The Ladies
Eressild and
Sirdis Azrubêl. Attended by
Elen.
Seated in The Box of Noble Spectators. Day 1 of the Dimaethor Joust.
in Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil. Late Summer, 4th Age.
The occasion might have called for
Lady Eressild to stand as a spectator, but she saw no cause why that meant no eyes might fall her way. Resplendent then did the hour of beginning find her, ascending the heights of the Noble box with both poise and a measured speed, as though she were the sun rising to maturity in the sky above. The gold falls of her gown certainly lived up to a certain fearless reputation, manifesting the more striking of her House’s twinned colours. Matching twirls of gold sat in the guise of flowers amidst the lady’s upturned, midnight hair, whilst a soft cape of cerulean blue muted the otherwise splendour as well might the bright sea compliment the shore. It took a special shade of sapphire to downplay the green hues of her aquamarine eyes, but
Eressild’s husband had been a special sort of man enough to procure the perfect one before his untimely demise. The necklace then completed her look, and doubled as a sentiment of sorts. For the love of her life .. who would have really loved to see such a show as had been promised. The slight of the swinging weight across her heart allowed for the lady to imagine he sat yet at her side.
It was instead the
Lady Sirdis who found herself in that prestigious seat, and imagining herself to be quite eclipsed, for all that the pair of them had elected to dress in identical ensemble. It had been a notion of her sister-by-law of course, sold as a means to properly support their folk (and respective offspring) in the upcoming event. It did not take long for the lesser-practiced
Lady Azrubêl to suspect that she was supposed to merely extend the impact of her companion, rather than make much of an impression in her own right. Thankfully, she could not have yearned for the limelight any less and could only hope to forget all thoughts of comparison to her far more assured counterpart.
Sirdis did not hold much with jewellery, and had contented herself to wear but her pair of wedding rings, one for each of her late husbands. Widowhood was perhaps the only point where she was one up on her dear friend, aside from her true accomplishment in the eyes of many in society. The accomplishment of bringing to this world not just one son, but two. For all that she was seen as bookish and unsociable, still her tendency to be more close lipped and her disinclination to involve herself in grand affairs of the realm .. meant that
Sirdis managed to hold her own, in the eyes of many of their contemporaries.
The quieter
Lady Azrubêl had made with her apologies to the
Lord and
Lady Dimaethor, upon arriving just that morning; since her duties as hostess on their own side of the river had meant she had missed the celebrated start of things here the day before. She had hoped in fact to miss most of the hype and pomp of the commencement, or even the whole shebang; so for all her attempts at contrition it was likely only the brief alludes to that mysterious lord from Lindon, of all places, whom they had recently entertained, saved her meek apologies from being held up as an insult by their host.
If the pair of them,
Eressild and
Sirdis had detached themselves from gossip with the other matrons thus far during the event, it was born of a want to ignore most of all, one another. And a state which had shadowed their short trek from home.
Ilisys and
Warder had wisely avoided the inevitable drama by spending the night out in the pavilion, attended further so by
Lotte and
Ruberon for the sake of decency as well as convenience. But little
Emeredir had scarcely waited until he was driven home to run and inform his mother of what had been all but promised about his future.
That same mother, for all her lack of words upon the subject, had quite deliberately now sat herself between
Eressild and the others of their cushioned row. She did not require to give the cause, though it was plainly presumed that
Sirdis was attempting damage control. Or at least averting any further interference in her child’s vocation. She had not yet even spoke with
Merry about a future in Knighthood. His late father,
Edhelmir had never been at all inclined toward that end, and had gladly enjoyed a comfortable career as an artist, after all. It had ever been the elder son’s responsibility to take up their nation’s call. But while
Emeredir stood as
Anardil’s younger brother, he was the first of her children with noble blood to burn through his veins. And the boy’s excitement about today’s tournament could not be denied. Whether that would hold up to a commitment of all the work and development involved to take up arms himself .. remained to be seen. He was, after all, still only a child.
Sirdis had missed most of her eldest son’s raising when he had embarked on a career serving in a household quite separate to hers. The prospect of losing time with her youngest, after losing his father, only seven years before, was thus far a decision she had been evading.
