Leysa

Leysa

Active member
Weaver
"I hate it when it rains." Complained Arran from his perch by the window. Leysa did not lift her head from the book she had been reading, but her eyes flicked to peer through lashes at her brother. Only four years her junior, and yet the tallest of them all, Arran was scowling at the silver drops clinging to the glass as rain pattered against it. His nose scrunched when he has gotten too close to the glass, and the cold gave him a shock.

Leysa loosed a breath of a laugh.

"I quite like it." She commented, eyes returning to page and silence filled the space as she finished her sentence and flicked to the next page. "If it bothers you so, perhaps you ought to go elsewhere?"

Arran scoffed. "I want to see Walter when he arrives."

A slender finger crooked inwards across her page, and the closure of her book was assured her place in the narrative was not lost. Her shoulders lifted slightly and stiffened with the exhalation through her nose. Patience. "And you will. You are more than welcome to, but he is my friend and I insist on having the proper time outside of societal functions to properly catch up with him."

That was the truth to it, but Leysa did not want her siblings to know the idea of approaching her old friend with this matter. In fact, she had not confided in anyone. Not even her trusted handmaiden. It felt foolish to her, to even give thought to her own insecurities was as if she were exposing scars from self inflicted wounds.

No. Leysa could not let her siblings see that she was not alright past her mask of smiles and pleasantries.

"He is my friend too." Arran argued further, and Leysa ground her teeth. "Our families all got along. I merely wish to welcome him back, sister."

"Very well." She sighed. Leysa stood, finger still trapped between pages of her book. "You could have sent him a letter to say so, just as I had." Leysa's lips curved slightly, fighting the larger smile that wished to come forth. "Even if your letters are unintelligible."

For days now, Leysa had been awaiting for this day to come. For her dear old friend had made their long awaited return home. She was surprised at first to hear his name spoken after so long, and without success of spying him at societal functions she had attended, their correspondence had been via letters.

'I insist that you come to have lunch with me, so that we may talk more!' Had been the very beginning of her last letter, an invitation for today.
 
Geist had switched from trot to a slightly more shaky walking, the silver skin with a scare haunch and neck crest glistening wet in the rain. Walter's dark-grey, thick woolen cloak wrapped around his shoulders, but the cowl slipped back when he lifted his face to the falling drops. They soothed the burning forehead, slipped a caress through the hair. The fresh delight of petrichor and all the unpleasant scents bowed lower to the ground.

A part of him dreaded, of course. He... didn't know how to be in polite company, anymore, felt like. Like a trained wardog that was suddenly retired, and sometimes even loved, for nostalgia's sake or what he had to offer. The warmth was welcome, unfamiliar, and a bit awkward on the reciprocation end. Some things he'd been through, could never be told in polite company.

'It would be my delight and pleasure,' was the response in a steady, narrow, slightly flourished writing hand. The tea parties, so called even though tea was the rarest beverage partook in - one of the tamer entertainments of his youth. Predominately shared in female company. There was a safety in shared unspoken knowledge, he supposed, and around them, he didn't have to pretend at all. 'I would arrive within a four-day, after noon.'

The drakehorse came padding in a smooth gallop along the grounds, the clawed paws slowing down into an elegant high-kneed swaying prance, as if Geist chose this exact arrival to show off his new training - and was rewarded promptly by a gentle scritch around where the scales turned into incredibly smoothly-furred skin. The rider's cloak was swung to the side over the saddle, the hunter-noble aesthetic all in pressed-ornament grey leather vest and embroidered pine greens of his shirt, and a pair of cuffed but asymmetric gloves. A little incomplete without some kind of hat with a feathered decoration, but then, the man's black mane of hair seemed like a thing of pride. Droplets of rain just now passing glistened in the dark sea of his locks unbroken, one hanging in the middle of an early silver thread like dew on a strand of spiderweb.

It's been so many years, he thought. Good time to dust off and reignite what friendships still remained.

Geist rumbled, a clicking resonating in tiny bumps along its back, and shook the head, thick interwoven strands of mane dripping water onto the pavement.

