|The Nursing of Wounds|
|Summary:||Amelia visits Jaremy to find him tired, aching, and drinking after failing to win his joust.|
|Related Logs:||Follows late after the events of Tourney at Stonebridge|
Jaremy turns on the bed, leaning over the side of it as his bare feet find the grass. Watching her walk towards where her dress is neatly folded, he turns his head away, giving her some privacy. "It's…hard not to. Even my father said something of the sort. I just need to find a medium, a place in between that satisfies these things, but keeps me as I am." He scowls, placing the back of his hand to his lips, suffering down his sore, lurching stomach. "You're right let's talk about it later. Now isn't the right time, and the sun is getting up there." He rises from the bed, fetching some silver from a purse, he steps over, offering it to her. "Three bottles and more for your breakfast. One for you, one for me, and one for our talk to come, aye?" He smiles softly.
Amelia pulls on her skirt beneath the towel, stepping into it gingerly. She watches his as he speaks. Its not to be sure he does not peek. It is more for her to see his actions. Once the shirt is on, she pulls the cloak on over it all. She is back to looking like a well-off commoner except for the bed hair. "What you need, Jaremy, is to stop beating yourself up and learn your lessons. Woe and trepidation will stagnate you and alienate your people from your true potential. Find a woman. Marry her for how she can help you. Learn to love her if you must. Nobody will be happy over the short term, but in the end, if you are lucky, you will have heirs and become fond of their mother. That is all you need." She thanks the Seven he can't see the look on her face because she looks like she might be extremely sick any moment, and not for the alcohol's effects. But she's surprised when he stands. Going to the silver her heart almost breaks and the look of horror on her face sticks as he crosses the grass to her. But when he tells her what its for, she sighs. Eyes go to the ground and she nods. "We will each need our own after we share the next. I will.. come back when I can." The coin deposited like a wife given an allowance for shopping, she presses herself to him and kisses his jaw. "I will not ever forget last night or this morning. You've let a baseborn whore cup the cheek of her dream. Thank you." She kisses his neck and drifts away before heading for the exit.
Her words about responsibility are very similar to those of his father's, and thus they are no shock to him. Like them or not, he nods softly and turns his head from her as she speaks them. His hands fold behind his back as he takes his medicine the way he should…in silence. As his jaw is kissed, he returns it, bringing an arm about to squeeze her forearm. "It won't be the last time we speak, Amelia. Buy those bottles and keep them safe." He manages to her as she pulls away, watching as the tent flap settles back into place. Again, he swallows hard and moves over to the side of his bed, reaching for a mug. Bringing it to his lips, the scent of the alcohol on the mug turns his eyes down, forcing him to turn his head away. "Fucking hell, Jaremy…"
Nine Hours Earlier…
The joust has ended. The jousting arena has been cleared and cleaned for its next use by the Tordane servants, and the nobles have retreated to the halls for late night feasting and revelry. The hours have passed long enough for Ser Jaremy Terrick to ransom his armor back from Ser Lyle "Strongboar" Crakehall, and punish Ser Rygar Nayland by demanding a snide price for his armor and horse to be returned to him. All of these things, however, pale in comparison to Jeremy, to the fact that he did not win the joust. Six lances were broken upon his body, and it was the sixth that bore him to the ground.
No victory, no glory, and most importantly…no final kiss from Lady Isolde, who will soon be wed to a Nayland.
And as the feasting and revelry continues long into the night, Jaremy has retreated to the Terrick compound and his large pavillion tent made of heavy material. Guards pace the compound, allowing the sleeping lords some quiet. Jaremy, however, is not asleep. He reclines in a heavy, steel tub. Each arm dangles over the sides as his head rests back upon a pillow. Casually taking drinks of heavy liquor from a mug on a nightstand which rests next to his propped-up sword, he's left to his thoughts and the hot water of his bath.
The tent flap lifts and one of the sworn dips his head towards the opening. "Ser Jaremy, m'Lord. Amelia of Seagard is here to see you." She can be heard to give the man a polite thank you before stepping inside. The woman is wearing..not what she was earlier. She looks closer to a commoner. A well-off commoner, but one no less. She's donned a dark tan set of skirts with a white shirt that covers much more than usual. A deep blue cloak is worn over all of it. Modesty has become more common since she helped Isolde sneak into the Roost. Seeing the man, she steps towards him with a gentle sigh and smile, slipping the hood back off her head. "Jaremy," she greets with some genuine warmth. The woman stops short of coming too close to the naked man. There is a bound sack with her that matches her skirt perfectly. Mostly devoid of her normally whorish make-up, she actually seems to have 'cleaned up' well from her normal efforts.
