|Where to Aim|
|Summary:||Kittridge and Roslyn talk frankly|
|Related Logs:||The Scene in the Square|
|The circular rooftop is set with crenellations and two guards watch over this area on shifts. Set in the center is the roockery, created with iron and wood, the cage is ventilated and has openings on either side to allow for Raven releases. The view of the town and surrounding area is large, with the breeze rushing in off the waters.|
|Mon May 07, 289|
Given that guards already watch over this area, Roslyn has abandoned her own in seeking a moment to herself atop the tower with a look cast over the area that encompasses Stone Bridge. Leaning against smooth stone, her forearms are pressed against the top of the tower while her fingers twist colored purple glass between them thoughtfully, distracted and thoughtful with a small frown tucked into the corners of her mouth. The breeze that stirs the top of the tower tugs at sapphire bright skirts, for all that she's worn other gowns between, and has worried loose a few dark curls from her hair.
Kittridge mounts the steps of the tower and emerges out onto the parapet, his own dark curls requiring a shove back from his eyes as the breeze catches them. "Lady Roslyn," he recognizes her after a moment, and executes a graceful bow as he advances, "Good afternoon."
The sound breaks whatever reverie Roslyn is caught within, an immediate smile quirking at her lips at the recognition even as she responds with a swept curtsy of her own. She answers, mildly, "Lord Ser Kittridge. Do you have a moment?"
"Only lord or ser, lady," Kittridge corrects mildly, "One title at a time for me, only my lord father gets to keep them both at once. And yes, I have a moment. Let me tear myself away from all my very pressing business with the view and the wind," he jokes, spreading a hand and then leaning against a crenellation. "How may I serve you, lady?"
"Of course. I only tease because you said—," Roslyn begins, but she cuts herself off with a simple shake of her head, smiling instead at Kittridge as she draws straight beside him rather than returning to her own previous lean. "I had heard that it is your lady sister's nameday, soon. I have started some plans to celebrate, but nothing that could not be cancelled, if you would rather do something with just family?"
"Oh, did I miss the joke?" Kittridge's brows rise, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to Ros it— which of course sounds like I'm making fun of you," he says, realizing as he speaks, "Apologies for that, as well. As a child my sister was very serious and took everything seriously, so we began saying that someone missing a joke and taking it seriously was… Ros-ing it." He shrugs, and smiles crookedly and then nods, "But yes, her nameday. I am sure she would be flattered that you've thought of it, lady. What did you have in mind?"
A laugh catches in Roslyn's throat at the explanation, tipping her chin softly as she murmurs warmly, "I am sure your lady sister did not take too kindly to such a use of her name. I am sure you will understand if I do not use it such." She finally drags her gaze from Kittridge, shifting to stare out at the landscape carefully. "A small gathering within the gardens, with music and a crown of flowers for Lady Rosanna. Friends and family, but nothing too large."
"I would not advise using it in her hearing, no," Kittridge grins. He watches Roslyn as she looks away, and listening, nodding. "Music would be wise. If there is no opportunity for dancing she will be very cross with me."
"Of course. It would not be fair to not allow dancing when the lady enjoys it so much, on her own nameday," Roslyn agrees quietly, purple glass catching and reflecting the light of the sun as she twists it beneath her fingers with anxious energy.
"Of course," Kittridge agrees. He looks towards the glass in her fingers, leaning over, curious, "May I ask what that is, Lady Roslyn?"
Roslyn stills at once at the question, her gaze flicking quickly up to Kittridge as she answers, "Oh, it is only a gift from a knight." She pauses, a subtle color to her lips even as she draws herself straighter to make up for such. She adds, dismissively, "For the Lady Rosanna, of course."
Kittridge lifts a brow, slightly puzzled by that answer from the looks of it. "If it is a gift from a knight to my sister," he asks, "Then how came you by it? And… what is it?"
Fingers shifting to hold out the glass, it forms a bracelet within the hook of her hand as Roslyn explains, "A bracelet. It is—a rather odd story, I suppose." She pauses, her lips pressing together for a moment. "I was searching the market for a gift of my own, and the knight who had helped… Well, he had decided to send along a gift of his own, in my care."
Kittridge lifts a brow. "How unusual," he comments, eyeing the bracelet for a moment before looking up at Roslyn again. "Did this knight have a name?" he asks.
"Perhaps," Roslyn murmurs neutrally to the first, slipping the glass back between her fingers again. "Ser Benedict Lawson." There is certainly a thoughtful tone where she names him, distracted for a moment as she glances back to the view of the town stretched below.
Kittridge nods slowly, and turns to eye the vista before them, saying finally, "Huh." After another moment he asks, casually, "Are you acquainted with this Ser Lawson? Should I be allowing him to give gifts to my sister, even through you?"
"I must admit I only just met the ser, but he seems—. He did not mean anything inappropriate by such a gift, I believe, and no harm would come from your lady sister accepting such," Roslyn replies thoughtfully, though she finally offers a smile to Kittridge, teasing almost. "But, if you'd rather I did not present it to her, I promise that it will not be from me that she learns you denied her a gift."
"Mmm," replies Kittridge, noncommittal, though he smiles at the last. "A dangerous idea, denying Rosanna a gift," he agrees with a hint of humor. He tilts his head, "You began to say what he seemed, this knight?" he prompts, "Will you finish the thought for me?"
