Two Houses; One Home [Astris, Ikram]

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Dawn, some hours before the expected arrival of the Tadwicke party.

The way Alcob's entourage flooded the building looked to me like a spray of fat pigeons crowding a statue.  As they began to infest its insides and outs, making up the walls with the littersome decor of a "traditional" Cruinthe rest-home—forgoing entirely the fact that the modern Cruinthe retreat usually bedded more squatters than it did homeowners homeowners; it reminded me again of the pigeons.  The sight reminded me of how they might decorate a statue white.

The house itself was once a home to someone.  When it came into my father's care, it was repurposed to store inventory.  Now it's being fitted to hold a wedding.  By the time we got here it had already been emptied of stock, however.  The dawn sun broke at the buildings back between its two proud turrets.  The roofs sloped at high angles, and its walls were stone and mostly barred.  What the building did have for it was symmetry.  In the center was an arched entryway through which flowed people like junk in and out of a river's mouth.

Alcob; my father, sat in wait in his palanquin.  He seemed pleased enough, his usual furrowed brow smoothed.  Of course he would be pleased.  This was his chance for peerage.  I could hardly fathom what he intended after the wedding.  Mother would be still waiting with her family on the far end of town.  I stood by at the edge of the street, arms folded; watching all of this business.  The woman I would be marrying would arrive within the day.  Maybe by the time she got here the renovations would be finished.  It would be the first time we'd met. We were to be wed by the end of the week. I hoped briefly then, that she wouldn't mind the pigeons as much as I did.

* * *

As the retreat comes into view amidst the otherwise crowded buildings on the avenue, it stood proudly separate from the street which had sprung up around it once.  It was clearly older than many of the other constructions, made fully of stone whispered promises of thick smoke hanging in the rafters, cool chambers, narrow stairs and generous fireplaces.  It had something of a yard, primarily dirt, which could be easily overlooked.  House banners of the Wylmont legacy hung on either side of the entrance.  It was a field of gules with a lighter partition.  The heraldic charge is a pale horse rampant.  Cobbled stone leads away from the street here in a short, purposeful path towards the entrance to make a walkway.

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"We should be nearly there." My mother's voice stirred me from my reverie, staring blankly out of the modest carriage window.

I stretched slightly and shifted. It had been a dull journey, lightened only by the fact my mother had stopped detailing what she intended to purchase, repair or improve once the bridal price changed hands, and I was married to a man I had never met, nor really knew anything about. Truthfully, my mother took my silence as a form of petulance, rather than the attempt to forestall another angry argument. It would ultimately accomplish nothing. I looked back out the window at the burgeoning light and did my best to ignore whatever words came next.

My mother scoffed. "Honestly. You could take a little more initiative with the details. You're going to have to, once you've a household to care for. You've no more opportunity for childishness, and honestly if it hadn't been for your father spoiling you all these years, you'd be better suited for it."

I looked back at my mother. She was young still, having married my father as soon as she was eligible. Elegant in her own way, she was a sharp woman, with a sharper mind and keen-edge tongue that she rarely bothered to keep in check anymore. My father, elderly and ailing as he is, has been in decline and these days no longer keeps ahold of his memory. If he could, perhaps he wouldn't have kissed me goodbye before this journey, secure in the idea that I had chosen this husband for myself.

My husband. Within the week, I would be wed.

If I didn't fully believe that my mother and my betrothed's family could, and would, run me down like a stag at hunt, perhaps I would put more thought into the idea of running away.

"I am sure you have the details well in hand. You usually do." I reply.

She smiles. It's a tight expression, and one she usually reserves for when she anticipates making me the most uncomfortable. "Yes. I do. Which reminds me, we should have a talk of what you should expect, as a wife, and your duties to your husband."

I give her a flat look, then return my gaze to the window, watching as the carriage makes the turn into the city gates, and do my best to ignore my mother fully.

The streets and their contents at least provide enough distraction to only half hear my mother attempt to terrify me, and sooner than expected, we arrive at a stone villa, looking odd between the build up of newer constructions up and down the avenue.

Dawn had faded away to full mid-morning by the time I disembarked from the carriage, only to be greeted by well meaning jailers in the form of servants, eager to show me to my gilded cage.

"Excuse me, Milady, if you would follow me, I would show you to your room." A young woman said, issuing a curtsey.