The baron waited for a beat before dismounting. A tap on the drake's neck, the animal's slight bow, and the rider's swift, fluid motion, damp cloak sliding over the saddle leather in a heavy trail.

When he turned, ready to greet, his face was less absent pondering and more contained warmth. Not one ardent and bright of firelight, but the hearth stones where the heat soaked into and lingered when the night grew colder.

"Leysa, such a long time no see," he spoke. The warmth felt foreign in his mouth, not for the faltering of the heart - it has been long since a sincere conversation with peers, and those have ever been few and far between. He wouldn't have quick-counted the exit routes when he was seventeen, either. "The years have only defined your allure, dear friend. How have you been?"

His eyes would then shift quickly to any other to acknowledge them, in turn, following a proper hierarchy this time just as well - if there was someone else.
 
Arran had spotted the arrival of their guest and was the first to leave the parlour room. Leysa, who had sat back down to continue reading to pass the time, took the crucial moment of finding the nearest substitute of a bookmark and settled on a teaspoon from the tea set up on the table before her. The book was abandoned as she raced to her feet and hastened her walk to a respectful degree. She was far too mature to be seen running to greet a guest.

Arran had ordered an attendant to usher Walter inside, to provide a towel if he needed the assistance of drying his face from the cold sheets of rain pouring outside.

Slightly out of breath, she viewed her childhood friend now grown. To his credit, he was handsome. Not in the way many falsely labeled devastation, a class all of it's own that Leysa held no real interest for, but in a way that was still the genteel kind face of the boy she would spend time with throughout childhood and being on the cusp of entering society.

She beamed. Taking a few steps to curtsy before him, even if he were stations below of her birthright. Leysa never lorded herself over any others. "Walter." And her giddy tone would answer him of how she felt in this moment. Arran cleared his throat, but Leysa chose to ignore her brother just this once. "You look..."

And there, between them, a strangeness became prominent. That his eyes no longer resembled the flowers she used to tuck behind his ears. It struck an old ache in her, that perhaps there were stories that ought to be told, to be understood, but... Leysa was not one to speak about such things before others.

"Drenched." She chuckled, her hands shooing away the maid that stepped forward to take his coat with a quiet 'allow me.' Her assisting hands would be slow, ready to be retracted should Walter refuse her help. Perhaps a test to see if such careful proximity were still adopted by her friend. "You remember Arran, do you not? He has been most impatient to see you again, much alike to when he was a boy and trying to join in on our fun."
 
He bowed, reflexive motion that felt so... strange, given his overbearing power. But the worry-worn features softened, like flowers promising to bloom on the weathered cliffs. The flowers carried a strange hue, all the same.

And then, he glanced down and chuckled to her comment, his dark silver-threaded mane falling into his face, immediately remedied by the outer side of the gloved fingers. He unclasped the cloak. And, as his eyes rose to meet Leysa's, there was a trickster spark to the velvetine violet. His eyes turned to Arran, lips parting in a widened smile but a little.

"Ah, young Arran." Memory paged through like a book. Hand stretched out for a friendly, uncourtly pat on the side of the arm. "Manhood suits you. Have you ever managed to get past Garrick to the drake pens?" For a boy, a legendary trial in agility and cunning. For a man, an exercise in diplomacy and wielding clout. They were all grown now, the softness of youth molded and tempered. No more playing with toy swords. No more watching the clouds without a care in the world. But he remembered, clearly - almost strange how name alone would bring together such an acute recollection.

He let Leysa take a hold of his cloak and riding gloves - revealing a thin second glove, like a protective cover, over the right hand that seemed much too thin, and quickly lowered alongside the body, almost folded behind the back and out of sight.
"I missed our little get togethers," the baron mused. "Much obliged for diverting the deluge from your pelts and carpets." A chuckle, a glance at the maid, black mane dripping. Stifling the urge to shake the hair out, a bit like a wet dog.
 
Arran motioned for the maid to unburden Leysa from the wet coat, where a hug of damp clung to her sleeves. This did not trouble her, not as she gave him a smile and gestured for their guest to carry deeper into the home. "Perhaps some tea first? Dry off because our lunch is served." And for him, the chance to dry off and stave off the chill that soaked him to the bone given how torrential the conditions were outside.

