[Day 9, Epilogue] Definitely Not Gloating

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

Gwyn's heart was beating far too fast as she stepped up to the flap of Lady Marsten's tent and was stopped by the guards just outside. It was foolish, she berated herself. Corrine was Lady now, and Gwyn would be leaving Marsten. If ever there was a time when Isobel was impotent against her, it was now. But there was a stubborn little girl inside her that was still terrified by the grim looks, the ethereal visage, the constant disapproving aura that choked the air around her.

That's not me. Not anymore.

"
I'm here to see my aunt,"
she informed the guard loftily. "
House business."


The guards exchanged looks, and the braver one said, "
The Lady isn't seeing visitors..."


"
I'm not a visitor,"
Gwyn said flatly. "
I'm her niece. And this is House. Business."


It's very likely that the guard meant to announce her as he stepped aside to pull at the tent flap, but Gwyneth didn't give him the opportunity. She quickly ducked inside before it was completely open, ignoring his faint protest as she did.

It was dim in the tent, compared to the sunlight outside, and Gwyn paused to let her eyes acclimate.

"
Hello, aunty,"
said Gwyn on spying Isobel sitting at her little wooden desk by the bed. "
I've just come to give you some news I think you'll like. Success, in the assignment you delivered to me a year ago. Isn't that wonderful news?"

[Reader]

Placeholder.

[Reader]

Gwyn is treated with less indulgence with Corrine. Gwyn was always treated with less indulgence than Corrine.

"
Niece,"
says Isobel with a nod.

"
Success should be good news, but less up have the tale plainly. You're a noble lady, not some mystic from Qarth."

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

"
But noble ladies have a mystique all their own,"
Gwyn countered gamely.

Not that you'd know anything about that, crouching in your tent all the time while I went out and actually worked for the House. This tourney was mine, and not even you can take that from me,

"
You asked me to seek Lord Dunstan's hand,"
she clarified. "
And while the letter of the directive is unfulfilled, let us speak frankly...since you insist on it. The truth was you wanted to be rid of me. For me to marry some Lord and be gone. Dunstan or not, that was never the real aim. So I come to you triumphant. I am marrying a lord, and I am leaving Hartshorn."


She couldn't help from smirking. "
You must be very pleased with the tourney. Corrine married, alliances made, me out of your hair...all your fondest desires met...and you didn't even have to lift a finger. In fact, it most likely would have happened if you hadn't been here at all. I expect that must be...reassuring, no?"

[Reader]

"
You see much and more, gentle niece. Tragically in your case, much that is not there."


"
So your task is complete in so far as you have reinterpreted it to suit your purposes? Successes come easily to us if we can redefine our goals after the event."


She attempts to ignore Gwyn's well placed barbs, eager to land a few of her own in the opening engages. Still, she's bold enough to claim credit for Corrine's efforts in private.

"
Corrine's endeavours reflect well on the whole family and her upbringing. Events that have come to pass are due to previous hard labour, if you'll forgive the pun."


Isobel smiles, but it does not reach her eyes.

"
Hard labour is perhaps a foreign concept to the flighty youth of today."


"
Tell me of this fine Lord you are to marry - I believe I know all the great and small Lords present, and no word of an betrothal has reached my ears."

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

"
Well, I admit I didn't have your vantage point here in this tent,"
Gwyn sniped, "
Since I was actually out in the tourney accomplishing things, perhaps my vision was clouded."


"
As for the Lord, well he's one you know well...if by another name. In fact, I believe you wished him to be Lord Marsten?"


She stepped forward a few steps, looking around the tent to draw the moment out just a little longer.

"
Lord Baelon, of course. Waters no longer. He's won land, and a name...and me. Corrine didn't tell you? Well, perhaps she was too busy being Lady."

[Reader]

"
Lord Baelon is both poor etiquette and improbable,"
she sniffs, yet hungry for information, the chief currency of court.

"
He would more properly be Lord Waters, an impossibility. What name has he been elevated to?"


"
A fine service you have done House Marsten after we cared for you when your father passed. Luring away the match I'd made for my daughter, abandoning your family for a new house."


[OOC: Isobel Marsten moves to unfriendly to Gwyn]

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

"
Luring away? Covering up for your mistake more like. Baelon was a terrible choice for Corrine from the start. You wanted a man who would be biddable, yes? Someone with no name of his own so he could take Marsten. Someone with no ambition of his own, so the Lady of the House would be the Lord in all but name."


"
Does Baelon really strike you as that man? And you barely waited a day before doing it! You never even considered anyone else!"


She shakes her head. "
The reality is that both Corrine and I have spent a great deal of time undoing damage you've done. The Kriegars you alienated. The match you unwisely chose. The campaign against the clans you've barely raised a finger to win support for. I hope your prayers to the Mother are thankful that Corrine is every inch as willful as she is, because if she'd been docile and quiet and waiting for permission to act from you, the House would right now be doomed."


"
But despite all that,"
Gwyn goes on, now in full rant mode. "
And despite your charge to the contrary, I'm not abandoning anyone. The forces of my House will be at Marsten's side during the fight against the clans. And don't you dare bring up caring for me! I was fed, and watered, and given a bed...but you NEVER cared for me! I was made a stranger in Hartshorn, and lived that way until I left for Mountain's Reach! And THAT was your first mistake as Lady, Isobel! Whether or not you'll ever admit it. You had...you had an opportunity in me. One you never bothered to even consider. And now I'm gone, and it's too late."


