Equinox Althourne
- Thread starter Knosis
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As Written by Script and Glmster
The midday sun cast a pleasant warmth over the gardens of the Beringar's seat of power. The gardens had, in years past, been relatively understated and largely maintained as a matter of expectation. That had changed in the last decade, as the young heir took it upon himself to bring a new lease of life to them. Under his seemingly intuitive care - for he had received nothing in the way of training from the previous gardeners, nor his tutors - they had prospered into a beautiful enclave of colour and life.
A mingling of sweet scents filled the air in the deeper portions of the garden, where all manner of exotic flowers - some of which ought not to have been growing at this time of year, or even in this region at all - bloomed exquisitely. Carefully maintained stone pathways wove through these arrangements, providing scenic routes across the gardens.
It was atop a small stone wall that Alarin was sat, humming softly as he tended to a cluster of beautiful red-and-white tulips. A robin was perched upon the wall a short distance away from him, cheerfully touting its birdsong along with his hums, whilst a pair of the estate's house-cats curled at the young heir's feet.
As he brushed his hand over the stem of a partially wilted tulip, the flower seemed to respond with a rush of vigour, straightening and regaining its colour.
It was not the first time that Alarin had slipped away from his duties to spend time in the gardens, and it would not be the last. What was the point in being wealthy and powerful, after all, if one could not neglect one's responsibilities now and again?
--
"Ala! Cousin Ala!"
A familiar voice echoed through the estate's gardens. A young man dressed in armor was clinking and jingling along the stone pathways, with his pollaxe propped up on his shoulder and his helmet tucked under his arm.
Edward Beringar was on his way to work on drills at a local fort, but he was pulled aside at the last moment to go fetch his cousin. Apparently Alarin had wandered off again when he was supposed to be doing something, so they enlisted Edward to go hunt for him.
"Ala!" The young man stumbled upon his cousin sitting on a wall, losing himself with nature as usual.
"Are you sure that it's time to tend to the garden right now?"
--
Alarin looked up upon Edward's approach with a smile, regarding his distant cousin with autumnal eyes that, as ever, seemed to pierce far beyond the surface. "Tis as time as it ever shall be, I should think," he replied, his tone playful. "I am certain that Sir Hildebrand can abide my absence for a while longer."
The boy - for even by comparison to Edward, Alarin appeared young for his age; pale and dainty as a flower - hopped from his perch on the wall. The cats roused at his movement, stretching languidly and yawning. "I suppose they have sent you to retrieve me. Would you not care to walk with me a while, instead? I'm sure they could not fault you for the delay."
He laughed musically, shrugging his shoulders. "If they were truly desperate for my presence, they would have sent someone with a little more sway over me. No offence intended, Eddie, but I fear any attempts you might make at coercing me to return will fall flat, and they must expect as such. You may as well take advantage of the excuse for a little time off, no?"
--
Edward sighed.
"I told them you wouldn't listen to me. Well, I guess I can come take a walk anyways," he knelt down and scratched the head of one of the cats. "I show up at the fort whenever I can, so they won't be terribly concerned if I come late sometimes."
"Anyways, what have you been up to lately? Aside from frolicking in the garden, that is," Ed chuckled at his statement, flashing a goofy grin to Alarin.
--
Alarin smiled warmly at Edward's acceptance of his invitation, wandering away a few steps before pausing to look back over his shoulder at the other boy. "Why, frolicking in the halls, the streets and the towers, of course," he answered with a wink. "If a day goes by when I cannot claim to have frolicked, then it is a day wasted, insofar as I'm concerned."
He chuckled, twirling around to face Edward as he paced away. He seemed to have no trouble avoiding backing into any obstacles as he progressed, weaving along the pathway in reverse with practiced ease. "Of course, between the important matters of frolicking and napping are such trivialities as attending to court and social functions with father, or practicing the sword with Sir Hildebrand."
Alarin yawned as though to emphasize how little he thought of those duties. He did not neglect them - not entirely - but it was plainly apparent that they were not where his interest lay.
"Father and I spoke with a traitor-in-the-making from one of the southern baronies, last week," he added with casual indifference. "Father remains unconvinced, but it was plain to see in his eyes. His heart was not true to the face he showed us."
--
Edward stood up and jogged a few steps to catch up with his cousin.
"I thought you would love learning to use a sword. Those thin sabers seem totally your style, with the twirling and the leaping and whatnot. Have you tried asking Sir Hildebrand to try the more elegant and finesse-requiring blades?" He glanced down to his own sword, a somewhat thin longsword that could be held in two hands, but was clearly designed with the intention of being wielded with just one.
"Have you told your father that you feel that way about him? You're nearly always right about these things. Don't you think we should stop that man right away, or do you think it'd be better to wait?"