"Alas, I will have to make time to catch up with you another day, Walter." Arran informed from the doorway as Leysa guided her guest back to the parlour room. The heir Caretarius looked to the hall they had come through, where the steward awaited him. "But it is good to see you again. Welcome back to Altalusia."

Watching him go, Leysa then made sure no lingering ears were about. "I must confess, I am rather surprised you have returned after all this time, and yet, I am ever grateful! Faces here are getting too much alike, I forget how to tell them apart..."

There seemed to be an absence of grief that his eyes no longer held that forget-me-not blue. They had been the eyes of a boy, of a memory that had been left in the past and grown into something new. Now, his eyes held a midnight softness, and an obsidian edge. Perhaps the shape of his eyes, still the same, was the offered softness to his gaze?

"We told each other everything when we were young." A smile, sad that they were memories long forgotten. "And I cannot tell you how much I have valued to having such a confidante... no one else understands like you have."

She glimpsed it in their letter eschanges. Despite the years, Walter still had that familiarity Leysa had found comfort in.
 
"If you would be so kind." No word of complaint would get uttered even if his lips were blue.

A smile at the heir, wistful, understanding. "A most delightful reunion, Your Highness, I do hope we may speak again before my leave." A little hard to tell, the man's expression so full of nostalgia alongside a fox-like glint, whether he was truly rueing Arran's departure, or teasing him lightly.
In truth, it was both.

Walter understood all too well that the heir's duties would be tended to at any hour, in priority, and Arran had much more to manage than him. And, for just a moment, the brows knit slightly, the warm smile faded. A fate he ran away from, and returned to when there was nothing else left. "I feel most welcome. Let me not delay you, much as it grieves me."

"I must confess, I am rather surprised you have returned after all this time, and yet, I am ever grateful! Faces here are getting too much alike, I forget how to tell them apart..."

He didn't glance about once Leysa did, trusting her to know her servants and eavesdropping corners must better in her own home. If someone stirred, however - he'd probably hear in time to warn her. The rare perks to sensitive perception that was wont to overwhelm at times.

"I've traveled much, and seeing familiar faces makes it feel a little more like being home again." Not that being home did not come with its own long-buried pains. "All these years later, a part of me wishes to never have left, and most of the rest of me is stories." And some small part of him - it never did return, soul price paid for hallowed bone and heart's survival. Made him fear for the rest of him. That small part of him whispered, every time he'd pick himself up and keep going, that there was peace in surrender.

"And no one heard like you when you listened, neither then nor since," he murmured back, allowing her to lead wherever she would think was private enough - and couldn't help but ponder, just for a split of a heartbeat, whether the warmth was genuine, or means to an end. "Shall we revisit that old childish habit, then? For old times' sake."
 
The room was spared only for them, and yet still Leysa had to turn her gaze to the doors. It would be rude to close the doors in this house, as not only decorum, but she did not want to rouse any curious attention their way. Perhaps it should wait, and her mouth opened to speak to put voice to her hesitations, but she paused.

"I am relieved to hear you echo my thoughts, Walter." Her face reflected it, as she turned to look back at her guest and friend. "I always believed there was something so sacred to secrets shared when we were all thick as thieves." A smile crooked at her painted lips.

Why must it be so difficult to put to voice what she wished to share? That, despite the time and distance apart, her ulterior motive to invite him here was to ask a favour of him. Leysa detested such a thing. She felt guilt, a heavy one, as what was left unsaid now carried something of weight within her.

She let out a nervous chuckle. "You were always the smart one out of all of us. I always knew you would be the one to succeed in the future..." Sweet biscuits, how could anyone speak their minds so freely? A trait she was now envious of.

Leysa cleared her throat, gesturing to the seat set on the table before the fireplace. "Would you like some tea?" Her face turned sheepish. "I feel as if I need something in my hands for this..." Nervous laughter once more, and hearing it made her exhale loudly.

"It has been a time since I told anyone what I truly thought..."
 
