(1310-09-03) A Favor Bestowed
Summary: A lost new arrival in Marsilikos encounters Desarae and Irene in the rooftop garden of the ducal palace. A favor for the tournament is bestowed.
RL Date: Tue Sep 04, 1310
Related: None
irene aisan desarae 

Rooftop Garden - Ducal Palace

It's been a little over a week since Desarae arrived back in Marsilikos, and for the most part she's kept herself to herself. Excitement had found her in the form of the annual tournament's opening feast, but events of the past few months have found her reluctant to mingle and even more reluctant to let her hair down. Joy and the ability to make merry has abandoned her. Dressed in a gown of silk so dark a shade of indigo that it appears quite black, she's found herself within the rooftop garden of the ducal palace tonight, a favoured haunt from before she'd left. Blankets and cushions have been brought from her rooms and placed within the framework of the iron gazebo, and she's arranged herself neatly within the comfort they offer. Her hair is left long and loose as has been her recent preference, the dark lengths spilling like silk about the paleness of her face where she's sprawled on her stomach along the length of the cushion-clad chaise. She's reading, it seems.

Exactly how Aisan ended up walking into the rooftop gardens is completely unknown. Even to Aisan. The young lord looks as surprised to be up on the rooftop as someone not expecting him to come striding through the door might be in seeing him. A hand is raked through his hair and he exhales in a minor amount of frustration. The exhale is strong enough to blow bangs out of his face after they've fallen forward again. There is a tightening to his jaw that indicates a bit of frustration. A slight frown curling his lips but doesn't touch his smooth forehead. No real lines on his face. Aisan's attention sweeps the rooftop gardens only to fall on the fort of pillows, and blankets, and… well. A tilt of his head towards his right shoulder follows as his frown does a 180: "I had thought that perhaps I had gotten lost." Aisan's voice is soft and light, only the slight edge of the pressures of position touching it: "Now I see it was just fate that lead me here tonight."

"Who are you?" Desarae might only be sixteen, but there's a degree of confidence and superiority that the blessings of her birth have bestowed on her. Still, it'd not do to be caught sprawling by someone of unknown character, so she levers herself to the upright, hands lifting so that fingers can catch back the lengths of her hair from her face, and anchor them back behind ears. She wears no adornments of jewellery or paint to detract from her features, and there's a piquant fragility to her looks that echo the purity of her blood. It might be noted that along with whatever servants might be lurking to wait and pander to the young woman's wishes, a more formidable figure is also present, the grey garb and vambraces that he wears marking him out as one of the Cassiline Brotherhood. Brilliant green eyes drill into the young blonde man that's so casually appeared, and as yet a smile's to appear on Desarae's face.

"Lord Aisan Desrouches d'Aiglemore." Aisan answers with a courtly bow that is well practiced: "Vicomte de Dijon. At your service." He straightens after that bow is held for a suitable length of time to address a possible royal, for he has no idea whom she might be and it is better to err on the side of caution. The cassiline is noted but Aisan doesn't pay much mind to the bodyguard. His hands are nowhere near the sword on his hip and he doesn't approach other than to clear the doorway he entered from: "I was attempting to find the guest chambers having only recently arrived. I think the tournament has frazzled some nerves. Or I was misdirected. Possibly even I simply misunderstood where I was to go. My apologies if I intrude and my presence is found unwelcome."

"Everybody is welcomed," a soft voice of an older female may be heard from behind Aisan. It's lady-in-waiting to the duchess lady Irene d'Eresse. She might have heard the conversation since she seems to be approaching from that side of the gardens, where a large bush of pink Rhododendron is blooming. The lady herself is wearing a V-neckline dark green gown accentuated with placed lace that creates an asymmetrical pattern. The lace from the semi-sheer bodice continues slightly onto the gown's floor-length skirt and is repeated near the hem and up the front. The back of her gown is completely open and highlighted on either side with more lace. Her dark brown curls are gathered into a braided bun but some of the hair is sticking this way and that as if the wind has tried to undo the bun. Irene smiles at the lady as well raising her hands to cuddle an old leather notebook to her chest. Papers of the book seem to be a bit scattered inside and stick various directions as well.

