| Weasel Leggings |
| Summary: | Firth, Tyroan, and Anathema talk about various subjects of interest. |
| Date: | 29/1/2013 |
| Related Logs: | None Directly. |
| Players: |
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| Guest Suite, Tordane Tower |
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| A modest room but with a large high bed that is set with four posts in rich mahogany. A blue rectangular rug is angled in the center of the room. A chest for storing the visitor's goods is at the foot of the bed and a grey blue cover settles over the bed. A hearth to the right of the windows which rests between it and the bed is done over with a iron screen meant to be removed when in use. A pair of chairs rest near the window and about a small circular table set with a candle. On the same wall as the door rests a low chest of drawers, a basin for water and a few wooden mugs rest there for use. |
| 29 January, 290 |
A soft rain is falling from the sky making everything stick and hot. The air is heavy and not even a fly can bring itself to move. Sitting her guest chambers quiet, Firth has her eyes closed as she sits next to a writing desk. She is dressed in a long silk under gown that which is heavily embroidered. Her long hair has been braided and pinned up off her neck. Her guard is absent and she is alone. The windows in the room have been opened in hopes that a breeze stirs. Before her she has cold mug of tea and parchment that her neat handwriting on it.
Tyroan has waited long enough since getting the note from Firth to not seem /summoned/, but soon enough to not give offense. He's done that careful math quite well — or else he's just been busy with the running of Stonebridge, and he arrives when he arrives. Knocking on the door to the suite, he waits outside in his leather jack despite the heat. A faint sheen of sweat covers his bald pate, but he doesn't seem particularly disturbed by the weight of leather he wears.
The knocks has her opening her eyes and she quickly reaches for the mug of willow bark tea. She downs it in a gulp before she calls. "Enter at your own risk; I am my father's daughter today." There is some humor lacing those words. She leans back in her chair and waits for the person to enter. Her under gown is a soft rose and it covers all of her as is proper it is just cooler to wear verse her over gown in this weather.
Tyroan pushes open the door, revealing that he is accompanied by his wife as well. "Then maybe I should've brought some fucking eggs." Since weasels like them so much. He holds the door open for Anathema, and then steps through himself, moving over toward the sitting room to where the voice came from. Once the door has shut behind him, he queries, "You had something you wanted to discuss with us, Lady Firth?" There should probably be niceties about 'how was your travel' and 'how about that weather,' but that just wouldn't be the Steward's style.
Joining her husband, Anathema was summoned from her work in the rose garden. Dirt still under her nails, she brushes bits of soil from her dark linen dress, adjusting the pins of her long dark curls. She glances over at her husband as he delivers the knock, casting him a quick smile before she settles into a more somber expression. She steps inside with him, or just a shy after him, and she nods her head at the Steward's question.
Firth starts to laugh and her laughter fills the room. "Aye it could soften my mood to be certain. Then again always be wary when the weasel is hot and in a poor temper." She casts a look over at door and when Anathema enters she offers her a bow of her head. "Good day to you Lady Nayland." She pauses for a moment and studies both of them with her moss green eyes. "I am going to be blunt and to the point. I was not pleased with what I learned when I was in Highfeild and at that damndable wedding. Bastien Ashwood is lack-wit if you ask me, it would appear he intends on marrying the Aliester's Mistress Lady Ceinlys. I am positive she will be picking up where Aliester left off. The man is lacking his manhood, honestly I think he is eunuch or he will be one once she gets one with him. I can see her holding his balls in her hand as she plays marbles with them. I also have one other thing I wish to request of you. Is there a possibility for having Rafferdy released from House Naylands Service?" She then gestures for them to find a seat. "Please make yourselves comfortable."
Tyroan raises his eyebrows at the torrent of information, "The Haigh-Erenford means to add another name?" Snorting softly, he moves over to a chair, although he leans against the back rather than sitting down himself. "I'd say I'd be surprised if Holly Jon," a reference to the new Lord Ashwood's Charlton birth, "allowed the match, but I think there's something in the water up there that makes people idiotic shitstains." He glances over to Anathema, reaching out to pluck a thorn stuck into one shoulder of her dress, then looks back to the Frey, "As to the fuckwit, Lady Firth, he wouldn't be a Nayland if I had any say. But Rickart's got a soft spot for his idiot boys."
