|Ladyful Lovely Locks|
|Summary:||It's a Stonebridge Slumber Party! There's braiding hair and talking about BOYS.|
|Related Logs:||The Council of Captains|
|The Lord and Lady's Chamber — Tordane Tower|
|The door opens to show the bed to the left, further from the entrance and the foot settled with a heavy locked chest with a few woven blankets draped over it. The carved posters of the bed hold wrappings of green cloth held by golden tassels, a heavy woolen blanket settled atop the stuffed mattress. On either side of the bed are removeable steps. A thick circular rug has faded over time and with foot traffic and takes up most of the wooden floor. A hearth at the corner of the room directly inward from the door is soot covered and crackling with embers. A heavy oak chest of drawers is fitted into a corner to hold the clothes and blankets of the Lord and Lady. Two chairs are set near the slitted double windows between the hearth and bed.|
|Tue Jan 03, 289|
The meeting of the commanders and lords was one of interest to the Lady of Stonebridge. When it had dispersed, Isolde made her way back with her cousin to take their tea in the room now filled with the presence of the visiting ladies. Pulling free the coil of her short cloak, the lady sighs and lets the store stand ajar as she runs fingers up into the thick curls of her hair. The circlet is taken off next and set aside with a faint smile to her companion. "Tea is going to be brought up, time to get comfortable, dear Iggie.." she says, though a tired expression still on her face.
Igara pulls her veil behind her headpiece, and then bends her head forward, reaching behind her and twisting her head to the side, grimacing as she tries to unpin her headpiece. "Oh, Issie, gentle cous, a hand, please, if you've one to spare?" She presses her lips together. "We are pushing west," she reiterates. "In that case, we will be able to fall back if pushed, and still provide a barrier between the Ironers and the Bridge." At long last she addresses Isolde's earlier fretfulness.
"I don't like the idea of marching to Seagard, but I suppose something must be done.." Isolde is moving to offer a hand to Igara. She leans over and inclips a few hair pins and grasps the headpiece. She lets it rest in her hand and than steps back, moving to set it atop one of the trunks. "There, is that better?" she asks, offering a glance over her shoulder towards the Frey lady.
Upon the arrival of the ladies, Danae closes the book she was reading and regards them with unveiled curiosity to hear the results of the meeting. "To the Roost then?" She wonders softly.
There is a soft knock on the door, and the Lady Emylie pokes her head around it's edge, "I hope I am not intruding, but I am not yet ready to sleep. The excitement of seeing those from my home has made it nere impossible." The young woman bites her lower lip, "May I come in?"
"Ah," Igara makes a little sound as her scalp feels somewhat bruised from her hair being pulled and pinned up underneath the headpiece. But she sighs in relief and lifts her hands to her short, wavy brown locks, getting them to sit in an effigy of order. "Much better, thank you," she smiles to her cousin, then, eyes distracted by Danae and her book. "Yes," she replies. "That is the general consensus." She looks toward the door and the head therefrom produced, but does not take the initiative to offer an invitation, being but recently returned to these lands.
"Really, you should wear something smaller. I will speak to Senna about arranging something else that is veiled…" Isolde tsks a little and than turns to look to Danae. "Oh Lady Danae…" her tone remains rather warm. "Lady Danae, this is my cousin, Lady Igara Frey. The Lady Danae is visiting from the Crag, the daughter of Lord Westerling." She intones and dips her head to her before she looks to Emylie. "Please, please come in." She motions to her and is soon again rubbing at her own temples where the circle has left an imprint. "And this, this is Lady Emylie Erenford. Her relatives have just arrived to aid in the campaign. Lady Emylie, Lady Igara Frey."
The young Lady from Erenford enters the room with a soft closing of the door, turning to offer a slight curtsy in mutual respect to the women present. It would appear she has already made herself a bit more comfortable, a much plainer and looser fitting dress, her feet bare and her hair pulled back into a loose fitting pony-tail, "It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Igara." Her eyes drift to Danae, "Lady Danae." She pads her way further into the room and exhales slowly, "It would appear they made a decision…I pray for their success."