I look over my shoulder at the luggage, then back to her. "Please see to it that the medium trunk is brought to my room as quickly as possible."

She nods. "Of course. Right this way."

I follow the young woman along the cobbled stone path, into the villa proper. Upon seeing the heraldry emblazoned along the doorway, she asks "Has the other party arrived yet? House Wylmont?"

"Oh yes." the woman replies with a nod. "They arrived shortly after dawn."

I nod and follow the woman up into one wing of the villa. The room I find myself escorted to is small, but lovely. Once the servant leaves, she looks around, then sits gingerly on one of the low-sitting couches, waiting for the rest of her things.

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Midmorning,

I am restless.  My mind spins and flutters from one thought to another.  It is undisciplined and it is weakness.  As Lord Alcob has instructed, I stayed to my room from the point that the pigeons finished covering the old stones of this house with the refuse necessary to set the scene.  "My room" had a bed, my trunk, and another trunk for clothing and essentials.

There was more with the carts.  Three more trunks, specifically.  It was all clothing that had been bought for me over the years.  A debt unpaid to my father, or so he figured it.  I'd suspected that he had intended to send me off.  Perhaps he'll leave me here, in Fordeth.  There are, of course, many worse places to live.  Home, for one.

I hadn't sat in the cushioned chairs or on the bed since I'd arrived.  There was breakfast.  I took it standing.  The fireplace was lit.  The cold was staggering without it.  Servants had flitted about here and there, but not in the room marked for me.  I suppose it could be said that they knew better.

The Tadwickes ought to be here.  I thought.  I knew if I were to ask Alcob's permission, he would not permit me to see our guests.  It seemed foolish.

* * *

"What?" I demand, in equal parts frustration and exasperation crumpling a small sheaf of paper in my hand.

My father's eyes flicker up from their dark lids.  His disdain is evident in his smirk.  "Didn't you read my note?" he asked through curled lips.

"...No." I said, straightening my back.

"Why not give it another try?" he asks.

"I can't." I growled back at his suggestion.

This caused my father to laugh, then.  "Well, child." his grin broadened as his hand came down on his knee.  He stared at me briefly, smiling before his smile bent back into a scowl.  "Fool.  It's news." he straightens his extravagant robes.  I'd wanted to demand the nature of the news, but I knew I could not.  "You're to be married.  Next year, by this day."  My eyelids flickered autonomously.

"I am?" I ask.

"Yes.  You are." Alcob supplied.

"To who?" I ask.

"Whom." his growl eclipses my question.  I swallow.

"To whom?" I ask.

"It's in the paper.  Read it."  My hand began to shake.

"I ca-", I begin.

"Don't spit that drivel at me, you.  You have had the finest tutors."  I say nothing.  "Give me the paper." he holds his hand out.  I hesitate.  His scowl turns into a furious mask.  "Give me that note!" his shout echoed through the hall.  I do, having no other choice.  "I will hold it until you are ready to learn.  Get out of my sight."  I set my jaw.  "Now." he demanded.

I left.

* * *

The halls of the home-turned-storage-turned-villa were brief affairs.  There weren't long halls here, and the rooms were placed haphazardly, as if the home were built one room at a time and the halls were afterthoughts.  It took me time to find one of her family's servants.

"Excuse me." I demand.  The servant was an older man, with grey flecking his beard.

"Yes, milord?" he asks.  His worried expression flicked between my face and the spear hanging around my shoulder.

"Where is your lord's daughter?" I ask.  It's a humble question, I think.  This does not explain why the servant looks confused and worried.

"I'm sorry?"

"I have been told to speak with her.  Where is her room?"

"Ah, I see.  Please, forgive me.  I did not know what you meant.  Her room is down this... uh, zig zag rather.  It's at the end, with the window." he gestures.

I nod.  "Good." I say, brushing past him.  That confrontation went surprisingly well.  I hope that the next will end as satisfactorily and with as much ease.  Servants stare at me down the hall.  I realize suddenly that carrying my spear in this villa may seem strange.  Strange, or not, I will not be made to relinquish it easily.

The door at the end of the "hall" is an oak one.  I bring my knuckles to it's rough surface and rap three times in succession.

