The Red Thread (Closed)

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

As people are leaving from the gathering, Mushroom's roasting having helped fuel rather more acrimony than probably intended, Corrine siezed an opportunity while Ben was distracted by a conversation, and casually approached Aerion Storm.

"Hello again, Aerion. How fare you?" she began, tentatively, deciding that plunging directly into her true line of questioning would be unwise. Best to stick with the rules of proper interaction.

[Aerion Storm]

Storm is surprised to hear a woman's voice here, this near the squires and men-at-arms, but it's a pleasant surprise, when he recognizes the speaker.

"Lady Marsten," he gives her a polite smile, lowering his gaze a bit by rote. "I am well, thank you."

He does look better than he had at the Drakeson tourney. The armor's new, and better fitted to him. His shoulders look twice as broad in the custom-measured plate.

"I hadn't expected to see you here." There's no way to tell just what he means, and, indeed, even he may not be sure; in King's Landing, at the send-off prior to the campaign, or just on this side of the room, amidst the lesser ranked fighting men.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"Surprised to see me here?" she asked, her head tilting a tiny bit, with a curious expression.

"I confess I am not in the capital very often, but seeing off my friends and loved ones is something I would not miss out of hand. I take it you will be accompanying Ser Harbert to the Stepstones?"

[Aerion Storm]

"I..." Am an idiot, sorry. "Meant no offense, m'lady. I've never had a head for noting what ladies were here seeing off their lords and husbands, the times we've readied for action. Always been busy with Ser Harbert's equipment and the like, or just not paid attention. My apologies. I've no doubt you're a dutiful wife, and you seeing 'em off has your folk all in a rush to get home to you safely."

There. That wasn't so bad.

"And yes," he sounds more excited than most. Likely he hopes to earn his spurs there, "I'll be there, m'lady. Doing my part, as best I can."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

And there is her warm smile again.

"There is nothing to apologise for, Aerion. But I thank you for your faith in my dutifulness."

She pauses a moment, then speaks more quietly, almost shyly.

"I am glad we have crossed paths again. I would like to take the opportunity to wish you well."

Those big, earnest eyes, a blue million miles.

"If the impending trip does not earn you knighthood, then it will be a travesty and I'll make Ser Kevan Lyras knight you himself," she said confidentially, with a friendly laugh.

[Aerion Storm]

Aerion can't help but return her infectious smile, but as she lowers her voice, he can't help but cast a half-wary eye around. Rooster Pete had headed off with the other lads, but Aerion was glad plenty of other squires and pages were hustling and bustling here and there, fetching things for their lord knights, frantically overseeing last-minute campaign preparations, and doing all manner of other chores; it wouldn't do to be alone with a noblewoman, and that hint of shyness she shows only serves to remind him of that, as does her joke.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Lady Marsten, truly. But the decision is Ser Harbert's, and I've my work cut out for me. His standards are...as high as his honor," he says, sounding a little proud of himself for his play on House Arryn's words. There. Let that show her I've started paying attention to more than lance and horse, at least a little. I know who Marsten's banner-sworn to, and I was almost half clever.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"Of course. I just hope he appreciates what a dedicated squire he has. I've seen high honour indeed from you," she replies, diplomatically.

"Oh, and I saw what you did there," she teases.

She feigns a distracted glance, looking at the red scarf as though she'd only just noticed it.

"That's a fine scarf you wear. I did not see that at the Coldbrook tourney. Did your performance there win you some lady's favour?" she asks.

Smooth, Corrine.

[Aerion Storm]

At first, he thinks she's just admiring his armor. Some of the other lads had already been half-jealously teasing him for it. He's young enough and trained hard enough to earn it, so the expensive new plate's fresh on his mind. When he realizes where the lady's gaze has rested, though, and even moreso when she talks about it, his Andal-pale cheeks flush almost as red as the cloth.

"N-nno? Err, no." He clears his throat, dark blue eyes casting around nervously, back gone stiff. He's an atrocious liar, and, knowing it, worse than atrocious. "Nothing like that, Lady Marsten, not with me still just a squire and a Storm, no. I, ah, just...coin from ransoms? I bought blade and plate with it, but always heard knights shouldn't be only steel, so, uh, got myself a splash of color to wear, too."

Oh, aye, you're a fine, smooth, talker, Storm. Quip 'High as Honor,' then talk yourself low as a Dornish viper's belly, from one breath to the next.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"I see," she replies, a little disappointed, though she keeps her expression cheerful. "Well, it suits you. Your new armour is fine indeed. I know enough to know you worked hard for it. I hope it serves you well."