"My apologies, I meant no surprise. I came to collect this and got caught up in it," Danae says with a soft smile, looking from Isolde to the newly introduced Frey. She holds her book up in one hand with a sort of — got wrapped up in this expression— setting it aside as she rises. "Lady Frey, it is my pleasure." The Westerling lady rises only to dip in an appropriate curtsey, smile congenial and easy. "And Lady Erenford."
"My hair may not be comely as yours is, sweet cous," Igara retorts with a smile slow-spreading and assured. "But it is still no call for me to allow it to be put on display when there are gentlemen present," she points out. She dips into a girlish curtsey to the other Ladies. "Lady Emylie, Lady Danae. My cousin has spoken of your good qualities to me," she tells them. "It is good to meet both of you."
The four in the room consist of Emylie, Danae with her book and just risen, as well as Igara and Isolde who have arrived back and undone their hair now that they are no longer in the presence of the men. "Comely…I just have too much of it to fit into anything. I was considering cutting it shorter…" She moves her hand through the hair that has been allowed to curl while drying. There is a faint laugh. "I think I may need to tell Milicent to bring more tea. And food as well. I shall have more seats and cushions brought in so that we may all get to know one another better." The lady insists.
There comes a faint knock on the door, as though given with an elbow and not a fist. Outside, Lucienne waits patiently for an answer, a tray held in both of her hands with a silver cloche on top.
"Oh, hello Lady Lucienne!" Lorna is just coming up to the door herself, her hair in long braids. Fortunately, the dog is nowhere to be scene, and Lorna is actually dressed like a lady, albeit a relaxed one. No looking like an adventuress out to run off to the greenwood this time!
Emylie makes her way to the hearth, extending her hands to the small flame that still crackles within, she seems somewhat lost in thought as she looks into the fire, turning her head slowly to the new arrivals and inclines her head politely, "Lady Lorna." She curls her bare toes into the rug a bit absent-mindedly.
"That sounds delighftul, Lady Isold—" Danae begins, before pausing to look towards the door with an arched brow. "Goodness."
"Oh, you must not, Issie," Igara sounds almost mournful at the thought of the locks getting cut. "But— as you will," she finally allows that Isolde certainly has discretion over her own hairstyle, beginning to remove her gloves in order to make herself more comfortable indoors. "Lady Emylie," she begins again. "Surely you must have a pair of slippers—" she sounds more worried than disgruntled, but she has definitely noticed the bare toes on the floor. "Shall I see who is at the door, cous?"
"It was just a consideration…" Isolde says to Igara. "I would not cut my hair.." she promises and than looks to the door. "Oh please..yes." She says and as it edges open a little, she tilts her head to see. "Goodness indeed, I shall have to definitely fetc thick cushions so that we may all gather by the fire…" She is looking to the other ladies, a warm smile to her lips and she waits for the others to enter as she moves over to take up a thick, medium sized tome and carries it closer to Danae. "This, Lady Danae, is the book the septon made for me when he went north..it has samples, drawings and explanations of their herbs that they have we do not." She instructs.
"Lady Lorna," greets the Terrick girl with a pleased smile, bobbing into a short curtsy. "How lovely to see you again. Is your dear Stormer not with you, today?" Lucienne peers politely about, neck stiff as her eyes move, to try and place the absent pup.
"I would generally have her with me if I could, but not everyone is comfortable with canines in the bower." Lorna admits sheepishly, dippig a curtsey to the collective and then noting brightly, "Ah, Igara! So glad to see you, cousin." She looks about to see how comfortable everyone is - sitting on pillows, chairs, rugs, the bed? "Everyone looks so relaxed, I hope it's no trouble if I join." She reaches for the ties of her own braids.
Danae's own book is set aside for the moment, allowing her to move closer to Isolde and curiously peer at the book. "That is most remarkable, Lady Isolde," she murmurs, reaching out so that she might inspect the book more closely. A playful smile curles her lips, blue eyes bright with delight for the knowledge it contains. "You realize, my lady, that between the two of us we may have quite an index of the flora of North, West and Riverlands."
