Logs:Meanwhile, At Tillek
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 14 August, 2013 |
| Who: Edeline, Tomaeran |
| Involves: Tillek Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tomaeran runs into his step-mother-in-law in the gardens. They have a frank chat. |
| Where: Gardens, Tillek Hold |
| When: Day 9, Month 7, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Carilee/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Huelet/Mentions, Ienavi/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions, Potiphar/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions, Trishma/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Edeline ST'd by Suireh, because K'del-player is always the ST, never the ST-ee, sadface. Totally indulgent, yes. |
  |
| Gardens, Tillek Hold Tillek isn't all craggy cliffs and rocky shores. There are some spots of beauty, and one of them is the Lord's private gardens. Well cared for, it's a little bower of green and flowers, with a stone bench and small gazebo set in the very heart of the main hold's private sanctum.
Edeline capitalizes on this respite from the drama of life by kneeling in the dirt of her garden, this one spot in the entire hold that's hers alone. Sure, it might be called the Lord's Garden; but everyone knows the true Lord of Tillek is Edeline and only turns of traditionalism have made it otherwise. Respecting his wife, Potipher never enters, allowing her this place and luxury all to herself. She digs, she weeds, she tends, and just now, her ungloved hands are wrist deep in darkened soil as she churns it herself. Since his marriage, Tomaeran has obviously been taking some things told to him to heart, and his excesses - so honed at High Reaches Weyr and Hold both - have been tempered. If he and Carilee are not in love, they don't seem to be unhappy, and Tom has been if not doting, certainly not inattentive. Still, Tillek is less suited to his desires than, for example, Nabol would have been: Nabol, with all those young Bloods indulging themselves, day in and day out. Tom's restless. He might even be bored. Certainly, though he has that same idle swagger employed in his step as he enters Edeline's private garden, there's something keen in his gaze as he approaches, something he attempts to hide beneath surprise. "Oh! Lady Edeline, I didn't realise that you would be in here." The fingers that work the soil beneath those buried wrists pause, not that Tom would notice, except in the subtle shift of Edeline's body as it goes from relaxed to poised, perhaps a little tense even, at the voice that interrupts her solitude. There's recognition that flickers in the brown of her eyes, shading them a little darker as her chin tucks down. If she had the option to ignore this interruption, keenly honed senses might notice that wavering desire in the downward arch of her back and the drop of her head. They're split second miscalculations in a very political body, that might give her away entirely. Except... they are, in the end, just split seconds, and she uncurls that subtle curl and glances over her shoulder and up to the entering interloper; her step-daughter's husband. There might even be warmth in her level features. "Tomaeran. It's quite the secret I would rather not get out. The Lady Holder does her own gardening? For shame." She's just friendly enough that brings him into the fold as family. Just. "You should be pleased," points out Tomaeran, giving no indication as to whether he's noticed any of those minute changes in her stance. In fact, it seems unlikely: he's too busy swinging around the edge of the gazebo, his gaze turned deliberately elsewhere. "A whole turn I've been in your family, now, and no one has breathed a word. Or is it a failing on my part, that I've never realised? You do a good job of it." It's not in his nature to be giving of compliments, and this one falls flat, distractedly so. "A woman who doesn't keep a few secrets from the masses is no woman at all," replies Edeline. One last churn of her fingers beneath the surface and suddenly her darkened, soiled hands emerge and wipe against the white towel laid across her lap. "Do you come here often to think, Tomaeran? It's-," she presumes aloud on his behalf, "A quiet, reflective sort of place." And then without missing a beat, she notes, "There's a trowel on the bench over there, bring it over, please." The glance Tomaeran shoots back at Edeline at her remark on secrets is a bewildered one, as if it has never occurred to him that such a thing might be so. At least he's quick enough to find the trowel, and to bring it to the Lady; at least he manages not to look sulky in doing so - at being not even asked to do so. "It is," he agrees, as he stops alongside her. "Sometimes. That is, I come here sometimes. I don't know if it's to think. Sometimes it's just to get away from Trishma." Who liiiiikes him, and sometimes just won't leave him alone. There's a twitch at the tip of Edeline's nose at the mention of Trishma (or was it at Tom's general demeanor?), and even a light of understanding, enough so that she'll let the unnoticed behavior slide. "She's past the age of marriage, though I'm loathe to marry girls off so young, before they have any realization of what they might want or understanding of how they might contribute to a marriage." Trowel in hand, Edeline pivot scoots to a pot near by and gently works the planted pot free of its confines. "We were considering an arrangement with Carsom, but with Nabol in the state it's in these days." What can you do? is in the punctuation of her delicate shoulder lift. "Her father won't hear of it now." "Even if they all duke it out-- I heard a rumour some of them were picking up duels again!