Looks like you made an error then.
Give me a moment. I think I have one last idea.

[Aerion Storm]

"Thank you, m'lady," his cheeks stay red. He's a young man, she's a pretty, highborn lady, and she's just complimented him; that, alone, would be enough to keep that Andal-fair skin flushed, but combined with the memories the scarf brings to the surface, he's hopelessly blushing.

Focus. Stop thinking about masks and parties and sexy red women, say something chivalrous and humble.

"I have been lucky, these last few months. The tourney hosts have been gracious enough to let me tilt, and my opposites have been generous in defeat. Traveling to northern climes has been a bit of a challenge -- with Ser Harbert, we mostly stayed in the Stormlands, or road over into the Reach or up after rich Lannister purses -- but I cannot complain, despite the cold. I've done well for myself, and with the coming conflict, hope to do better."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"Oh, I have no doubt you'll acclimatise, in time. I was just a little surprised you didn't opt for the Baratheon yellow, so I assumed it must be a gift from a sweetheart. That would also have explained why you're blushing like a maiden at her first court ball after too many cups of wine."

[Aerion Storm]

Spoiler:

The good news is, Aerion stops blushing.  The bad news is, it's because the blood largely drains from his face as he stands in front of her, stiff as a board, with his dark blue -- almost purple, when his stare is this intense -- eyes boring into her.  He shouldn't stare at the lady of a noble house so, and he knows it.  He's doing it anyways, just for a few seconds that stretch, pulled tight like metal turned to wire, until they feel like hours.  

'Acclimatise' hits him like he hasn't been hit in years, smashes into him as hard as Ser Harbert's lance knocking a twelve year old off his horse again, and again, and again, because the bastard had done too well at quintain and gotten proud of himself.  'Acclimatise' hits him like Jon Roxton's lance had, years later, because the gods love checking a bastard's happiness.  'Acclimatise,' said just like she says it, rolling off that tongue, past those lips, with the same lilt and with just a tiny little bit of emphasis placed on it?  'Acclimatise' hits him like a thunderbolt.

"I...m'lady, I beg your pardon," he manages, after a few tense seconds, his brain tumbling towards wine and other, redder, sweeter, things.  "'Acclimatise,' is that a...a common Vale word?  I've not heard it often, before, save..."

Don't.  Bastard, shut up.  Shut up and walk away.

"Save here in King's Landing, a time or two.  Recently.  I, ah, thought it foreign.  From...from Essos, perhaps?"

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Gods... did I just... ?
I rather think you did.
Now what do we do?
You got yourself into this, bigmouth.

She too goes pale and stiff-backed. Her hands fidget with one another as she clears her throat.

"I... I confess I had not given it much thought. Perhaps, though I don't think it more common than any other. It does suit the Vale accent, I suppose. Though it may just be a word I picked up from a book and liked enough to use. Are you alright? You seem rather stunned. Dare I ask..."

She steps a little closer, her voice a whisper, eyes intensely fixed on his, her nervousness apparent in them, despite her calm veneer.

"... did you hear it recently on an island?"

Do you realise how mad you sound?

[Just for colour regarding accents, I've always thought of Vale accents being a bit like a blend of South Wales and the East coast of Scotland. Sort of lyrical but with an edge.]

[Aerion Storm]

He's a bad liar, but not an idiot. His half-oafish rambling shouldn't have struck a nerve in her like that, couldn't have. Didn't. Something else did. If there's one thing in all the world Aerion Storm knows, it's when he's landed a good hit. He presses the attack, less worried about sounding like a madman or a heretic than he should be.

"It was a priestess I heard, said it last. Of R'hlorr."

Don't. Quit there. Quit there, and it's almost something you'd say to the Lady Marsten.

"A lovely one."

Stupid bastard.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Oh fuck. Oh shitting fuck...
Let's see you wriggle out of this. If Ben could see your stupid face right now, he'd lose his mind.

Her face goes from snow white to fuschia pink in an instant, and he can see it spread past the high collar of her gown, down her neck, and it becomes easy to imagine the soft flesh of her chest flushing along with her face. One hand goes to her mouth as she lets out a little squeaking gasp before covering her lips. Scrambling to right herself, she looks at the grey flagstone between their feet and takes a deep breath.

"I see... Erm... Well, I am sure that was an intriguing encounter. And I'm sure she'd have been very flattered to be called lovely. Is that the reason your scarf is red, by any chance?"

Gods, you are an oaf.