Igara opens the door, peeking timidly out, then, brows rising, "Cousin Lorna," she remarks, voice mild but registering a polite surprise before her eyes turn to Lucienne and rather freeze in place as if having seem a ghost. "Heavens! Lady Luci," she remarks. "Come in, do both of you come in," she's not shy issuing an invitation, by now, it seems.
Emylie offers a polite smile to Igara, tilting her head to the side to address her in a soft tone, "I do have slippers Lady Igara. However, I must admit they remain packed away. I have always been this way since a child. Any chance I get to be of barefoot I take. Perhaps it was from the days of running the river's edge. " She smiles as she sees the new arrivals, adding, "Good Evening."
Laughing lightly, Isolde nods her head. "It would appear that way, Danae. Come since we are having so many, we all know we are ladies, call me Isolde." She offers to the Westerling. "If there is time, I shall see if Josse is able to come visit and meet with you. His knowledge of herbs is qute amazing and he is good company….as the Lady Lucienne knows as well. Luci.." She greets warmly and than grins at Lorna. "Lorna.." It seems all know each other now and she is rather grateful. "All are quite welcome and ..it seems that Luci has had some foresight to bring a tray."
"Sweet Cuz." Lorna says with a flash of a smile, "I'm now one of Lady Isolde's ladies-in-waiting as well." As she moves to sit down, she notes in a conspiratorial whisper, "Father didn't know what to do with me."
"Ah," says Luci, with a gentle nod to acknowledge Lorna's answer. "I see — Lady Iggie! Oh, how wonderful to see you again. Here, look, I brought sugar cookies." The Terrick girl follows the others in, eyes widening a little at the number gathered. "My goodness," says she, "What an assembly. Good day, ladies, I hope there's enough…" Her eyes drop to the cloche. "Cookies."
"Oh, very well then, Isolde," Danae agrees with small laugh and a hint of colour to her cheeks. "While that would be a delight…I should not want to put the Septon to any inconveince, we shall see." As the new ladies enter she flashes them a mild smile, dipping her head in greeting. "Good evening."
"I'm sure you do our cousin well, Lorna," Igara smiles meekly. "I have been laying in ill in the Mire some time now, and have been terribly derelict in my duties to our sweet Issie." She looks to Emylie, eyes flitting down to the woman's toes again. "I wish I had the constitution for such adventure. If I go without my slippers, I catch frightful chill," she explains her attachment to footwear. "Come and sit, Luci. I can hardly imagine what it is you've suffered in all of this." She goes so far as to move to embrace the woman.
"Cookies…oh my.." Isolde starts and than considers. "Let me send for Milicent to bring refreshments…." Though as if on time the trundling older servant is coming in with another holding the door with her own tray. She pauses and looks about. "Me…Asha, go get more now. Bring up more fruits and bread." She is red in the face from the stairs and a day at the kitchens. "My ladies.." She says cheerfully enough as she sets the tray down on the table. The gathering of all the ladies is something that causes Isolde to take a moment to step back and survey. "Men can have their maps and war plans, we shall have our tea and comfortable conversation. I am glad all of you are here safely."
"Septon Josse, yes, my lady Danae - I can assure you, he's lovely company. I highly doubt he'd view any conversation as an inconvenience," she says, a little softer, as though calling the Septon a chatterbox is something scandalous… well. Maybe it is. In another instance, her hand might've darted up to cover an embarrassed smirk, but with both hads occupied by the tray, it's all she can do to keep the press of her lips thin. She finds the nearest spot to set it down that she might return Igara's embrace, a deep breath drawn for the other lady's words. "Oh," is all she can manage in reply for a moment. Then: "Oh, well. I've been trying to keep busy."
"Are you cold? I could rub your feet." Lorna offers to Igara, her expression one of grave concern. "No catching a chill, alright?" She moves to sit down with the collective, her hair starting to flow in a dark sheen that hints of auburn. No, she isn't actually the Tully postman's daughter. Promise!