--
"Oh, 'tis agreeable enough in and of itself," Alarin answered with a shrug. "But there are more important things in life than learning to kill, or to politic. A viewpoint I do not share with many, it seems. Or it is oft touted that we kill and politic so that we might enjoy the finer things - and yet, it is my experience that in doing so, one finds oneself without time to ever reap those promised rewards."
As he walked past a bed of vibrant red roses, he leaned down to pick one, undeterred by the thorns. "And of course I told father," Alarin smiled. "He has taken it into account, albeit cautiously. It is with this man as it is with a weed in a garden. 'tis not enough merely to dispose of the head, one must ferret out the roots before one strikes - or it will inevitably return."
He trailed off, letting the metaphor hang for a few moments before he spoke again. In the intervening moments, he rolled the rose between his fingers, gently caressing the petals.
"Tell me, Ed. Do you have a favourite colour?"
The midday sun cast a pleasant warmth over the gardens of the Beringar's seat of power. The gardens had, in years past, been relatively understated and largely maintained as a matter of expectation. That had changed in the last decade, as the young heir took it upon himself to bring a new lease of life to them. Under his seemingly intuitive care - for he had received nothing in the way of training from the previous gardeners, nor his tutors - they had prospered into a beautiful enclave of colour and life.
A mingling of sweet scents filled the air in the deeper portions of the garden, where all manner of exotic flowers - some of which ought not to have been growing at this time of year, or even in this region at all - bloomed exquisitely. Carefully maintained stone pathways wove through these arrangements, providing scenic routes across the gardens.
It was atop a small stone wall that Alarin was sat, humming softly as he tended to a cluster of beautiful red-and-white tulips. A robin was perched upon the wall a short distance away from him, cheerfully touting its birdsong along with his hums, whilst a pair of the estate's house-cats curled at the young heir's feet.
As he brushed his hand over the stem of a partially wilted tulip, the flower seemed to respond with a rush of vigour, straightening and regaining its colour.
It was not the first time that Alarin had slipped away from his duties to spend time in the gardens, and it would not be the last. What was the point in being wealthy and powerful, after all, if one could not neglect one's responsibilities now and again?
--
"Ala! Cousin Ala!"
A familiar voice echoed through the estate's gardens. A young man dressed in armor was clinking and jingling along the stone pathways, with his pollaxe propped up on his shoulder and his helmet tucked under his arm.
Edward Beringar was on his way to work on drills at a local fort, but he was pulled aside at the last moment to go fetch his cousin. Apparently Alarin had wandered off again when he was supposed to be doing something, so they enlisted Edward to go hunt for him.
"Ala!" The young man stumbled upon his cousin sitting on a wall, losing himself with nature as usual.
"Are you sure that it's time to tend to the garden right now?"
--
Alarin looked up upon Edward's approach with a smile, regarding his distant cousin with autumnal eyes that, as ever, seemed to pierce far beyond the surface. "Tis as time as it ever shall be, I should think," he replied, his tone playful. "I am certain that Sir Hildebrand can abide my absence for a while longer."
The boy - for even by comparison to Edward, Alarin appeared young for his age; pale and dainty as a flower - hopped from his perch on the wall. The cats roused at his movement, stretching languidly and yawning. "I suppose they have sent you to retrieve me. Would you not care to walk with me a while, instead? I'm sure they could not fault you for the delay."
He laughed musically, shrugging his shoulders. "If they were truly desperate for my presence, they would have sent someone with a little more sway over me. No offence intended, Eddie, but I fear any attempts you might make at coercing me to return will fall flat, and they must expect as such. You may as well take advantage of the excuse for a little time off, no?"
--
Edward sighed.
"I told them you wouldn't listen to me. Well, I guess I can come take a walk anyways," he knelt down and scratched the head of one of the cats. "I show up at the fort whenever I can, so they won't be terribly concerned if I come late sometimes."
"Anyways, what have you been up to lately? Aside from frolicking in the garden, that is," Ed chuckled at his statement, flashing a goofy grin to Alarin.
--
Alarin smiled warmly at Edward's acceptance of his invitation, wandering away a few steps before pausing to look back over his shoulder at the other boy. "Why, frolicking in the halls, the streets and the towers, of course," he answered with a wink. "If a day goes by when I cannot claim to have frolicked, then it is a day wasted, insofar as I'm concerned."
He chuckled, twirling around to face Edward as he paced away. He seemed to have no trouble avoiding backing into any obstacles as he progressed, weaving along the pathway in reverse with practiced ease. "Of course, between the important matters of frolicking and napping are such trivialities as attending to court and social functions with father, or practicing the sword with Sir Hildebrand."
Alarin yawned as though to emphasize how little he thought of those duties. He did not neglect them - not entirely - but it was plainly apparent that they were not where his interest lay.
