Summary: Innocent youthful promises between a Knight and his Lady.
Date: 19/07/2011
Related Logs: None
Isolde Jaremy 
Fields of Terrick's Roost
Summer of 278

The hot afternoon sun in the early autumn filters down through the tree branches to set dappled shadows on the ground. Spots of sunllight gather in Isolde's hair and she turns, grinning at the fact she thinks she has lost her companion. The young girl twists about the bottom of the beech tree, reaching up to try to pull herself to the first branch and hide. She kicks her legs, finally getting a foot up and climbing higher. Dresses are not meant for such things, but it doesn't seem she cares much either way.

Dark braid swings down her back as she starts to edge her way out into a dense branch, her tongue angling out between her lips as she concentrates. She pauses, listening to the birds in the further groves, the ones here have been scared away by her and she remains still, tilting her head up to the sun and breathing in the sweat air.

For the moment…it is silent. Moments, as they say, do tend to come and go.

"To Arms!" A young voice cries out. "The White Walkers are attacking the Red Keep! King Aerys has called the kingsguard!"

A young boy, no more than twelve years old, rushes past Isolde. Rocks and dirt kick up as he skids to a stop nearly a full foot away from her. His bright brown eyes enter her field of vision, giving her long, dark braid a playful tug. "Lady Isolde! King Aerys has ordered the kingsguard to assemble. This place isn't safe for you!" He beckons, proudly waving his thick, wooden sword to the side. "They're going to be swarming this place any moment from now!"

Letting out a yelp as he comes crashing into view, Isolde drags her hair out of his grip. The young noble born are full of dirt, scrapes and more, leave matter sticking to her hair, some purposefully woven through her braid. "I fear nothing!" She tells him, "From the trees you can see anything before it comes, join me." She says and then starts to tilt so that she can climb up to the next branch. Skirts hamper her and she struggles a moment before dragging herself up to her stomach, swinging a moment with her legs kicking till one knee is up. No braid pulling from this height.

Those haunting green eyes look down to him and she grins. "There are no White Walkers here…silly. Not in the Riverlands.."

"That's the PROBLEM!" Jaremy replies, eyes wide as he smacks the tree branch beneath her with the wooden practice sword. "There's so many of them they have traveled down to the neck and are…" He turns, waving the sword in the direction of the pond. "…Everywhere! You climb and I'll hold them off as I can, Isolde. They're storming all about and you'll write about my death!"

"I am not a Minstrel, I will speak of your death and attend your funeral." Isolde proclaims as she edges out further on the branch towards the end. She starts to rise, placing her hand on the branch above her to help steady her. "You should join me…Jaremy…we are promised! If you die who shall I be promised to?" She contemplates this, scooting out further as the branch begins to bend some. "Jarod?" She asks and the hooks her foot around, having to slow with the intertwining branches, her tongue sticking out again.

For the moment, Jaremy's young brow creases in a look of utter frustration as he wants to fight the White Walkers, but the girl above him in the trees makes a good argument. He quickly slips the sword into his belt and scrambles up to the first tree limb. Making much faster time than she, it only takes a few moments until he's pulling himself onto the branch that they'll share.

"Okay…" He whispers. "…don't talk loudly because they have good ears, and they'll climb up here and get us. But if they start climbing up, you let me fight them, okay? I won't ever be a knight if I can't protect my lady."

The branch gives a bit more as he tags after her and Isolde, shorter than he is forced to try to keep her hands locked on the branch above as the one below sinks. Toes try to grip the branch and soon she eases down a bit more, arms high over her head to keep steady in her standing position. "Very well, if you must.." She adopts a tone like her mother. She grins at her. "We are going to have a large castle, right? Next to the sea with beautiful colored glass windows like my father told me about, it changes the light."

She eyes his wood sword and pauses, "You can not kill white walkers with that thing…." She says matter of factly and then takes a few more steps towards the tip, reaching out to try to grab the opposite trees branch.

"I'm sure I could. My uncle says I have good arms and have an eye for targets. I might even be good with a lance." Jaremy replies, coming to a stop on the branch. Reaching up, he hangs his hands on the branch above, putting some of the weight off of the lower branch. "What about Four Eagles Tower? It's big and it might not be by the sea, but we could travel there. I'm sure the maester knows how to make glass like that. All of this is gonna be mine someday." He beams proudly. "You could get a tall room like mine that sees out over everything."

