|My Second Son|
|Summary:||Anathema and Aeron talk, and there are sparks.|
|Date:||23 September 2012|
|Chamber Corridor, Tordane Tower|
|This straight corridor terminates with a narrow archery slit and two doors to each wall divide the four rooms within the circular tower. The ceiling is higher here to allow for the burning torches that sit between the doors on either side. A rug, threadbare and worn in rich greens runs down the length of the wood flooring.|
|September 23, 289|
As it's been stated in the past, Aeron doesn't like to just stand or sit around twidling his thumbs. He needs to be doing something, need to be active. Being inactive is like nails on a chaulkboard to him. While at first he was in the process of coordinating the moving out of old clothing, furniture, and other items in his cousin's wake, he decided that just giving insstructions just wasn't enough. So, at the moment, he's in the process of helping a retainer move a rather large armoir. "No…you need to go at an angle. Now…" he grunts, pausing. "Tip it towards me…I got it. Not…wait.." he glances behind him to make sure he isn't backed up against the wall. "Alright, keep going."
Whispers of weathered, softened boots softly announces the arrival of Anathema Nayland to this rather active corridor. She is being followed after by her terribly young maidservant, and Mara is the kind of youth that turns the woods-witch to irritation. A gown of midnight blue embraces her curvaceous figure, with sleeves belling so wide they are almost the same length as her skirts. A belt of Nayland green is worn at her hips, but that is the only flare of color. Perched on her shoulder, nestled up against her head is the smallish Raven with the gimp wing; Balerion caws softly at the noise down the hall, and Ana raises her hand to sooth his feathers softly. "Shh, we are quiet in these halls," she murmurs to the bird as she starts toward her son and the retainer. "What is this?" She asks as she nears.
"You got it? Tell me you got it." Aeron takes the full weight of the wooden armoir, pulling it out in the hall. "Now…just…" it seems a bit heavy, given the strain in his voice. Being set on the ground with a slight reverberation in the floor, he turns to face Anathema. "Mother. Was just," he tilts his head back toward the rectangular wooden object behind him. "clearing out the room that I had picked out for myself. I'd rather not have someone else's furniture in my room. And…well, I prefer my own things than someone else's hand-me-downs."
Anathema crosses her arms at her chest, a sombrous brow arching almost dubiously at her son's words. "And you found yourself idle and disengaged, so you decided to take it upon yourself to clear out—" And she takes a moment to determine whose room this once belonged to. "Your cousin Roslyn's room." There is a touch of amusement in her contralto tone. She sweeps her hand back against the Raven's black feet, drawing the bird onto the flat of her long fingers. She clucks her tongue gently at the old bird before giving it a soft toss toward the armoir. With his gimped wing, he can just flutter up to the top of the armoir, though it's obvious he cannot fly much further than that. Balerion clicks his claws against the wood.
"Was it her's?" Aeron looks back into the room, then shrugging. "If she's going to be staying with the Groves like I've heard, then someone sooner or later will come to retreive her things. I'm just giving them a head start on the matter. If she was smart, she would've taken it all with her beyond personal effects and clothing." He shrugs at this, watching as the bird flutters up to the top of armoir. "Hello, Bale." he states to the raven. At that, he looks helplessly at Ana. "I find myself idle constantly here, mother. I don't remember the Riverlands being so soft."
"It doesn't matter, though we should cleanse it before you get too comfortable," Ana says, calling back to those wildling roots. Her nose wrinkles just a touch, as if expression a sudden hint of disdain. Rickart's daughters, so reckless. Now she breathes out a steady sigh, drawing one arm across her torso while the other rests it's fingertips against her lip. "You have only been here for a week or so, Aeron… and there will be time for us to settle into the new duties and requirements of our family. Do not become impatient, or you will drive yourself to madness."
"Requirements for you, father, and Ren, perhaps." Aeron replies. "A good deal of attention is going to be shown onto the three of you, though I suspect more you and father. Ren is heir and I'm the 'spare', it's something I've came to terms with years ago. All for the better, Ren always enjoyed being popular much more than myself." No bitterness in his soft-spoken voice, just rather plain. "And I'm sure that father," he pauses to open the armoir to make sure that is indeed empty of things, "would prefer that I stay out of major happenings. You all have my support in whatever the family does." Closing the small doors, he chuckles. "Oh, I'm sure most here already think me mad."
"Aeron," Anathema says, her voice gaining a particular edge. "You are part of this family to. You are Lord Aeron Nayland. That holds something here." With a steady breath through her nose, she draws herself a bit taller; her fingers cross together. "Second sons have power just a first sons do, it is just that theirs comes differently. "I do not care what your father prefers, I do not even care what you prefer." She releases a soft sigh now, glancing up toward Balerion as the crippled raven pecks at a bit of the wood. "You're right that your father will not just up and hand you something to do. Go ask for it, Aeron. Make him see that you are his son as much as Renholdt is."