To keep away the strange modesty of guests, the water itself is a strange, opaque white color, no doubt some apothecary additive that both soothes and gives little beneath the surface of the water to view. It does little to hit the brusing on his chest that comes in the form of large red splotches on his arm and on his chest, clearly where the final blow was struck.
Jaremy raises his head, eyes opening a bit more than they were before at the sight of her. At first he simply gazes, taking in the sight of her in what are clearly new clothes. His eyes meet hers, his expression failing to consume the silent disappointment he carries on his shoulders.
"Amelia." He replies quietly, reaching for his mug of strong wine. "Heard you in the stands, I did." That earns her a quiet, weak smile. "You know, for a moment there, I endured two of Strongboar's lances. That third round…I really did think I could beat him. That's what did me in."
Amelia meets his eyes and smiles away towards the ground beneath her feet, eventually finding the bag with her and she lifts it to be cradled in her hands. It provides something to look at a moment before looking to him. "As you should have. I was having a shouting contest with quite a few other commoners. I was doing well until a large woman with enormous lungs began bellowing. It was quite frightening." She returns to her smile and takes a few cautious steps closer to him, not wanting to intrude. "I will not be shy about admitting I was terrified for you. Seeing the first one explode was enough to still the heart. Seeing the second.." She shakes her head slowly, eyes staying on him but dropping to his chest. "Well I knew then and there that no matter how great of a man you may think you are, you still need a woman to take care of you. Because when you start charging trees at overgrown trolls, one is likely going to come away with some scars." There's only a slight tease to her expression. "Other than the drink, how are you feeling?"
"Overgrown trolls…" Jaremy chuckles softly, not fighting very hard at letting her insert a crack of humor to his lips. His shoulders tense slightly and he leans his head to the side, testing his sore shoulder. "…that overgrown troll hits like King Robert I'm sure of it, though far more powerful than Ser Rygar was. My shield arm is sore, and I may spend the rest of tomorrow a little stiff. Though this is what I get for running at horse-speed into opposite running trees, now isn't it?" He asks, not offering much about his mental state of mind. Instead, he changes subject. "How great of a man do you think…that I think I am, Amelia?"
"Considering the hits endured? Well its a testament to your fortitude, Jaremy. You ought be very proud of yourself for standing as long as you had. You chose him, as I do recall, mm?" She spies a nearby stool and sets her bag down. It stands tall as a bottle might. "Ser Rygar's toppling was masterful. I cannot ever possibly express the inept laughter that left me when I saw him take to his rear off the horse. I believe that the score is now two to a blank for publically embarassing him. Good show." There is no shortage of pride in her voice. "But you are sore." She takes the more chiding tone to be expected. "I brought a few things, namely my hands and a seed oil from the south. It helps numb the muscles if you relax them." Its removed from the bag, though the large bottle is still hidden away and she holds it as if offering one of her massages via the gesture. "How great?" She takes a breath and looks at him. "I think you believe you are not ready. That your doubts about what has transpired with a certain woman has left you feeling angry and vengeful. I think that you believe that this makes you question whether or not you might be ready for the throne that you will eventually hold."
Jaremy's head nods softly, giving her an appreciative 'go ahead' look at her mention of the muscle relaxing oil and massage. Slowly, he turns his neck muscles and sits up in the tub. "I had to choose the Strongboar, really. To choose another would have shown that I was avoiding him. That giant of a man actually seemed to appreciate it." His words trail off, finally allowing himself to absorb her observation of him. A wistful smile crosses his features as he lowers his gaze to the water, letting out a quiet sigh. "I hope this is because you know me so well, Amelia, and not that it's so obvious." He breathes in deeply, releasing it as if he's staring at a large mess that has to be cleaned. "I am inexperienced, and my first test, in truth, has left me scrambling to try to keep up with Ser Rygar and Lady Valda. My father is so much better at these things, and one day I'll have to be. In this week I'll lose a bannerhouse, a woman, and a joust, two of those the product of my inexperience. Nothing teaches quite like getting burned, does it?"
Amelia pulls the stool over behind the tub and settles onto it after divesting the cape. Its settled to the side and she dabs some of the oil onto her hands, rubbing them together to help warm it. It smells of oranges and wheat, potentially quite soothing. All the while he talks and she warms, the woman watching him with an easy smile. "Proof you are not as inexperienced as you think, Jaremy," she whispers into his ear before sitting back up. The whore takes to his shoulder first. Its gentle movements to test the skin and spread the oil around. It goes to his chest and then down his arm. "Your first test might have saved the life of a very terrified woman. You let your people know that not only do you say that you care, you provide tangible proof that you do." She works at his arm and shoulder first, starting to rub the oil in deeper. "No, Jaremy. Tsk. What did I say? You cannot take on the responsibilities of everyone." Her voice is quiet. There's no need for anyone outside to hear what they are discussing. "You father lost all that. You are being left to clean up the mess. If your father was the man you believe him to be, he would have seen this coming and averted disaster. But you are quite correct, nothing teaches like being burned." She tilts her head to the side to look at him more. "Tell me, what has this less imparted to my fairest Lord?"
