the pain to edge along her thoughts, "Thank you, for coming. Or should I say..letting Milicent handle you as she did." There is a sympathetic look from the Lady who's brows still remain furrowed.
Ryker chuckles at the idea of competitive writing and the associated hazards of such an activity. Hands fold behind his back while he listens on in silence. At least his clothing isn't dripping anymore. When Isolde finishes, the Young Lord speaks again. "Yes, thank you. Tell me what I owe you and so we may consider it paid?" Its a request, not a demand.
"Perhaps m'Lady will think of it if she watches the melee," Josse says, giving her a slight grin. It looks strange with his blacked and slightly swollen eye. "And tell me if thinking about it makes it real." He stands up, packing his things back into the back but for a little packet — presumably the tea for Millicent to make for Isolde. "My Lord, your generosity is heard but there is no need. If m'Lord wishes to make a donation to a sept in kind, that is all we ever wish to accept. You're more than welcome, and I hope m'lady will send a raven when she's ready to pore over her gift. It may take some time, and it can wait until you've rested."
A touch to her leg, the dress covering the thigh she seeks, Isolde looks to Ryker. Josse's refusal to be paid only serves to get a knowing smile. "I will see to it that a donation is made in the name of house Nayland, good Septon." She states, "For our patience. Please, speak to Milicent, I am sure some food is waiting below and you are welcome to it." She prompts him before her gaze lifts between them. "I will do my best also, to imagine your painting of the grand melee over the presentation as it is. But as for my gift…I would enjoy your company on the morrow, why not come for dinner. The gardens are beautiful this time of year and we can enjoy ourselves there."
Ryker nods to Josse, looking to Isolde and then back. "I regret that I do not have my silver with me for the moment. I intend to ride to Terrick's Roost tomorrow and I will stop in to leave it with you personally. There is no need for recognition. House Nayland is on your debt, Septon." The two are speaking again though so he quiets and looks down to his shirt to brush away some of the drying mud.
Josse takes a small breath as if about to protest, but…nobles are nobles. Instead he just makes a small bow of his head. "We are all in debt to god for the Seven's graces." Yeah, that'll do. "Thank you, m'Lord. And m'Lady, I would be honored. You'll love the readings, I promise, and I could tell you some stories…" Thankfully he's not launching into any right now. "I'll leave this tea with Millicent. It's enough to keep for a day or two, have it every six hours or so. God bless." He slings the heavy pack up onto his shoulder.
Watching Josse for a long moment, she smiles as he readies to go. "Thank you, Josse." She breathes and looks to the packet in his hand. "Milicent will have the tea up soon, I would think." Comments the Lady. Isolde lets the cushion of the pillows take her head and she moves her leg to allow for some more comfort along the line of her body. "I will look forward to your visit tomorrow." The smile that remains upon her lips reaches her eyes and she hesitates, waiting for the healer to leave before even attempting to move from the bed. Wet as she is, she is beginning to itch from the wet cloth clinging to her.
Ryker may not even be listening. He's still brushing mud onto the towel beneath him. He bigs the Septon a good day and looks to Isolde as she moves to stand. "I'll take your leave. Rest well, m'Lady. I'll be back later to see how you feel." A sworn appears in the doorway as it would appear that maybe the two betrothed might be left alone. Ryker stoops to take up the washbasin of bloody water and steps off towards the door with it and the rags contained within.
Changing a noblewoman's sheets and wet clothes while her fiance's here — well, Josse is going to leave that to Millicent. Duty done, the septon sweeps off with the soft flap of robes and quiet scritch of sandals down the staircase, off to find Millicent and probably be stuffed with a week's worth of food before he's let go.