"Father and I spoke with a traitor-in-the-making from one of the southern baronies, last week," he added with casual indifference. "Father remains unconvinced, but it was plain to see in his eyes. His heart was not true to the face he showed us."
--
Edward stood up and jogged a few steps to catch up with his cousin.
"I thought you would love learning to use a sword. Those thin sabers seem totally your style, with the twirling and the leaping and whatnot. Have you tried asking Sir Hildebrand to try the more elegant and finesse-requiring blades?" He glanced down to his own sword, a somewhat thin longsword that could be held in two hands, but was clearly designed with the intention of being wielded with just one.
"Have you told your father that you feel that way about him? You're nearly always right about these things. Don't you think we should stop that man right away, or do you think it'd be better to wait?"
--
"Oh, 'tis agreeable enough in and of itself," Alarin answered with a shrug. "But there are more important things in life than learning to kill, or to politic. A viewpoint I do not share with many, it seems. Or it is oft touted that we kill and politic so that we might enjoy the finer things - and yet, it is my experience that in doing so, one finds oneself without time to ever reap those promised rewards."
As he walked past a bed of vibrant red roses, he leaned down to pick one, undeterred by the thorns. "And of course I told father," Alarin smiled. "He has taken it into account, albeit cautiously. It is with this man as it is with a weed in a garden. 'tis not enough merely to dispose of the head, one must ferret out the roots before one strikes - or it will inevitably return."
He trailed off, letting the metaphor hang for a few moments before he spoke again. In the intervening moments, he rolled the rose between his fingers, gently caressing the petals.
"Tell me, Ed. Do you have a favourite colour?"
As Written by Script, Ottoman, and Glmster
Edward nodded every few sentences, listening carefully. He tried to imagine what the roots would be in this metaphor: was there some sort of social strife driving this distrust, or were there other people behind the curtain, pulling strings and using this ambitious chieftain as a pawn?
"My favorite color?" Ed stared off into space and scratched his chin,
"Well, I guess I like Yellow quite a bit. I'm not sure what my absolute favorite is, though."
"Why do you ask?"
--
"I have been pondering what shade of rose to next cultivate," Alarin replied with a smile. He brushed his hand over the flower of the rose he carried, and the petals fell away to reveal the bulb at its heart, from which Alarin extracted a small handful of seeds.
He stepped across to a patch of the rosebed more sparsely flowered than the others, and knelt down to disperse the seeds. "Yellow, like the daffodil and the sun. It suits you, I think. Bright and bold, yet innocent."
Alarin smiled up at the other boy. "Sometimes it seems you've scarcely changed from when we were younger, and we would play at knights and bandits, with a child's lack of care for rank and manner."
--
"There's yellow roses? I thought they were just red and white," Edward scratched his head.
"Innocent? Why do you think that?" The cousin blinked, letting go of his pollaxe but letting it stay propped up against him, "I'm more honest and trusting than others, but does that lack of politics and subterfuge make me innocent?"
Ed's response to being called innocent or childish was often met with this response.
--
"A rose may bloom with many colours," Alarin answered, as cryptic as ever, "given sufficient encouragement."
The boy rose to his feet and turned to regard Edward with a curious gaze, tilting his head slightly. "No," he finally replied to the second question. "Such things may corrupt innocence, but they do not make it by their absence." He walked over to beside the young knight, lifting a finger to poke at his chest, right over his heart. "It is your heart that does that."
Alarin smiled brightly. "It is a rare thing. You should treasure it, while it lasts."
--
Ineptitude, stupidity and nepotism.
These were the things that polluted the Westron armies, and it had been little surprise that Hildebrand had sent someone like him to fetch the errant young master Beringar. With eyes narrowed, the firstborn of the house stalked through the halls to the garden where she knew she would find her brother. That she had to ask where Alarin was left her incensed, and to find that Hildebrand had send her cousin to find the boy? There was a reason that she walked now among the flowers and the leaves that her gentle brother so adored, and a reason she cared not if the odd flower found itself underneath her sabatoned feet.
She'd little doubt that her plate announced her presence long before her voice did, the darksome steel still having yet to wear off its finish, approaching the pair from behind young Edward, well within Alarin's vision. While she held the hilt of her blade in one hand, she brought the other gauntlet to firmly rest on Edward's shoulder as harsh, jade eyes looked down to him. "Good day, cousin." Henrike murmured, keeping her tone even despite her displeasure, slowly glancing towards her brother.
"Sir Hildebrand was wondering what was keeping Edward."
--
"If you are wondering what was keeping me, cousin," Edward remained unflinching and looked back to his cousin, his sapphire eyes meeting her jade with a distinct lack of fear. He had to deal with Henrike's desperate attempts to grasp for superiority on a daily basis, and the young knight was not going to be intimidated.