There it was. Like a painting of truth behind a painted glass screen, almost identical but not the same. The distortion ever so slight, inscrutable unlike his penchant for decyphering magics, perhaps, not even picked up by his supernatural prowess but his trained hut feeling.

Confirmation curled in his chest and settled, like a hound before a hearth, at peace with the understanding. Of course she would not invite him out for lunch, the daughter of a Count. Not with her brother taking leave immediately after. It was something that she wanted, and he was all but summoned, with all the platitudes and pleasantries to soften the truth - because, perhaps, they still could be friends besides.

His face only betrayed his thoughts when she brought up succession. A humorless twitch of the corner of his mouth. His succession... wasn't a matter of achievement at all - though, flattery aside, some might have thought as much. All the same, he'd have to carry all the expectations that came with.

A glance away, at the seat that beckoned to recline after a long road. His back ached more than his feet, admittedly, with that familiar rider's gait slowly fading in the movement that spoke of spending much too time with a saddle parting the thighs.

Richard could have the gait regardless of travel, and perhaps, he felt so much apprehension for the older Thornley sibling for the former's freedom to just... go after whatever desires Richard wanted. Duty was a noose around the heir's neck, if the prey's fangs or claws or venoms failed to do him in.

"Leysa," his interruption was gentle, but resolute, as he made his way to her, that close to offering his hands to hold, concern writ on his face. He waited a beat, to assure her attention, and asked, voice just as quiet, "You needn't mince words. Has something dire happened? Do you need my help?"
 
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Help. The anchoring word that pulled her gaze to meet his in a steady breath, and Leysa nodded her affirmation. She was to put voice to her worries and anxieties, that itself was her own struggle to form, but courage was building up inside her. Yes, help. It felt as if she had been waiting a long time for Walter, for an ally she could trust with to help her in this...

"Yes." It needed to be said. Aloud. It needed to come from her, perhaps to trick her mind into growing confidence to speak these vulnerabilities. "I am afraid that in the time you have been absent... the past near decade my family has seen a number of threats against us. So much so..." Here, she faltered. Looked around the room again, just to be sure. Her dark eyes flicked back to meet his no longer forget-me-not blues. Peculiar, that she remembered them so well, she could imagine seeing them now despite the pull of deepness and smoothness that made up his gaze now. This was still the same Walter she knew, and if that belief made her out to be a fool, then so be it. "My father does not reside with us. He splits his time here and in Crown's Hold, but is sure to never have us all under the same roof. It is just myself and Arran here. My other siblings now stay with powerful allies."

Nerves struck her once again, and unable to stand still with it, Leysa crossed the few steps to the table and rung the bell to indicate they required tea. She sat down on the chaise she had been lazing on all morning to read, but she did not reach for the book she had put aside.

Leysa sat with her truth given breath. The parlour room was quiet, save for the crackling in the hearth, but Leysa was glad to disrupt it once more. "I was to be father's heir five years ago until a threat against me almost cost my life. Appointing Arran as heir is perhaps the safer bet given he could marry for alliance and strength, and yet..." Leysa had loved someone that was not appropriate for any noble lady. That was another vulnerability to tell another day.

"I had hoped to ask you here today... hoping..." Still, the words, the real reason could not leave her lips.
 
Eyebrow perked slightly. He was aware of the natural danger of status, and guessed that the higher ranks didn't have it light with the potential of removal from power being... violent.

The other siblings having been left as wards told him a bigger story. It could be political hostages, it could be a house asking for help from its loyal - but also signaling that it could no longer ward off the dangers itself, or - it could be just a temporary measure, prolonged stay with friends over the summer while the adults of the house dealt with something particularly risky.
Smart move, not keeping all eggs in one basket. But such moves were glimpses of possible revelations by themselves.

Could it be possible that House Caretarius was about to enter its descent?

He maintained the face of concern when she spoke of an attempt at her life - but that only made the already glimpsed truth reveal itself more. He would be curious about how the attempt was made. Mind preferred the clockwork of defense engineering to the bedside manner, always. This is how things got done.

