|Unexpected family ties|
|Summary:||Anders meets Ceinlys, and she lays claim to kinship with his squire and cousin Einar.. as well as provide observations on a couple of subjects.|
|Date:||6 January 2012|
|Related Logs:||None (really— other than all the Stonebridge 'under occupation for battle with IB' logs)|
|Army Camp - Stonebridge|
|Spreading out from the central field, dozens of pavilions have been pitched pver the grassy expanse of The Green. Ranging from the small field tents of free lances to the sprawling high peaked canopies of the greater houses, with silk banners fluttering proudly from their center stakes, a riot of heraldic splendour siezes the eye. Beyond this noble inner ring are the campsites of the common folk who have journeyed to see the spectacle of tournament. Some have tents, but many others simply gather around one of the dozens of campfires which dot the green at night.|
|05 January 288|
Many have already taken, sensibly, to their rest at this hour. A day spent in drills and spars weighs heavy upon already weary muscles and lingering aches, for knights and squires alike. But there's never a moment when the combined campsite of several noble houses is utterly silent. Striding through the darkness, silhouetted vaguely by the campfires at her back, a young woman enters the main clearing from the direction of the Haigh banners, a cloak clutched tight at her throat with one hand, an empty pitcher in the other. In her wake, a worried-looking older woman, presumably a chaperone, hurries along with her charge. And beyond her? A grim-looking knight of evidently rough countenance. Is something amiss?
There are many fires, cooking fires and those that simply burn for the comfort of the heat that it brings. The fire that the Young Lord Flint sits about is a former, and in hand, a small dead animal. He pulls the cooked meat from its bones, chewing.. and swallowing, washing it down with a small cup of ale. So for his men, so for him, even if he does have a lavish billet in comparison to his foot soldiers. He isn't dressed in armour, though he has his sword ever hanging on his hip, just in case. While not alone, he's silent with his food, looking out into the main camp area.
There are many who move about the camps, but the night before departure there isn't usually seen ladies, other than those who would .. service the troops. For morale, that is. Putting his food to the side, and onto a small platter, Anders rises to his feet, pulls his cloak around to dispell the chill that will come when away from the fire, and takes the first steps away.
Something about the short, clipped manner of the young lady's steps, despite a naturally long gait, bespeaks irritation. And -haughty- irritation, at that. Despite a vague layer of dust about the hems, the fine quality of her faded ruby travelling attire certainly hints at nobility of some sort. Then again, this place is crawling with Freylings, so that in itself is not so unusual… it simply sets her firmly apart as -not- one of the young women seeking coin for ah.. 'lewd entertainments'.
Drawing abruptly to a halt, illuminated now by the glow of the nearest cooking fire, Ceinlys Erenford turns to regard the knight shadowing her with a withering gaze for a moment, even if her words are directed toward the elder woman now beside her. "Brigid. Find my brother his beloved wine. I wish to warm myself while we wait." The pitcher is thrust without ceremony into the attendant's chest and she is dismissed. Turning to face the fire and venture a few steps closer, the slender brunette wraps her arms about a waspish waist and sighs softly. It's mere happenstance that her gaze should fall upon Anders Flint. Still, etiquette dictates that she summon a shy smile and dip a nod of acknowledgement in his direction, foul temper or not.
The words, overheard, not only sends the maid into proper action, but also causes the Northern knight into some sort of activity, other than watching. He steps forward, his small meal ignored (but not forgotten), "If you wish, my lady," it's obvious she's a lady; manner and mien scream such, "take the moments of waiting near the fire. The chill in the air is easily fended off by the warmth of the fire, and sometimes the crackling of the wood cheers the soul." Sometimes.. as opposed to the glow in the north that no longer burns quite so brightly…
Well, well. Manners, despite being ankle-deep in trampled grass and the softening dirt beneath. Surprise and appreciation mingle in eyes of a startling icy-blue, lending Ceinlys' demeanour at least a touch of genuine warmth. Regarding the knight who has approached, flitting her gaze swiftly over the colors of his casual attire, she tilts her head a little askance as she moves quietly forward toward the circling stones of the fire. Unfurling slender arms, she stretches out open palms toward dancing flame and whirling sparks. She does seem quite cold, despite the woolen cloak.
"My thanks, Ser." the murmured words are as gracious as if she had been invited to dine in a Great Hall. Well-practiced at courtiers airs, unsurprisingly. Rubbing her hands together, Ceinlys keeps a thoughtful study of the young man. "..you are of House Flint." It's not a question, as such. But perhaps an offer for further discussion, rather than awkward silence.
Manners despite, yes.. and after lessons learned over years of instruction and example. Anders inclines his head and offers half of a bow as the lady takes him up on his offer, gesturing towards the warmth, and following soon after. "It is the least of the things which I can offer, and the easiest, so no thanks are required, but.." he pauses, a smile rising, albeit a tired one, "appreciated." He nods and stands a proper distance away, though easy for conversation without waking the camp. "I am House Flint, my lady," he chuckles and holds a hand up, "as far as my presence here is concerned. My father and brothers are not in attendance." And cousin. That sort of requires explanation surely, and he finishes, "Lord Ser Anders Flint, Young Lord to the House at Flint Fingers, my lady." Which, of course, begs introduction from the lady.