"You may feel free to call me Danae, lady Lucienne," Danae returns light, smiling at the Terrick woman. "I meant more the travel…unless he is in Stonebridge," she clarifies, not directly referring to the present situation. She smiles as LUCIENNE slips away to embrace Igara, moving closer to the group as she idly browses through the book.
Igara pulls her lips thin and twists down their corners at that first momosyllable from Luci, and she's shaking her head even as she makes to reply. "Ah— I should not have said anything. I am sorry, Luci," she whispers before slipping away, lowering her eyes in shame at her faux pas, then lifting them to Lorna, "Oh— I am still shod," she twists a wretched smile out for her. "In any event, I was very well tended in the Mire, and I am feeling in the pink."
Lorna gets herself situated, once Igara affirms her state of health. "Excellent." she says, though she doesn't seem to have much else at the say right at this moment. Maybe all she has to talk about are dogs!
"Oh," says Luci again, this time a little guilty. "No, not at all, Iggie. I… I'm certain they're all just fine, there'd have been word if it were otherwise. I'm just being dramatic." Backing up that claim, she drops dramatically to a seat on the floor right where she is, picking at her skirts to settle them. "Well," she tells Danae with a look up in that direction, "I'd be honoured, Danae. And you can call me Luci. All of you."
"It is well that you are feeling at least a little better, then," Danae offers sympathetically to Igara, looking up from her book. It seems unlikely the moderate tome will leave her hands any time soon. "Has there been no new word, then?
"They hope that if they ride west they might confront the invading force piecemeal and take them by surprise, depleting their number in order to re-take the Roost… then muster any forces they may from there," Igara gives a brief synopsis of the plan, descending to her knees on the floor and then pushing her legs to her side, reclining on her elbow.
"I wish I knew more about such things." Lorna declares. "I have no idea if it's a wise plan or not, or why it would be or not."
"Other than the ride west, no," confirms Luci, reaching up to loose the clip that holds her braids back. "I do hope they've the strength to break them. I must admit, I'm no tactician either, Lorna. But I have faith that the men will know how best to use their strength."
"Is there no help coming from elsewhere? What of the Western fleet?" Danae wonders with a frown, joining the circle amidsts the heat of the fire. After a moment, she shakes her head with a sigh. "Nor am I. Faith is all that is available, faith and patience."
"I fear that the numbers are against us, if we rely only on the brute force of our gentlemen," Igara notes. "There is our forces' superior training to be taken into account, of course, but I fear that more drastic measures may be called for," she murmurs lowly, eyes hovering about Luci's hand as she undoes her braids. "Would you like me to brush out your hair, Luci?"
"Lord Rafferdy was due to meet with the King." Lorna volunteers. "If a raven has made it to him en route, perhaps we can expect help from the south."
"Surely the Western fleet will sail as they're able. And the King," There's the barest hint of derision in Lucienne's voice as she speaks that title, "Will muster his forces to our aid as he can. Their march will take time, though. As will the Lannisters - weeks, at best." Her clip undone, she smiles gently for Igara's offer. "That would be lovely, Iggie, if you would."
"Weeks…but surely they must come as they are able," Danae agrees with a soft breath, fingers tracing over the cover of the book she holds. "It is many marches for the King to come."
Igara pushes back to her knees, shuffling closer and standing tall on then, using her fingers, first, until someone can fetch her a brush, simply wheedling apart the braided locks, tender and cautious, making sure that nothing pulls. "They also have their own invasions against which they must defend."
Lorna makes a gesture toward Igara, an invitation to brush her hair. "That's true. But surely defense is of equal importance?"
"Iggie's right," supposes Lucienne, worry tugging at the corners of her mouth. "We should try not to worry ourselves so. We should have faith in our knights." She sits very still, to make the finger-combing of her hair easier for dear Igara. Something else seems to be troubling her, though, bringing a flush up in her cheeks all of a sudden.
Igara sees Lorna's gesture, and gives a slow nod of her head in assent, though Lorna will have to come settle herself at the back of this hair-brushing train. "Are you well, Luci? Your face seems heated." She lays some chilly knuckles on her cheek.