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At least that's the last of it. Astris thought to herself as she surveyed the last of the baggage and trunks. Why they brought so much, I'll never know. It was with somewhat of a slow thudding realization that within these walls is everything that she could call hers. Of course the servants would pack everything she owned. She wouldn't be going back home, afterall.

She heaved a bit of a sigh and opened a trunk, taking a couple boxes out of it and hoping to find something at all useful or familiar. Or a noose to hang yourself with. She thought, and then was immediately annoyed with herself. Perhaps she IS being childish. Afterall, plenty of women go on to be married and live fulfilled, even if it was not what they originally wanted. Of course, she could be miserable. Her husband could be a cruel man, without a thought in his head or anything resembling emotion in his chest. 

She was broken from that line of fevered thinking by the sound of rapping on her door.

knock knock knock

Probably another servant. She thought as she attempted to move a box to one side of the table.

"Come in?" She wished her voice wasn't tentative. She missed the days of easy certainty in her life. Honestly, where was her spine? She cleared her throat and said "Come in." a little louder, and with more authority. She hoped at least.

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"Come in." came a surprisingly feminine voice.  I felt a moment's hesitation before reaching for the door's handle.

"Come in." the voice resounded clearly as my fingers touched metal.  It was firm, demanding, and unflinching.  I realized that my hesitation had been noted.  This would not reflect well on me.  I pushed the door open then and took the steps into the room.  Upon seeing the woman, and then her countenance, I straightened my back.  This was a presentation, of course.  I would not be found wanting.

"Hello." I state clearly.  I bow at the waist, clasping a fist over my heart.  My spear, clumsy as I was, knocks against the door frame and jars me.  I do not show it.  I understand sharply that she has me at a distinct disadvantage.  She could more than likely actually read the damn notes or letters.  I have no doubt that she knows well every virtue that my father might sell me by, and those failings I have would have been undersold.  This could give me time to work with, and design her opinion.  I hoped.

I stood from my bow, awaiting my appraisal.



((Player's Note: Please be aware, that my description of Astris' voice in this instance is my character's impression of it, rather than how it actually sounds.))

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Why is there a mercenary in my room? She thought to herself as she surveyed the young man in the doorway. Tall, somewhat exotic looking, he didn't strike her as a servant, especially bringing a spear into the room with him.

He expects you to say something, bowing like that. She realized. Perhaps he came to the wrong room?

She moved the box to the floor instead, clearing room on the table, as every other available space was taken. If he was important, she'll need to play host. Right? She suddenly wished she'd paid more attention to her etiquette courses.

"Do you intend to use your weapon here?" She asked as knee-jerk instinct, and immediately regretted that choice of words, recognizing it as inane. She swiftly attempted to cover her faux pas. "Can I help you?" she asked instead, and more gently, attempting some sense of propriety and politesse.

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As the question shot out, my hand instinctively went to the haft of my weapon.  Shouldn't have brought it here, I thought.  I knew it was a mistake.  She asked another question, but that one was no better.  How can I help to know how she can help me?  I did not swallow, as one might in this situation.  I would not be nervous, or fearful.  To do so, would be to court disaster.  I really should not have brought this stupid spear.

"It never leaves me." I say and my voice rings in my ears like a taunt or perhaps a slap.  I am an imbecile.  My father was right.  I look around the room for some kind of opening.  Maybe if I can sit down, make things more casual.  I look back to her to meet her eyes.  "You are... part of the wedding party, correct?"  This question, I felt, was well thought out.  It covers the things I know and do not know.  It does not lend me to presumption.

I know the answer of course, or rather I assume I do.  Rather, I hope.  The woman before me is beautiful with surety.  Her hair seems soft, and her eyes were precisely the color of an open sky in the summer.  Just the comparison makes me think that, when I next breathe in, it will be a warm summer's lungful with the scent of wildflowers in its wind.

The smoke from the fireplace reminds me that it is in fact not, and that I am in fact, still an imbecile.  Still, I will be worse if I seem nervous.  Which I am, undoubtedly, not.  Probably.

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"It never leaves me." He said. Right. Of course that was stupid to ask. He must be a warrior of some skill, after all. She nods and hopes that he drops that particular line of conversation.

"Yes. I am...well I suppose I am the bride." She clears her throat slightly. That was awkward to say out loud, much less admit to someone else, after spending the past year trying to talk her way out of, and ultimately hoping it would go away.