...given he could marry for alliance and strength, and yet...
Her hesitation continued to confuse him. Was he unused to the ways of the court? The hesitation, the demure roundabout ways, the double-speak? Goodness it hurt his head just being bathed in it at social functions.
Was she suggesting, for some reason, that he marry Arran?
That would be a very Laetitia kind of prank - summoning him for a pleasant stay, to open with a joke about setting him up with another young lord. Not sweet Leysa, though.

"May I have some warm wine?" he murmured, and took a seat when she did. Crashed into it, to the short creak and groan of the chair legs. Stretched his own with a slight pained noise and a longer exhale. "The change of heir is unfortunate. I would have deserved mine, if father was not so... set in his views. Does it bear on you, passing all of that weight onto Arran?"

Because, to Walter, it was about all of the lives that now depended on him, and yet were to live their own, hopefully at peace he was to keep. Protecting his commonfolk, and the enterprises, and the lands' fertility and borders, and keeping in mind all of the ways every friendship and unreputable contact could be applied to that endless demand. Dolores took her short de facto reign hard, and Walter was pretty sure she hid the grey hairs only seventeen years of that churning have left even with Garrick's help.

"Is what you want of me connected to his heirdom, or with your loss of it, in the face of your House greeting the times of tumult?" he queried, in an attempt to make her develop the thought more precisely.
 
Leysa puffed her cheeks with air and slowly released it with furrowed brows and pouting lips. It was one of her many faces that reflected thinking, and his words of questions warranted such a task. Perhaps it was also a way to stall her own answers, but never had she encountered her thoughts to be so... chaotic. It was all noise and still no sound, unless she focused enough to make sense of it all.

"Arran was made for it, annoyingly so, but my worry is that he now wears a target to wound my father's hold of power." The furrowed brows never eased back, her facade now a depiction of the anxieties she had been tirelessly hiding from her family. "To be perfectly honest, I do not care which of us inherits the title... I just want us all alive to see the succession, and only after my father has a long life that has been well lived."

Leysa's face slowly fell, the expressions of apology and reservation returning. "Walter, I had hoped you could assist me in learning of the shroud. If I am equipped with magic, then I can do something about protecting my family from these threats. I do not know of the origins, or why my father is being targeted... it started in Crown's Hold, five year's ago."

Her hands clasped atop her lap. The moment she brought up Crown's Hold, Leysa had begun to wring her hands, hiding one palm. A scar, a stain of a memory, was a reminder of that day.

"I only ask of you because my Mother, rest her blessed spirit, had always liked you. She never taught us how to weave, and gods know I can feel that magic she left behind in us..."

She paused, straightening up once she heard a noise outside. Down the marbled hall, the sound of the tea cart was being rolled towards them. When the maid appeared, Leysa forced a pleasant smile and tone. "May you also please fetch some mulled wine for our guest? Thank you, Immie."
 
He listened quietly to her response, hands idle against the arms of the chair as she spoke about survival. Ah, so it was something about survival. Good. It was a subject he was relatively confident in.

Eyes tracked her nervous ticks - the puffed breath was familiar. But not the moulding clasp of one hand over the other. Gloved fingers slowly straightened, lifting above the chair's arm into the air - and furled, three fingers producing a rapid trio of taps to match.

And when she elaborated on her expectation, they curled, as if blunt fingertips wanted to claw at the beautiful wooden carvings and tear them in agitation. Right through the pretty ornamental leaves. Oh if only he had claws.

Instead, his pale hand rose to the side of the face nearest and rubbed at it, pushing the eyebrow up and down. Of course. She probably discarded all of the rumours pertaining, didn't she. And the way they'd known each other was back when he was an aspiring weaver, drunk on his own potential and revolutionary ideas.

"I'm not much of a teacher experience-wise, Leysa," he tried to be delicate with how the truth was proffered. She didn't need to know too much. That was for those he'd... who could he trust, really? Those he'd choose to trade that information, more likely.

Pale hand raked through the wet strands, pushed them out of the face. They'd dry up soon enough, fluff up in those untamed, wavy locks.