Anathema gracefully takes her own seat once her husband has finished plucking away the evidence of the rose gardens. At the bluntness from the Frey, the Witch of Stonebridge merely shrugs her shoulders a bit. "It was my original intention to see a match between the Ashwoods and Stonebridge, but if he wants Lady Ceinlys, let him have her." She waves her hand dismissively. "Taking on such a widow will only further tarnish the Ashwoods in the eyes of more respectable families." Then at the mention of Rafferdy, there is a touch of shadow in those already dark eyes. "I frankly don't see why it is our concern what Rickart deems to do with his son. He isn't even in the Nayland House's service, so what is there to release?"
"Aye, I think she is, but keep in mind this is coming from my observations of her and my conversation with Bastian. I personally would still offer him the chance but be prepared for him to turn it down. He also may wise up and look at one of the woman's Wild charges. Not that they are much better than her." Firth pauses and then she looks down at her empty cup of tea and she sets it aside. "I understand your feelings about Rafferdy and I really wish the King would get rid of trial by combat. But the Septs will not. But, the boy may still have his uses, outside of him taking the black and going to the Wall." Firth says to them both. "I was hoping that I could use him in the service of House Frey. The boy has been humbled by the experience and if he fucks up, I will castrate him personally, or introduce him to ferret legging but with a weasel and he will be removed from Rickart." Firth looks at the two of them. "This is his last chance." She pauses and then nods in the direction of Lady Anathema. "Apparently some think that he still is in the service of Nayland."
Tyroan tightens his lips a bit, "None of those mangy-ass wolves is fucking worthy of any daughters of ours." Evidently, that's a point on which he and his wife have at least slight disagreement. But he wasn't surprised at Anathema's suggestion of the match. Idling pricking one thumb with the thorn removed from Anathema's dress, he frowns at the resulting dimple in his callous, "Trial by Combat is as much a part of Westeros as Knighthood. Even if it weren't, there's no fucking way King Bob would do away with it. He likes seeing people get hit." He shakes his head at the suggestion of use for Rafferdy, "The fuckwit is a fuck-up and a traitor to his house. If you want to cut his balls off, or try to get some use out of him for House Frey… I couldn't fucking care less. He's not my problem unless he tries to get into Stonebridge." Explaining his wife's point, he notes, "He's not in service to House Nayland of Stonebridge. Nor is he a knight in service to Nayland of the Mire. But he's still a Mire Nayland."
"You've come to the wrong Naylands if you are expecting mercy for Rafferdy Nayland," Anathema says sharply, long fingers folding together before her. "If Lord Frey wishes to take the double-crossing traitor into his service, then objections will certainly fall on deaf ears. The only thing that he can now provide to his house is a quick marriage to a comely girl that will help recover the coin his betrayal caused his family to lose." The Witch is firm and straight in her seat, her eyes cold in the light of this subject. Evidently, Ana has a far greater opinion of Rafferdy than Tyroan; or, at least she voices it more.
"Help me petition to get him released." Firth says to him in a gentle tone. "Let us Freys deal with him, use him if you would. My father might be the Late Frey to the Tully, but those of us who are directly from his seed have some of his other better qualities in us." She shrugs her shoulders. "Therein lays the issue with Trial by Combat. He was found innocent by it. Therefore we need to deal with the aftermath. Force him to take the Black or mold him into something else?" She then looks at both of them. "I also wish all fathers thought that well of their daughters." She adds. "I have not dared speak to mine outside of missives for the past ten years." Firth looks at the witch and she nods. "Then you better hope he finds a good merchant girl because without some intervention he will not be able to even gain that much. He has nothing but an empty title attached to his name. I agree with you that he is a traitor but I am at this point following verdict that the trial gave us. You both know that I want to see Stonebridge thrive. It has been ill managed and illused, this is way to remove a possible threat."