Danae grips the book in her lap all the tighter for that bit of news, paling slightly as she turns towards the fire. Blue eyes watch the flames flicker and dance for a long, silent moment, long fingers tracing patterns against its binding. "Indeed. There are many fine knights," she offers softly.
"She's thinking of someone." Lorna says with a grin, and moves to settle down behind Igara. Her hands move with practiced care to smooth out the locks. "And no doubt at this very moment he is sneezing and unsure why."
"Speaking of our knights," Lucienne ventures, partway a explanation for that heat in her cheeks. Lorna's got the measure of it, and that blush only deepens. "I thought I might give one a favor. Something proper to carry into battle, though the Seven only know what."
"Why not a favor?" Igara asks of Lucienne, resuming her slow draw of fingernails up through hair and to scalp, massaging gently. "I made one for the Lord Rowan, though I can't imagine he has ever worn it." There's a blade's width of bitterness in the words, almost invisible but keenly sharp. "They're not difficult to make upon the loom, I can show you how it's done."
"Something small and fond, to remind him of you," Danae suggests gently, looking back from the flames to Lucienne. "At least that is what the stories say," is her hurried finish. Ahem. If a flush rises to her cheeks, it must be simply for the heat of the flames and nothing else. "That is an excellent suggestion, lady Igara."
"I gave a knight a favor." Lorna admits, keeping her eyes on Igara's hair. "But it was…more for my own assurance
"He might think I'm silly," admits Lucienne shyly. "I'm not certain he's the kind to think of his lady during battle, or… even anytime, unless she's standing in front of him blocking the way." A touch of the tension drains from her shoulders, though, as the other girls share their opinions. "Surely he wears it in secret, Iggie. The Lord Rowan's not cold, not the one I know."
"It hardly matters," Igara lifts up the notion of indifference as if it were a shield. "The match is made, and whether he can get himself out of it is up to his own efforts." If the Lord Rowan is not cold, Igara's own once warm-fluttering affection seems to have grown decidedly chilled. "Ay, me. A hairbrushing always feels so nice. I fear I ought to go and lie down, and nap before supper."
"Who did you favor, my lady?" Danae wonders gently of Lorna, shooting the dark-haired maid a mild smile. "I cannot imagine that any man who you regard so favorably would find you silly, Luci. They do not tend to be as…expressive, generally." There is a flicker of a twist to her mouth as she considers her words, pehaps thinking of a knightly exception to the masculine rule.
Lorna notes to Luci, "A true knight will never mock a lady's favor. That's what I was told." She then looks to Danae and admits, "My lady's brother. But as said, more for my own comfort. It's a complicated thing."
"Ser Gedeon?" Lucienne seems happy to deflect some of the conversation onto Lorna's choice. "I'm not sure I understand, for your own comfort?" Before Igara can go, Luci catches her hand for a quick, reassuring squeeze. "Rest well, Iggie."
Lorna's answer earns her a somewhat flat look for a moment, until Lucienne supplies that it is /Ser Gedeon/ to whom she refers. Oh. Well, then. "Rest well, lady Igara," Danae choruses, looking to Igara as she rise to leave with a smile. "I am not sure that I understand, either."
"The first knight I ever gave a favor to was very happy to accept it, but he forgot it when he went about. He was killed, he didn't have it and he should have. Ser Gedeon is the first person I've ever sewn up as a healer, and it seemed…appropriate that he carry it. He'll be sure to come back." She then calls out, "Good eve, cuz!"
Lucienne's cheeks pink again, and her eyes blink open wide. "Lorna," she murmurs, "Just how many knights have you given favors? Did you explain this, to the Ser? Perhaps he thinks himself riding into battle for the love of Lady Lorna now!" Luci barely hides a girlish smirk behind her fingertips.
Lucienne's expression is mirrored on Danae's face, brows rising high aas she considers the other woman's words with a wince. "That would be most unfortunate if you did not regard him as such," she notes, gaze flicking towards Lucienne as the other presses her fingertips to her mouth. "I am certain that he shall try his best though."