"But this is something I can do for you," he added, alabaster fingers curling loosely at the chin, the curve of the index finger touching to the lower lip.
"Although, I will have you know that proper mastery of weaving may take years. Some things are impossible to learn fast, and we would still need to start with arcane theory, you may have heard of it as magicraft. And... if I have a better tutor that I can trust, I will convene with you in order to possibly split the practical part off to him."

A short sigh, his lips pressed tightly, eyes focused on the fire.

"What you can learn somewhat expediently is how to tell the little things. Discerning movement of the shroud, telling signs of someone afflicted by another's will, being able to tell between an active ward and an inactive one, that sort of thing. It wouldn't require almost any weaving skill. Everything else would take some weeks. And, like building an irrigation network - it's not something you can give up half-way at any juncture."

He turned his head, looked to her. Though he was turned away from the light, his eyes had miniscule glimmers running down the iris, feeding into a strange light in the pupils, like sparks of lighting or moonlight reflecting off slow-running droplets.

There was no feeling of invasion. The Shroud was everything, and in everyone. And he was peering into how it flowed through her. Not that it would affix her potential... but it might warn him of frailties to consider, if she did learn.

Was it slow, like sap going through set paths in the tree? Was it quick and fading like a wind gust curling in a draft? Was it like a volcano, concentrated and congealed within in great measure, contained, but volatile once let out into the world? Like a bird song, single-purposed and set, but carrying far?

"You do have some ability, dear friend, as far as I can see." he uttered, eyes once again gone dark. "But will you commit?"
 
Leysa knew this could take years, had alrrady fretted over it, and yet decided that even with that set back there was a point where she should start the process. What if one of her siblings is hurt in that time? What if something cursed happens upon them all? Her worries had been enough to quit to pursue, but Leysa knew it was best to learn and protect those that remained come the time.

Walter had spoken that reality, and to her credit, Leysa heard them. She did not wilt, did not lose hope. If anything, it only proved that Walter still held that same spirit from when they were younger. That he did not sugarcoat anything, not when he always knew how to speak with such delivery, the truth was never sharp at the edges.

She straightened the moment he made a counter offer.

"Oh," her expression turned serious, "Walter. I think you may be right on that..." Think. Be thorough. He had given her words to ponder, and Leysa's mind latched onto them. "Is it not an advantage to perceive such threats? Allows time of warning should anything happen and I am able to see it?"

It was difficult not to look hopeful. She was raised in such a way that things came easily to her, and hope was the paramount of ideals in times like these. Her eyes held the unfair imagery of innocence and endearment. "It would be a start, would it not?"
 
"It is useful, knowledge is power, after all," Walter replied. He sat a bit straighter, head held a bit higher as he measured her with a look and continued, sternly, "but there is also a vulnerability to be exploited in you possessing information yet being powerless to do anything about it. In the same way any sort of urgency creates an opening for emotional decisions. Do you understand?"

He sighed. The doe eyes often got him, even when they weren't deep and dark like hers and...
...his were this almost black color, too.
Bloody pirate.
...right, where were they?

"That, and... Bremen's restoration is weighing heavy on my shoulders. Despite having competent helpers, the land has been in disarray since my father - he was never much of a statesman, busy with other pursuits. It's a hundred different things to tend to. I don't imagine you consider it feasible to leave Arran to fend for himself here, either. A dilemma to discuss, perhaps?"
 
Leysa lifted her tea to drink, taking the quick respite as it replenished her dry mouth with just one sip. A knock came at the door, and a maid entered to place down the mulled wine Walter had asked for. Leys was ready with her thanks, watching her go before Walter continued to speak.

She listened to his concerns, for of course it was the first natural thing to speak of when consulting with someone who never performed a lick of weaving.

And yet the question posed had the noblewoman frowning. "I beg your pardon?" She laughed, nervous. "Was that... an invitation to visit your home? Perhaps shed some idea of how to hire a landscaper?" Leysa did not truly understand what her friend was asking of her, but she certainly did not mind helping the Thornley's look into hiring a landscaper and gardener if that was the invitation posed.

"If the matter is a pressing one, Walter, then we can get you a list of names before you depart today."
 
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