Allowing himself to trust, Jaremy leans back into her hands and lets his head lull to the side. Eyes closing, he quietly sighs when her fingers knead the most sensitive spots. The majority of them center upon his shoulder joints and the inside of his left arm. With her question, he cracks one eye open to find her leaning, watching for his response.
"This lesson has imparted to your fairest most bruised lord, that his father was right when he said he should have forced the marriage long ago, and both terribly wrong when he chose not to do so. Though…the more I focus on the situation the less I want to set myself aflame for failing Isolde, and the more I want to mop up the spilled milk and scramble once more. Our enemies won't wait. Now isn't the time to mourn." He closes his eyes again, leaning back into her hands. "All is not lost, and for that…gods…I feel like I've done the best I could have, Amelia. What treachery was done I did not allow us to take lying down."
The stool is scootched under her and more around the side. It allows her better access to his arm and chest and also a better view of his face while they speak. Her hands work skillfully. She's done this many times, though probably not ever for him. And probably not with the tender concern she has for someone as dear to her as Jaremy. "So you've learned that sometimes taking a hard line with people is not a bad thing and can avert disaster. Especially when it comes to those important to you? Is that something you've taken away?" She dabs more oil on and moves gingerly to his chest. "Don't disregrd to ale, m'Lord. It will help you relax." She nods to the cup and back to him. "I think you've done quite well to manage as you have. I know not what the Tordane's attempted to accomplish with my arrest, though I can surmise that Rygar would not have been overtly gentle with me. I cannot repay that, but I can try. Though I would agree. I don't think you have time to mourn, Jaremy. There will be time for that. Now is a time for something else. Something you must decide for us as our leader."
"I only lead so far." His reply comes quiet as he opens his eyes to her. He rolls his left shoulder, softly testing the muscles before he lets the arm go slack, letting her work on his chest. With his free hand, he reaches for his mug and brings the wine to his lips, drinking deeply. Swallowing twice before the mug is pulled away, he lets it dangle from his hand over the side of the tub. "Yes, it's something I've taken away. Fuck, even my uncle and brother agreed with my assesment of the situation, even if I'm hearing correctly that it was marginally poorly handled. Perhaps I was too…emotional about it. Though as for you? They can fuck themselves. There wasn't any chance I was going to let them mishandle you over their false claim. You don't deserve that." He shakes his head. "You're very kind to me, Amelia but…I am not ready to sit on that chair." He pauses, lifting an eyebrow to her. "You have such confidence in me, is this because you still breathe or do you just see this differently?"
"You lead as far as you let yourself and no farther. After that, you abdicate your leadership to someone who will do what you will not. If you do that while Lord, a Maester or perhaps an advisor will simply fill your role and you will lose control. You must do whatever is required, m'Lord." The last is said more teasing than anything else. She look as if she might had swiped some of the oil to hise nose but through better of it. Its that playful look she has sometimes. "Mmm. Do you think that emotion is a weakness in a chair like that?" Its not quite a challenge so much as an academic question. To the man's last, though, she smiles. "Both. I've hared tender moments with you, Jaremy. I know what kind of lover you are. You can't hide the good inside. Its why she loves you so much and why I helped. But I also see a great man capable of great things. He just needs to believe in himself more. To dare to be great."
"I don't think that emotion is a weakness, no, but it can also get in the way. Too much emotion and you start making irrational decisions, and daring to be great could also lend to being too ambitious. There's definitely an unspoken line to walk, Amelia." Once more he drinks, emptying the mug. Setting it aside, he focuses his full attention on her, pausing to lower his brows and stretch his chest muscles against her hands. The bruising on his chest would have been far worse had he been wearing less than plate. "Fuck that's…I told you he was a big fucker." He laughs softly. "Amelia…I do believe in myself. Truly. I just don't want to push myself into being too self-assured or too arrogant. Though when the times come, like in the square the other day, or when facing Rygar. I just…do what I believe to be just." He smiles darkly to her. "There are those that would use this good you see inside of me to their advantage, you know. Many consider that weakness or foolishness. Lady Valda certainly thinks so."