"I am not ill-acquainted with the nature of favor, and I have only ever given it to the one who passed and to Ser Gedeon, who was advised that it was without obligation or inferral of anything inappropriate." Lorna says, giving the other two women the faintest of frowns. "He accepted it, and I do not think he presumed it to be anything other than what I told him. He seems a very sensible, level-headed man, not prone to fancy or presumption."
"Forgive me, Lorna, that was terribly rude of me," begs Luci, her hand falling from her lips to hover over her heart. "Here why don't I brush out your hair? I'm certain Ser Gedeon understood, as you say. Though, is he so terrible that you wouldn't have him carry your favor otherwise? All those Oldstones knights are renowned swordsmen. I hope the Lord Anton wears mine, though I have my doubts he will. I'm sure he'll tell me he will."
"If you were so clear with him as you were with us, then there is little to nothing to fear in the matter. My apologies as well," Danae offers, dipping her head in self-chastisement. Tipping her head, she sweeps her hair back over her shoulder as she looks to Lucienne with a faint widening of her eyes. "Are they all so talented? I have heard some tales of Ser Coope, even in the West, but that is most impressive. Ser Anton is the lord of the hold, is he not?"
Lorna reaches out to touch Luci's hand if she permits and assures, "No fear. And…why not? Well. I don't ''know'' him, you see. And have no idea if he wishes to no me. And men are not something I fret over too much. He is not terrible, I am certain, but neither does he seem to have affinity for me, and no time right now to see if he would. War is a far more important business, and who knows? I'm more like to end up a spinster." She grins at that, and then amiably turns s Luci can brush her hair.
"They call Ser Alek the Blacksword," Lucienne shares, along with a knowing smile toward Danae. "For he slew so many on the Trident that his steel was coated black with the blood." The lady affects a little shudder, and takes up a brush. She shuffles into position behind Lorna, feather-lightly lifting a lock of the other girl's hair in one hand to tangle in the claws of said brush. "Ser Anton is Lord of Oldstones, yes. His father won the lordship in that same battle."
"That is the story I have heard, yes," Danae says a touch dryly. Flushing slightly, she shakes her head as that knowing smile is cast in her direction, watching as the long strands of Lorna's hair are pulled through Lucienne's brush. "I did not know that Ser Anton's lordship was claimed the same way. It seems that many knights of the region won their titles at that battle, although not all." Her fingers slide across her book with a featherlight touch.
"I think it sounds quite glorious." Lorna says. Looks like a certain bit of Frey savagery still lingers in the genes.
Lucienne wrinkles her nose as she continues to brush, though not because of Lorna's lovely locks. "What a waste of men, these wars for the Throne. There are other stories about the Blacksword, too, though you won't hear them spoken by girls with a lady by their name." Scandalous stories, no doubt, but Luci refuses to blush at the mention of them. Her lips purse together, as though sealing themselves against the impropriety.
"The death of men is a pitible waste…yes. And — oh?" Danae's brows rise pointedly, although not perhaps quite in surprise, mouth flattening slightly. She very gently sets the book aside, taking one of Lucienne's cookies as a reason not to speak. It is a very delicious cookie.
"Oh, I'm sure they are. But not where those who might be quick to question whether they should be called Lady for the knowing of such stories can hear them." suggests Lorna slyly.
Lucienne tries so hard to suppress her smile that it looks almost a frown. "A lady can learn much from her handmaids, has she the inclination," she says, equally sly. She hooks up a lock from Lorna's brow with her pinky finger, running the brush through carefully. "Ser Alek's famous in many an establishment, apparently."
Danae nibbles delicately on the edge of her cookie, corners of her mouth quirking in amusement at Lucienne and Lorna's sly offerings. "Certainly, it is to be of one's great asserts to be so familiar with that inclination. Having made his aquaintance, I can only presume which establishments those might be."
"It's the nature of men. I don't think too much of it. Some are like hawks, and others like rabbits." Lorna smirks. "You can't change the nature of the animal."
"Hmmmm," is Luci's comment on that, something about the way she hums it suggesting she's not entirely sure she agrees. Nevertheless, the conversation continues at an easy pace, the other girls joining back in after a time, until the ladies break to ready themselves for supper.