|The Log With No Name|
|Summary:||Lucienne and Kittridge are out for a ride, when they bump into each other. Not literally.|
|Related Logs:||idk… probably that Justin one that I am too lazy to link.|
|Somewhere Near The Twins|
|Ground, sky, etc.|
|25 May, 289|
By the time afternoon rolls around today, the tourney hosted by the Lord of the Crossing is well and truly winding down. Many a knight and his squire are nursing injuries after the epic melee event, and many a lady and her handmaiden are milling about, or preparing their outfits for the evening's dance. Not the lady Lucienne, however; restless, she's taken advantage of the clearing weather to trod her horse over the muddy coutryside under the summer sun. They race and they race, the gelding's hooves sending up clumps of sodden earth behind them… and then they slow, coming to a pause to wait for Luci's entourage to catch up. Ticker seems a bit put out, fighting against the bit and whinnying irritably.
Having forgone participation in the melee, and not having any need to spend the day preparing dresses or hairstyles, Kittridge Groves also finds himself out and about. He's entourage-free, a sword in its sheath strapped within reach, not that this area is likely to see any bandit trouble, really. He seems to be exercising his mount, sprinting for a ways before winding down before they come upon the Terrick party. "Good afternoon, lady," he greets politely. After a moment he adds, "Lady Lucienne Terrick, isn't it? It's been some time since we met last."
Lucienne shushes her horse, standing her stirrups to lean forward and pat his neck vigorously. Behind her, two guards, one riding double with a handmaid, come trotting up from some distance. "My lord," greets the Terrick girl, pitching her voice to carry. Her eyes narrow slightly as she makes a study of man across from her, and after a beat she adds, "My lord of Groves? Ser Kittridge."
"The same," Kittridge confirms with a smile, "I was just at Terrick's Roost before the tourney," he says, "I believe someone mentioned you were away? Middlemarch, was it?" he inquires, his smile friendly.
There's a mirrored smile on Lucienne's face for her correct guess, and she drops back into her saddle triumphantly. "Oh," she says plainly, "I had heard, and was rather dismayed to have missed your visit, my lord. Middlemarch, yes. The place is in dire need of a lady's touch, you see." Despite her tight hold on the reins, or perhaps because of it, her horse prances uneasily beneath her.
"I've only ever ridden past Middlemarch," Kittridge replies, "Through the village but that's all. I'm sure it's the better for your efforts," he says, with another easy smile. "And that you could make the tourney, even so. Have you been here long enough to see any of the events?"
"It holds a certain significance for me," Lucienne informs Kittridge, a hint of sadness in her tone. Setting that aside swiftly, she continues, "I did not attend the melee, but was fortunate enough to see the jousting, my lord. Some admirable performances, yours among them. Do you enjoy the joust?"
NICE JOB, HOTTIE.
"You are kind to say so," Kittridge replies, smile widening. He shrugs and nods, "I do. It's more to my strengths than the melee, certainly. Though perhaps I'd have better luck fighting in it than I did betting on it, yesterday at least," he jokes, before saying, "Several knights of your house also made a good showing in the jousts, and the melee as well."
"There's something more civilised about a joust, if you ask me," opines Lucienne mock-idly. She affects an obliging chuckle for the Groves' knight's joke, her smile lighting up again. "There's always next time, Ser. I did hear that our men put on a good show yesterday, but it was a Nayland who bested them all, was it not?"
"Certainly true," Kittridge agrees, "Most of the time, anyway. A joust gone wrong can be quite unpleasant, but it's much more straight-forward and structured than the melee." He smiles back, and then nods again, "It was, yes. Ser Rutger Nayland managed to hang on just long enough to best your Ser Hardwicke Blayne."
Lucienne sniffs haughtily, clearly unimpressed with Rutger's win. HARDWICKE SHOULD HAVE WON EVERYTHING. "There'll be other melees," she supposes dryly, tugging a little on Ticker's reins and causing the horse to stutter backwards a step or two. "I understand there's been some delay on negotiations between our Houses, my lord. How disappointing."