Amelia listens to what he has to say, her head tilted to the side as she regards him. Who knows what goes on behind those hazel windows? But she certainly isn't looking displeased. "Maybe it leads to ambition. But what are the Naylands, if not ambitious? Should you not also consider their actions for some of your own. Like I told someone else recently: Dare to be bold, Jaremy. I love you for a good reason. Many others do, too." The last is said quietly. Those are words warmly spoken just for him. As he stretches his chest, she looks to it and stops her hands. Her cheeks flush a bit and she turns away to hide from it, reaching for the bag and bottle within. "Give my your mug, Jaremy. I have something else for you to drink. We can share since you helped win it for me." A glance back to take the cup and she winks. The bottle, unlabeled, is uncorked about the time that he says the last and her brow furrows. There is a careful look to him. "First of all, you must be arrogant before you can know when to apply it. You lack that, which you must work on. Behave like the man you were born to be. Second, that is a dangerous thing to say, Jaremy. Be careful, lest your sworn or servants start a witch hunt for someone who my not exist."
"Oh…that's right you were betting on me weren't you? Fuck I was wondering where the new clothes came from, I'd never seen you with those before. Wait there's another…mug…hang on…" Jaremy leans to the side a little, grabbing another mug from a catch on his small end table. He offers it over to her. "I've had enough drinks alone tonight, at least have one since it's your bottle." Jaremy half-demands.
The alcohol that's already in his veins leads Jaremy to a place of more honesty, and in his favor he's not a loud drunk. He knows when to keep quiet. "I'll have to work on my arrogance, you say?" He nudges her hip with his elbow. "Okay, you might be right about that, because lack of confidence is like a fallen lamb to the wolf, but if I become like Rygar I could only pray that Jarod would put an end to me. I was born to be ruler of Terrick's Roost. Answer me honestly…" He leans back against the pillow, eyes judging her reactions. "…do you really think that I could be as great a ruler as my father, Amelia?"
"I wasn't just betting on you, Jaremy. Though.." She takes a nervous breath. "I bet a significant sum of what little I had on you. A little went to Ser Kevan. Quite a few of the whores from the Rockcliff bet on you as well. They'll be happy when I return." She takes the mug and her smile turns more prideful at the notice of her clothing. "I've decided that unless I am at work, I should not look like I am at work. Or at least attempt to not do that." The mugs are each given a heft amount and she hands one back. "Blackberry wine from the orchards outside King's Landing. Very strong and quite tastey. Do enjoy it carefully." The nudge to her hip gets a little chuckle and a return nudge. "You are correct on all over that, Jaremy." While his eyes judge her, her's look him over once more while he asks. Its a moment before she addresses her eyes right to his and leans on the side of the tub. "No. Not without some boosted confidence and a few more life lessons. After that, I think you could make a name for yourself that will do the Terrick name proud." She lifts her mug to sheers him. "To the Terricks and their son Ser Jaremy. To many milennia of family leaders just as he."
"That…I will drink to." Jaremy replies, lifting the mug to tap against hers. Tilting the mug back just a little, his lips tighten, baring his teeth as the back of his throat finds the wine far more potent than he expected. He turns his head to the side and lets out a small cough, swallowing down the fumes. "Seven, you weren't kidding…" He hangs onto the mug, twisting at the waist beneath the water. One knee rises from beneath the opaque water. Unlike the rest of him, he doesn't have many complaints about his knees. "So…this is Amelia's official assesment, aye? Beat a little more confidence into the young knight, cram a few lessons on the evil men do in there with all of the kingsguard and dragons, and you just might make a good man of me yet?" His drunk eyes laugh, slightly glossed over as he drinks once more.
Amelia sips of the wine, watching happily at his coughed reaction to it. "Seeeeeee? What did I tell you about being careful, love? Potent is not a term I laze around with." She smirks and watches his knee for a moment before looking back to him. Legs cross and she slouches a bit as her own liquor begins worming its way into her system. She will drink with the men but seeing her drunk… is quite rare. "If I must beat a little confidence into you, then that is what I must do. I've made promises and deals that I must keep. You, ser, Mister Jaremy, are someone I admire horribly." She sips once more. "I will take care of you anyway I see fit, thank you very much. Future damnable wifes that may be paraded to you? They can stand in line. I have too much time invested in you to just quit now." Her own eyes shine with pride and happiness.
Jaremy brings the mug up, gazing to the side of it while she speaks. At the mention of future wives, he is unable to hide the roll of his eyes as the mug is pressed to his forehead. "We've known each other what, about four years now? You're right, it's been a long time. So when these future damnable wives are brought to town, you'll likely be able to tell ahead of time what I'll think of them. So…fuck, that's something that's going to become a priority fast for my father." He peels his forehead away from the mug, eyes back to hers as he drinks another sip. "So they'll have to stand in line, eh?" He smirks quietly. "Going to stand at Four Eagles' south gate with a cudgel?"