Tyroan shakes his head, "You don't fucking want me backing anything regarding the fuckwit, Lady Firth. Rickart'd see whatever I suggested as punishment. He knows how fucking little I think of that little shit." The continued discussion of the Trial by Combat causes him to shake his head, "No, Lady Firth. The Seven found him innocent of harming the defense of Stonebridge through his treachery. There was never any fucking question he betrayed the House. He fucking admitted to that." He waves a hand dismissively, "And that little fuckwit is no godsdamned threat to Stonebridge." For all the cursing, there's no real anger in the man's voice, just annoyance directed southward toward his nephew, "Even when he tried to bend us over a fucking barrel, he fucked it up."
"There will be no petitions coming from Stonebridge on behalf of Rafferdy Nayland," Anathema agrees with a curt nod. "Why you are sympathizing with a traitor and Ashwood lover is beyond me, Lady Firth. I had believed were we joined by our own dislike for the Ashwoods, for Aleister's would-be Frey vassal of import." She shakes her head a bit, though further words are carefully bitten back so she does not give into more of her slow bubbling anger.
"Tyroan, you and Alestier both need to stop underestimating people. If a dog is kicked enough it will and can turn on its master the same goes for your Nephew. I know you may see me as a meddlesome female, but I am female who has not been wrong yet in her observations. But, I will take your council and I will write to Rickart directly." Firth looks at him and she smiles a little. "If your nephew does fuck up, I will make sure that you are there for the weasel legging." Her eyes fill with memory. "One of my brothers came up with it when he was young man. You tie man's breeches down at the leg and then you put a live weasel in his breeches while he is wearing them. Then you wait and you watch as the weasel bites, claws and chews his way out. Not many survive afterwards. They were drunk when they came up with the game and idea." She then says to Anathema in calm and cool voice. "If you think for a moment that I have any love for the Ashwoods or Charltons then you and I need to talk. My loyalties lie with the Freys and Stonebridge. What I am doing is because I see a possibility of something that could come to fruition and I am working with what limited resources and powers that I have to stop it. I would rather address something sooner than later."
Tyroan shakes his bald head sharply, "That shitstain was a fucking babe in arms, and he won't be underestimating anyone in whatever hell he's landed in." Holding a grudge is an art-form in House Nayland, and mere death cannot get in the way." Crossing his arms on the back of the chair, he threads the purloined thorn through the cuff of his undershirt, "And I've got no problem taking advice from women, Lady Firth. But I don't intend to 'kick' my fuckwit nephew any further. It's more effort than he's fucking worth. Stranger's non-existant balls, it would be easier to just kill him and even that's too much effort to waste on him." He glances over to Anathema, studying her for a moment before he adds, "If you want to waste time and effort on him, you're more than welcome to do so, Lady Firth. So long as he doesn't try to enter Stonebridge. But the thought that Aleister's fuck-on-the-side is after the new Young Lord Ashwood is valuable. It means our little war isn't over yet."
Anathema breathes out a bit of a sigh in the wake of her husband's words. She has nothing more to say on the subject of Rafferdy for the time, perhaps Tyroan having nicely summed up the pair's opinion. She nods her head in agreement, however.
"No it is not, the war is not. Nor will it be; there are many who would love to get their hands on Stonebridge. Stonebridge is unique. " Firth looks at them both. "Also I came upon a delightful sight when I was taking my evening walk. My niece out and about with a bow and riding leathers, her and I had a long conversation." She pauses and leans back in her chair. "I enjoy working with you both and I enjoy staying inside your walls and I like being able to help Stonebridge come back to life." Then her voice gets gentler. "Lady I think you see things that even I cannot fathom, I also think that you and your husband are right. I am just taking a pawn and moving him to different place that will allow us to control him if we have need." She adds. "I promise this is the last I will say in regards to Rafferdy."