[Aerion Storm]

He holds his breath for a second or two; imagining her, remembering her, maybe. He knows he should shut his dumb bastard mouth. He knows that if he pushes this, if he's wrong, she could have him killed. He knows Lord Marsten's reputation. He knows he's just a Storm, and she's the lady of Vale house, ancient and proud and holy as any in the realm.

But he wasn't, and she wasn't, for a little while. So he says the most dangerous words to come out of his mouth since a foolish boy slung insults at Bold Jon Roxton, once upon a time.

"You know that it is. My lady."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

She exhales long and softly, the confirmation now bringing some relief, although she does briefly glance around her before speaking again in a hushed tone. Finally, she smiles again. No longer shy or nervous, but knowing, and there is fresh appreciation in her eyes.

"Then consider it a favour from this Priestess of yours, to bring you fortune in the challenges to come. And... a reminder of the very pleasant time she had with you. Keep it safe. Keep it secret."

[Aerion Storm]

"I will, m'lady. I swear it." And he means it, the words easing out with quiet passion. Those dark blue eyes are certain, sincere, as earnest as she's ever seen them, and this time with no silly mask in the way.

The next words come harder. He can't blame it on wine this time, his thick tongue.

"You should go. Before someone notices we're not just talking about the Drakeson tilts." He smiles, then, a brittle, fake thing, and his voice grows louder. "Aye, it was nice to see you, as well. And please also thank your lady cousin again for me, when next you see her. You were both as gracious as you were generous, and gentler to a stranger than the lances, for certain."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"Of course, Aerion," she replies, the name now feeling warmer upon her lips as she speaks it, now at a normal volume. "I'll give her your regards. And perhaps, next time we meet, we shall have the pleasure of calling you Ser Aerion." she adds, with a friendly parting nod.

"May your Gods be with you," she finishes, turning to leave, hoping her husband has not noticed her absence too much.

[Aerion Storm]

He just answers here with a smile -- warm, but a little sad -- and a shrugging of those broad shoulders of his.

"We can but hope, m'lady."

A father. A name. A knighthood. More than one kiss from her. He only notices a fist is clenched after the fact, when he sees himself looking for something to punch. Everything I want, other men have instead of me.

Aerion sighs, then, and busies himself milling about in the mob of other not-quite-knights here on the outskirts of the noble gathering. The first chance he gets -- talking with Rooster Pete, who's had the nickname since a Dornish whore made him curse his cock every morning, without fail -- Storm reminds his friend that he'd met the lady while earning all those ransoms at the Drakeson tourney. Pete responds with filth that would make a septa faint, then goes on to brag about his own loot taken on proper campaigns, and, sure enough, soon the subject's totally changed from the smiling Lady Marsten, and back to war.

And, sure enough, soon Aerion's got that simmering anger inside him damped down again, and his easy smile's back on his face.

[Benedict Marsten]

(Ooc: I am just gonna leave this right here.)
Awarness Red: 3d6 12

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Corrine goes to her husband's side and slips her arm through his.

"What an unpleasant evening. Let's get out of here," she sighed, wearily.

[Do I need to roll anything?]

[Benedict Marsten]

Blue-gray eyes dart from his wife back to the young squire. Noting again the scarf and from both their awkwardness it seemed she may have found her mystery man. A little unfair he thought. Even if he had gifted the Raven she was way to smart to have worn it and probably could have cared less. Corrine had that power to incite men and from history especially bastard. A familiar burning started at the base of his neck. With a quick glance at his huntress' and her doe eyes he lets the burning fizzle. She is mine and I am hers.

Turning a corner away from the thinning crowd he pulls her closer with the arm she had draped over his. With a teasing smile he whispers. "Sooo, something you have to tell me? Is that lover boy?"

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Her heart somersaults a moment, worried about what was to come. He'd almost started a serious fight in a fit of jealousy before.

"Please don't start anything, love," she replied, gently. "That is the one from the carnival, but don't worry. He was as embarrassed to be found out as I am. He won't tell anyone. And I have no desire to stray from you."

She gave his arm a reassuring stroke.

[Benedict Marsten]

He had been half joking. The odds? The needle like burning returned this time blossoming from the base of his neck up as far as his crown and out as far as his ears. Her words became distance whispers. Added to the fire was the cold chill gripping his chest. Another bastard!

"Think about the results of your actions. Actions which now represent a whole house. If you move on him they will want to know why. Besides listen to her words. Know your Lady wife."Little Daveth spoke with his lecturing voice inside Ben's mind.

Ben pulls back into the present in time to make out the last of Corrine's word. "Aye." He was unsure of which one he was answering. The flames died and the ice melted. His face still held distrubance, but it wore a smile.

[Sponsored content]