The whore goes about sipping her mug once more, slouching a touch more to rest her elbows on her knees. In days passed in what she dressed, it would have shoved her chest in anyone's face. Now? It just looks like a pleasantly relaxed posture that assumes nothing but interest. Though her expression on her face is all mirth. "Yesser. I've known you since you were sixteen." She reaches out to pinch his nose. "And what an adorable sixteen. I wanted to scoop you up and keep you at Rockcliff so we could take you out and teach you bad habits when it suited us. Now look at you four years later and all grown to a man. Almost done." She winks again and sips at the mug slowly. The last gets a deep, heart-filled laugh from her as she rocks back on the stool for a moment. "Oh Seven, that'd be something I would be happy to do. But then again, you'd be rid of any of them forever. We could just dispose of them in the water easily enough. Finding someone I approve of may take years of dedication on my part! Just enough time to finalize you." Another prideful smile and sip. Maybe she is getting drunk. Its starting to look like it in her eyes.
"Eighteen," Jaremy corrects, trying (and failing) to dodge the pinch of his nose. Even he's avoided being drunk at the Rockcliff, usually only stopping in for one or two mug's full. Now there's no telling how much he'd had before she'd arrived. "Almost done?" He adds, lifting a challenging eyebrow in her direction. "Fuck, if you think I've yet to learn about myself or have a need to be more confident, I'm sure I'm night and day compared to the first time we met. I can't remember all of our conversation but I do remember that stick up my ass, carefully detailing every conversation piece." He shakes his head, laughing into his mug as he takes another long pull. "That was a very long time ago…" He calms, swirling the dark liquid in the mug as he reclines, letting out a quiet sigh, content in his inebriation. "Almost done." He laughs, pointing at her. "I just facking jousted Strongbear. Almost done?"
"Eighteen," Jaremy corrects, trying (and failing) to dodge the pinch of his nose. Even he's avoided being drunk at the Rockcliff, usually only stopping in for one or two mug's full. Now there's no telling how much he'd had before she'd arrived. "Almost done?" He adds, lifting a challenging eyebrow in her direction. "Fuck, if you think I've yet to learn about myself or have a need to be more confident, I'm sure I'm night and day compared to the first time we met. I can't remember all of our conversation but I do remember that stick up my ass, carefully detailing every conversation piece." He shakes his head, laughing into his mug as he takes another long pull. "That was a very long time ago…" He calms, swirling the dark liquid in the mug as he reclines, letting out a quiet sigh, content in his inebriation. "Almost done." He laughs, pointing at her. "I just facking jousted Strongboar. Almost done?"
"Eighteen. Sixteen." Amelia rolls her eyes, laughing. "Whatever you want to concern yourself with for the details! And yes, that was part of my giggled irony, Seremy." Whether or not her mixing the title and his name was intentional will be left to question. "Yes! Almost done!" She leans more to the side and props the mug up on the edge of the tub as she watches him and his near contentedness. "Oh Lords Up High!" she laughs again. "You were the one who wanted to go head to head with a professional tree chucker, Jeramy! Maybe that's part of what I'm getting at. I can't have you doing and getting hurt over measly little things like aggrivated forest men. I need you in the Roost! Sitting on a Throne! Doing good things! Being all.." She waves a hand at him drunkenly. "Being all Terrick-y!"
"Terricky" Jaremy almost raises his voice too loud. Though his pavillion has thick walls, there's not so thick as to drown out everything. His eyes have certainly glossed over, and his eyelids are half shut having found the new vintage introduced to be drowning out the rest of the alcohol in his bloodstream. "Carefuls with the…" He motions to her mug as she leans over the tub, not sure which he's trying to keep from being knocked over. "…Look, there's only a few things you need to know, Amelia. The first is that I'm all done, and the second is that I'm gonna be at Terrick's Roost for a long, long, long time. And should any other fucking Nayland decide to trot their nonsense into Terrick's Roost I'll tell them to pound sand again. Until then, you've got my full permission to chase away any bad wifes." Yes, he said wifes. "I won't get hurt. Trust me. I'm good at careful."
"Terrick-y is a word. I just made it up, but by Amelia's decree.." She taps a hand on the edge of the tub and nods. "I make it so. Maester!" She swings her mug. "Record it in the logs, mm?" She dips back to him, still leaning on the tub with a big, goofy smile. Careful. Sure. Amelia takes another sip. She isn't quite as far gone as Jaremy but she's gettin there. She's little and not a drinker. It won't take much more. "All done? You just.. overrule me like that? How rude!" She flicks water at him, her brow furrowed in mock offense. The mention of a Nayland has her huff once more. "Those people. You know, there- there could be good ones out there! Well, like, maybe half-good. Or partial good. Or just, you know, a reformed Nayland. Which, I guess, makes her not a Nayland? I dunno." She rolls her eyes. "But!" She sips at the mug once more. "You, my lovely Jaremy, will have my full efforts at chasing away bad wifes! I won't let them be.. bitches. Can I say bitches to you? Gods, that sounds horrible." But the last makes her smile. "I won't let you get hurt, Jaremy. Trust me." A mild moment of clarity? Unlikely.