Desarae's head tilts to one side, and curiousity gleams in her eyes. "Desarae Mereliot." She makes her introduction. "I live here, and am niece to Her Grace." A smile almost reveals itself in the faint twitch of one corner of her mouth. "Either your servants or your friends that directed you here are horribly misinformed, or you have been the subject of the most awful of pranks. Your family keep a residence in the noble district of Marsilikos, and I would warrant that you will find whatever belongings you have brought along to the city with you, will have been received there." Another twitch of her lips. "But now that you are here, perhaps you would like a moment to gather your thoughts. Please. Sit." Her eyes cut to another of the benches within the gazebo, though further talk is arrested by the arrival of Irene. She's not overly acquainted with her, having been away from the City until recently, but she knows her in passing. "Lady Irene. Of course you are welcome. I have just invited the Vicomte to take the weight from his feet and to gather his thoughts. Lord Aisan, may I introduce to you Lady Irene d'Eresse, one of my aunt's ladies in waiting. Lady Irene, this is Vicomte Aisan Desrouches d'Aiglemort, a visitor from Camlach that is trying to find where his rooms are."

Aisan dips his chin towards his chest in a nod that is almost a bow so deep it is: "Thank you, I am in your debt both for the invitation and for the information. I had thought to present myself to Her Grace rather than have her discover at another time quite suddenly that there was yet another noble from another province within her Court and City." A wry twist of his lips turns the smile into half of one: "I have not had the opportunity to meet with your aunt. As such I am not well acquainted with her moods or desires on the matter." He walks forwards to where the seats are so that he can take up a portion of the bench but he gets only a few steps before he remembers his manners: "Lady Irene d'Eresse, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. I would be much remiss were I to mind the company of yet another beautiful star of this city. Please." He gestures towards the benches so that she can have her pick of where to sit before he finds a place to sit himself.

"M'lord Aisan Desrouches d'Aiglemort, save the courtly pleasantries to those who require them at every step they take. Your honey-tongued compliments are appreciate but too formal," The young woman moves to follow a younger lady and her companion toward the benches. But she choses to stay standing. "You will find the city of Marsilikos illuminated by thousands of beautiful stars during day and night, m'lord…" Her voice is pleasant and polite even if the words might sound different. She smiles at the both companions again. "I apologize, I simply feel that sometimes while even if the beauty scarf covers us all, terrible things hide if one raises the veil up!" She sighs. "Anyway, welcome to the city!"

"It's a shame that you did not arrive two days ago," Desarae notes, "…for had you done so, then you could have presented yourself to my aunt amid the splendour of the opening feast for our tournament. Is that why you're here? The tournament?" Dark brows knit her forehead, and she tucks the book that she'd been reading, into her lap. It's quite the ancient thing; the tooled cover worn and its pages well thumbed. An anthology, perhaps. Fingers curl over its edges, and her eyes lift to Irene where she stands. "My lady has the right of it, there are many ugly and terrible things that hide beneath the surface of beauty, though I hope that those are banished for now." She speaks perhaps of her own particular demons, a shadow showing in the depths of her eyes that she makes no attempt to dispel. "Please. Both of you. Won't you sit? I fear if you don't, then I'll be forced to a stand."

Aisan laughs softly: "Is it not formality that is the cornerstone of civilization? Without it we would be akin to the other barbarians that are constantly at our gates raging to take what is ours." He moves to sit down himself once the offer was made. Politeness was met. A shift of his hip adjusts his swordbelt so that he can sit on the bench comfortably: "It is pure happenstance that the tournament coincides with my arrival. If I had known about it then I may well have tried to quicken the pace of the trip or left a few days earlier to make the grand opening. I do love a good feast from time to time." His attention shifts back and forth between the pair of them: "I have found that human nature itself is ugly and terrible. Wherever we go there will be a darkness underlying it all but if we follow the precepts of Elua then we can rise above all of that." Then conversation shifts back: "I am travelling the lands of Terre d'Ange. I have only recently inherited my position and as such thought I should endeavor to make the trip to the veries provinces. By all accounts I have saved the best for last."

"Thank you, lady Desarae. You are very pleasant but I feel that this is all what I do these days. Simply sit. So, if you don't mind, I will stand," Irene chuckles and turns her attention to the lord. "The tournament is a great distraction from a daily routine. Unfortunately, my brother will participate only at the Grand Melee. So, I find myself mildly bored during other competitions. I have nobody to cheer for!" She laughs but her laughter is followed by a cough. She brings her hand to cover her lips. "Forgive me, a mild cough has been bothering me for the past two days when a huge storm caught me up on the road." She smiles and continues, "Do any of you plan to participate in any of the challenges?"

