|Puppies and Lionesses|
|Summary:||Jarod bounces around and asks Roslyn for gifting advice for the little woman.|
|Sevens Island — Hag's Mire|
|The Fortress of the Sevens looms high on its island, the structure holding a commanding view over the surround waters and terrain. The outside of the castle is pockmarked with strikes from seige weapons but nary a crack can be seen in its structure. The island is only half an acre larger than the castle but holds a small grove of trees and bushes, the edges around most of the island dropping at steep banks into the water but for the ferry access.|
|Wed May 30, 289|
There is a specific tree in the grove that holds a special pull on at least one Nayland, if not more. Marked with the initials RN, though who actually carved them is highly debatable, it is Roslyn's favorite for a myriad of reasons. Under this she sits, her back cradled in the curve of the trunk and her legs folded underneath her. Her plain grey wool skirts show little in the way of dirt, chosen specifically for this activity as she stares intently at the book open in her lap, a far-off look to her expression.
Jarod has been roaming the halls of the Mire fortress, in search of something. Or someone, was more specifically. Lady Roslyn Nayland. An odd errand, perhaps, for odd in-law, but the servants are polite enough to eventually direct him to the right place to find her. And so he wanders into the grove, and interrupts her reading. He doesn't exactly sneak up on her. With his heavy footfalls, he's about the least stealthy creature one can be. When he spots her he clears his throat. "My lady?"
Engrossed in her book, Roslyn at least does not startle, her subconscious long since warning her of approach. But she insists on finishing whatever sentence, or paragraph, she is reading before she looks up. "Ser," she greets simply, a question in the single word as she makes a study of her goodbrother.
"Sorry if I've come at a poor moment. Didn't mean to interrupt anything. What're you reading?" is the first thing Jarod asks. Though one would assume he's not out wandering Sevens Island in search of book recommendations. Still, his mind has hopped from whatever purpose he actually has, and even his original question. Green eyes going from the book to her to the tree, and the initials carved in it. He cracks a grin. "Which one of you did those? With all the Rs, can't tell just by looking."
"A collection of Dornish myths and a dissection of them," Roslyn answers with a hint of a self-deprecating smile for her subject choice, her book folded carefully within her lap and skirts. Her own wide gaze trails after Jarod's to where he is looking, humor lightening her expression for a moment. "I did," she insists, as she will till her dying breath. This may or may not be the truth. Likely, it isn't given the sheer number of RNs and the fact they are not even the first generation of them.
"Dorne?" Jarod beams. "Always been interested in Dorne. I even dreamed about going there once. Was a…odd sort of dream. But the Dorne part of it was nice, at least. I'd like to see it for true one of these days." He goes over to the tree, reaching up to trace a large finger along the curves of the 'R.' He doesn't seem to doubt Roslyn. Or just doesn't admit to doubting her. "I was…sort of hoping you could advise me on something, my lady? It's a sort of a…girl thing. And there's Lady Anais but…" Wince. "…I think it's best her and me give each other some space for a time."
Roslyn nods, not surprised at Jarod's answer as she smoothly points out herself, "Our dusty neighbors, so different for all that we are the same kingdom. I think anyone who isn't the least bit interested can have no real interest in anything. I couldn't think of someone so boring." But her words are softened with a smile, all politely toned and dismissive where she watches Jarod with subtle interest. "I can certainly give advise, ser. My brothers have not figured out how to stop me in that, yet."
"I was thinking Rowenna and me might have to run off there, when everything came out," Jarod says. "I didn't figure Lord Rickart would forgive her so easily. Well, perhaps we can see it properly someday. But no time soon." As to his mission. "It's about Rowenna, actually, my lady. I…I wanted to get her a present, but I wasn't sure what."
"Yes, well, my lord father can be surprising to all," Roslyn states dismissively, though it is firm in its own way where she glances for a moment back to the fortress before returning her gaze to her goodbrother. "Oh? A present for what, ser?"
"For being a wonderful wife," Jarod replies with a big, doofy grin. He totally means it, too. Straight face and everything. "I was going to pick her some flowers but half the plants around here seem to give folk hives or poison them or something. And I saw one thing I would've sworn was a plant open up its jaw and eat a gods-damned fly. So…figured you might have a better idea."