"I came to find Alarin, and when I asked him to come back, he refused. If Sir Hildebrand is wondering why it's taking me as long as it is, then he should remember who he sent me to retrieve," his gaze seemed to sharpen, nearly a glare at his older cousin.
"If you are wondering why I didn't force him, I was taught -by Hildebrand no less- that it was more honorable and proper to refrain from such. Also, is it not rude to refer to the young lord as if he was a worthless distraction?"
--
"Tis a fair assessment," Alarin interjected with a wry smile. "A distraction I am indeed, and though I'd be inclined to assign myself at least a measure of worth, 'tis the right of any to think me devoid of it. Perhaps my fair sister's right most of all." There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he looked up at Henrike, folding his arms behind his back and swaying gently to and fro on the balls of his feet.
"In either case, you ought assign no blame to our dear cuz, sister. I'm awfully difficult to pin down at the best of times." The slight boy flashed a knowing smile, though what meaning it held was - as ever was the case with Alarin - unclear.
--
Though attempts they were, desperate was hardly the word she'd have chosen. Her actions were measured and understood, even emotional as she was. She had earned respect in the right of her folk, with her blood, and that of others, both on and off the field of battle. Though there were many who thought less of her for reclaiming what was rightfully hers, for fulfilling her birthright, most refrained from speaking such aloud - unfortunately, Edward was not one such. Henrike remained as she was, unmoved by the young man's words, eyes lingering on her cousin until her brother spoke, drawing her gaze over to the one that Edward had been sent to fetch. "That you are, Alarin." Perhaps Edward was without blame in his half-assed attempts to bring the prince to his duties, though she only wished the same could be said for his tongue.
The Marshal of the West regarded her brother, the heir, with an even face, still largely unsure of the other young man. Edward was steel and soul, concluded and known - she couldn't begin to unravel Alarin's person. "I would advise you see to your studies, brother dearest, I won't be here to help you come this evening - I ride for the capital." A lingering, narrowed glance was paid to Edward at that, the beginnings of a sneer forming in the shadows of her face. "... though I wonder if anything will get done in my absence."
--
"Are you doubting Hildebrand's ability?" The young man returned the scowl, "I wonder if Ser, or even the Duke for that matter, would appreciate such slander?"
The knight saw Henrike as a petulant power-hungry brat, someone that he felt should never be allowed any sort of power. It went against everything he thought was right, but she was still his superior. He would stay to the proper channels if he had a complaint to voice, and refrain from taking physical action, at least action that was unprovoked...
But that was another matter, that would likely not come to fruition.
Either way, the thought of Henrike going to the capital to represent Zeelow repulsed him. Her, representing all of Zeelow? Edward was honestly surprised that such a thing didn't already tarnish the west's reputation.
--
"I am certain that at the very least, dear sister, the flowers will get more done in the absence of your ah... help," Alarin remarked, laughing. "You must give my regards to Earl Petrus, when you reach the capital. It's been far too long since his last visit."
A sly smile crossed his face, then. "If you can find a moment to spare from your hunt, of course. What quarry do you have your sights set on, I wonder? The capital is certainly rich with game."
--
"I doubt a great many things, cousin, and none of them are your concern." She replied curtly, eyes darting back to her brother as the heir spoke, the blonde giving a slow blink of her eyes as the young man jabbed at her. "Certainly, Alarin, if he'll grant me the audience after father's pestering." The duke Beringar nearly hounded lord Petrus with constant reports and requests, hoping to make it look like he, and the house, were attentive to their role as the power of the west.
The titanic figure narrowed her eyes on the young heir at such bold words, doing her best to stifle what rage she felt at his playful insinuations. "No one who's keen on late arrivals, I fear. I must away, lest we not make the best of what's left of today. See that my brother gets to Hildebrand, Ed." With that she moved to turn, hand tensing on the grip of her blade as she departed from this pitiful company, looking forward to the small reprieve she'd have from such on the road.
Edward nodded every few sentences, listening carefully. He tried to imagine what the roots would be in this metaphor: was there some sort of social strife driving this distrust, or were there other people behind the curtain, pulling strings and using this ambitious chieftain as a pawn?
"My favorite color?" Ed stared off into space and scratched his chin,
"Well, I guess I like Yellow quite a bit. I'm not sure what my absolute favorite is, though."
"Why do you ask?"
--
"I have been pondering what shade of rose to next cultivate," Alarin replied with a smile. He brushed his hand over the flower of the rose he carried, and the petals fell away to reveal the bulb at its heart, from which Alarin extracted a small handful of seeds.
He stepped across to a patch of the rosebed more sparsely flowered than the others, and knelt down to disperse the seeds. "Yellow, like the daffodil and the sun. It suits you, I think. Bright and bold, yet innocent."
Alarin smiled up at the other boy. "Sometimes it seems you've scarcely changed from when we were younger, and we would play at knights and bandits, with a child's lack of care for rank and manner."
