Growing Tensions [post-Mushroom, pre-Myr] [open]

[Aerion Storm]

The capital city is a wondrous mess at the best of times.  A living, breathing, stinking, hustling, bustling, mass of humanity in all its splendor and squalor, with business, lies, secrets, seductions, and petty crimes a-plenty, day in and day out.  But toss in a war?  Layer atop it a royal calling of loyal bannermen?  Add to it the drama of Greens and Blacks encouraged to gather fighting men by the thousands -- to say nothing of at least one fighting woman -- and cram themselves into the capital while logistics are taken care of, while fleets are prepared, while a invasion force is finalized?  Sheer madness.  

Working women saunter around bow-legged but smiling, meat vendors lie about rat versus dog to keep strangers happy, Northmen swelter and hedge knights gamble, the worst of septons rake in donations hand over fist and the best of sweethearts spend sweaty nights and tearful mornings saying farewell.  Soldiers prepare to go to war fighting alongside Greens or Blacks they're not sure they can trust any more than the waves they'll be sailing upon or the winds that guide them, and everyone's uneasy about the prospect.  Even the nobles and their direct retainers, their own veritable army of pages, squires, and handmaidens, are a part of the noise and energy, the nervous tension that's got all of King's Landing pulled as taut as a piece of wire, threatening to break.  The city's a madhouse with an army wedged into it atop all the usual nonsense, and there's just no escaping it.  

Except for the pell.  

Aerion Storm does his best thinking with a weapon in his hand.  He's built a bit of a name for himself for how he rides and fights, but he's always eager to improve how he stands and fights, as well.  In a city the size of King's Landing, there are those who stay up late, those who don't seem to sleep at all, and those who are up early and doing their exercises because hard work -- and fighting is hard work -- is the only solace they know.  A bastard, frustrated that he's not yet knighted, is the last sort.  He's waking before the sun, used to chores and errands but now throwing himself into the routine of exercise, of swordplay, of fighting an enemy only he can see.  More than all of that, though, it's a way to loose some anger.  Frustration.  Impatience.  Fury, just like the Baratheon words.

Let it be soon, he grunts with effort as he swings, an overhand strike that batters his heavy wooden waster against the post.  Why not now?  A sidelong swing, right to left, then a shoulder bash as he withdraws his sword arm.  If not years ago, why not after the Drakeson's?  A stab, another shield bash, then a backswing.  If not after Drakeson's, why not after Coldbrook's?

When, an overhand swipe, forearm and shoulder in tandem, wooden sword a blur.  When, another, the same, waster arcing in a tight circle, another skull-splitting overhand.  When, stepping into it each time, hand-and-a-half oversized 'sword' smacking into the top of the pell again and again.  When?

He takes a break, panting, glowering at the pell as though it's to blame.  He knows the city's coming awake around him, but just then he doesn't care.  As he lowers his waster and shield, there's a flash of color in the early morning light;  a red silk scarf slipping out from behind his sword-arm bracer, a streamer in the breeze that looks almost like blood.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"What did that poor pell ever do to you?" comes a levitous voice from behind him.

[Aerion Storm]

He recognizes her voice, of course, but doesn't immediately turn to face her. His first instinct, as he slowly turns, is to look around for anyone who might see them together. A sense of guilt pricks at him for it. The courtyard is getting busier, though, and none tarry or seem to be breaking from errands to spy.

"M'lady," he gives her a smile, dipping his waster's tip and leaning on it. "The thing was rude. I bid it good morning and Seven blessings, and it said nothing. A heathen, no doubt."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

She gave a little bob of a curtsey, laughing congenially at his jest.

"Well, you seem to have shown it the error of it ways. How fare you today? Ready for the impending journey?"

[Aerion Storm]

Must've been halfway clever, she graced me with a laugh, at least.

"Ready enough, I hope," he nods. "Though I wager a great many dead men have thought themselves ready before ventures such as these, so...I thought best to be even readier."

The last with an almost sheepish smile and a mod to the rude Pell, so recently chastised.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Her expression became more serious, with a nod of acknowledgement.

"True. I hope it shall not come to that. That's why I came to speak to you, actually. To wish you well."

[Ser Jorah Holt]

ooc Presuming this is at the training grounds near the Red Keep

Ser Jorah sighed as he arrived for some early morning sparring. He wanted to stay sharp for the campaign ahead and clear his head after the fallout from the previous day. As he walked, he noticed Lady Corrine in conversation with the squire who had been making a name for himself.

"My lady, squire. good morning to you both." He greeted them.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Corrine turned her head in surprise, not having heard him approaching, but she quickly curtsied and smiled.

"Ser Jorah! So good to see you! I trust life as a Kingsguard is treating you well?"

[Ser Jorah Holt]

He bowed his head to her.
"And you as well. Life is what you might expect in the Kingsguard.  I  can honestly say it has not been dull so far overall. How is life treating you at the moment?"

ooc
Ninja Jorah

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

He bowed his head to her.
"And you as well. Life is what you might expect in the Kingsguard.  I  can honestly say it has not been dull so far overall. How is life treating you at the moment?"

ooc
Ninja Jorah

"Very well, thank you. House Marsten is thriving. We have recovered the stability my father presided over. The clansfolk have integrated well among the smallfolk. And Ben & I recently learned that we are expecting our fourth child," she replied cheerily.

