[D3, EM] Marsten Pavilion - Mother & Child (Closed)

Corrine Marsten dreaded the words "
I want to talk to you"
from her mother, but still dutifully made sure she was punctual for breakfast. She awaited Lady Isobel in silence, nobbling on a slice of apple.

Lady Isobel Marsten's blonde hair - once the envy of the realm - is now turning silver, a marked contrast to her daughter's darker hair.

She seemed satisfied with Corrine's prompt arrival, but with little else her daughter had done.

An almost imperceptible gesture, and the servants disappeared, fearing Lady Marsten's wrath.

She directed her steely gaze at her wilful daughter, who'd be consorting with all sort of strange types. Most unladylike. Most un-Marsten like.

"
Explain yourself young lady."

"
What do you wish me to explain, mother?"
Corrine asked, genuinely unsure of how much her mother knew.

"
You've barely arrived and already you're consorting with wild Ironborn and who knows who else,"
said Lady Isobel. The day's events would show just how wild the ironborn could be.

She sighs.

"
Your mother frets. Our house's hopes rest on you. You must guard your reputation."

"
I only went for a stroll and had a short conversation in passing, mother. They may be savage by reputation, but they are still people. The one I spoke to was actually rather congenial. Our House will hardly collapse from one polite conversation. How am I supposed to learn about the people I will deal with in future if I am not allowed to speak to them freely?"

Lady Isobel seems exasperated.

"
You have men, brave and true to treat with their sort on your behalf. We do not maintain men like Ser Baelon or Ser Colin simply for the quality of their company."


"
If you must meet men, at last let it be marriageable young knights from good families, rather than hulking reavers."


"
Your place is to be an adornment to our house and secure its future with a good marriage - you're past the age where you should have been promised to another. Hartshorn is remote - you won't find a better group of potential suitors than here."


She fixes her wilful daughter with a familiar severe stare.

"
So I am only allowed to speak with marriageable men that you approve of. I am not allowed to make friends of my own,"
Corrine intoned sardonically. "
I am of age, mother, yet I am happy for you to run things. Can you not allow me at least some freedom? Do you think I like sneaking away?"

"
Happy for me to run things my dear?"
Lady Isobel replies with base sarcasm. "
Your conduct at this tournament already demonstrates you're not ready to run a kitchen, let alone House Marsten. A lady must take care, for who she meets with reflects on both her and her family."


"
Need I remind you that this is doubly true for unmarried ladies?"

Corrine scowls at her mother.

"
Oh, a lady must be careful whom she meets with? Like how you have been meeting John Cobb so he can court you?"
she barbs.

"
SILENCE! Ser Jon is a war hero and a knight, more than than can be said for the Drowned God worshipping savages you consort with!"


"
Were you but a year or two younger I'd have Septa Heloise swtich you for your cheek!"


Lady Marsten seems surprised at her own fury at the mention of Ser Jon, and at the brink of storming out, knuckles clenched in anger.

[TN 8 Awareness to read her further]

[url=Awareness - Empathy][/url]: 4d6k3 9

"
Well, you cannot have the Septa do anything to me any more,"
Corrine retorted. "
And as for whom I consort with, I will choose a husband when I find one that I deem worthy, not whichever hanger-on you throw at me. I know you've been trying to make a deal with Baelon Waters behind my back, mother. Do I not even deserve to be consulted on my own future?"


Her voice was more sad than angry at her last words.

Something in Corrine's words seems to briefly strike a chord with Lady Isobel and her voice is moderately less sharp, rendering it merely sharp enough to cut leather rather than chainmail.

"
Few are so lucky as to choose their own fate, I simply want the right man for you."


"
And what is wrong with Ser Baelon that a royal pen cannot fix?"


She deliberately applies his title and leaves off his bastard name, in contrast to her daughter.

"
He's a skilled rider, a great swordsman and an eloquent speaker. He has some rough edges, but we can file those off."


The idea of rough edges appealing is still an unfamiliar concept to Lady Isobel.

"
He may even be amenable to becoming a Marsten, preserving the name your father fought so hard to protect."

Corrine notices the softening of her mother's tone, and is somewhat surprised by it. She was expecting a full-blown row. She speaks more softly herself;


"
I am not saying he is a bad person, or wholly unsuitable. He has much to commend him. I would just rather have been asked first whether I would consider him. I am concerned he may need more than some rough edges filing off, mother. I'm sure you are no stranger to the rumours about his inconstancy. I want to know where my husband is at night, and by that, I don't mean which strumpet he is off with."

Corrine words lead to no further softening in her mother's tone.

"
There you gone again Corrine, putting yourself first as always. Turn away a man that other men would follow, a skilled knight? All to avoid some rumours? Even if they're true, only your pride is harmed if you can give him sons. I want is not what sensible young women focus on."


Family first, no room for personal feelings, only duty.

Lady Isobel should have been born a Tully.

"
My pride has value, mother. How can I raise our House up into esteem if I have a husband who makes a fool of me?"

"
Seven take your pride, just keep things quiet. Better a competent husband who wanders but returns than a loyal fool."


"
Such subtlety is no doubt beyond you, you've always had a taste for the dramatic. You will only seem foolish in such circumstances if you make a scene,"
Isobel sniffs, ever the traditionalist.

"
A man can be both competent and loyal, and I intend to find one,"
Corrine replies hotly, then she folds her arms, her tone and expression becoming mocking;


"
Perhaps one of the Ironborn will suit. No, wait, I wonder if Ser Jon has those qualities. He must be something special to gain your approval."

Isobel looks unimpressed at her daughter's desire for a man that is both competent and loyal, but Corrine's mention of Ser Jon pushes her over the edge. She raises an open hand.

"
I warn you, no more on that topic or my hand flies. You might be too old for the Septa, but not for your mother."


The world hangs still.

"
Well, I think we may profitably make a compromise. I will say no more about whom you choose to be with, if you say no more about whom I choose to be with. Deal?"


Corrine's tone was somewhat haughty, but her offer was clearly genuine.

WHACK!

"
My affairs are none of your concern, while your conduct is the concern of the whole house."


[OOC: TN 4 Agility to dodge your mother's feeble blow, or you can choose to stoically take it for badass points

[url=Fighting][/url]: 2d6 3]

[OOC: Stoically taking it for badass points]

Her cheek stung and flushed red, but Corrine's gaze returned to her mother's with a fierce glare. She slowly stood, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, calm, resolute, but with a subtle tremble of rage;


"
Strike me again, mother,"
she intoned, the word 'mother' dripping with venom. "
And I shall strike back. And the Warrior's righteous force will be like the lapping of a kitten in comparison."

Lady Isobel pulls up her skirts to retreat, perhaps taken aback a little by her daughter's spirit. She has always been wilful, but this is a new frontier in boldness.

"
It would be unladylike for a daughter to strike her mother, I shall not allow my child to shame herself so."


She turns her nose up.

"
I think I shall take the air."
It is not a day for taking the air.

Lady Isobel moves towards the exit.

[OOC: moving near an end to the scene, but time for parting words. Corrine's kitten metaphor is both forceful and droll]

"
I do not need to use my hands to strike at you,"
Corrine stated at her mother's retreating back.

She storms off to her own little sanctuary, ostensibly to dress for the day, but also to pace and curse in peace.