|Till We Run Dry|
|Summary:||Danae and Marsden commiserate on the east bank of the river.|
|Related Logs:||Eschaton of Stonebridge, A Drunken Knight and the marriage.|
|East Bank — Stonebridge|
|Two pavilions sit on the East Bank of the River|
|29 April 289|
The duel has come and gone, Gedeon's body been swept away from the bridge and laid out within the Valentin pavilion to be attended. That Danae is not within may be for the best — whether removed by the suggestion of those seeing him to rights or by her own shaky heart — and instead she can be found, curled upon the stump where Gedeon was seen to sit in his last week on the banks. Her head is bowed. Slender shoulders shake as she drags her bloodstained skirts along the length of the greatsword, attempting to wipe away the blood.
The flap to the Valentin pavilion opens, as soon enough the scarred face, bald septon appears. Still clad in the green surcoat of the day. There is a moment when all feels like the world has gone silent on you and sunk below the horizion. And then-something snaps. A sound like a twig being crunched, and you awake briefly from your grief. BLinking dumbly, the Half septon looks out towards the stump where his former master often had himself sat. Eyes watching the other blond Tordane sit there, and he seems quite content to let this go on, before he is finally moving.
His steps aren't staggered, nor is there a rush, but soon enough, the half septon's hand is there at her shoulder. "Lady Tordane.." he intones softly, before he is looking down to the greatsword with her. "Do you need help?"
"It won't come out," Danae answers with a crack in her voice, too soft and almost meek. Blonde lashes flutter furiously, attempting to blink back cheers as she sets her jaw in a tight line with a clench of teeth. "The blood. I keep whiping, but…" Her bloodstained skirts bunch around her fingers, rubbing at a spot. "I am doing this wrong."
"You've the wrong sort of cloth." Marsden states calmly, before his hand is moving down to catch her arm, as he lowers himself down beside her. "If you like, I'll show you how." And there, he keeps eyes focused mainly on the sword, as fingers reach to take it from her. "If you can…over there." And he gestures towards the Former knight's tent "Is my Kit. Just outside. You bring it here, and I'll show you how..I promise."
Blue eyes wide and somewhat vacant, Danae finally looks to Marsden at his catch of her arm, fingers dropping the half-shredded cloth of her skirts. "Yes…I'd like that," she agrees quietly, looking at the half-septon's dramatic features as if only half seeing them. A solemn nod of her head follows and her fingers, hesitant to release the blade to the man she knows only slightly, keep their hold on the pommel. "You…you were Gedeon's man, were you not, Master Streem?" Her voice breaks a little on his name, smile even more fragmented as she offers it. Still, she does not immediately rise, glancing towards the kit before returning her gaze to the half-septon.
They are not much to look at in the realm of things. A scar from an arrow nearly ripping his face off, and his own chosen bald head. Clearly he was not thinking of being fetching for ladies any time soon. Still there is a look back up to Danae for a moment. "I was." he adds after a moment. "And I still am. I swore to him, and that is a thing not taken lightly." For once, it is not, with Marsden.
"What do you swear to now that he is…" Danae inhales a breath, throat clenching as she forces out, "Dead." The word falls heavy, heavier even than she had thought it might after repeating it with attempted graces. A tear manages to slip through her flurry of lashes.
"I am sworn to his house." Marsden replies as he is eyeing the blade. There is a glance back up to the woman, and his hand comes up, thankfully without a glove-those have been tucked in his belt a long time past. and he reaches up to try and snatch the tear away, as gently as possible. "I promised him that I would stay ever true to Tordane and it's heir." And with that he looks back to Danae. "Which is you my Lady."
The tear only falls so quickly as gravity allows, easily caught in Marsden's calloused fingers as it decends. Focus slowly comes to pale eyes as Danae stares at Marsden, broken only by the flutter of lash when his fingers press to her skin. Several more tears slip from her eyes, a hand ineffectually rising away from the sword to brush them away. "Thank you…I. I am sorry, they do not seem to end. Tell me something good of my husband, Master Streem. What made you so swear?" She asks softly, wanting to hear something good from a man so sworn.
Marsden tries on a smile, though it only reaches half mast. There is a slight nod there, as his hand moves to slide the pommel away from Danae, and lay the sword flat on the ground. "No, do not be sorry. You've lost someone close." The words almost sound septony from the man, but still he is remaining there, and close. "What made me swear?" he echoes for a moment, as a dry laugh comes bubbling up. Mainly from the uncomfortableness. "I saw something in your Husband, that I do not see in many knights-let alone noble ones. Only a few-and them I see it in. I call friend."
A nod there. "He was honest with me." And for Marsden, that is all in the world.
It is not a day for smiles. This time, Danae lets him take the weight of the blade from her and as she does, her shoulders droop as if relieved of a weight that she did not realized she was carrying. "Only a day. I cared for him, but I do not know if I cry for him alone or the future we've lost," she admits, souding pained for voice it. Likely both is the truth. If Marsden's uncomfortable laugh shocks her, she does not show it in her pale, bland expression. A spark returns to her eyes if nowhere else when he offers his reason for swearing, a crooked smile tipping her mouth. "I think — we might have seen something of the same quality in him, perhaps."