"You probably shouldn't say bitches to them at the least." Jaremy replies, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He winces, finding that arm still somewhat in pain. As a response, he takes another sip, but then sets the mug aside. He's reached his limit. "Now…" He quiets, sensing her serious moment and falling into line with it. He places his hand over her forearm. "First, be careful. You don't want to get your new dress wet. You would never forgive me." He chuckles softly, drunken eyes unfocusing as he speaks. "You…might not be able to keep me from getting hurt, like today, Amelia, but you can be there to help me heal. Sooner or later there'll be one wife you can't chase away and…" He shrugs. "…it's the way of things. But…until then I want you to know I'm thinking on your behalf. For all you've done for me. Just give it time."
"Mm. You, ser, have a very good point. So while I bludgeon these intruders to death I will be ure to curtsie to them." There's a certain finality to her nod. Its as if these instructions have been written someone in stone. She doesn't seem to notice his hand at first. It takes a second. But she looks down at it and smiles. Its a big preen for him. "Oh, if it spills and ruins my dress I'll just make you buy me a new one. I could guilt trip you. I am confident." The rest has her purse her lips and narrow her eyes, though. "I think I could stop you sometimes. Or warn you. From getting hurt, I mean. As for this wife, well.. I'll deal with her when that bridge crosses me." But the comment about her future gets a tilt of her head and another goofy smile. She reaches out with her uncovered hand and ruffles his hair. "I don't mind being what I have to if it means I can just be stupid with you like tonight. You're my favorite person in the Roost! I could probably be old and crotchety with you and still have stim-u-lating conversation." She ruffles once more. "Hey! I was thinking of competing. In singing. I have a song. But I'm nervous. I- I don't want people to boo me away. Cuz of, you know. Me. Who- What I do." That's even harder to word drunk tht sober. Less akward, though.
"Well, still, though I've got a bit of coin left over from selling Ser Rygar's horse and armor back to him, I'd still hate to ruin such a pretty dress. It does you well, Amelia." Jaremy replies, blinking heavily as his vision blurs with the turn of his head. "Of all the people in the Roost you say I am your favorite? Have all these years of conversation done that well?" As he leans back, the hot water in the tub sways. "Amelia. If you are anything, you are brave. You've definitely put your throat on the line for my interests. Why be so hesitant to do less for yours?"
Amelia smiles again and looks down to herself. "You like this?" Her expression spreads to find her eyes and she looks back up to him. "Aww thanks. I like being dressed this way. Its more comfortable. People don't stare. I.. Its like wrapping yourself in a warm blanket in a crowd. Nobody see's me!" She looks like she might try and hug her clothing, rocking side to side for a moment. "But yes!" She pats his hand. "Of course you are my favorite. We talk. Yyou actually listen and don't see me for something else. Just me." There's a firm nod to indicate that this means far more to her than anything else she could do with her time. "Wellllll I'm worried. I, see, I live in Terrick's Roost." She brushes her fingertips to her heart as if she needed to inform him. "I feel like I represent something. That's good. But!" She swings a finger up. "I'm a 'woman of ill repute' and, so, you know." Amelia sighs and looks a little sad. "My song is about love. I'm afraid people will laugh me away. I know there's lots who don't know me but.." She's nervous.
"Well, you've always given me respect. You afford me in quiet conversation opinions and your mind when I wish of it, and when I don't you always seem to find something else to speak about. You're subtle like that." Pulling at the sides of the tub, he sits up, bringing his sore shoulder in a little to try to rest the inside of his elbow beneath the water. He lowers his eyes to her bent knee, a look of concentration passing over his well-sauced face. "Amelia?" He asks, suddenly lookin up. "You know I always enjoy your songs, but…in truth what do you want to do? Every time I see you, you're heading in some direction but I've never asked what. Where do you wish to be going, Amelia? Truly."