--
"There's yellow roses? I thought they were just red and white," Edward scratched his head.
"Innocent? Why do you think that?" The cousin blinked, letting go of his pollaxe but letting it stay propped up against him, "I'm more honest and trusting than others, but does that lack of politics and subterfuge make me innocent?"
Ed's response to being called innocent or childish was often met with this response.
--
"A rose may bloom with many colours," Alarin answered, as cryptic as ever, "given sufficient encouragement."
The boy rose to his feet and turned to regard Edward with a curious gaze, tilting his head slightly. "No," he finally replied to the second question. "Such things may corrupt innocence, but they do not make it by their absence." He walked over to beside the young knight, lifting a finger to poke at his chest, right over his heart. "It is your heart that does that."
Alarin smiled brightly. "It is a rare thing. You should treasure it, while it lasts."
--
Ineptitude, stupidity and nepotism.
These were the things that polluted the Westron armies, and it had been little surprise that Hildebrand had sent someone like him to fetch the errant young master Beringar. With eyes narrowed, the firstborn of the house stalked through the halls to the garden where she knew she would find her brother. That she had to ask where Alarin was left her incensed, and to find that Hildebrand had send her cousin to find the boy? There was a reason that she walked now among the flowers and the leaves that her gentle brother so adored, and a reason she cared not if the odd flower found itself underneath her sabatoned feet.
She'd little doubt that her plate announced her presence long before her voice did, the darksome steel still having yet to wear off its finish, approaching the pair from behind young Edward, well within Alarin's vision. While she held the hilt of her blade in one hand, she brought the other gauntlet to firmly rest on Edward's shoulder as harsh, jade eyes looked down to him. "Good day, cousin." Henrike murmured, keeping her tone even despite her displeasure, slowly glancing towards her brother.
"Sir Hildebrand was wondering what was keeping Edward."
--
"If you are wondering what was keeping me, cousin," Edward remained unflinching and looked back to his cousin, his sapphire eyes meeting her jade with a distinct lack of fear. He had to deal with Henrike's desperate attempts to grasp for superiority on a daily basis, and the young knight was not going to be intimidated.
"I came to find Alarin, and when I asked him to come back, he refused. If Sir Hildebrand is wondering why it's taking me as long as it is, then he should remember who he sent me to retrieve," his gaze seemed to sharpen, nearly a glare at his older cousin.
"If you are wondering why I didn't force him, I was taught -by Hildebrand no less- that it was more honorable and proper to refrain from such. Also, is it not rude to refer to the young lord as if he was a worthless distraction?"
--
"Tis a fair assessment," Alarin interjected with a wry smile. "A distraction I am indeed, and though I'd be inclined to assign myself at least a measure of worth, 'tis the right of any to think me devoid of it. Perhaps my fair sister's right most of all." There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he looked up at Henrike, folding his arms behind his back and swaying gently to and fro on the balls of his feet.
"In either case, you ought assign no blame to our dear cuz, sister. I'm awfully difficult to pin down at the best of times." The slight boy flashed a knowing smile, though what meaning it held was - as ever was the case with Alarin - unclear.
--
Though attempts they were, desperate was hardly the word she'd have chosen. Her actions were measured and understood, even emotional as she was. She had earned respect in the right of her folk, with her blood, and that of others, both on and off the field of battle. Though there were many who thought less of her for reclaiming what was rightfully hers, for fulfilling her birthright, most refrained from speaking such aloud - unfortunately, Edward was not one such. Henrike remained as she was, unmoved by the young man's words, eyes lingering on her cousin until her brother spoke, drawing her gaze over to the one that Edward had been sent to fetch. "That you are, Alarin." Perhaps Edward was without blame in his half-assed attempts to bring the prince to his duties, though she only wished the same could be said for his tongue.
The Marshal of the West regarded her brother, the heir, with an even face, still largely unsure of the other young man. Edward was steel and soul, concluded and known - she couldn't begin to unravel Alarin's person. "I would advise you see to your studies, brother dearest, I won't be here to help you come this evening - I ride for the capital." A lingering, narrowed glance was paid to Edward at that, the beginnings of a sneer forming in the shadows of her face. "... though I wonder if anything will get done in my absence."
--
"Are you doubting Hildebrand's ability?" The young man returned the scowl, "I wonder if Ser, or even the Duke for that matter, would appreciate such slander?"
The knight saw Henrike as a petulant power-hungry brat, someone that he felt should never be allowed any sort of power. It went against everything he thought was right, but she was still his superior. He would stay to the proper channels if he had a complaint to voice, and refrain from taking physical action, at least action that was unprovoked...
But that was another matter, that would likely not come to fruition.
Either way, the thought of Henrike going to the capital to represent Zeelow repulsed him. Her, representing all of Zeelow? Edward was honestly surprised that such a thing didn't already tarnish the west's reputation.
