Heavy is the Head of House (Corrine)

[url=Awareness - Empathy][/url]: 4d6k3 14

Isobel had gathered her composure by now, and proceeded with practised grace beside her daughter.

"
I have heard much and more Corrine, and none of it pleasant to my ears."


She looks around to ensure that no over-attentive servants are nearby. She made a show of sucking in air through her teeth - an unusually heavy handed attempt at demonstrating the severity of the situation.

"
What I have heard may prompt you to action, but I beg you not to be over hasty. Men are simple creatures with simple needs."


Lady Isobel pauses, seeing if her daughter fills the silence.

Corrine processes her mother's words a moment.

"
I understand your concern, but do not worry. I have no intention of acting rashly. I shall decide upon an action once I learn the truth. Acting upon incomplete or skewed information is folly. There may be reasonable explanations. But, whatever is behind these rumours, I shall find it, and do what is necessary to protect House Marsten. One thing is certain, as I see it at the moment - I'll not be mocked or disrespected in my own home."


Saying the words helped Corrine steel herself. Strength was needed now. Either to navigate a storm, or to bring one down upon the unrighteous.

"
Good. Whatever the truth of a matter, it will not do for my daughter to be shamed in Hartshorn. These walls should be a source of strength and pride."


Isobel nods at her daughter's determination, finding her daughter's wilfulness a virtue for once.

However, Isobel still does not offer what she knows, and the stables for the short ride to the sept draw near, bringing the prying ears of servants and guards and an inevitable cloak of small-talk from Isobel.

Decisions must be made - a bold statement, a brief diversion, perhaps a desperate slow to a crawl or a dramatic, attention grabbing stop?

Realising that their time of relative privacy was short, Corrine moved Jory close to Isobel's horse and lightly put her hand in the crook of her mother's elbow, slowing them both to a stop.

"
Mother, I understand that you wish to protect me and the House, but I am not a child anymore. I can withstand unpalatable words. Please, tell me what you have heard. I need to know if it is the same I have heard. If I am to address the problem, I would know its nature fully. I do not wish to fumble in darkness. I need the light of your wisdom as well as that of the Seven."


Corrine's large blue eyes earnestly beseech her mother, her fingers tightening a little on Isobel's arm, belying her anxiety.

"
I cannot shed a full light on matter's - I may be a grandmother now, but I lack the Crone's wisdom."


Isobel tries to smile, but rushes on to more important matters.

"
I hear talk of your husband's appetites and can but offer this counsel - do not judge him harshly or allow your enemies to use this against you. Men are simple creatures and your husband's one is politically complicated."


"
Small matter if he should seek to assert his masculinity in other avenues."


"
Do not make a scene daughter, that wins our house naught but shame to salve your pride."


A reassuring hand join's Corrine, but the words them self are hard as steel.

The words made Corrine feel sick, but she was determined not to let it out. Of all the people she felt the need to prove herself to, Isobel was probably the greatest.

How can I not judge an oathbreaker? A philanderer?

"
The gossip is not necessarily true, but your advice is noted."


She withdrew her hand slowly, and started to walk Jory forward, the gait subdued.

"
Was father ever unfaithful to you?"
she asked, tentatively, her eyes becoming focused on a strand of Jory's grey mane, not wanting to meet Isobel's eyes.

Lady Isobel straightens her back and purses her mouth.

But the normal invective does not fly.

Instead she sighs.

"
Your father was a man, with a man's appetites. He may have known other women when he rode with against the Arryns and the Faith Militant, or when he campaigned against the clans that you have since seen fit to treat with clemency."


"
But that does not mean he was unfaithful in his heart, or shamed me in my own keep. There are degrees to such matters and to how it reflects on a family's reputation."

A hollow snort came automatically.

"
Of course. Men and their simple wants. We must forgive their insults meekly. Like no woman has ever wanted to bed someone more than she's ever wanted anything,"
she scoffed sarcastically.

The pit in Corrine's stomach opened even wider, to think of her beloved late father, the man she had adored and idolised, against whom she measured all other men, as base and inconstant as those she judged. Her heroic image of him sullied by her mother's serpentine skirting words. Never direct, but piercing nonetheless.

"
While I am holding the House foremost in my mind,"
she began with a lie, "
I'm afraid our interpretations of the vows and responsibilities of marriage differ. I will deal with Ben in private, as my conscience and the Gods' guidance dictates. The girl will have to go. As you say, being shamed in one's own keep is another matter."


Her hands tightened around the reins, a daek look in her eyes, as she imagined several ways to dispatch the harlot who had robbed her of her husband, her happy family, and her dignity.

Lady Isobel seemed satisfied, Corrine had seen sense and wisdom for once. Icy Marsten formality and etiquette seemed to prevail in her daughter, at least for now. Would Corrine's kicking and bucking against tradition reveal her as her mother given fresh youth, despite all her struggles?

Isobel smiled in her best approximation of gentleness and inclined her head in sympathy before making a show of adopting a lady's bearing as she rode, a noble's face on in readiness to greet the smallfolk.

Seeing Isobel pick up pace, Corrine somewhat mirrored her mother in bearing as they trotted toward the sept, though Corrine maintained more of a warm, kindly expression. It was the gentle, almost maternal look she reserved for the smallfolk, borne from her genuine appreciation of them, despite the dark distractions in her mind.