[Ser Jorah Holt]

Jorah smiled at the final bit of news.
"Congratulations. At this rate, House Marsten will have to expand the castle to fit everyone in."

[Aerion Storm]

"Ser Jorah! Good morning, and Seven blessings," if he means it as a jest for the Lady Marsten, his face does not show it. "And aye, congratulations, m'lady. The Mother surely smiles on you."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Jorah  smiled at the final bit of news.
"Congratulations. At this rate, House Marsten will have to expand the castle to fit everyone in."

"Thank you both. Well, I suppose Nathan's jest about us was somewhat justified," Corrine chuckles softly, trying to keep the mention of that gathering light-hearted. "One succession crisis was quite enough, I think. Four children is manageable at the moment, given that Ellie is of a marriagable age now. She'll be moving on in the next year or so, I expect, though Ben wishes it were not so."

[Aerion Storm]

Aerion just smiles pleasantly -- red silk in the breeze -- and nods when it seems appropriate. Talk of children and families and heirs and the like wasn't what he was trained and ready for. Not yet.

Not with her.

[Ser Jorah Holt]

Jorah nodded as he listened though his face soured slightly when Ellie was mentioned.

"What about you Squire? After the impression you made in the last year, I am surprised that you are still a squire."

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

"Ser Harbert seems to have very high standards, though I would not be surprised if knighthood was not on the horizon."

[Septon Arlyn]

A fat man dressed in orange approaches the training yard. He nears he sees lady Corrine and smiles, approaching quickly and appearing to wait for an opportunity to join the conversation.



(AKA placeholder to jump in at a later date)

[Aerion Storm]

Aerion forces a brittle smile for Ser Jorah, doing his best to appear light-hearted about it.

"'Any day now,' Ser Harbert says." An astute observer might notice his knuckles turning white where he 'casually' leans on his waster's crossguard.

And has for ages.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Aerion forces a brittle smile for Ser Jorah, doing his best to appear light-hearted about it.

"'Any day now,' Ser Harbert says."  An astute observer might notice his knuckles turning white where he 'casually' leans on his waster's crossguard.

And has for ages.

"Oh, that has just reminded me," Corrine lied, feigning a sudden thought. "When you have a moment, there is something I'd like to discuss with you."

And would already be, if these two hadn't bloody well shown up.

[Ser Jorah Holt]

Ser Jorah noticed the forced smile and raised a slight eyebrow at Aerion's reaction. Perhaps not the best subject to raise then Jorah mused, but perhaps a pertinent one.
He resolved to get Trelane to ask around about Ser Harbert and his squires. He had known a few knights who would not knight their squires until the proper incentive had been supplied.

"I need to do some preperations for a moment, so feel free to talk while I am over at the weapon stand." He walked away, keeping a casual eye on them. He had noticed this at the Coldbrook Grand Tourney and wondered if there was more of a connection there. If he were like Ser Theomore, then he could potentially cause serious issues here, especially with her husband's temper.

Noticing Septon Arlyn, he waved him over.

ooc
Did we interrupt Corrine's dalliance with another paramour?

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

[ooc: No. A business proposal this time. But the tension is also deliberate. ]

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Relieved to have a moment to get to her point, though conscious of perhaps seeming conspicuous, Corrine devided not to waste any more time.

"I don't want to arouse suspicions about us, so I will be frank. I have a business proposal for you, if you would hear it."

[Aerion Storm]

Forcing -- feigning? -- relaxation, he straightens a bit, curious. The stray end of the scarf flutters quietly as he nods, "Do go on, m'lady, though I've little idea what business I have to offer."

Especially leaving for Myr so soon, and so secretly. I'm not even sure who else is coming.

[Lady Corrine Marsten]

Forcing -- feigning? -- relaxation, he straightens a bit, curious. The stray end of the scarf flutters quietly as he nods, "Do go on, m'lady, though I've little idea what business I have to offer."

Especially leaving for Myr so soon, and so secretly. I'm not even sure who else is coming.

"You have shown great promise, Aerion. Had you been in my household, you would have been knighted long ago. If Ser Harbert does not give you your knighthood soon, someone else will. I want to formally invite you to take up service in House Marsten when that day comes. We have some land to offer, command of an elite unit of soldiers, and I can help you find a good wife too, should you want one. I wanted to make you the offer now, so you have time to think about it. There is no rush for an answer. Just know that you can have a secure and respected place at Hartshorn if you desire it."

[Aerion Storm]

He fights the urge to rock back on his heels, instead merely gaping like a simpleton for a heartbeat, as though he can't quite match up the sounds he heard with the words--the future--they represent.

She what?

"You...?" What? "You honor me, m'lady. And flatter. I have done no more than compete as Ser Harbert has taught me. Your appreciation of my promise is a compliment to him, not me."

That's it, be humble. Be patient. Look how far that's gotten you.

Even with her.

"I...can only thank you. Your offer is as generous as it is unexpected, and this moment will not be forgotten."

Does it come from the lady of House Marsten, or the Red Priestess? Ye gods, I can't take the man's land after I almost took his wife's...

"I am given to understand there may be expectations of me in regards to my kin in House Bartheld, but in the face of such..." Madness. Lands, me? "Generosity, I'm sure some understanding might be reached."

"But you...aye." He seems to have run out of pleasantries and carefully formal answers, and for an instant she sees the simple, earnest, smile she's seen before. "You honor me."

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