| Songs of the North |
| Summary: | Eyrian sings for Jaremy and the minstrel learns of his ballad to be made. |
| Date: | 22/07/2011 |
| Related Logs: | Lady Blackmane |
| Players: |
  |
| Town Square - Terrick's Roost |
|---|
| The town square of Terrick's Roost could be considered well-kept by the standards of the surrounding area. The stone streets run right up to the building fronts around the edge and the locals have kept the spaces between free of grass and weeds that might otherwise upstart between them. There are several homes and nicer shops located here which incline their business or residents towards those not of the peasantry. The Sept of the town can also be seen from here with its ornate stone front rising above the surrounding structures just down the cobblestone road. |
| Fri July 22, 2011 |
The journey to Stonebridge is not terribly far, and because of this the Terrick entourage that will leave Terrick's Roost behind and travel with noble and smallfolk alike to the Tordane lands is slow to leave. Carts with wooden lances and other tourney-related gear have been stationed outside of town, guarded by Terrick sworn swords, and the call has gone out for all travelling to Stonebridge to finish their preparations.
Ser Jaremy Terrick, one of the nobles, is doing as expected, which is not tending to the heavy lifting. Clean shaven, save for his growth of goatee, he walks down the side of the road towards the Rockcliff Inn with two guards keeping their regular distance, keeping an eye out for the heir.
Rockcliff, usually at this hour is quiet with a few people within, it is just that but there is a group outside that is milling to the sound of music. They are rounded about in a circle and as people draw closer, they will see a slender dark haired woman in the midst turning about while playing a lute. Strumming the simple tune, her rich voice lifts to the apparently humorous song she weaves. A strand of white hair flares away from her face as Eyrian taps her barefeet and dances with a sway of her hips. Her skirts are hiked a little, but the reason for it shows when she hits the chorus of the song.
"Oh, my, what Lady be she
With barefeet and skirts, up to her knee
Bells on her fingers, rings on her toes,
The Lady of Blackman, nobody knows."
She waggles her brows a little, giving a dramatic pause to show perhaps she is the Lady of Blackmane.
The sound of his spurs scraping against the dirt and gravel of the main road can only barely be heard alongside the singing. Ser Jaremy steps up behind the circular crowd, stepping in place behind one of the midwives and her husband. The midwife turns, offering to shuffle out of Jaremy's way, to which the young lord shakes his head and motions for her to stay. He's taller than her anyway, and can easily see over the majority of the crowd.
His eyes fall onto Eyrian, dancing and singing with her lute. Rumor had traveled to Four Eagles Tower that there appeared to be a minstrel of the sort in Terrick's Roost, and unless said minstrel had been replaced by another over night, Jaremy seems to have found her.
There are still a few chuckles and it seems like the song is near its end as she skips to the side and turns about gracefully. Eyrian's impish smile grows as she makes eye contact.
"Oh, my, what Lady be me.
With barefeet and skirts, up to my knee.
Bells on my fingers, rings on my toes,
The Lady of Blackmane, nobody knows."
She gives wiggle of her the cymbols on her fingers and the rings on her toes glitter. She turns about and repeats the regular chorus once more, striking a cord on the lute and lifting it a bit to be dramatic. She stills and grins, bowing low as the clapping commences, calls for more sounding as the turned over cap is on the ground, filling with small pieces here and there.
SHe eyes it a moment, grabbing it up as she moves about the circle, meaning to take pieces, pausing for those too far back with a reach of her arm. "Thank you lady, sir, miss.." She is polite at least and she starts to come towards Jaremy and the group near him.
Not quite yet wearing his riding gloves, Jaremy's hands clap together, mixing in with the applause that the rest of the smallfolk are giving. A few of them double-take at his attendance at the back of the crowd, but as normal the young lord pays their attention very little mind. Both at Four Eagles Tower and down in Terrick's Roost he is a lord, but like a good Sheriff, he tries to blend into the background as much as possible to let them live their lives in some manner of normalcy.
His applause dies as Eyrian, the Lady Blackmane, nears, and he reaches into his pocket for a few coppers. Turning them over in his hand, he rests his left arm over his sword's hilt and nods to her. The crowd parts, revealing the colors and finer clothing of one of the local lords. "Well done…" He says, offering her a quiet smile. He turns over his hand, offering her the coin. "…very well done, indeed."
