(1312-03-12) Talk in the Gardens
Summary: Cyrille encounters a priestess.
RL Date: Thu Mar 12, 1312
Related: None.
cyrille estelle 

Jardins d'Eisheth — Marsilikos

Tranquility and beauty of nature is what those coming to the gardens of Eisheth usually seek. There is a playfulness in the arrangement of paths through the greenery, and the way four of them wind to the center, where there is a pond surrounded by a few elm trees, beside an area with wooden benches and tables beneath an arbor, where ivy winds about wooden posts, and a roof of colorfully glazed tiles offers shelter from the sun but also moderate rain.

Bushes are trimmed, and the green is kept short, so that people coming here can enjoy the dramatic view over the coast all the way to the sea, with the harbor and the citadel slightly to the north. Slightly towards the south and close by is the infirmary with the herb garden beside, where a variety of plants used for healing and treating certain illness are grown under the immaculate care of the healers. Towards the east, a path leads towards the temple district, where the dominant structure of the Temple of Eisheth looms, the white marble shimmering almost otherworldly on late afternoons, when it catches the warm, orange light of the setting sun.

The gardens of Eisheth are yet to bloom fully, but one can already see the first hints of green. Yes, even with weather still on the chillier side, it is on this late morning that the early spring sun warms those that have gone outside to enjoy the day. Such as Estelle. A warm woollen cloak of dark red color has been tossed over her red robes, the hood drawn over her head with a few dark curls spilling forth. She is on her own or at least seems to be so now, a woman of fine features, standing there near a tree as she follows a departing young man with her gaze. Dark eyes are glinting slightly, as her lips twist into a slightly mischievous smile.

While Estelle is still making her way through the gardens, some have already found what they are looking for. Seated on one of the benches, bundled into the warmth of his cloak is a well dressed Siovalese man, youthful expression lost and drawn inside of a book in his hands. Apparently, whatever he is reading is mirthful, as his plush lips are curled into a bright, cheerful smile, his eyes twinkling with delight as he reads on.

Just one bench over, however, are a pair of guards wearing the de Rocaille House colors. One is a middle aged male with bright blue eyes, and the other is a slightly younger female, with emerald greens. Both seem to be deep in their conversation, and with their attention turned onto the quiet reader and otherwise scanning the area for any potentialthreats or dangers.

Estelle may be not exactly what someone could consider a danger of sorts. And yet. When she suddenly becomes aware of the young man, it seems as if her breath threatens to catch in her throat. Her eyes widen, and one hand moves up to touch fingertips against the clasp of her cloak. A breeze comes up and it pulls at her hood, revealing more jet-black hair, playing with some strands of it.

But then her expression softens from startlement into a warm smile, and Estelle elects to approach, fine slippered feet crossing the distance with graceful steps. "Good morning," she greets, regarding Cyrille with a certain amount of curiosity. "My lord." A brief glance towards his glance has assured her of his station, and his House. "You must forgive me. But for a moment, I mistook you for someone else."

Even if Estelle isn't a threat, the female of the two guards seem to give her a sharp, appraising look. Certainly not the friendliest guard anyone has met. For Cyrille's part, however, his eyes trace up from his book to look towards the Priestess. His cheeks flare up into a bit of a red color, blushing readily as she moves greets him. "Good morning to you as well." He murmurs in a low, hushed tone, shyly returning the greetings. "You are forgiven, though I wonder who it might be you mistook me for?"

There is that moment of hesitation as Estelle ponders his remark, and more importantly, whether and whatto reply. "My son," she admits, after giving him a look and a softening smile. "I am expecting him to come and visit Marsilikos, I heard he would travel here… You and he may be about the same age."

"Your son?" Cyrille murmurs, with perhaps the faintest touch of surprise, his eyes tracing over Estelle a time or two, and then focusing more on her face. "Your son is nearer to my age? Are you sure?" He murmurs, though his blush grows a touch more and he straightens his back some, leaning more into the bench. "My apologies, I am certain you are… You just… Don't look to be old enough to bear a son near my age."

Estelle notes that assessing look, but contrary to Cyrille she may not be prone to blush that easily. "Oh, you flatter me, my lord," she says with a silvery chuckle. "I was early to be graced with motherhood, and my son, Phariel, he has lived apart from me for so many years. Still. I know it will be his 19th birthday in May." Besides, d'Angelines, especially those of nobility and those that are scions of the Companions, they tend to age more slowly than non-d'Angelines.

While the conversation goes on, Cyrille is paying close attention to Estelle, listening intently to her as she speaks even as he pulls a silk ribbon from his pocket and guides it along the seam of his book, folding it closed. Then he scoots a touch to the side, offering her a place to sit next to him if she so chose to. "Your assessmentis accurate then. I turned 19 in August."

"Lucky guess." Again, she chuckles, a sound that is light and pleasant to the ears. When Cyrille makes room for her, she gladly accepts, lowering herself onto the bench with easy grace. "I am Sister Estelle," she introduces herself. "Priestess at the Temple of Naamah." She smiles, "Transferred from the Great Temple in Namarre two months ago."

Even to spite how Cyrille invited her to sit with him, across the way, the look Estelle receives from the guard grows even more sharp. Still, perhaps obliviously so, Cyrille grants her a soft smile and a nod of his head as he listens to her introduction. "I am Lord Cyrille de Rocaille, son of Sylviane de Rocaille, Baronne de Guyenne. Though, far from her direct heir."