"
My House is Drakeson. See how it soars. And when you do, ask yourself...what might she have done for me, if I'd only reached out to her and earned her love?"

[Reader]

By now, Lady Isobel is shouting too, a rare sight for a women who is normally so controlled. Something about Gwyneth has never sat well with her, and both women have known it for years.

"
UNGRATEFUL GIRL! Others would have cast you out, favouring their own blood over the broader family. I am GLAD your father did not live to see you disgrace yourself in such a fashion."


"
Let us see how you and Corrine get on in a man's world before you cast blame. Who do you think our forces were protecting while the Kriegars bled. I SAVED THE FAMILY."


"
Even one carried by a Drake can be burned if it soars too high, Gwyneth. The Drake will not care for you - it will use you as an adornment to glorify its ambitions."


"
Bastard Drake or full blooded Dragon, they're all the same."


[TN Awareness (Empathy) 15]

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

(OOC - Ugh...is there some way to get a bad roll up other that Destiny? I really wanted this to work. )
[url=Empathy on Isobel in the Blazing Row][/url]: 6d6k4 13

[Reader]

[OOC: Damn, you're one of the few PCs with a good shot of making that roll.

Burn a destiny point!

Or investigate this in the offseason/future stories?]

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

Gwyn's mouth fell open a little. First at the Isobel saying she was glad her father was dead, second when she hit a bit too close to home with the suggestion that Baelon would choose his ambitions over her. But just as fast there was a wild rush of adrenalin surging through her as she scented blood in the water...and it wasn't just her own.

Isobel had scored a hit, but left herself wide open in the process. The cold, unflappable armor was pierced. Her heart lay exposed. And Gwyn had a weapon that she knew nothing about. A weapon that would pierce that heart straight through.

Who would cast out a little girl who's father had died, and who's mother had left her? A monster. She'd be doing the House a favor by crushing her. Removing a pestilent voice before it could poison Corrine's ear. The words assembled themselves behind Gwyn's mouth.

Shall we speak of not caring, aunt? Well, no discussion about that would be complete without a mention of Wrecker Jon, and how he played games with you. Romantic walks, deep conversations...and all the while falling deeply in love with another woman. Look at my face, with your eyes that see all lies. Know this as true. He felt nothing for you but pity. Everything you thought you saw...all the warmth, all the good will, all the desire...it was a lie.

She smiled as she took a breath. The breath that would thrust her dagger home. In her mind's eye, it was the little dragonglass dagger that her father had given her when she was young. Yes...it would be fitting for her father to have a hand in striking her. She who'd driven him away, to his death, then gloated over it to his daughter.

Isobel definitely would not be gloating for long.

But something was wrong. The words weren't coming. The smile faded from her lips as she wrestled with herself. The time was RIGHT. There might never BE another moment as perfect as this! NOW, while Isobel was still hurting over Jon's death! NOW, before she had time to recover!

But what of Dyana? What of Corrine? As entertaining as her fantasies were, words didn't kill. Not wholly. Isobel would still be around, bitter and hateful and filled with venom. Did she think the old hag would commit suicide? Over Wrecker Jon? Sequester herself in a sept voluntarily? Not bloody likely.

When Gwyn paused to think, she saw the folly of it. Corrine would never forgive her. And Baelon was going to be in Marsten lands, surrounded by Marsten warriors for months. If she took Jon from Isobel...then she might have cause and opportunity to return the favor.

Then it would be Gwyn alone, as Lady of a House. Sitting in the very throne Isobel had once...well, not warmed. But sat in. How poetic. How very...Isobel.

She closed her mouth, then leaned forward and kissed Isobel's forehead almost tenderly.

"
Thank you, aunt. I wish you fortune in your new position. Do come visit sometime."

[Reader]

Isobel was caught off guard by Gwyneth's sudden reconciliatory gesture. Self control would only make the crafty little bitch more dangerous. Isobel had seen too much already, tipped too much of her hand. Something about that little schemer made her lose control.

Best fight good manners with good manners, one mustn't lose her dignity again and talk recklessly.

"
I would be delighted to visit once I have had Ser Markus consult the maps. But of course the offer to return to Hartshorn is open to both of you at any time."


Better to greet her on home ground if possible, she'll now have an army and Ser Baelon's sword to help her win my Corrine's lands before any child is born.

She manages to compose herself sufficiently to offer a polite curtsey to her guest, head spinning with thoughts of betrayal and hidden plots.

[Gwyneth Drakeson]

It's not until Gwyn has almost reached her own tent that the stormclouds in her head part enough to shine some light on what Isobel had said.

It was...curious.

She started collecting her things, the things that were most precious to her, and not to be left to the hands of porters and servants. Why had Isobel kept her in the castle? It would have been beyond easy to foster her elsewhere. Easy, and with no end of precedent. She obviously hadn't wanted Gwyn around. Why not send her to the Lyras, or the Kriegers to be a handmaid, or to some political friend?

The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

And...now that the outrage faded, did it feel a little odd that Isobel had so blatantly spat that she was glad her father was dead? Granted, it had been a dig at Gwyn, implying that he'd have been mortified to see her now. But Mikael was still lost. Presumed dead, perhaps, but a presumption of death wasn't the same as certainty. She'd most likely simply been trying to dig a dagger in;
phrase things as outrageously as possible.

But it felt...odd. Uncharacteristic. Isobel, who took such care with what she said, even gripped in rage.

What did she know of her father, truly? A few memories from her childhood. A few rumors she could barely stand to hear. A mountain of fantasies.

Maybe it was time that changed.

(/scene!)

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