As she draws closer and is seeing nothing but commonfolk clothes, she has no reason to think there is a noble in the crowd. Eyrian drifts about and as the few part for him, she stares for a moment and her mind calculates at first how easy it would be to lift something off the noble. But she snaps back, casting a look up and true reaction starts to set in. "Thank you, m'lord." She dips a bow, hands drawing back the cap to her chest and dipping her head over it. "The Lord is very kind.." She says with her gaze looking to the ground or at his feet. The ornamentations and clothing on her person are an odd mix from different areas, charms and the like flashing upon her person. The Minstrel stays lowered for the moment, head lifting to look up at him. She pauses, her gaze widening a moment, "My Lord.." She says, "Is there a song you care to hear?"
Handing the coppers to the girl, Jaremy's light brown eyes fix over hers, dipping to the side to inspect the strand of white hair that falls to her shoulder with curiosity. His oddly sad eyes glance over her ornamentation, stopping to take note of the rings on her toes. It seems the noble's never seen rings on toes before, and by the way he smirks in silence, it seems he's lightly tickled by the concept.
He raises his attention back to her, finding that the crowd has now circled around them. His fingertips drum on his sword's hilt and one of his slender eyebrows lift in her direction with her request. He turns his head, scanning the crowd, coming to stop once more on hers. "I've heard many songs, and I'm always interested in one I haven't heard. Do you know a song from far away? Perhaps from where you've traveled in from?"
Rising as she palms the coppers the Lord gives her. "Oh but I think perhaps you would enjoy a sailor's song maybe? Or would you like to hear of one from the North, where I come from." She smiles a bit more, watching him and noting the sadness in his eyes. "My Lord needs something to cheer him up, perhaps the sailor's song is not the right one…I see that maybe you have been burned by loves flame or lost something that is precious…" Eyrian lingers, watching him with a tilt of her head and then slides the coppers into the cap before turning and setting it back down.
The wind stirs her long near black hair and the colored markings on her arms seem permanent. She is an ecclectic mix of many things. The lyre is strummed and she picks up the beat with her bare foot. Her voice rich, rises to weave the song, a little more primal, a little more like the cold of the North.
I was born at the dawn of a cold autumn day
When the wind met the mist on the hill.
A child of the northlands, I'm free as a bird
And my body's as strong as my will.
I laugh at the blizzard and dance in the gale;
From the wild geese I learned to take flight.
My first lullaby was the song of the wolf
And the cry of the loon in the night.
And it's heigh-ho, down from the snow,
Down with the hail and the rain!
Down where the thunder crashes and roars!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
Wild as the storm, I'll never be tamed,
For I am the North wind's daughter!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
The crowd mumurs a little bit at Eyrian's mention of Jaremy being burned by love. His eyebrow twitches, but save for the small movement he remains stoic, still as stone. As she lingers, his eyes maintain his grip on hers until she begins her song. The young lord takes a step back to give her more room, as he and the assembled crowd listen to the song. As the song is played, his eyes widen at her depiction of the north, taking an interest in her words, but the dull look in his eyes doesn't fade. Normally, a man of his bearing would be mentally preparing for the tourney, but instead Jaremy appears to be calm before the storm.
At first the song is taken in moderation, but it is obviously one of great meaning to the minstrel who throws herself into it. The lute is played, slender fingers brushing over it, calloused tips striking precisesly as she continues. The spirit of the wind she sings of rises from her words and draws around those listening. Wild. She definitely appears that.
When Winter's white cloak lies so cold on the land,
Then I dance on the ice-frozen lake.
To send down the sleet or to send down the snow?
Well I feel it is my choice to make.
I run with the deer in the pine forests dark
When the Northern Lights leap in the sky.
When bonfires are lit to drive off the deep cold
With the hawk and the eagle I fly!
And it's heigh-ho, down from the snow,
Down with the hail and the rain!
Down where the thunder crashes and roars!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
Wild as the storm, I'll never be tamed,
For I am the North wind's daughter!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
Come Spring and come Summer when warmth fills the land,
Now don't think I have fled far away.
For I am the storm-wind that shreds the white sail;
With the lightning and thunder I play.
I ride on the crest of the rapids' white wave
Where it leaps and it foams on the sand.
Come sailors take warning: when you hear my voice,
Then you'd best keep your feet on the land!
Though the crowd appears to be eating the song up, with the way they tap their feet and smile with her words, Jaremy remains more reserved. By eyes alone he's enjoying the song, with small tell-tale changes in his body language at the mention of the storm winds and the mysteries of the North. His weight shifts from one foot to the other, eyes tilting from her lips to her slender fingers, watching her skill at the lute while she plays.
Eyrian turns about, lost to her music, grinning as she sings. The lyre is strummed, brought along the twine of the song.