"Yours…mother says women do not own things..they are owned." Isolde intones, adopting her mother's tone again. "But since we are promised, I am to enjoy what is yours." She says matter of factly, her head lifting as she inches out another step, making a soft sound as she strains for the opposite branch. "Like my mother enjoys my father's treasury…" SHe bites at her lip, tongue sticking out again as she strains further, foot sliding a little to make her grasp and reassert her hold on the branch above. The fall is not far, but she is coming near to toppling a few times.

"What? That's silly women aren't owned. Women are to be won. You go to tourneys and war, and while you fight you get the attention of one. Then your mother and father speak with their mother and father, and you get…" He furrows his brow. "…WELL unless your mother and father already talked about the promising. Then, like us, I just have to go off to war a few times for you to be proud of me."

He inches closer to her, looking down. "Hey, be careful…if you fall I can't fly and catch you. Do you want me to chase off the White Walkers and we'll go to the pond?"

FInding she can not reach it, Isolde settles back onto the branch. It bobs a bit and she brushes slightly back against him. "You think you can? There are quite a few." She looks down at the empty ground below, but for the girl, she can imagine. "There are too many, if you are hurt I am going to have to drag you.." She says and moving, she lowers herself to sit on the branch, looking ready to slide down as she gazes back up at him.

She blinks, makes wide eyes and slides from the branch with a chirping laugh. "Oh no.." She hits the ground half on her knees and pushes herself back up.

Dropping from one of the lower branches, Jaremy lands beside her and immediately lowers himself to one knee, concerned. Forgetting the White Walkers, he looks her over, eyes wide. "Are you hurt?" He asks, moving to help her back up. "If you're hurt I can run and get the septon or the maester or the…" He runs out of things that can help her. "…or we could run off to the Weirwood that the Blackwoods have and maybe one of those creepy trees could help us."

Brushing her hand down her dress, Isolde lifts a brow and smiles, "I am just fine.." She twists at his touch and dances away. "What of the White Walkers?" She asks him, grinning some as a few leaves that had once been woven to her hair flutter to the ground. She stops, turning at the sound of something moving through the brush. Her skirts settle about her ankles and she lowers a little, staring into the brush as it shifts again about fifteen feet away. Her lips part and she hesitates, watching. "Jaremy.." She looks back over her shoulder. All this talk of White Walkers.

Jaremy whips his head around, immediately stopping his attempts to impress her with his sword-versus-air show. Seeing the movement in the grass, Jaremy's eyes narrow and he quietly stalks over to her. His sword arm at the ready, he bars his arm across the front of her, moving into position to protect her. Eyes filled with terror, he gulps loudly, silently praying to the seven that it isn't a lion-lizard. "Jarod?" He asks, raising the wooden sword, ready to strike. "Jarod if that's you I'm going to brain you with this sword…"

The rustling comes again and Isolde, now effectively behind her human shield, tilts her head to try to get a better look. "I do not think it is, Jarod." observes the young girl. She steps up closer to him, peering over his shoulder and not really wishing to get any closer to whatever is moving. Her gaze narrows and she sucks in quick breath as the rustling comes closer, moving through the grass. Something starts to appear, the muzzle and first paws snaking through as something black and red begins to take form.

When the fox's muzzle pokes through the grass, Jaremy's first instict is to recognize the whiskers and the muzzle. His worst fears are realized. Pressing Isolde back, he brings the sword down, trying to scare away the creature. "HELLS! WOLF!" He squeaks, swinging his sword blindly in an attempt to keep the creature at bay. Hot stepping to keep his toes away from the creature, the once brave child is reduced to fighting as if he's dancing on fire.

Isolde is not the shield and thusly is able to take the moment to figure out what it is exactly. But as he squeals wolf and pushes her back, she tips back and lands hard against her rear. An audible 'oof' sounds past her lips and she breathes wincing some as she looks up at his wild swings. The poor fox realizes it's mistake as soon as the small man creature begins it's flailing. It strafes to the side and with black paws begins to high tail it away, soon disappearing as it wants nothing to do with Jaremy. Watching it from her place on the ground, she smiles some. She grins, hiding grin behind her hand as she finds amusement in Jaremy's fluster.