"Would you like some wine?" Desarae beckons one of the servants to her, and whatever the responses to her question might be, she asks for both red and white to be brought. "I agree with Marsilikos being the best," she states with the loyalty and wisdom of her tender young age. "Though I have only been a handful of times and no more to the capital, the architecture of the Grand Plaza with its grey and white marble, and the perfection of the obelisks both there and within the market plaza, are simply unmatched. And what view could compare with the one across the bay?" She's biased, of course, and has never travelled to the northern coastlines of Terre d'Ange, but she does perhaps have somewhat of a point, given the city of Marsilikos is fondly referred to as 'The Jewel of Eisande'. A nod to Irene as she chooses to stand. "It is very likely that Lady Ortolette will have the ideal unction to rub on your chest for that cough. I swear by Elua's breath that she has every remedy for every ailment. But no. I shall not be participating. I understand there are to be gentler events, such as poetry and singing for those so inclined, but I not so inclined. Not this year." A sigh escapes her lips. "Are either of you?" Her eyes cut back to Aisan, and there's somewhat of a forced levity to the tone of her voice. "Are you good with a sword, my lord? It is the first year when I might give my favour to someone. Should I give it to you?"

Aisan stretches out just a bit on his seat at the bench, the cough causing him to give Irene a concerned look. Desarae's words get a nod of agreement: "You should have a healer look at it. It is easy for a serious illness to hide in a summer cough. Sometimes they can be cured if caught early enough." His tone is suprisingly serious, that frown is back on his lips and there is a worried cast to his gaze as he looks at Irene: "You could always cheer for someone who catches your fancy, or just for the entertainment of it too. The tournament isn't just about hoping favorites will win but also to revel in the celebration of the moment and the skill of those who are testing themselves against each other."

Aisan's lips curl into a roguish smile at Desarae: "I have my moments though with a field as rich and deep as this one is I wouldn't bet on myself. I may enter the grand melee, or the duels. Just to see how I do and for the enjoyment of it. At least under normal circumstances. I am certain that even a lowly stablehand would become the proudest night with endless vigor at the carrying of your favor my lady. Should you see fit to give me your favor I likely would be inspired so much that I might even brave that Casilline of yours, should he also take the field." He clears his throat lightly: "I would never speak out against Elua, for it is certainly a wondrous city yet it is so large that even the greatest of people might feel insignificant. From what little I have seen so far Marsilikos is much more intimate an experience."

"Very true," Irene smiles. It is hard to know to which part a young woman is answering. Though, this is all what she says and simply remains observing another young pair in their interraction. Her fingers slowly nip on the edges of her own leather notebook. She sways slowly as well making her gown sweep the floor from the dusts. There is a joyful glimmer in her eyes when a young lady shows interest in offering her first favor. Maybe it brings sweet memories to Irene which steal her thoughts, who knows!

Desarae draws a ribbon from a pocket of her gown. It is black, though edged with the finest embroidery in threads of silver. "You may carry my favor, for all the good that it will do for you." She offers it to Aisan, though pushes to her feet as she does. "May Camlach smile upon your endeavours in whichever events you see fit to participate in. I shall look for you on the field." The ribbon flutters in her fingers, catching whatever light might be thrown from the lamps. "If you will excuse me for now, however, I feel the need to retire to my rooms. May fortune help you find your own." A glance towards Irene. "Perhaps the Lady Irene will help you find someone within the household to assist you in locating them." And despite having just procured wine for the party which even now arrives on a tray with three glasses, she turns to leave — abandoning the two remaining to company of their own.

Aisan stands and takes the ribbon with a deep bow: "I am honored my lady." He straightens after tucking it in against his chest: "I shall do my utmost to prove I am worthy of the honor. It has been a pleasure to meet you Lady Deserae, may your dreams be blessed when you find them." He watches Desarae leave with a long lingering look but his attention soon shifts to Irene: "It was an honor to meet you as well, Lady Irene. Unfortunately it has been a very long journey and I should retire to the noble quarter, bang on doors, and figure out which home is the one my family has acquired here." He smiles wryly: "Have a pleasant evening and may fortune favor you." He bows to Irene deeply too before the young Vicomte makes his way out.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, lord Aisan and lady Desarae," Irene nods and watches how both people retreat to their own routine. She herself moves toward the bench. Sits down. Opens the notebook, removes a small pencil from her pocket and starts to draw.

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