Amelia's nervousness fades with the sadness when the topic passes beyond her potential singing. "I try to be. Thank you for noticing, dear heart." She sips at the mug and leans drunken against the tub, her eyes watching him over the brim of the mug. "When you all chide me or tell me that something is to be a way, then I move along or be quiet. Do not mistake that for being hurt. You and your family are my betters, m'Lord Jaremy! Besides, I am a woman. We have our place. When I step from it, it is good to be reminded where I should be. And it is good for you to remember that." She tilts her head to the side though but her face goes blanks at his last question. Just a complete lack of emotion, even in her eyes. It takes a moment for her mind to restart. "I. I do not know, Jaremy," she breathes, looking away. "I have what I want but some things are impossible. And recall what I just said about stepping out of place. Besides, the choices in my life? I am beginning to suspect that I may never be able to. We all dream." Her eyes lift back to him. "My dreams and my plans.. often change. I'm still in the process of mmmaking some large decisions in my life right now." She slurs 'decisions'. The whore is drunk. It may be the first time in a year or more.
Jaremy quiets, nodding his head near her side. As she slurs her words, he can't help but give a wistful smile, finding a small ray of something funny to grasp to in her words. Drunk as she is, the two waver between dark emotions and revelry, never quite able to sense their passing from side to side of the scales. "Well, we will continue to talk, and I want to know your dreams and plans, because you did something for me that I can't imagine any other doing. You took quite a risk for me, and you've a kind soul. I will help you meet what dreams I can in exchange for you answering prayers that the seven would not." Jaremy's words are slurred as well, but he means them well. He scoots back to sit upright in the tub, wincing as he tests his chest's muscles again. "Fuck…if only Lyle Crakehall stood watch at the Roost…" He chuckles widely, planting a wet hand on her dress-covered knee as he pushes himself into place. "Alright, fuck this sodden shit. Tell me about this song, Amelia, and then we'll decide if it's too personal to share with the rest of Stonebridge."
"Jaremy," Amelia begins with a kind smile. "Maybe the seven did answer your prayers. They just chose me to deliver when they cannot involve themselves directly." She won't even accept full responsibility when people really want to thank her. "But my dreams.." She seems about to shy away and shake her head when the hand lands on her knee. Eyes fall to it and she takes it up in both her hands. Fingers begin massaging it as if it were a reflex but her eyes lift. "I.. I want to be noble, Jaremy. I want to help people. I want to pluck up young girls in danger of becoming what I have and find them a purpose. I want to see the men coming home to their wives after work with pennies in their pocket. Annnd.. I want to have the power to make it so. I want to be respected." Her eyes drop. She really screwed that one up. Ascending a whore would be near impossible. Though, there's something else there that seems to hold on to hope. Maybe she really is just niave enough to believe its possible when it comes to herself. Delusion can be powerful within the mind. But she tries to force the smile while looking at his hand. "I have wanted that since I was very young. But such dreams are common." She shrugs and looks back up to him with the question of the song. "The song is.. about people. Husbands and wives. When you all go off to war. What we think about and what we wonder. Our hopes for you. It makes me cry when I sing it." So she's experienced that? "But I think its a good song." The drunken lid of her eyes is there, her words coming less and less retrained.
Bringing up his knee from beneath the water to support the arm of the hand she massages, Jaremy turns his hand at the wrist, offering it to her. The upward gaze he provides her through his lidded eyes is sympathetic. "Amelia. There are ways that I've thought of." He chuckles softly. "I nearly suggested to my Lord Father that for your suspicion in the crimes we bring you into service for a year and a day, providing advising on the status of our smallfolk as oh-so-back-breaking servitude. Fucking Naylands…" He scoffs, chuckling. "…the man of Rockcliff isn't getting any younger, and all that go there respect you, myself included. I would support your purchase of it if he were willing to turn it over. Seven know the girls there seek your protection as well as mine." It's a start, but proof that the topic has crossed his mind. His voice lowers, watching her face carefully. "Are you ready to sing it for me? Is that your wish, or do you need time?"
She kneads his palm with her fingers, the gentle touch of her soft skin a reminder that despite her work, she has been spared labors too heavy. When he addresses her, though, her eyes drop back to his hand as if it provided protection. "Thank you. I'd serve in any capacity your family required or wished." The smile fades with a twitch when he mentions the Naylands. "I do not wish to be involved with whoring any longer than I must. The whores of Rockcliff may wish something like my protection but I cannot support that. They put on smiles and laugh to make their money. I've seen them weep at the degrading things they must do. They are the same degrading things I once had to endure and cried over. We are the bottom of the base, m'Lord. But we are still people with souls and dreams. And we feel shame and pain. If I were to take over Rockcliff I would prohibit them from such things. But the worst part of whoring is that it becomes an addiction to the soul. The easy trade of something natural for penny is hard to leave behind." She clears her throat and mutters something before moving along. "I can sing some of it for you now if you like.. But I don't think I can.. pperform most of it right now. I, my love Jaremy, am too drunk and faar too in danger of becoming a weepy mess if I do that."