Panting, Jaremy watches the puffy tail of the fox disappear further into the nearby forest. Sure, some part of his brain knows that it isn't a wolf, but instead a fox, but it's a dangerous creature fended off indeed. His lips curl into a broad, cookie-jar smile as he raises his sword over the tall grass. "…and stay gone, creature!" He barks, drenched in pride. He turns, offering a hand to Isolde. "M'lady…it does appear that the beast has been chased off. You are safe now."

The offered hand is taken and she swallows some of her humor as she watches him, "It was a fox, silly.." She tells him. Isolde's imagination ends when it comes to a foolish display, but her green eyes sparkle. "Mother says a Lady gives a favor to her Knight." She looks about, along the bottom half of her sleeves that are laced up. She tries to find something and the tugs at the tie holding the bottom of her braid. "A favor." She says and most likely a kiss, but the young girl does not seem to know that just yet, extending her hand to give him the fraying cord once she is upright, back end spatterd with dirt, park and leaf matter.

"All I saw was the muzzle and I thought it was a wolf. They have noses like wolves." Jaremy replies, grinning broadly as he takes the offered favor. Carefully tucking it away, he casts one more cautious glance to the grass before turning his back to it. "You see? First it's a fox, by the time that we're old enough to be married it'll be brigands. I can keep you safe, Isolde. I'm brave."

Despite herself, she is still grinning at his obvious mistake on the matter of the creature. Isolde's dark braid begins to unwind, a few more leaves falling as she shifts, lifting her hand delicately to him. A practiced motion, obviously taught. "YOu and Jarod can both keep me safe. He will live with us at your castle, yes?" She asks as a child would. "What if its a wolf..or a dire wolf next time. It is well to have sworn to help you.." Speaking of which, where is the one that was supposed to be with the children? They had long since lost him to the twisting pathways they had come to memorize.

Listening to the matter unfold, Isolde's brows draw lines in her forehead as she keeps her eyes seized upon the two older nobles. Valda also is quiet as she listens, eyes clouding the only visible sign of her ire. She shifts and turns, moving for the hearth and subsequently causing Milicent to flee to try to eavesdrop from the kitchens. "I see…it was to be expected. Fools the Terricks. I was right to have you go with my sworn. It has at least alerted them to our swaying allegiances and that Tordane no longer cares for their justice or oaths spoken by dead men." She turns, her gaze settling on Rygar first before moving past towards Ryker and Isolde. The latter of which is breathing quicker. "To protect a whore that stole Tordane money. Who do they wish to win over? The whore?" She scoffs.

Isolde pales at the mention of it all and she grows somewhat ill at ease. Valda does not say a word to her, but instead moves to stoke the embers of the fire. "This is the beginning of many things to come. Let them play their hand openly. They have no idea of reserve, at the least the young Lord does not. But I am certain who we face next will be Lord Jerold." She pauses, lifting her chin and turning to regard Rygar. "Would it be wise for this matter to be brought to the Lord of the Riverlands? So that this dispute, as the Tordane worry, will not grow further. I would not wish blood shed or war amongst houses." Of course this is said as overly innocent as she can. Obvioulsy she does not care. "The Terrick's have grown weak in their fortress, overfed and ill of mind."'

"Of course he'll stay at the castle. He's going to learn how to use the sword as well, and then we won't need so many sworn. It doesn't matter if it's dire wolves or dragons, Isolde. Do you really think any of those things could get past Jarod and I?" He blinks, smirking. "Of course not. You'll see. By the time we're as old as my uncle we'll have been wed for years, and Jarod will have a wife and we'll all take care of each other." He grins, starting to walk in the direction of the castle. "We'll always take care of you, Isolde. I promise."

Beaming at the idea of the future, even the foes they face as wonderfully unlikely as that part it is, Isolde cares not. Reaching out to take his arm, much as her mother does her father, both children model after their role models. "We shall seek justice in the lands and offer help to the common folk. We shall do as our fathers do. We shall sing and dance each night away and have fun." Simple pleasures for a young heart, untouched by darkness yet. But his last makes her grin, "I know you will. We are family." She tells him with such conviction. "Father says family both blood and oathed always fight for each other."