"Mmm, it seems there's rather a mingled turn-out for this affair. My own family have largely remained behind their walls, also." Largely. Not entirely. She did mention a brother, after all. Quirking a brow as the young knight makes a more formal introduction, Ceinlys' smile widens a touch, booted feet shifting subtly so that she may better face him. Even the subtlest gesture and motion of the girl seems utterly confined by propriety. At this distance, finer details of her form become apparent; the fine combs sweeping back raven curls at her temples, a telling wintry pallor to her porcelain skin, keen interest in those glacial eyes if one looks beyond the innocence.
"Ahh, yes. I have heard this name, of course. I believe a fortunate cousin of mine found place as your squire, m'lord. Well met, indeed." Proferring a graceful hand toward him, the other arm maintaining the snug wrap of her cloak about her chilled upper body, she gives her own introduction in turn, delivered flawlessly despite the scandal and whisperings her new companion may attribute to it. "Lady Ceinlys Erenford."
"Mingled turn-out?" Anders looks around and what he sees are Frey bannermen and a couple Mallister/Tullys. He grimaces, a tight line formed, "I see .." nowhere near enough men, very like the Freys, ".. an adequate amount for the task that will be asked, but more would be nice. But, the banners are expected; there are none in attendance that would strike me as odd?"
He inclines his head in the acknowledgment; a touch to the ego in that he's known by this lady. "A cousin of yours, Lady Erenford? My squire?" Anders tries to work through the families, but he's got nowhere near enough information to work it all through. "My cousin, Einar Flint." His aunt, a Haigh.. and.. he chuckles, "I should have paid more attention to my studies in my youth. Now it seems that you will cause me to search the ties, my lady." If there is anything to her name that might whisper scandal, there's no expression of it.
"Oh, the banners are well enough expected, Ser. It is those bearing them that have surprised me, a little. Second and third sons, retainers even. Do not the noble houses take this threat seriously, one might wonder?" All this is voiced in an offhand manner, as if it were nothing more than pleasant chitchat; a debate on the color of grass. Ceinlys' expression is distracted as she follows the knight's gaze about the encampment, lingering markedly upon the colors of Haigh and Erenford before returning to a serene contemplation of Anders' features. "The levies have been summoned, of course." As if that settles the matter.
A short distance away, that grizzled knight of her own camp still lingers; a polite few strides between he and the conversing nobles, but watchful, narrowed eyes following the course of the exchange. Ceinlys pays him no mind, almost obstinately so. Offering Anders a slight grin, revealing straight white teeth and the hint of youthful dimples in an otherwise austere countenance, the young lady nods in assent. "Einar, yes. I trust he fares well under your tutelage? And I find that tracing one's heritage can have a calming influence upon the mind.. depending, of course, upon what you find.." A hint of teasing creeps into her soft-spoken words at this.
The words spoken by the lady actually do have merit in the eyes of the Young Lord of Flint's Finger. "I will make no excuse for them, lady." And Anders keeps his feelings on the matter to himself but for, "As for my part, I was directed down by my lord Father, and he, asked by my Liege Lord. My men are mine, and there will be no second son or retainer that takes command of them." It's given so pleasantly, in conversation, that it could have been commentary on the weather for the coming day. It's.. a statement; no heat, no fire. Simply, fact.
Following her eyes back, Anders wears a slight smile once again, "Of course." Though he's not so certain as to the number, and there's no reason to be.
It's to the topic of Einar, however, that his attention moves. His cousin and friend. "He does well.. as expected." Shifting his weight, the Young Lord smiles, "He is his father's son."
"Your men are fortunate." Understanding makes itself known in Ceinlys' blue eyes, fleetingly, for a moment sobering her expression. Outspoken she may be, but the young lady evidently back her words with strong opinions and a surprising force of will. It's only a passing instant before the curve returns to play across her lips, though. "I would ask that you pass on my well-wishes to Ser Einar, if it would not trouble you to do so, Ser. I place high value in my kin, scattered as we may be more often than not." Raising a hand to brush aside an errant lock of glossy hair from her brow, she seems to consider something carefully before putting it forth to the knight. "..I am also certain my elder brother would be keen to make your acquaintance. It was his belief that the force ought first march to Terrick's Roost. Thankfully, more agreed than argued."
At this moment, the elder handmaiden chooses to reappear, the formerly empty pitcher now brimming and borne carefully in her age-spotted hands. "Ah, Brigid. There you are." remarks the young lady, calmly, settling her attention upon Anders with an apologetic smile. "It seems my time here is done, for now, Ser. Though I am certain we shall meet again, in due course."
"It was honestly my wish that we continued to Seagard, but a meeting on the road here changed my desires." Anders doesn't mind the change of target, though there is that disappointment that lingers in the back of his mind. Still, there is a reason, and he's not to gainsay. For the moment, he is the commander of the troops, and still must maintain the dignity of his house. He inclines his head, the beginnings of a bow for the lady. "I would not argue the acquaintance, my lady. The more friendship, the less there is the need for.. this." He looks around the armed camp as a guide to the word 'this'. He's not stupid, however.. there will always be guile.
"I will pass on your wishes to my cousin, my lady. He is.. undoubtedly somewhere. Perhaps checking on his goodsister before sleeping." Anders inclines his head to the lady's maid, and takes a step back as if he, too, will finally retire for the evening— but not before reclaiming his meat. "Sleep well, my lady. Take what rest is possible." With that, he does reclaim his food, takes another step back so as not to show the lady his back.. not until he's well enough away to retire to his tent.