"What is your name?", Estelle inquires of the female guard that casts her such wary and hostile glances. Her smile dims just a little, but it remains there. "I don't mean your charge any harm, I assure you." Then, to Cyrille, she inclines her head. "Well met, Lord Cyrille de Rocaille. And welcome to Marsilikos, as I suppose you must have arrived just recently?"

"Corporal Linette." Answers the female guard after a moment longer of eyeing Estelle, then she leans back some in her seat on the other bench. The other guard gives a bit of a chuckle, though doesn't seem to pay too much mind to Estelle. For his part, Cyrille peeks over to his pair of guards, and then back at Estelle. "Oh, don't pay her any mind. She and Martin both can be over bearing, just a bit." He murmurs, then smiles and nods softly. "Yes, only just a week ago, or perhaps a bit less." He says, then pauses. "How long have you been in Marsilikos? Or more importantly, how long have you been away from your son?"

"Two questions," Estelle replies with a faint twinkle in her eyes, and her smile dims a little. "And alas, two different replies. I have arrived in Marsilikos in mid-December. As for my son… Well." She exhales through her nose, causing her nostrils to flare a little. "He was taken from me, 15 years ago, to be raised at his father's estate, in Namarre."

Cyrille's attention is leveled fully on Estelle, observing each change in her facial features. By now, his blushing has subsided, and as her smile dims, his does as well. For her first answer, he seems to almost completely ignore, instead focusing entirely on her second answer. "I am sorry to hear that, Sister Estelle." He murmurs, leaning back further into his seat as a hand reaches out to touch at her wrist. "May I ask who your son is, to have been taken from you just so?"

"Oh, it was in his best interest, that he was taken away. You see… I led a different life back then. I was a courtesan at House Jasmine in Elua. I had hoped for Phariel to take the same path as I… but he was deemed unfit for such a life. His father was lucky enough to call himself wealthy, and politically powerful, the late Marquis d'Auxerre. My son has been brought up as a l'Envers at the Ducal Estate in Troyes-le Mont. As member of a noble and powerful family, you see. I couldn't have offered him more prospects in life, nor possibilities. So while I know it has been for his best, I still long to see him again."

His hand retracts, and Cyrille folds them both in his lap, his book laid down on the bench space next to him as Estelle shares her story regarding her son. "You are a courtesan no longer though?" He muses, taking in her words. "But instead a Priestess? I couldn't imagine longing to see someone for so long. You must have a very strong heart, to live with such a burden."

"It is… both burden and blessing, my lord," Estelle assures him gently. yhe hand withdrawing from that fleeting touch to her wrist prompts a reaction on her part, she now reaching out for his hand to give it an optimistic squeeze, if he allows. "I was a courtesan in Elua, and then in Troyes-le-Mont," she tells Cyrille, with her gaze lingering on their hands. "Until I found my true calling and filled my life with new purpose." And there she looks up with a smile. "What of you, young lord Cyrille. I haven't seen you visiting the temple yet. What may have led you to visit Marsilikos?"

Shy as he may be, Cyrille doesn't seem to be adverse to the touch. As Estelle reaches for his hand, it freezes, and his cheeks readily flare back into the blush they held a moment ago. With her gaze dripping down to their hands, his does as well, and then lifts back uo to meet with hers. "A blessing in knowing that your son has led a good, healthy life?" He muses, then he smiles softly, shaking his head loosely. "I haven't visited the temple, or any of the temples since I've been here as of yet." He murmurs, then pauses. "I intend to, of course. I just… Haven't made it that far yet." It's said as though he is giving out an excuse for misbehaving.

Estelle cannot help it. As her head tilts a little to the side and her hood finally slips fully and lets her black hair fall free, she regards Cyrille with a warm smile. "One goes to the temples when one feels the need," she tells him gently. "Not as some sort of duty. I would be delighted to see you at the temple. The baths of Naamah are actually quite popular."

Cyrille's soft smile grows a touch and he nods his head with understanding towards Estelle, allowing his eyes to droop back down to where their hands once more. "I can imagine they are." He decides, giving way to a brief pause. "I've just been so lost in my books, I've been neglecting a part of what I came here for in the first place."

"And what would that be? What you came here for?", Estelle asks. "I think there are worse pastimes than seeking to increase one's knowledge. I have always admired the Siovalese. So knowledgable, so full of wisdom. Are you studying to be a scholar of sorts?"

"In part, for some adventure." Cyrille admits, his lips curling softly as he looks back towards Estelle. "To explore something new that I haven't explored before. And in another part, for the books. We have a bounty of them back home, and there are so many, it's easy to find what you're looking for." He continues. "But I'm interested in finding the books I'm -not- looking for. As for my interest in becoming a scholar… Of sorts. I'm certainly interested in learning more about science, but…" He pauses here, considering his words and pulling his bottom lip into his teeth to chew on it for a moment. "I suppose I'm just a curious person."

"I am certain that you will food for both here, your curiosity and your search for adventure, my lord," the priestess assures him gently. "After all, Marsilikos is a port town, there is the ducal court, and there is a variety of people to meet with, from all over Terre d'Ange and abroad."

"Yes, I believe you are correct." Cyrille accepts with a soft smile, bobbing his head lightly in agreement. "Though, I am not quite certain which adventures I will be going on. If there was an itinerary, a schedule of sorts, to describe what the Lords and Ladies of Marsilikos are planning to commit to, I would find that very helpful."

"You should have a look at the city and at the countryside," Estelle tells him. "One comes across lords and ladies almost everywhere. Especially at the palace. Go out, make new acquaintances. I would be delighted to hear of them, once you come and visit me at the temple."

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