-- Carsom would be too far down the list to be a possible Lord," supposes Tomaeran, stepping back and out of the lady's way. Yes, he sounds a little too excited by the idea of duelling. "But that's not the point. It would be messy." That Tom has taken enough notice of Nabol to be aware of any of this is impressive; that he's remembered who some of Ustelan's grandchildren are is even moreso. "I suppose that's what happens when there's no named heir." Tom's expression is neutral, but his eyes? His eyes are interested. A speculative look slants up at Tom with a surprise that Edeline neglects to veil. "I shouldn't be shocked that you're following this," could be a compliment. Could. "No. When there's no named heir, the holdership defaults to the eldest eligible heir. Which would be Huelet." But tellingly, the incredibly etiquette conscious lady neglects to add any title to Ustelan's eldest son. "But there are other factors here. Huelet was never raised to be Lord. His mother was never a lady and his father wasn't meant to become Lord in the first place." There's a prim upward turn of her nose, a little Blooded snobbery, perhaps. "Tevrane is the first child of Lord Nabol's to be born after his confirmation. She's the daughter of Frieja, who is tied to the Sattle bloodline." There is no artifice or pretense in Tomaeran's expression when he returns Edeline's, so level and sure. Yes, he's following this. Yes, he's interested. "It would be interesting," he remarks, "to know what Tevrane thinks of this, in that case. It certainly shouldn't be Ienavi's child, if it exists. No one would want to make a baby their heir, not at Ustelan's age. Does it matter so much, being born after confirmation?" Tom's keen interest also displays some lack of knowledge; it's a reminder, perhaps, of that childhood spent in conditions so very different from these. It's one of those times, where the unkind turns of a grieving mother rears its head, reflecting in the Lady Holder usually always presented to Tomaeran. "To some, it matters little." The brittle quality of her voice indicates which side of that argument Edeline falls with. Tom takes an involuntary step back in the wake of that brittle comment; he flushes. "I'm sorry," he says. It's... actually, probably even genuine. "Holder succession is so... confusing. We never had anything like it." It's rare that Tom makes reference to his own background. Edeline is not immune to the flush on Tom's cheeks, her own rosing up quickly as the trowel and then plant she was tending to is set down. For a moment, she involves herself with replanting that potted plant into the soil, quiet, as her hands voice her opinions for her with their auspicious thumps and angry soil turns and then more thumps as she pats the dirt down. "I should apologize," which isn't a real apology, just what she should do, "It's not your fault this whole affair is more fraught than it should be, and you were merely curious, as any one who did not grow up with these rules and understandings might be. I would like to know, Tom," the informal use of his name is followed by Edeline slowly rising, the towel wringing about her hands as she wipes them free of dirt, if not clean. "Are you of Tillek or Reaches?" As Edeline gardens, Tom turns his attention away, though it seems less to be about dreaming of escape, and more... giving her time and space? Perhaps he really has grown up, these weeks and months. "No," he says, after she speaks, after he's turned his gaze back towards her with a quizzical slat to fair eyebrows. "You have nothing to apologise for, lady." Saying that gives him a moment to puzzle through her question. "Tillek." It's certainly a calculated answer, but he sounds certain. "I belong to Tillek, now. I've never belonged to High Reaches." Not like this. Edeline's brows draw together, amused at the certainty and the calculation that is so transparent to a woman of her turns in the position she's been put in throughout. "You belong to us," allows the Holder. "Then I will be honest with you, Tomaeran. You understand, through no fault of your own and the misfortune of your past, that you will never be Lord Holder. Of Tillek or High Reaches Hold. But I don't believe in dangling carrots unnecessarily in front of people, in order to get them to do what I wish." She pauses. May Tomaeran take a moment to look... no, 'crestfallen' is not the word, nor even 'disappointed'? It's obvious that his inclination is to argue with her, or to swear he'll show her, and yet... he doesn't. "I would be a good one," he says into that pause, but it's not an argument. "But you will want your Blood, I suppose. Even step-daughters aren't the same as that." Sulky disappointment isn't completely kept out of his voice when he says that, though surely he's known how unlikely that ambition always was. "We can't all be as lucky as Dev." As certainty gives way to disappointment, Edeline has the humanity to mingle her amusement with sincere sympathy, or at the very least a modicum of empathy. She reaches out a dirt-stained hand to press lightly into Tomaeran's arm. "Carilee is dear to her father and her father is dear to me. You are Carilee's husband and I do not have plans for her to become another Issedi." There's no vocal disparagement of the Reachian Blood in timbre, even if the words themselves are less than flattering. "I have need of a steward with his ears to the ground and an ability to wade through flatterers and connivers alike. If you'll take a position," a real actual job, what? "Under our steward to learn everything you never had the opportunity to learn, we may revisit the issue of Sattle Hold and its aging, heirless lord." A Sattle, whose closest living relation may be the heir to Nabol. Tomaeran's blue eyed gaze drops to his arm, and Edeline's hand upon it. If he's bothered by the fact that her hand is dirty, and his clothes clean, that he's not showing. He uses the time her words afford him to recover his composure - or, rather, he would, except that her offer as him plainly reeling. Now he looks up; now he gives her a considering glance, seeking in her expression some suggestion of her motivations. It's true that a 'real job' has never been on Tom's radar, but this is... different. "You won't want to give Sattle to Carilee?" And not her husband? "Which is to say-- yes, Lady, of course. I'll make you proud." Genuine excitement is... about as rare as genuine anything, in Tom. He's pleased. Politely, Edeline says nothing of Carilee's abilities as a hold manager, but merely inclines her head. "In due time, should you provide Carilee with children, you will understand how a mother feels about her children. Any of them, even the ones not out of her own womb." And the ones that are from it, again, split second faltering wavers her lips. "I'll look forward to hearing of your progress, Tom." This time, Tom is more conscious of what 'children' can mean for Edeline-- even if he has yet to provide any to his own wife (and not, shall we say, from lack of trying). His gaze drops, his expression turning abruptly more serious. Then, "Yes, Lady Edeline. I'll prove myself. Thank you for the opportunity." Surprisingly, he really will do his best... then again, that's what age, experience, and a really good incentive will do for a person. . oO ( LORD SATTLE!! HERE I COME!! ) Tomaeran smugs his way all the way through the hold, yay~ Edeline, ohToms. Tomaeran :( |
Leave A Comment