She was the perfect, dutiful Lady for the smallfolk and those in the sept. While mindful of her mother's presence by her side as they made their prayers to the Seven, she made particular individual appeals in solitude to the Father, Mother, and Crone. Being careful and quiet in her speech, she sought the wisdom to see the best way forward, to act rightly, and to judge justly.

When she was finished, she felt she had some answers, though sorting them from her instincts was conflicting.

But that is our duty. To elevate ourselves above the beast.

"
I should go,"
Corrine said softly, returning to Isobel's side and lightly touching her arm. "
Thank you for your guidance and candour. It is my wish that we speak this way more often. I regret our reduced communication of late."

Isobel mirrored the touch, returning her daughter's warmth.

"
Some good may yet come of ill-behaviour if it brings me closer to my daughter."


And if it makes my daughter behave as the head of house should. Sentiment and drama are luxuries for petty nobles and smallfolk..

"
Your mother is always here to offer counsel when needed, you have but to ask. As for today, whatever guidance has been provided is surely the will of the Seven, I have only shown you the way to them. Go now to your husband with the Mother's mercy and the Crone's wisdom."

"
I shall,"
Corrine replied, gratefully. It was sickening to swallow her grief for the sake of appearances, but it was necessary.

You are the House. Do not bring the House into disrepute. Do not undo your hard work.

She rode out to find Ben. She followed the patrol route first, knowing that, if she went to the keep first and he wasn't there, she would struggle to keep herself from going down to the servants' quarters and committing murder.

The guards at the gate bowed, but said nothing. They along with most of the castle's inhabitants could sense something was amiss. One went to fetch two riders to accompany their lady. She may dismiss them, but Lord Marsten would have their hides if they did not try to send an escort.

The two horses gallop to a safe distance behind Corrine. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals two veterans of House Marsten. Lem, a thick bruiser, who considered himself aged like that fine wine from down south, absent-mindedly tugging at his long beard as he rode to her right. On the left sat, Clyve, a tall thin man with a hooked nose and thin moustache. As his usual self he remains quiet and sullen.

Lem not much for quiet, broke the silence. "
Fancy a ride, milady?"
Clyve could only roll his eyes at the fools loud intrusivness.

Corrine smirked a little.

"
That might be just the thing, Lem. Shall we make a race of it?"
she replied, with a sweet smile that masked her tension.

Lem started, unprepared for a challenge, from a lady, his Lady at that. "
Well... if you want... milady?"


Clyve only shook his head in silent indifference.

"
Just a little one. Whomever reaches the Greenside orchard first gets a barrel of cider from the cellar."


She knew it was on the patrol route, so it would be easier to make her search for Ben look like happenstance.

Not waiting for them, she galloped ahead.

[url=Horse race][/url]: 2#3d6 10 11

Lem lurches excitedly on, his mind swimming in that barrel of cider. Clyve reluctantly spurs his horse on still shaking his long beak side to side.

[url=Ride][/url]: 3d6k2 5

Corrine rode without much effort to keep up. The race was a distraction from her real goal. She kept Lem &
Clyve in her sights, but not did not try for much more. Her ultimate destination was elsewhere.

Lem sat moping upon the back of his heavily breathing steed. Clyve on the other hand carefully watched Corrine's approach from where she had fallen behind the two trained riders. He broke his long silence as she moved near.

"
Mayhaps my Lady would prefer a more beloved trail."
Most took his quiet demeanor for that of a simple man, but his Keen observation of his lady and veiled clues as what she might actually be doing out here, were signs it may just be cunning.

"
Perhaps, Clyde, Corrine replied, her breathing only a little elevated.

"
I should greet my lord husband while I am out here. I can find him on my own, if you two would like to return to the keep. I'm sure the winner of the race will graciously share some of his prize,"
she hinted.

"
Begging my ladies pardon, but we wouldn't be much of an escort if we did not see you to your destination. Besides we passed their way a little while ago. Once there, if you still wish, will see our way back."
Clyde was hesitant to push, but fearful for Lady Marsten's well being and his own if he were to leave her. His voice humble and full of concern.

Lem looked ready to jump at a chance to return to the cider. It quickly faded as he listened to Clyve, knowing full well he had the right of it.

"
Of course, Clyde. Your devotion to duty is admirable. Let us find him then,"
she replied cheerily.

She moved Jory round and the three of them trotted off along the route Clyde indicated.

Corrine silently repeated the Mother's Litany to herself to keep herself appearing calm. She was determined to keep the mask of normality firmly on until she was sure of privacy.

Along the return trip the trio took a small game trail. In moments they came upon the remnants of a camp. Lord Marsten knelt over the ashes of a dead fire, his face strained in deep concentration. Worry lines and heavy bags under his eyes make him appear worn thin. Standing over his shoulder is Ser Markus. The loyal Marsten knight seems disturbed by the situation before him.

As Corrine and her escort come within earshot, the two warriors snap their heads in her direction. Hands ease off hilts slowly. Ben beams with joy despite his obvious weariness. Markus smiles politely and bows.

Corrine's absorption with her anger became diluted with concern as the camp remnants, and the men's expressions, suggested a different problem altogether. She remained astride Jory, but eyed Ben, Ser Markus, and their surroundings warily.

"
My lord, Ser Markus,"
she began, stiffly, a shadow of dread in her mind. "
Is something amiss?"


She tilted her head toward the camp remains.

"
What's going on?"