His own strained smile shows, as the thick scar moves with the tightening of lips. But then he is bowing his head, as hands move to her arms, and simply rub slowly up and down. Nothing more than to bring some feeling back to the Lady. "I think we might have." the half septon admits. "As it stands. He was my friend. Or whatever." A choke, before he coughs, looking away. "So, I promise you right now, Danae Tordane. From this day on, till I am dead and gone. My shield is yours and my Spear is directed to your enemies. Your child is my child and I'll see it live and prosper."
The press of Marsden's hands against her arms garners nothing more than a quizzical cock of Danae's head. Too numb to even note it fully. She bobs her head in a short nod, blonde hair tumbling past her shoulders as she manages with a quaver in her voice, "We most certainly did, then. He was mine as well." A friend. The small thread that remains of her composure after this trying day, snaps with his poigant vow. Barely managing a nod in acceptance before her shoulders shudder and she just… breaks. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she covers her face with her hands.
All should know this is normal, and really the shellshocked septon is trying to react. There's a brief pause as the tears come and the Lady finally cracks. Awkwardly enough, the septon moves to pull her in close, and bring her head to his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, and only instead allows for his hand to move up to catch the blond's hair-as a father would to his own daughter. Oh he'll let her cry, and break herself. And he won't speak. There's no need for it.
Exhausted, berift, and with little left in her to argue much of anything, Danae does not protest as the Septon pulls her into an embrace. Her hands and face are caught against his shoulder as hot tears escape her grasp, slim shoulders shaking as she silently sobs. There are no hysterics, no mewling, and not caterwailing that would ill fit a lady — tears are unseemly after all — simply hitched breaths as she gasps for air. There is no need for words.
The Septon merely continues to stroke her hair, as he remains there beside her. "But there is the eternal promise, given us by the Seven." he finally says. "You will see your husband again on that shining morning. And I dare say he will be proud of you." A look back to Danae, and Marsden offers a tighter hug. "Do you want to know how to clean your sword? So you may show your son when he is of age to hold it?"
Biting her lip, Danae silently nods at the Septon's words although the action is more felt than seen with the skin of her forehead brushing against his neck. Hiccuping softly, her voice is harsh as she wonders, "Do you think so? I do not know if I have faith enough to believe that, Septon." Even a devout follower as she has been… Swallowing thickly, she nods as the tears have seemed to ebbed for the time being and she sits back to look at her uncommon, new retainer with sightly more presence than before. "I would rather you show him when he is of age, but yes. I would like to know that," she whispers.
Marsden nods quietly, as his hand moves back to catch her hair again, before he's ringing hands down and off his lady as she sits up. "I know it..I've seen the stranger's hand, and felt the father's justice. If I was allowed this chance to do right. Then a man, I've known to be nothing but honest has a more sincere place than I a servant would." As to the other, there's a nod there. And he rises. One hand coming for the sword-the other to bring Danae up. " Then I promise I will do that My Lady. And I'll see him trained to use it."
"The Stranger's hand is all I feel this day," Danae admits, pressing her hands against her nose and sweeping the damp of her tears away in one smooth motion. "My apologies for my ill composure, Septon. It has been — a day," she murmurs demurly, regarding her man from beneath her lashes a touch uncertainly. Still, she accepts his hand and rises somewhat less gracefully than is her wont. "Gods, be good. I would wonder to the Mother if I spoke too soon, too foolishly distraught as I was, but I can barely pull my prayers from the Stranger to think on it. It was not how I had planned to go about — any of this."
"You will feel it a long while. That's why Grief is so utterly hard." Marsden states before he is reaching out to simply offer a brush of his hand to her skirts, once she is up and somewhat on her feet. "You did not." He says simply. "You had the desired effect, and it will keep them guessing. However-they know who we are now. Which is fine." Marsden notes. "You have me, and I am an ordained septon-thus all my witnessing and marriages are valid." The septon does offer a hand to steady. "Put your prayers to the Father, for he is in His care now. And you are in mine." That being said, Marsden moves to direct her with the sword in the other hand, towards the Tordane pavilion. "Don't let them see you cry now." he offers "Of if so. cry profusely. Either way, I'll see ever tear you shed, repaid on them."
Her fingers curl around Marsden's as she rises, mouth twisting bitterly. Grief. "I am…done for tears, Septon. I do not think I have the ocean within me yet to spend more, even if this all tastes like salt on my lips," Danae offers, exhaustion dragging heavily in her voice as they slowly move towards the pavilion. Her pale eyed gaze slips away from the man at her side towards that Seven-Damned-Bridge. "They do not deserve them. They will not love me for what I have done, but I cannot find it in me to…give a fuck. As the men are so keen to pronounce, though it lies nowhere in a ladies' speech, but I suppose by my actions I will barely be considered such." There is a touch of black humor in that. "You will see every tear and the Ser Coope will see every drop of blood, will we have no liquid left in us when this is all done, do you think?"
Steps slow and measured, after all, he will not have his Lady fall. There is a dip of his head as he come closer to the pavilion and he stops. A grin showing there before he nods. "Then don't give a fuck my lady. You will find for the business we have at hand. Not giving a fuck will be invaluable." And there he nods slightly for the lady to head inside. "Oh I think that is likely right, My Lady." Marsden says softly, "but if we are dry, the Riverlands will be a damned drought."