--
"I am certain that at the very least, dear sister, the flowers will get more done in the absence of your ah... help," Alarin remarked, laughing. "You must give my regards to Earl Petrus, when you reach the capital. It's been far too long since his last visit."
A sly smile crossed his face, then. "If you can find a moment to spare from your hunt, of course. What quarry do you have your sights set on, I wonder? The capital is certainly rich with game."
--
"I doubt a great many things, cousin, and none of them are your concern." She replied curtly, eyes darting back to her brother as the heir spoke, the blonde giving a slow blink of her eyes as the young man jabbed at her. "Certainly, Alarin, if he'll grant me the audience after father's pestering." The duke Beringar nearly hounded lord Petrus with constant reports and requests, hoping to make it look like he, and the house, were attentive to their role as the power of the west.
The titanic figure narrowed her eyes on the young heir at such bold words, doing her best to stifle what rage she felt at his playful insinuations. "No one who's keen on late arrivals, I fear. I must away, lest we not make the best of what's left of today. See that my brother gets to Hildebrand, Ed." With that she moved to turn, hand tensing on the grip of her blade as she departed from this pitiful company, looking forward to the small reprieve she'd have from such on the road.
Aera
Average Demi-God
Two years of service under Henrike Beringar, a flock of maids under her supervision, and her own steed to ride beside her lady during their travels. Such is the life of Lythe Moreau, an over glorified example of a servant.
Being the most trusted hand-maiden to Zeelow's Marshal was quite a burden, if she were to be honest. The lady had quite a personality which , more often than not, caused Lythe many a great troubles trying to compensate Edward for what Henrike had said or done. In addition to that, new recruits to the house Beringar servants are sent to her immediately to train and make sure they're doing their jobs with accuracy.
It had been an exhausting day, and the sun hasn't even set yet! Letting a deep sigh escape her lips, Lythe proceeded down the halls adorned with the Beringar's family crest and oversized windows which allowed the sunlight to light up the palace. As the servant continued her way, a sharp voice stopped Lythe in her tracks.
"Lysa!"
'Hildebrand'
"Yes, ser?" Lythe turned to face the man with a fake smile, internally feeling irritated that she had just been disturbed while on duty.
--
It was a very strange day for Lythe. Abandoning her post in search for her lady along with ser Edward and Alarin Beringar was the least of her expectations when she woke up that morning.
Now walking along the stone walkpath in the gardens the hand-maiden continued to fidget with her apron as a way to.. let her outrage free per se. Though it was cut short by the sound of metal clanking on the stoned path and the sight of Henrike Beringar.
"Milady," Lythe proceeded to do her graceful curtsy, some of the maiden's raven locks falling down to hang beside her shoulders."I've been sent to fetch you, ser Edward, and his majesty, by my lord Hildebrand"
Being the most trusted hand-maiden to Zeelow's Marshal was quite a burden, if she were to be honest. The lady had quite a personality which , more often than not, caused Lythe many a great troubles trying to compensate Edward for what Henrike had said or done. In addition to that, new recruits to the house Beringar servants are sent to her immediately to train and make sure they're doing their jobs with accuracy.
It had been an exhausting day, and the sun hasn't even set yet! Letting a deep sigh escape her lips, Lythe proceeded down the halls adorned with the Beringar's family crest and oversized windows which allowed the sunlight to light up the palace. As the servant continued her way, a sharp voice stopped Lythe in her tracks.
"Lysa!"
'Hildebrand'
"Yes, ser?" Lythe turned to face the man with a fake smile, internally feeling irritated that she had just been disturbed while on duty.
--
It was a very strange day for Lythe. Abandoning her post in search for her lady along with ser Edward and Alarin Beringar was the least of her expectations when she woke up that morning.
Now walking along the stone walkpath in the gardens the hand-maiden continued to fidget with her apron as a way to.. let her outrage free per se. Though it was cut short by the sound of metal clanking on the stoned path and the sight of Henrike Beringar.
"Milady," Lythe proceeded to do her graceful curtsy, some of the maiden's raven locks falling down to hang beside her shoulders."I've been sent to fetch you, ser Edward, and his majesty, by my lord Hildebrand"
Ottoman
The Second Son
The nerve of her cousin and the utterly imbecilic nature of her brother had left the 'iron duchess' in poor spirits, the scowl that adorned her visage betrayed her displeasure at having to suffer their company for any length of time - though, to be fair, it was one of her more common expressions, and one might not intrinsically associate it with her kinsmen. The imposing figure of the Westron Archduke's firstborn was no real surprise given the dulcet notes of her plate's sabatons on the cobblestone underfoot, but her darksome form might startle those who did not expect it. Fortunately enough, the one who greeted Henrike around the serpentine path was none other than Lythe Moreau, perhaps one of the few who had the experience, and the patience, to properly deal with the irritable marshal.