Roslyn's free hand lifts to brush back a curl as soon as the wind pushes it into her face, thoughtful as she considers Kittridge's request. She answers slowly, "Well-intentioned, amiable. Not at all like any other hedge knight I have met." Because she knows so many.
"Do you know many, lady?" Kittridge asks with a crooked little smile, skeptical perhaps. Gently, though, and he lets it go easily enough, asking, "And is it him that's made you take such a pensive turn? You're very quiet for a lady who wished to speak of a party."
Kittridge's question, and smile, earns one free in turn where Roslyn's smile slips back onto her lips with a breath that holds a touch of a laugh. "Yes, I am sorry, my lord. The party, of course, leaves much to be discussed. I still do not know what foods the lady would prefer, or if there is anything else she would be expecting," she says quickly, as if to make up for her quiet mood by spilling loose words now.
Kittridge laughs lightly, and shakes his head, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shove you back to discussing the party, Lady Roslyn. I was more wondering at the cause behind your mood. If this Ser Lawson had done something to prompt it. Need I hunt him out and punch him for you?" he offers with a quirk of a smile.
"Unfortunately, the man has little need for more harm to come to his poor face, and he has done nothing himself, ser," Roslyn replies warmly, her smile lingering as she watches the man laugh. But then she adds, "May I be honest with you, Lord Kittridge? Would you think less of me for bold words that likely do not become a lady?"
Kittridge's brows rise again at that request, and he shakes his head, "No, Lady Roslyn, please. Speak freely," he says, "I can promise I won't tell a soul you're capable of such speech if you like."
"A knight such as yourself, I feel I can trust then to keep my secrets," Roslyn replies with some hint of warm amusement, turning to lean against the parapets once again. "I am old. There is little chance left that I will make any good match, as I may have done when I was your lady sister's age. But, I do have my family, and that in itself—. I may not make a good match, but there are many below my station that would not mind my age."
"You would look so far below your station as a hedge knight?" Kittridge asks, "I wouldn't think your situation so dire as all that, Lady, certainly. You may be somewhat past the usual marrying age, but — if you will forgive me for speaking bolding as well — you are far from lacking in virtues, and are not without some years left to bear children, either, if I were to guess at such things."
Roslyn smiles wryly at Kittridge's response, only answering, "A knight is a knight, ser, and one would expect that he would be given a decent position within my family's household. And it is better to aim so low and find myself married, than spend much longer without." She pauses, though she stirs straighter again. "It was only a thought, however, and one that will come to little if he does not stay long within Stonebridge."
"I'm not sure I agree there, Lady," Kittridge says, with a faint frown, "Wearing spurs doesn't make you a good man, and having once taken an oath doesn't mean you've followed it since. If all you need is a 'ser' before a name to make you comfortable marrying a man then I fear greatly for your prospects."
"No, my lord, only that it is enough to ensure that my lord father could call him Master at Arms or Captain of the Guard, or some other such thing that would give a modicum of decency to the man," Roslyn counters carefully, hazel eyes sliding sideways to study Kittridge for a moment. "I would not marry a man I did not think was proper or kind, or good. Have no fear on that account, Ser Kittridge."
"Surely you could find a merchant or someone of wealth or standing, if you're so certain you must stoop to marrying commoners," Kittridge says, still not convinced, "I think you sell yourself too short, lady. And I wonder that you are so set on this idea," he says, "After one brief encounter in a market. Did he impress you so much with his choice of gift for my sister?"
"I think you misinterpret my intentions. It is only a thought of a possibility, not a path I have set myself down. I have offered him work with my family dealing with bandits, if he will stay within Stonebridge. So I may get to know him better. If he leaves, none of it matters, does it?" Lady Roslyn replies with the hint of a smile, her shoulder lifting slightly. "He was—rather handsome," she admits. She twists the glass beneath her fingers. "Though, someone of wealth would be rather better for my family."
"I see," Kittridge replies in acknowledgement. "Well, I should not get your hopes up on him, lady," he says, smile just a bit less bright and easy than before, "Hedge knights come and go and if they wanted to settle down in one place they wouldn't likely be hedge knights, after all. Likely as not he'll be gone with the Blackwood, and I cannot but think both you and your family will be better off for it."
"I think my own brother would say the same. But, I will not, my lord, and I thank you for your kind thoughts," Roslyn says quietly, her fingers catching a stray curl as she offers up a self-deprecating smile that contains more of a wince. "At least, I hope they are kind. I cannot even hazard to guess what you must think of me, after telling you of my own thoughts."
"I think I hope that you think better of yourself than this," says Kittridge, tone a little clipped now and then, like he's trying to soften it and not consistently succeeding, "And think no more on such unworthy suitors. And I think I ought return to my own business. I thank you for setting up the party for Rosanna, I'm sure it will be much more to her liking than had I attempted it. If I may have the bracelet I will decide whether to pass it along," he says, holding out his hand for the hedge knight's gift.
Where Roslyn places the gift within Kittridge's hand, it is a careful gesture that presses her fingers to his for a moment before pulling away. She answers, "You know your sister well, and care for her. I am sure any such celebration you planned would be to her taste." Her fingers curl around each other as she lifts her gaze back to the knight, smile hesitant even as she adds, "I am sorry, ser."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Kittridge says, a faint emphasis on the first word as if he thinks there is some other who does. He closes his hand around the bracelet, and puts both into his pocket before stepping back to bow again. "I will try to come up with some helpful ideas on the matters of food and such you mentioned, lady, that we might speak on them later. For now, excuse me," he says, tone polite, and then exits.