Tyroan smirks tightly at the commentary on Stonebridge's place in the Cape, "Well they can't have it. We stole it fair and fucking square." At least he's able to make light of the method in which the Naylands took over the town. "You've provided valuable insight, Lady Firth. And we're always happy to help Lord Frey however we can." That last might be said through slightly-gritted teeth, but it's still said. "Like about our young ward. She's been fucking distant this whole time. She probably misses the size of The Twins." Grunting softly, he shakes his head, "Archery, eh? Do you know if her father allowed that at The Twins, or is it a new fucking hobby?"
"Tyroan her mother and father are both dead. She had the skill before she came here. The skill is useful when it comes to hunting." Firth smiles with some amusement, "Well they should not have done what they did to lose it, the way I see it is that if it was not your house then it would have been another house." She points out in a flippant manner and she shrugs her shoulders. "Back to the topic of my niece, even I know how to shoot a bow. It is not the bow I was annoyed about, it was the fact she was running around town in riding leathers in the middle of the night. I only spoke with her and I do apologize for over stepping my bounds as I know she is your ward. But, I did not speak to her guards. I thought you may like that honor."
Tyroan nods at the first point, dismissing the concern with the wave of his hand. "She shouldn't even fucking have riding leathers. Common fucking couriers may get away with them, but no noblewoman should be earing them." Grunting softly, he adds, "I'm too damned old to take care of some damned child who doesn't know what's proper and what isn't. To say nothing of the fact that if she was shooting out into the night, she's a fucking fool." Running one gnarled hand down his face, he sighs heavily, "Thank you for letting me know. I need a fucking drink before I worry about that."
"I have either a bottle of apple brandy or whiskey if you would like a drink." She points to table where the decanters are. "Please, feel free to have one. I myself had a few glasses of whiskey after and before I spoke to her as well." She sighs. "She did have her guards with her. Which is something that I am glad for, but how she managed to talk them into it is beyond me." She then snorts. "Old my ass, you are still stronger than most men half your age. Your mind is sharp as well."
Tyroan waves off the offer of booze, "I'll get a beer," more likely, a pitcher of beer, "when I go back to the Map Room." He nods slowly at the mitigating circumstances, then shakes his head, "It's not the mind or the strength I'm worried about. It's the fucking patience. First godsdamned thing to go. It's the children, usually. Each one takes up a little bit of fucking patience, and you never get it back." He chuckles then, low and perhaps a little mean, "Probably why your Lord Father put me in fucking charge of Stonebridge. Smart, not going to keel over dead, and no fucking patience for bullshit."
"That is exactly why, have you ever notice that my lord father has precious little patience himself? We all took it from it. I think that is why we joke and say that he has assigned us numbers that correspond with his wife." Firth laughs. "Just tell her what you expect out of her and I have a feeling she will fall into line. She is a good child. I just think she got lost among all the grandchildren and children Walder has." She looks thoughtful. "May the gods keep me away from the Twins." She says out loud in response to an inner thought. She snaps back to the present. "You know that I am willing to help you in and your lovely wife in way possible. You just need to let me know what you need and I will do my best to see if I can accomplish it."
Tyroan snorts softly, "Lord Frey has plenty of patience… just no fucking patience for others." Grunting softly, he nods his head, pushing up and away from the chairback, "Just help us maintain good fucking relations with that impatient father of yours. And if you have ideas about getting other houses to think of us as something other than what Rickart's idiot sons made us, let us know." He nods his head, then moves to depart, once more holding the door open for his wife.
"That I will do, as long as I have your permission to talk as it were." Firth says to him. "May you have a pleasant day. One other thing, I would like permission to take my niece with me to Heronshurst?"
Tyroan nods his head, "Young Lord Erenford should be bringing some of his ffamily and retainers down here to discuss the sandbar, but if you want to go up there, you're welcome to it. I don't have any fucking worries about anywhere but Broadmoor and Highfield, and even Broadmoor's not so bad."
"I will take that as a take her with me." Firth smiles. "Thank you again." She offers him a bow of her head and it is a respectful one.