And it's heigh-ho, down from the snow,
Down with the hail and the rain!
Down where the thunder crashes and roars!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
Wild as the storm, I'll never be tamed,
For I am the North wind's daughter!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
Come all you brave men, now come heed my advice,
For with you I shall never abide.
Though many have tried, just as many have failed,
For you can't take a storm as a bride!
Speak not your sweet words, they mean nothing at all!
Oh swear not any promise to me!
Do not try to follow, do not dream to dare-
If you loved me, you'd let me stay free!
And it's heigh-ho, down from the snow,//
Down with the hail and the rain!
Down where the thunder crashes and roars!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
Wild as the storm, I'll never be tamed,
For I am the North wind's daughter!
I am the North Wind's daughter!
She ends with a turn, bowing deeply to the Lord and remaining so as she allows the last of the notes to linger in the air.
A smile cracks at the corner of Jaremy's lips as she delves into the verse of warning the men to not try to take her as a bride. Clever indeed. Just like the last tune, the crowd breaks into applause as she bows before Jaremy, finishing her tune. The last notes are drowned out by some whistling in the audience, and shortly after the crowd begins to applaud, the sound of Jaremy's clapping can be heard directly before her. The applause continues for a short while, and Jaremy's clapping slows.
"I am Ser Jaremy Terrick, Son of Lord Ser Jerold Terrick. Please, rise…and tell me your name."
Having enjoyed the expenditure, Eyrian's chest rises and falls swiftly as the dirt on her feet is ignored. She is not Lady despite the song before. Now she proclaims to be a raw elemental power and the minstrel is flushed, grinning as she rises upon being bid to. "It is a honor and my pleasure to have you in the audience, Lord Jaremy Terrick." She dips her head again, that white strand of hair brushing across her face. As she rises, there is a strand of grey stones carved about her neck, and odd thing. Clear dark eyes meet his and she touches fingers to her collarbone, "Eyrian of Flint's Finger, my lord. Near the Flint Cliffs in the Northlands." She lifts her head again and adds, "I have heard there is to be a tourney in the twn next to this..I am take it you are on your way?"
"There is such a tourney." Jaremy replies with a nod of his head. Once more, his eyes give away interest in her mentioning of the North as the young lord takes in her different mannerisms with his particular blend if interested, yet reserved observation. "The entourage is preparing now just outside of town, and soon we'll be riding for Stonebridge to the east. We've four knights, including myself, entering the tourney, as well as a squire to enter in the younger lists. You're more than welcome to come along, perhaps even ride one of the carts as long as you're willing to perform for part of the journey." At this he smiles, though the strange look in his eye fails to disperse.
"You do me further honor, my Lord.." Eyrian says, dipping her head as is proper. "I have my own horse, but I would be glad of protection along the road. It is not a wise thing for a woman to be alone." She admits and then rises, taking note of his gaze once more. She draws not in question anything but the interest he shows, leaving the rest to be drawn on later. "My Lord likes the North, do you have glorious tales as do all the rest of the other lands that the North is wild, untamed and rich of honor and bold deeds to be sought after?"
"No, no it's not. We've more than enough guards both staying in Terrick's Roost and travelling to Stonebridge to protect all. Consider it an invitation then, you're free to ride with us." Jaremy replies, his hands clasping behind the back. The crowd, sensing the songs are over for now, begin to disperse to return to their business. He waits a moment for the sound of shuffling feet to become more faint, taking his time to respond. "We do, though not as wild as the tales you hear of the North. When I was young, tales of the White Walkers would creep down, and it seems after Robert's Rebellion there are no new tales of Dragons to be slain." Jaremy motions for her to follow, stepping towards the Inn. "Though perhaps some will be made at the tourney."
A curious tilt of her head and Eyrian moves to follow as bid, grasping up the cap heavy with coin, tucking it to her belt. She takes up her pack and swings the lyre over her shoulder. "Dragons I have found, are in the heart of the warrior. You have many dragons, I think, my lord. From what I see writ upon your face. I could write a thousand ballads to proclaim or even guess at what you keep to yourself. Though I will not pry." She smiles some, taking up a step at his side. "I will gladly sing for your troops on the road, and if the Lord wish it, I can make a song for you and sing it out loud when you arrive at the tourney grounds."