"Then…don't. It's no order, Amelia." Jaremy replies, curling his fingers to squeeze her hand as she massages his. He lowers his gaze to their hands, considering them as his drunken mind spins and fails to find ground. "I will think on this, and you should too, and we will find something that works. Perhaps now you understand why it's been so long since that one night that I, myself, was a guest of yours." He looks up to her. "Perhaps I saw it. I do not want to be such a man. Perhaps that's also why I waited so long with Isolde, Amelia…" His words trail off. "…I did not wish to force anything that should have come naturally. Again, some would call this foolish." He gives their hands a squeeze, breaking their contact to reach for his mug once more. "Today was bittersweet for me, Amelia. Hopefully tomorrow will be brighter. For me, however, the tourney is over."
"I will sing some of it. I just.." A long breath. "Need a moment." She clears her throat, speaking on his subjects before she goes back there to her song. Her hand folds inside his for a moment too long before she begins massaging it once more. But she flattens her smile, her heart touching her eyes as she looks back to him. "Jaremy, I never wondered why," she whispers. "The man you are behind closed doors with a whore is a window to your soul, m'Lord. You need love and compassion. Not tricks and fake smiles. The Lady of Stonebridge is someone worth waiting centuries for. It is not foolish. It is love. It happens when it happens and we cannot help these things." His hand leaves and she nods to his mention of the tourny. Okay. Time to sing.
She sits off her lean on the tub and takes a loong pull of the mug before setting it down. The bottle i eyes but ultimately left where it stands. There is a long breath from her before she begins. The words are soft and gentle. Her mezzo-soprano barely lifts above a whisper except to find the required tone of emotion. Its unlikely that anyone outside the tent would even hear it. Her eyes find him just as she begins, singing as if the words were meant for him.
"I know that we are together
Even though we are far apart
And I'll wear the locket round my neck
Pressed to my heart"
She does, indeed, wear a locket around her neck. She only ever takes it off when she goes upstairs with a man. During quiet and sometimes nervous moments she plays with the chain.
"And I sleep in the cold
I cry in the cold
And it's so hard livin' here
…without the bold"
"I still imagine your touch
It's beautiful missing something that much
But sometimes love needs a fighting chance
So I'll wait my turn until it's our turn to dance"
She stops there, looking like she can't go any farther. "Sorry, m'Lord. I'll refrain from going on right now if you'll forgive me." Her jaw steels as she forces the emotions back down to her heart where they belong.
Silent, he allows her the few moments she needs to take everything she's opened up and fold it neatly back to where it came from. Though as she does so, Jaremy's eyes do not leave her. Even as he brings the mug to his lips to down the last of his share of the potent liquor, his eyes scan her face and then eventually dip to the locket around her neck. Questions form, even in his drunk eyes.
Setting the empty mug beside his sword, he leans forward. The water in the tub shifts as he shakes his hand, spattering the warm watter from this fingertips against the ground. His hand reaches for the locket, tapping it curiously.
"Amelia. When I was laying on the ground after Strongboar unhorsed me, I came to realize that, love her as I do, there's only a small cord of hope that Isolde will not wed Ser Ryker. I failed her. The best I have is the satisfaction of putting Ser Rygar in his place. You're right, she is worth waiting centuries for, but her family knows too much." He lowers his head to the bottle she brought, hesitating to reach for it. Instead, he turns for the pitcher of wine left for him beside his bath. "I've never asked about your locket. Did you, too, lose someone?"
Amelia glances to the shifting water but doesn't look to his face. But she doesn't shy away from his touch, either. There is something distinctly comfortable about him. Besides, she's quite drunk and her defenses are dropped all the way to the ground… Well. Almost. The woman nods sadly at the knowledge of the Naylands knowing too much. "Aye, m'Lord. They do. I'd see them know less these days if it were in my power." She looks to the locket, though, and turns it over. In flowing script, the name 'Daniel' is etched into pure silver. Seeing it close up, its probably worth several stags and the workman ship, though faded, is quite fine. "I did." She lifts it to look at it. "I told you that the first time I told a man I loved him, a man laughed in my face. It was not the man I loved. It was his father." She clasps it in her hand and looks back to him. "Daniel was the son of a noble and second in line for his family's throne. We met when we were young, before my mother died. We fell in love and were together for many moons. My mother knew who he was and slept with a teacher who educated me for free in exchage. Taught me the ways of nobility so that I might make him a good wife. His father found out and forbade us. We continued in secret. He announced to his mother that he wished to marry the daughter of a whore and that was it. He proposed to me with this locket and went to tell his parents. That was the last I saw of him. He was sent to squire, I was told. I heard later he was killed in the rebellion fighting King Robert." She shrugs and looks back to it. "It was ten years ago two months ago. I've moved on but he is my reminder that maybe, just maybe I can be more than life has given me. That there is hope, even when everything is wretched."