It was for the best that she spoke before Henrike did, the seething Westron having not paid attention to her handmaiden's face as she approached, not realized who it was until the other's voice pulled her from the choppy waters of her mind, bringing her back to reality and away from the brooding sanctuary where the firstborn lingered in her disgust. "Lythe," She spoke, her voice as weighted by her mood as her face. "It's... good to see you." The sigh that Henrike managed in the wake of her words could tell the other that it was something of a weight off of her shoulders to be around someone she considered competent again.
"Ser Edward is seeing to delivering my brother, I already spoke with them. Unfortunately." The air of spite in her voice was quite nearly palpable, her features almost arching into a sneer as she cast a final glance over her shoulder, back towards where the other two no doubt still lingered. "... are my bags packed for the capital, Lythe?" Henrike inquired suddenly, her jade orbs returning to the other woman, eager to put the memory of that distasteful conversation behind her.
It was for the best that she spoke before Henrike did, the seething Westron having not paid attention to her handmaiden's face as she approached, not realized who it was until the other's voice pulled her from the choppy waters of her mind, bringing her back to reality and away from the brooding sanctuary where the firstborn lingered in her disgust. "Lythe," She spoke, her voice as weighted by her mood as her face. "It's... good to see you." The sigh that Henrike managed in the wake of her words could tell the other that it was something of a weight off of her shoulders to be around someone she considered competent again.
"Ser Edward is seeing to delivering my brother, I already spoke with them. Unfortunately." The air of spite in her voice was quite nearly palpable, her features almost arching into a sneer as she cast a final glance over her shoulder, back towards where the other two no doubt still lingered. "... are my bags packed for the capital, Lythe?" Henrike inquired suddenly, her jade orbs returning to the other woman, eager to put the memory of that distasteful conversation behind her.
Aera
Average Demi-God
Mental unrest was evident in her lady’s tone as she spoke causing the servant to give a slight chuckle, one hand partially covering the mouth. “It seems both of us had our moods spoiled.” With another sigh Lythe began to fidget with her apron. “About that. The bags are all packed. Everything’s ready…. except for our steeds.” The hesitation in her voice revealed frustration as the handmaiden explained the current situation. She was certain Henrike would be in a more sour mood after this revelation.
“It seems that the servant in charge of the stables has been sent away to the marketplace by.. Hildebrand himself.” She spoke the name with bitterness though externally the servant’s face simply showed what would be considered a sweet smile.
There was nothing wrong with the man, really. Lythe only despised the lord simply because she didn’t deem him competent enough for his position in the Beringar house. All things considered, Hildebrand gets the job done although the handmaiden has never approved of his process.
“It seems that the servant in charge of the stables has been sent away to the marketplace by.. Hildebrand himself.” She spoke the name with bitterness though externally the servant’s face simply showed what would be considered a sweet smile.
There was nothing wrong with the man, really. Lythe only despised the lord simply because she didn’t deem him competent enough for his position in the Beringar house. All things considered, Hildebrand gets the job done although the handmaiden has never approved of his process.
Ottoman
The Second Son
The news of their steeds and Hildebrand's continued meddling did manage to return a shade of the scowl to the Beringar's face, her brows narrowed at the thought. All that the eldest managed was a sigh however, not lashing out at either the messenger or the knight who had delayed her departure even further, instead funneling her irritation into the armored thumb that worked at the pommel of her longsword, the sheer, slick note of metal on metal barely audible over the breeze and birdsong that surrounded them. Like Lythe, Henrike knew that Hildebrand meant well, at least in some capacity, and at the least dispatching a servant to fetch something at the marketplace was a far more fitting errand-boy than for her to prove his courier. "... I'll see to ours myself then. My retinue can tend to their own." The armed contingent that rode with them to the capital should be able to tend to their horses, that or their squires should. Henrike silently pondered the delay this might cause, and even though she knew it to be minimal at best, the woman couldn't help but bring her fingers to the bridge of her nose, pinching it in frustration.
"Gods above..." She murmured, taking another moment to compose herself before looking up again, now the very image of calm - or as close as she could ever manage to be. "Walk with me, Lythe. Has my father managed to shovel any more missives on us?"
If she wasn't running errands for one person, it was another.
"Gods above..." She murmured, taking another moment to compose herself before looking up again, now the very image of calm - or as close as she could ever manage to be. "Walk with me, Lythe. Has my father managed to shovel any more missives on us?"
If she wasn't running errands for one person, it was another.
Aera
Average Demi-God
Fortunately, no, his majesty has not.” Moreau started, proceeding to walk beside albeit slightly behind her lady. “I believe all we currently have is the visit to the capital to represent all of Zeelow,” the servant added with a hint of sulkiness. As beautiful and grand one may think of the capital, the handmaiden has never been keen on visiting. More so when politics was involved.