"So there will," Kittridge agrees with a slightly amused smile. "Perhaps the Mallisters will hold one," he suggests, "To celebrate Lord Patrek's betrothal. I'm sure the Redwynes, like all men of the Reach, are avid fans of the tournament." His horse remains still, but he shifts in the saddle briefly, and then lifts a brow briefly at her remark, and chuckles. "I am not precisely sure what you've heard on the subject, Lady Lucienne," he replies, "But I think I've made my family's position quite clear, and to be honest, I think it a very reasonable position. Your family seems not to agree, which is of course their prerogative. I offered them some time to consider and perhaps change their minds, but if I haven't heard anything in a day or two, we don't intend to wait any longer. This has dragged on quite long enough as it is."
"We need that harvest," Lucienne responds flatly, widening her eyes and hanging a very deliberate, beseeching look upon Kittridge. "And understandably, you would like your land back. Surely there is some compromise could be reached, distribution of profits, perhaps? The Lady Evangeline's passing has left a large gap in our House, my lord - please, accept my apology for any inconvenience our tardiness might have caused you."
Kittridge looks at Lucienne and her beseeching gaze, and says nothing at first. At the last, he inclines his head, and shakes it, saying, "I understand your house has suffered a great loss in your lady mother," he replies, "And you have my condolences, certainly. We have tried to be accomodating, but I know it must be difficult." He rakes a hand through unruly hair and goes on, "And I know that your house needs this harvest, lady. That is why I am surprised to find them so unwilling to seriously consider the terms we've offered. The lands we've requested have only been in your possession for a few years, to claim that the loss of them will leave your house unable to recover… I find it difficult to imagine, I admit."
Lucienne continues to stare at Kittridge with those deep, dark, wide eyes of hers, gone a little glossy for the lack of blinking. "My father is a proud man, Lord Kittridge, and perhaps a little lost without his beloved lady wife, just now. But please do not be mistaken; I am certain that he is seriously considering your offer." Finally, her lashes fall to her cheeks, and Lucienne darts a look over her shoulder. Her voice, pitched much quieter this time, barely carries over the shuffle of hooves as she adds, "I can understand your chagrin over the land in question."
"I am sure that Lord Jerold considers everything seriously," Kittridge allows without argument, "I did not intend to imply otherwise. Merely that I was given to believe your family was highly unlikely to agree to our proposal, and almost equally unlikely to offer any serious counter-proposal." He shrugs, "This is what the Lady Anais conveyed to me in our meeting." When she lowers her voice he raises his brows. "I'm not ashamed to speak of it, lady," he says, voice just a shade firm, "It is hardly a secret how that land that was ours came to be yours. Nor that we would wish it ours again."
Growing ever impatient at being held still, Ticker whinnies and dances some more, prompting a sigh from Lucienne. "It was only right and honourable to march for your king," Lucienne replies, equally firm. "My lord, perhaps we might continue our discussion this evening? My mount grows uneasy, and I would like a word with my goodsister, perhaps. I should be delighted if you would save me a dance."
Kittridge is genuinely surprised at that. "A royalist among Lord Terrick's children? I admit I am surprised. But yes, I do think our choice a reasonable and honourable one myself, as well." At the rest, he nods, and says, "Of course, it has grown late. We will speak again later, then, and I will certainly be honoured to claim you for a dance. Until then, Lady Lucienne."
Lucienne looks up, keeping her chin low in a token effort to hide her smirk. "I beg you, don't say it too loudly, my lord." With her horse barely under control, she schools her expression more proper and flashes a pretty smile to the Groves. "Until then, Lord Kittridge. It has been a pleasure." Barely has she adjusted her grip on the reins before Ticker springs off, leaving her retinue to quickly gather themselves and give chase.