"A thousand ballads…you're too kind." Jaremy replies with a chuckle, grabbing the door to the Inn with his hand, turning and holding it open for her. "I'm sure rumor enough has gotten around after the events of yesterday, but if you're unaware this means you came into town after midday. Shame…you missed quite a show. Simply ask around, you'll have all the material you need. Though…as to what I keep to myself I'm sure will be the talk of the tourney. Put what you learn from the smallfolk about yesterday against the fact that the tourney is in Stonebridge, and you've a few ballads yet to write."
"You offer me curiousity, my Lord. I will find what I can. It is how I surive, it is to scrounge and learn." Eyrian says, thanking him as she ducks into the Inn again, at his behest. The Minstrel muses over things and keeps her quiet. Stonebridge would be eventful and more than likely she would spend the ride coming up with new verses to give to the Lord and his men.
"You perhaps will grace me with the story in your gaze. At your Lord's will of course.." She moves into the Inn, missing the fresh air already.
Removing his sword, Jaremy carries it by the scabbard as he offers some coin to the innkeep. Turning, he leads Eyrian over to a quiet booth, one that he sets his sword atop and slips into, sitting down on the padded wooden bench. "I'm sure the smallfolk would word it differently, perhaps more bluntly, but you should at least know the makeup of the tourney." Jaremy replies, settling in comfortably.
"The tourney in Stonebridge is the site of our vassals, the Tordanes of Stonebrdige. Yesterday we received a visitation by one Ser Rygar Nayland on behalf of the Tordanes, who have an eligible daughter and no other heirs to the seat of Stonebridge." His jaw tightens. "The Naylands, as always, are to be viewed as the major Terrick rivalry in this tourney."
Looking at the booth and then the Lord, Eyrian visibly hesitates. She is a minstrel, not an escort or lady friend. Drawing a sharp breath, she deams it safe and removes her lyre to set it down carefully into the side of the booth. She settles next with a jingle of jewelry and adornaments as she meets his gaze. "There are always house rivalries, it is the way of things, but I am beginning to understand.." SHe waits, listening further as her hands rest to her lap, sitting rather un ladylike but not seeming to pay it a mind.
Her foot taps the floor, eating his words up and already training them into the verses of a tale.
Two mugs of summerwine are brought over, quietly set into place by the innkeep who quickly steps away, allowing the lord to have his conversation in peace.
"Regardless, I will be riding in the joust but not partaking in the melee. I'm sure the rest you can find out from the smallfolk or view for yourself, as I'm not riding in the joust without a favor." Jaremy adds, turning his gaze back to Eyrian as he picks up his mug. His brown eyes view her with curiosity, taking a moment to hesitate. Swallowing, he sets the mug down. "I shouldn't say much more, just know that if you keep your eyes open and your ears pointed the right direction, you'll find plenty of material."
He pauses, drumming his fingertips on the table's top. "So…the North. Are you from further north than Winterfell?"
The summerwine is considered and she hesitates. "Thank you sir, but I shall pass on this. Plesae have mine for me.." Eyrian says, and presses the mug away. There is a discomforted look for a moment, only briefly before she shifts and offers a smile. "A favor will see the Seven shine upon you..but I shall pray to others that listen. The wind at your back and earth be flat beneath your horse. Sun in your opponents eye for you fight for a Lady." That makes her smile, "Such tales were always told, but new ones are always to be counted exciting and needed." She sits back and then tilts her had at the question of the North. "My Lord, I am not from further north, but I have briefly traveled there. The days are cool, nights are cold, but it is a beautiful land filled with quiet history that sings to the soul."
Jaremy doesn't seem to protest as she shoves the mug away, a sign that his intention was to speak, rather than to get the minstrel girl drunk. Lowering his gaze to the wine, he moves it aside, unsure as to whether or not he will be drinking it himself. Thankfully, doing so allows him to be busy at her mention of his attempt to win a lady, and in return she isn't given a response…which in itself very well may be one.
"I always wanted to see the wall." Jaremy speaks, his eyes falling back onto Eyrians. "It's been explained to me as a wall of ice, taller than any such castle, and the men of the Night's Watch man it at all hours. Though we've had our share of men from the Night's Watch come to Terrick's Roost to seek volunteers and offer take from our dungeons, from which there are rarely any visitors." He chuckles softly. "I've never been, likely had I traveled there when I was younger I would have sworn immediately with the prospect of seeing a white walker."
"The land is very unforgiving to those that are not familiar with it." Eyrian says, but what goes unsaid is not lost on her. "The wall is just that, a sheer solid distance to keep out that which is beyond. I have only seen it from afar, but it is so tall, that it is hard to miss." She smiles some. "I miss the north much, but the world has more to see and I would rather that I keep moving. To never know or to never see is a sad thing indeed. For those that can not have what I have, I bring what I know and see in my songs and tales. I have one of the North, but I think perhaps his Lord will need after the tourney and not so much now."
