|Patience, Humility, Obedience|
|Summary:||Lucienne and Evangeline share a carriage for a time on the trip to Riverrun.|
|Related Logs:||Riverrun logs, Anais logs, Jacsen logs, lots of logs!|
|On the way to Riverrun. It's a comfy carriage, as far as carriages go. It convey the Lady of the Roost, after all!|
|4 November, 288|
The road stretches on in front of them, though it can't be too much further to Riverrun; the little outlying patches of settlement that dot the path in to many a major centre are starting to join up. Tucked safely inside a carriage with her mother (even if she'd rather be riding her horse), Lucienne is valiantly attempting her needlework as they discuss several matters, quite honestly as ladies are able to do between themselves. The bumps caused by the large wooden wheels grinding over road debris make it somewhat difficult, and each stitch needs be planned extremely carefully before the needle presses through the fabric.
With others having abandoned the carriage for the freedom of horses the nearer they draw closer to Riverrun, it is a smaller blessing to be able to have more room to herself even if Evangeline is not currently sitting on a horse. She has needlework in her hands as well, sewing on seed pearls to a new dress for her lovely daughter to debut at the Lord Paramount's house. "Your brother needs more time to rest, is all I believe. With the new marriage and the duties his lord father is giving him, he seems rather fatigued to me," she remarks mildly into the conversation they are having.
It is more than the jostle of the carriage that causes Lucienne to nod her head; she looks up momentarily from her work, expression rather serious. "I agree," says the younger Terrick lady simply. "There is much put upon him at present, though I believe he prefers it to sitting idle. Perhaps when we return home, he might find some time for himself." If she sounds doubtful, it isn't without hope.
"He is married now, my dear. He will never have time to himself again," Evangeline murmurs, her words soft where she secures another pearl onto the square-cut collar of the gown. "Soon enough, it will be you, and you will realize how much work a marriage is."
Lucienne 'mm's faintly at that, something of disapproval hinting in the tone. She pluges her needle back into the fabric of whatever it is she's sewing - probably a shirt, perhaps for the brother whose wife won't oblige him with such - and tugs on the thread gently, her brows knit. "Is it really so awful, sweet lady mother? The general concensus from women who've done it seems to be such."
"Some are better suited for it. You, my dear heart, I have trained well for it and I believe you will adjust nicely. The Lady Anais is one of those who does not seem to adjust as well," is assured gently, fingers smooth as Evangeline pulls the length of thread straight despite the bumps of the road.
"Forgive me the complaint, mother, but she does not seem to adjust as well to many things," remarks Lucienne in a false idle tone as she plucks her needle back out the top of the garment. "As though the sum of Westeros should simply adjust to her. Should we?"
The steady, dark gaze does not give much away, even for her beloved daughter, but Evangeline seems to be thinking over that question with care before she answers, "The lady will learn to adjust or she will not, Lucienne. We must be patient with her, but firm."
Lucienne keeps her eyes very studiously fixed upon her needlework, a smile tugging faintly at the corners of her mouth for her mother's response. She diligently pricks the fabric until she pierces the correct little weave for her next stitch, drawing the needle through and pulling the thread taut. "Patient," repeats Evangeline's beloved daughter. "Patience, humility, obedience." Lessons from her youth, no doubt. "I will continue to practice those."
"If only the Lady Anais were as acquainted with them," comes closer to snark, though it is said mildly, as polite as such words can be said as Evangeline watches her daughter's stitches. She nods, approvingly.
Lucienne blinks most innocently up at her mother's mildly spoken wish, so much so that there must be more to the expression. "Oh, mother," she says sweetly, for there surely is. "But have you asked the Lady Anais? She tells me she has plenty of patience." Another stitch is cast, though in an effort to speed up the process, Lucienne neglacts to pull the thread as taut as she should.
Those sharp eyes of the Lady Terrick fail to miss much and it is more off-handed, brief that she warns, "You will need to restitch that. It is too loose." Her own fingers working without delay, she makes no such mistakes as she works dilligently at Lucienne's gown. "I have not, but I would not guess it. It seems she feels rather impatient with me, whenever I make any small suggestion to her on married life."
Lucienne looks back down to her work, a scowl crossing her features for her error, but not for the correction. "Thankyou," she tells her mother graciously as she starts to unpick, also allowing in a distracted voice, "The Lady Anais' idea of patience seems different to ours, doesn't it? I could hardly think she is unused to lady company, given her brood of sisters." Which brings Lucienne to another question, which she lifts her head to pose puzzledly. "Is it different, to have a sister, my mother dear?"
"Unfortunately, my heart, I know no better than you, in this at least. I do not imagine it is that different from having brothers, however," Evangeline answers with a small smile, pausing to study Lucienne thoughtfully at the younger lady's question. "I am sure it is much different than having a goodsister that you were not raised with."
Lucienne keeps her eyes upon her needlework, lest she botch the unpicking job too. Her needle retraces its path backwards easily enough, and she can begin to re-sew the stitches - this time, pulling that thread nice and tight. She affects a short sigh, and pines: "Some of our interactions make me yearn for the Lady Isolde in her place. But we must work with that which we are given, mustn't we mother? Terrick's Roost is bigger than Lady Anais."
Evangeline answers precisely, her tone polite where it takes on a hint of 'we are the bigger people, yes', "Again, we must be patient. We do not have Lady Isolde and in the end, perhaps it is for the best. Above all, we must try not to lay undue burdens on your brother or his new marriage." She nods, satisfied though it is not clear if the satisfaction is addressed to her words, to Lucienne's stitches, or her own.
There's another of those tiny, short sighs from Lucienne. "Patient," is the word she again chooses to repeat, her face tilting thoughtfully to one side, head still obediently ducked to her work. "Yes, mother. I will do as I can," she answers faithfully, pulling another stitch tight. "Sewing is cumbersome," she remarks, "But rather satisfying upon completion, isn't it?" Not that hers is anywhere near completion.
"As are many things, Lucienne. That you grasp this… Have I told you lately how proud I am of you, dear heart?" Evangeline questions, leaning across the space of the carriage to lay her hand to her daughter's cheek and urge her to look up from her work. "For I am. Very proud of you."
Her mother's tender touch prompts a smile to play across Lucienne's features, and she indeed looks up as bid. "I want for nothing more than to see the reputation of ladies Terrick upheld to the standard you set, dear mother mine, but your praise warms my heart." And on a more intimate note, she adds, "I love you, Mama. I would sit and sew for the rest of my days, only for your company and your guidance."
Her own smile is a warm thing, small but enough to brighten a usually stern countenance. She answers, "I love you as well, Lucienne. I wish I could have a gooddaughter like you for each of my sons, but not every such lady was raised as proper as you were."
"I will do my best with my own children," vows Lucienne solemnly. "Though I will hope for leave from my husband to seek my wise lady mother's advice, no doubt. You have been strong and fair, and I count myself among the blessed for your input, Mama my love. I do hope the Lady Anais will come to realise how much there is to learn from such an accomplished lady as yourself."
"Your hope is my wish as well, Lucienne. Sooner, rather than later, too, before she causes undue stress on our family," Evangeline answers, patting Lucienne's cheek gently before she pulls away to return to her sewing.
Lucienne obediently allows her mother the last words in that particular conversation, falling quiet to attend her own needlework for a time in comfortable silence, save for the rickety clicking and crunching of the carriage conveying them.
She does like having the last word. Maybe when they turn to other conversations, Evangeline'll let Lucienne have one.