Eressild’s actual displeasure was too well concealed to read, for she had smiled graciously and shared snatches of courtesy to ladies that she knew, and passed. Her lack of opinion now as to their recreation though was another matter. She had personally took her unspoken displacement to the edges of the row as more an opportunity; for it meant that her milder-hearted sister-by-law would not be able to flee from observing the entertainment without first having to pass her by. And there should be no fleeing, for all
Sirdis’s distaste for the ‘sport’. They were required after all, to sit, to spectate, and to be seen proudly conducting themselves through both those tasks. It was not a world to ask of them.
With her personal handmaiden
Elen at hand to bolster support, and for show of it,
Eressild busied herself in presuming this an interview of the young knight’s suitability as instructor. Whether he realised it or not. It was one thing for his parents to extoll virtues and recite his attributes, for what parents would not of their prized offspring ? The intrigued lady had to admit though before very long at all, the young man seemed to live up well to his profession. Which was something of a disappointment, for if
Sir Abrazimir were found to be most fitting, to undertake instruction of
Emeredir, then for all the likelihood of her nephew turning out well in the long run, and the increased strength which would come of it to their conjoined houses .. in spite of all that, she,
Eressild, would have to concede to the audacious crowing of that old goat,
Zainaben. What result she would thus inevitably press her hope toward this morning then, remained to be seen.
Both of the ladies clapped their hands as expected when each of the clashes came to it’s conclusion. The one with a mind to be seen doing so. The other rather more relieved that nobody had died. Though there had come some far more tense moments than even
Sirdis had feared thus far. One of the ladies was guilty of rising ever so slightly to hover above her cushion at several points. Almost as though
Eressild had her dear
Araldur whispering excited remarks to her throughout. The other was rather more guilty of slouching, at least as much as she could get away with.
Sirdis did wish that her own dear
Edhelmir were here to share her unease. At the least then she might have lain her face in horror at the worst moments against his shoulder. But alas, there was no such escape. And so she winced, as often as her sister-by-law leaned forward. And though there was no word exchanged between them, the tension at their end of the row was as palpable as though each brief side glance was offered with a lance’s blow unto their other.
Lord Emeredir ‘Merry’ Azrubêl. Watched over by
Ruberon
Finding his place with the Children of the Box.
@Rillewen was all kinds of excited and so managed to survive the last minute dispute of whether he ought sit up with the other lords, or down with the children his own age. Indeed, as though unconcerned by their arguments for and against, he left his mother and aunt to take matters into his own hands. Poor
Ruberon received a mischievous raise of one eyebrow, for a warning before the young boy dove and wove amidst the pulsing throng of spectators, and decided a seat for himself. As close to the action as he could possibly be. This was his first joust and he was determined to see it unfold. He had poured over illustrations of course, in his father’s books, and he had also walked the great hall of his late uncle’s accomplishments, back at the castle. Trophies, standards, pennants, all frozen in time and devoutly dusted by servants at his aunt
Eressild’s decree. The entire collection was cowed by the legendary golden-hued armour of
Sir Araldur himself. And this day he would see such artifacts employed in action !
Less daunted by the line of young boys whom he casually came to sit amongst, the three closest dwarfed him all the same. But in his proud house’s colours, he knew no shame and scarcely noted aught but what was demonstrated on the sands for all of their entertainment. The excitement had kicked off before he knew it and there was no time for introductions anyway before the herald was commencing with his own. The mighty Swan Knight
Lord Abrazimir was announced first off, and
Emeredir marvelled as he followed the great knight in his tilts. Not just a knight, but a Swan Knight ! If there were any better way to open the event, then the boy could not think of it.
He noted the colours of the other contender, for the heraldry was as much of this art as he had been allowed to study.
House Talven. There was no reason not so cheer for anyone brave enough to meet
Sir Dimaethor in a bout, and so the little lord cheered almost as wildly for this
Lord Toggornir. Thunder stampeded the sands from either direction regardless and lightning clashed as the storm met in a splintering collision. Life and death for the sake of entertainment. It took a great deal of restraint not to leap from his seat to his feet outright, when the winner was announced and indeed he surrendered to this brief celebration at the first win, before hastily scrambling back in place lest his aunt or mother see him.