She offers a faint smile and then she holds out her hand to him. "Let me see your palm, much can be read through the lines of your life."
"Perhaps I will. I intend to win this tourney, and so I'm saving every last ounce of energy and fire that I have for the moment I see Stonebridge in the distance. Until then, I'll enjoy the ride and bide my time. One small mug of summerwine is nothing compared to the amount of drink thrown about in the banquets." Jaremy replies, looking down to her outstretched hand. His eyes narrow, not quite sure of what to make of her request. He's never heard of palms being read, it seems. Relenting, he takes up the mug for one final sip and offers her his left hand. "Is there such a thing? I've never heard of this…"
"Something I have learned or seen the traveling folk do. I hear it comes from the crannogmen.." Eyrian provides and her calloused hand cushions the back of the Lord's, her gaze narrowing as she shifts to lean forward over the table and gazes down at his palm, Her head tilts, pausing before a finger lifts to indiate a broken line along the width of the pad of his hand. "Here..this…it is broken several times over. Your journey of life, my lord, shall be hard..but this break.." She pauses as the end of one dips away. "There is great pain and loss…not now. But in the future. Death. Not yours.." She says and then moves to the heel of his hand. "This right here…you will reign as a young man." She speaks more so of his father's death assuredly that is the only way to make it so. "Be carefuly, my Lord, your path has very many pitfalls. White Walkers are a small threat compared to what is to come.
The young knight's dark eyebrows lower, though he does not pull his hand away. His expression, although grim, remains mostly unchanged, perhaps a sign that she's speaking only of things that he's considered a possibility already. His lips tighten, flattening into a wide line across his face. His head tilts, and he reaches for his mug, taking a long pull from it.
"Well, then if you're looking for material…you'd best stay around." He replies grimly as the mug is set back down atop the laquered tabletop.
Eyrian remains quiet, watching the flat of his hand before releasing and sitting back, drawing her hands to herself. She is silent, her own brows furrowed for a moment before that dark gaze of her's narrows on his. "You will need to seek aid from your rivals one day. A threat comes my lord. What it is, I do not know." She admits and then shakes her head, "But then again, they are only lines in your hand." She wets her lip and then grins, "I need not look, my Lord, the tales find me. They come at night, during the day or in my sleep. All I need hear are the whispers of the gossipers to e able weave my tale. It best not to be too accurate, lest you anger a noble with your song."
"Part of the reason I don't speak too directly about the tourney coming. I couldn't exactly appear to be the source of such rumors either, now should I?" He smirks, slowly taking his hand back. It's a strong face he makes, but it's obvious that her warnings have been taken to memory. Myth or not, he's willing to believe the worst has not yet come. "You're a smart one, Eryian. When we get to Stonebridge, drop by our tents if you wish to offer services. You'll be paid for your work fairly. Just…do remember to be kind should a certain young lord be the vague topic of one of your songs, okay?"
Her smile grows, for Eyrian has found favor with a noble. "My Lord…if he was. It would be of honor and generousity. A fitting song to give praise to you and not steal your determination. I will sing of dragons and the north my Lord.." She promises, dipping her head again. "You need not worry." Paid. She brims at that and then all the other purses waiting to be snitched. People distracted and drunk, she will have need to buy bigger bags for her horse.
"Dragons and the North and perhaps if you know one or two of Ser Barristan Selmy or of the war against the Dragons…those would be perfect for the ride to Stonebridge. I have a certain…taste for those." Jaremy chuckles, reaching for the unused mug of summerwine. Rising, he takes up his sword and sets the mug down in front of what appears to be the town drunk. "As for at Stonebridge, do what you do best. Sing your best, your strongest, and trust your instinct to entertain. Chances are by then all of us will be tired from the tourney and be ready to drink and eat."
"I will sing of them, my Lord. That I promise." As he rises, so does she, grabbing for her lyre and cloak, settling them again with practiced ease. "By your leave, good Lord Terrick. I have need to see to my horse and make sure I have safely stowed my..earnings so as to not draw attention. I shall join you and your men in short order. I would be glad to give heart to your Knight's and Squires." She dips a bow, gracious as she pulls two square toed shoes, worn and repaired from her belt. She slips them on and undoes the tied up skirts, letting them fall to cover her legs. It was all a performance. "Sir.." She dips away and moves to exit the Inn, hand already drawing hair about her shoulder to wrap and tie back for the ride.