Manners, girl. She remembered. "Would you care to sit?" She gestures to the singular empty chair in the room. "Forgive me, I have only just arrived and have not yet had time to...adjust things." She looks around at the understatement of the chaos of belongings.

She moves a pile of books to one side of the window seat and sits down, looking at him. He must be part of the Wylmont party. She realizes suddenly.

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She is the bride.  I felt then, some kind of relief, perhaps.  I'd been thinking that the woman I would make wife was... anything other than the elegant noble thing that just offered me a seat.  Offered me a seat.  Right.  That.  I dip my head and stride to it before sitting.  The chair is short-backed, practically a stool.  I make sure that my spear is clear of the seat so I don't lose it when I sit.  What does she think about me, knowing what she knows?

"Thank you." I manage.  "You must be tired from your travel, I realize.  Have you eaten?" I listen to the words that spill from my mouth in mild terror.  Is this how I speak now?  Like a fool?  I know I should be asking her how she will feel about me being her husband soon, but that does not seem to me to be what polite conversation sounds like.  She'll speak of that if she wishes to.

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Astris blinks slightly at the sudden concern. "No, travel was dull and uneventful. To be truthful I found myself simply eager to be out of the carriage." And away from my mother. If there was one silver lining to this marriage, getting away from the harridan would be it. Her father might be losing his faculties, but at least he had the foresight to drill it into her that her mother was not one to confide in. Especially secrets that can damage.

She shakes her head. Stay on topic. He's being polite, you can as well. "Thank you, no, I have not eaten, but I am not in any need currently. And the servants and plenty to do I'd imagine." Oh just ask him.

She leans forward a bit and smiles slightly. Perhaps she can attempt to garner what's been denied to her for the past year.

"Forgive me, I know this is likely rude, but I would imagine you are with the Wylmont party. Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

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My face froze.  It was, relatively speaking, unnoticeable.  It was just the distinct sensation of suddenly being unable to make any other facial expression aside from the neutral one I'd been carrying.  It does not last, and I nod once it has run its course.  "Of course." I offer.  With the Wylmont Party.  She has no idea.  This is going to be an immense disappointment to her, I'm sure.

Were I made of the stuff my father thinks I ought to be, I might've managed to say something more potent than 'Of course.' to make my identity known without seeming like a complete fool.  But that was not meant to be.

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Oh good. She smiles and nods. He is part of the Groom's party. If he hadn't been, this would have been awkward.

"Then perhaps, if you don't mind, tell me the name of my betrothed?" She continues quickly, attempting to forestall a denial. "Or, if you will not...perhaps you could tell me something of him. I fear I have not been told anything of substance and I would like to have...something...to know."

There. Let him think me an ignorant, besotted girl, anticipating a marriage without a thought in my head. Who cares what he thinks anyway? She keeps her smile, hoping for a direct answer for once.

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I stared. It lasted for the span of a beat, or two, before I found my tongue. "Yes.  His name is Ikram." I swallowed. The realization that I did not know her name seemed abrupt, in that moment.  I knew before, that I didn't know; I knew I had known that I did not know that.  My mind spun in this circle.  I decided to stop it.

"My name is Ikram." I said, and presented my chin at the angle my father had drilled into me.  It was the angle that you presented to nobility.  It is at once a challenge, and a statement of equality.  It was confident, and more, it was something that I did know.

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Realization dawned on her expression as she sat up a bit straighter, her smile fading somewhat. Of course, he would visit her before the wedding.

"Oh." She says inanely, taking him in with a new perspective. He is not the older, sterner man she had envisioned. A warrior of some skill, handsome in his way. She must be careful how she proceeds.

She clears her throat. "My apologies. I must seem somewhat stupid to you."

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I shake my head.  Stupid is not the word I would use.  This entire affair has been decked in forced mystery.  The only reason I could see for my father's secrecy is to goad me for the fact that despite his attempts, I have been unable to learn High Cruinthe with him as yet.  Or perhaps cruelty.  That motive is never far from Alcob's mind.

"No, I don't think that." I say.  My voice comes out firmer than I'd intended.  I shake my head briefly, for added emphasis.  Here, would be a time when I should add something to make her feel better, so I incline my position in my chair towards her.  "What is your name?" I ask.  Perhaps she will understand then, that our situation is more similar than she had thought before.