"I never asked for him or you or anyone to hand me anything. If there was anything that you or grandmother or the North taught is that you have to work for anything that you want." Aeron replies, bristling slightly. "There is no jealousy for Ren. He can have all the glory he likes. It was never anything I craved. Everything that I craved I had. A life, a home, a wife, and respect among my peers. And I had made it all happen with my two hands. I worked everyday for it." And Ana gets to see just the pool of anger that just simmers below the calm and collected surface. "And all of it was ripped away from me. It was nothing that any of you or I did. There is no fault to mede out. I may be apart of this family, but I certainly feel like a damn outside." he states, words heated. "That as well was no one's fault." tone softening back it's usual steadiness. "Besides my own. I stayed away because I was happy and I had no reason to leave. I will simply have to duplicate it here. But I take no joy in doing so."
Anathema watches as her son threatens to boil over, but the Northern woman has reverted to a stony stoicism. Her arms cross at her chest, her chin slightly elevated as she listens to her son's words. She allows him to finish without a single interruption, but once he has started to reach a simmer, she nods her head sharply. "We are creatures carved from the same block of stone, Aeron. I have told you this before, but I say it again… it took me years to come to terms with my fate as your father's wife. I hated, loathed, despised being forsaken to that wretched swamp. There is a reason it took time for us to even produce an heir. But, you do not have the graces from the Gods that I was given. No one cared about our marital problems, the fruitlessness of our bed… but here, we are under the most polished myrish lens. The entire Cape will wait to see if your father's mother breeds sons that are set to embarrass this House. I intend to prove to them that Tyroan was always the better son." Her lips tighten a touch, before she sighs and steps forward to touch his shoulder. "You are only half a Northern… your other half is a Riverlander.
"I have no intention of making this family look anything like our cousins. I know that father can do a better job than Rickhart, it's just the matter of getting the chance to prove it." Aeron still somewhat hotly says. "If I had any indication that my presence or any of my actions would be a liability, I would take the first coach north. It's easier for me to watch. I have always watched." A frustrated snort escapes him, looking away at the wall next to him. "Just to let it all ago, for my own sake. If anyone else heard me talking like this, I'd lose whatever meager trust or respect I've managed to gather since arriving."
"I will not see you retreat back into the North," Anathema says sternly. "Your duty is here now." She sighs again, raising a hand to her brow as if to rub at a headache that threatens. "We are both tired," she says, though it may not be true. "I leave for the Terrick's Roost in the upcoming days. I would like to have you and Renholdt join me while you father tends to business here. You may be content watching, but we both know it contradicts your dissatisfaction in… twiddling your thumbs." She frowns. "Please, Aeron… it took the death of Falliah to bring you home. I do not know what it would take to bring you back again if you left now."
"I said 'if', mother." Aeron states. "I'm not leaving because I'm scared or because I don't like it here or any other number of infantile reasons." The young man looks almost like a caged wolf, pent up anger with no real way to direct it anywhere but inward. Trapped in a gilded cage. "It might sound contradictory, but I was always doing something, even if I said little." He narrows his eyes. "It's hard to explain." He nods. "You know I'll go with you to the Roost if you ask it. Which you just did. So I will go. And I will stay. But -only- because you wish it of. You are the tether that keeps me here, mother. I respect, honor, and cherish my house, I always have, and I always will. But I have never felt apart of it."
Anathema bows her head gently at her son's words. Her ear tilts to the right again, listening to the Gods as that gesture always means. She steps toward him after they had their say, and she reaches to touch his cheek. "Go to the floodfields. You will find peace there, my son. So say the Gods." She offers him a soft smile, a private smile. "You will find purpose here, Aeron. I promise." She then clicks her tongue up to Balerion, who flutters down clusmily onto her closed fist. His feathers ruffle up, wings flexing despite one being broken. "We will head to the Roost before the week's end."
Aeron nods on both counts. "I will, mother." he replies, voice a bit strained, but refusing to let it be so obvious. "And I'll be ready to depart whenever you are ready." Stranger in a stranger land, on the outside looking in, doesn't matter what you call it, it's still the same thing. At least, that's what the northern ranger thinks. Looking at the armoir, and then at the partically empty room that's to be his, he draws himself up. "I need to get this down the hall and new mattress put into the bedframe before I rest for the evening. But I won't keep you." Leaning over, he places a kiss on her cheek. "Good evening, mother. Bale." Then he passes by into his room. At least start to get organized.