Now looking at the proud figure of her mistress, the servant was once again visited of a question concerning the Beringar’s future with a man. Time has not been kind and everyone is growing old with age. Soon enough Henrike is bound to get married- either by love or by some political arrangement. This greatly worried the girl, although the subject of love is one of the fun ways Lythe was able to tease the warden without inspiring her wrath.
“Moving on from duty talk, though…” the maid set her tone playfully, the corners of her mouth slowly tugging upward. “You really ought to not be so uptight. No man wants a tyrant for a wife, you know.”
Now looking at the proud figure of her mistress, the servant was once again visited of a question concerning the Beringar’s future with a man. Time has not been kind and everyone is growing old with age. Soon enough Henrike is bound to get married- either by love or by some political arrangement. This greatly worried the girl, although the subject of love is one of the fun ways Lythe was able to tease the warden without inspiring her wrath.
“Moving on from duty talk, though…” the maid set her tone playfully, the corners of her mouth slowly tugging upward. “You really ought to not be so uptight. No man wants a tyrant for a wife, you know.”
Ottoman
The Second Son
A relief then, she already had half a satchel of letters and reports that her father had thought appropriate to burden her with on the journey to Solstice, and it wouldn't have done her sour mood any favors to be saddled with any more. "A chance to sit and stand and nod and sit some more." Warm bodies at a council, for the most part - Henrike doubted that anything of import would be discussed, at least in regards to the west. As unruly as Zeelow could prove at times, the Beringars had things under control, whether the problem was so simple as a band of brigands or so severe as a lingering drought - though it had been quite some time since the last of those, the northern rains having kept the dry spells at bay. "I don't like it any more than you do, Lythe, but it gets me away from here." Away from her parents, the ones so eager to appoint her marshal, but not heir, and her brother, the fanciful, weak child who had stolen her title away from her.
The girl's observation did manage to restore something of a smirk to the eldest Beringar's face, the light shake of her head a note of agreement, "I doubt I'm at the top of any list when it comes to wives." It was an unavoidable decision, were she ever to pursue her dreams of ambition, of seizing her birthright, but it was not one that she cherished. Just as quickly would she lose that which she had worked so long to attain, and the seat of house Beringar would be lost.
The girl's observation did manage to restore something of a smirk to the eldest Beringar's face, the light shake of her head a note of agreement, "I doubt I'm at the top of any list when it comes to wives." It was an unavoidable decision, were she ever to pursue her dreams of ambition, of seizing her birthright, but it was not one that she cherished. Just as quickly would she lose that which she had worked so long to attain, and the seat of house Beringar would be lost.
Aera
Average Demi-God
Her mistress was right, to an extent. Many of those who've met the Beringar would walk away with disappointment apparent in their faces, somewhat fazed by the unexpectedness they'd just been presented with. However Lythe had recently overheard two maids gossiping of a certain lord who has apparently set his eyes on the West's warden. How true this was, Lythe didn't know although it certainly was a very curious topic. "You never know. Life is full of surprises."
A realization occurred, leaving the servant to stop in her tracks and look back the direction they had been walking away from. "Are you certain that Ser Edward will be bringing the Lord anytime soon?," her voice filled with uncertainty the handmaiden let a light scowl decorate her face.
A realization occurred, leaving the servant to stop in her tracks and look back the direction they had been walking away from. "Are you certain that Ser Edward will be bringing the Lord anytime soon?," her voice filled with uncertainty the handmaiden let a light scowl decorate her face.
Ottoman
The Second Son
"That it is," Henrike mused alongside her handmaiden, knowing full well just how twisted life's path could become. There was little change in the eldest Beringar's motions as they continued onward, the marshal slipped past Lythe by a pace or two, her mind having wandered on the note of marriage and matchmaking, and how likely she was to avoid it, that it took her a moment to realize that the other had stopped. A puzzled look made its way onto Henrike's face as the Westron looked to her comrade, silently inquiring as to why they'd stopped before the other answered her, leading Henrike to dismiss the notion with a roll of her eyes. "Bringing him to bed perhaps, but beyond that, it's not my problem any longer - I carried them Hildebrand's summons." With that her expression softened once more, beckoning that the other follow, turning on her heels as she did.
"Come Lythe, the capital awaits us."
"Come Lythe, the capital awaits us."
Aera
Average Demi-God
"Ah, yes, the capital!" The servant snapped, golden orbs fully opened to reveal her surprise. The idea of going to the capital had almost slipped her mind. With another uncertain glance towards the garden Lythe began to start towards the castle with Henrike, the Beringar's hand maiden now lost in thought concerning their provisions and necessities for the trip. Making sure that they had more than enough supplies to last her lady and their company the trip to the capital and back is of absolute importance to Lythe.