Roslyn stares at Jarod for a long moment that stretches between them, silent as the weight of her regard gathers on the knight with a quiet thoughtfulness. Neutrality rules her expression, and it is hard to say what she is feeling, but eventually she begins, "I think it likely that my sister and I have very different tastes, ser. I do not know your financial situation, but—Have you ever tried to whittle? We do have plenty of wood."
"Well, aye, she's different than most women, isn't she?" Jarod gets a laugh out of that. "She still likes…girl things sometimes. It's funny, but she does. You'd be surprised. Whittle?" He ponders this. "Not really but, I guess I could give it a go? All you need's a knife and some wood, aye?"
"It is fairly easy to learn as well, if you have some natural talent. I know a man in the village who is excellent at it, if you would like me to introduce you to him?" Roslyn questions politely, her head tipping slightly up at Jarod. She smiles, she does not laugh. "You can certainly make something feminine. A pendant, perhaps, and string it on a pretty ribbon," she adds.
"She might like a rose," Jarod says, all thoughtful on the issue of what's feminine. "Or! A lioness, if he could do a likeness of one. I mean, that's not really feminine, but it sort of is. It's a girl cat, at least. I could tie a ribbon around it's neck or something." He nods, all satisfied and proud of this plan. "Might do better to have that fellow you're talking about actually make it, though. I've not worked with wood much save to build fires."
Amusement lingers in hazel eyes as Jarod talks out his plan aloud, Roslyn's expression only allowing a polite smile as she listens for all that. Once he seems set, all she says is, "I can certainly point you towards him, but I will say that sometimes what is made by your hand means more than the quality of it, ser."
"I'll try something," Jarod says, dubiously. "Can always pay him for something better if I botch it, I suppose. Thanks!" He catches the amusement in her eyes, though it just makes him half-smile. If in a slightly puzzled fashion. "Something funny, my lady?"
"I would certainly never say you, ser, as that could be interpreted rather rudely, could it not?" Roslyn murmurs, her smile twitching all the wider for a brief second. "I wish you luck, goodbrother."
"Terribly, my lady goodsister, but I'll forgive you all the same," Jarod replies to Roslyn with a wink. He leans back against the tree, arms folding. "So! What're you laughing at me for? I'm not cross, but there are so many possible answers you'll need to narrow it down some."
"Frankly, ser?" There is a hint of a curved brow as if Roslyn rather doubts Jarod wishes to hear, but she continues on anyways. Her words are softened with teasing humor as she explains, "You are rather like an over-large puppy. Excitable and eager, perhaps."
"Huh." Jarod considers that. Finally, he laughs himself. "I've been called far worse in my time, my lady, so I suppose I can live with that. And Rowenna is a good wife to me, if that's also what you're chuckling at." He pauses, amending, "I mean, maybe not a traditionally good one, but I had to expect that, didn't I? But…she loves me. And what's more she actually likes me, and seems to want me around, and doesn't resent me for not being some trophy knight or…whatever it is most girls want. And she does make me happy. So. Figure she needs a gift."
"Whatever my opinions of my sister, ser, you can be assured that I would not share nor laugh at them with you," Roslyn says, humor replaced suddenly with a flatness of her expression, a firmness of her polite tone. "Though, I can also says that I do not doubt the nature of my sister or her ability to make you happy."
"I intended no offense, my lady," Jarod says, sighing some. He might mutter something about women under his breath. He just might. But he does not do it loudly enough for much else of it to be audible. "All I meant was that she's a very sweet girl, and it's a side of her I'm sorry more don't know. In time, I hope."
"Of course not, ser, and you can be sure that her family wishes the same," Roslyn agrees politely, letting the matter slide after another moment. She does not even ellicit much reaction to the word she catches in his mumble.
Jarod does not call Roslyn insane, even though all women are. Perhaps he's learning. Unlikely, but perhaps. "Anyhow, I thank you for your advice. If you've got the man's name and can direct me to where he lives, I'll see him this afternoon." He offers her one of those flourishly bows he likes so much, on that note. Snapped up to make that harpy-and-crane sash he now wears at his swordbelt flair.
Roslyn does not rise to curtsey, but she does bow her own neck in a gesture to the knight, adding in a murmur, "I shall, of course. I hope that the Lady Rowenna likes whatever you present her, ser."
Jarod grins and bounds off once he's got the information on Roslyn's whittling guy. All of puppyish enthusiasm.