Old
Ruberon shook his head with a smile as he kept a watchful eye over the young charge. It was hard to not count some sorrow, that his own grandson
Ribedir was not here. He would have loved this. Their recent visitor across the river, all the way from Lindon, had raised the old man’s hopes and he knew
Lotte had dared to imagine some news. But none had been shared with them. And the loyal servant could not forego attention to his latest Lord. It was his responsibility after all, if only for today, that the little boy seated close by did not follow his father, uncle, grandfather and so many others of their line, who had met misfortune and a most untimely end.
House Azrubêl may have shone brightly in all their proud splendour, but few of them lasted overlong in this world. Bright stars burnt out fast, was the saying.
Knight after knight after knight was announced, their colours and their might conspicuous. Out there, they were no longer men, but heroes, legends.
Merry forgot all else that existed around him, living each moment only for the anticipation. The wonder that was being presented here, the barded steeds like mythical beasts, their riders then gods, encased in shimmer and strength. Lances aloft and lances sundered. Even the falls were fantastic.
By the time that
Lord Himhathol and
Sir Baradaer were announced, the boy had troubled himself trying to work out why there was such unrest amidst the crowd. The mood seemed to have shifted even so that one of a tender age noted. People were turning to their neighbours, muttering into their sleeves. A cursory check of his twinned matriachs told
Emeredir nothing and it seemed unnatural to direct his attention behind, when all was about to commence right in front of him.
When one of the other boys chose that moment to greet him,
Merry turned at first and glanced to his side, before realising that the conversation was in fact directed at him. He was not used to having to give his name. People tended to already know it, or somebody at hand would undeniably declare it for him. But his life had been ever much at home, and he had never been schooled how to ‘play’.
“
Hello” he returned, a little shy before not one but soon a trio of smiling faces. They were very friendly and accommodating, despite their outnumbering him and he saw no harm in engaging. Other people were talking, quite excitedly. “
I’m .. Merry” he grinned, falling to the apparent custom for none of the others had named their houses. Their casual kindness came at him without rehearsal and he was both thrown and liberated from not having to rely on prompts and cues. “
That is what they call me, I mean,” he clarified, for only those at home tended to and for itself, the nickname could be quite confusing. Though this day did see the little lord of a particularly merry mood.
Invited, he moved closer to their company and further from his aide, with great efforts made to do so confidently rather than assume he had to hide the matter. He very much desired a better look at
Caeleb’s chair, for starters. Was that the boy’s own personal carriage ? How fun !
Their debate of the two contenders encouraged an opinion, even as he opened his mouth to give thanks for their courtesy. “
Baradaer does look something like a great beast of a man,” he remarked, honestly in agreement with
Tobedir. "
Himhathol must be very bold.” It had been drilled into him early not to show any excessive preference for any of the performers after all. The matter of his aunt’s gamble aside, all and each of the knights were risking life and limb, and stood deserving of respect for that alone. But it might appear rude and impudent to disagree with the others, particularly when half the joys of this sort of event was making new alliances.
“
I have an other golden sigil already to cheer for, so shall side with the winged axe this time,” he decided, without any show of uncertainty about the choice to be observed. Understanding enough of how the sport worked,
Merry knew that whomsoever should win this bout might face his cousin. And he would far rather observe the man than the monster to that end, but could scarcely say so without slighting rumour of the lady knight’s chances. The boy rose where he stood in respect to the greeting shared by
Sir Dimaethor himself, retiring for the day amidst his friends. But gazing in wonder at the knight allowed for the boy to catch his aunt's watchful eye.
Eressild did not require to leave her perch, a look serving well enough reminder to focus to the tilts. The boys' collective favourite turned out to be the correct decision as it turned out, since almost immediately afterwards, the larger knight revealed some very poor conduct in clearly goading his opponent. To his detriment ! If there were need,
Merry was yet more enamoured of
House Himhathol contender, when that man first floored and then calmly raised even his rival’s fist in solidarity. There were lords and there were knights, and just occasionally the child was already learning, there were some which stood as both at once.
