To Sack a Duchess

Dawnstar Keep: Hall of Dawn

Set within a contrast of the dark bluish-gray from the arsenic shades of the stone walls, the shimmering jet from the white-flecked marble floor, the silver of the wall sconces, the gold of the flames they contain, and the deep ruby of the carpeting path below, the Hall of Dawn is a location rich in color, mood, and warmth. ''The hall itself is of an uncomplicated design that consists of a generally rectangular space that tapirs into an isosceles trapezium at the western end, with the eastern side remaining that which leads back to the vestibule beyond, and which faces the city of Light's Reach beyond the keep.'' ''In the middle of isosceles trapezium sits the dais upon which the magnificent Dragonharp Throne rests. Two white-marble support pillars - entwinted with rich, serpentine, ivy filigree - stand just forward of the throne, flanking the seat of power on both sides while creating a little pocket of privacy to ensure that only those standing directly in front of the throne can look upon those within the enclave without obstruction.'' ''A large and somewhat ornate chandelier hangs above the Hall of Dawn to cast additional warm light upon those below, while tapestries hang from most walls to challenge the arsenic shades beneath them. Passageways lead to the North and South wings of Dawnstar Keep, while behind the Dragonharp throne itself can one find a large insignia of a rising silver sun above a jade landscape.''

Meian is waiting anxiously in the hall, her already tiny frame quite dwarfed by both the proportions of the room and a certain nervousness. Frequently she glances to either side, fiddling with the oversized steel ring on one of her fingers, booted footfalls back and forth swallowed up by the vastness of the space.

"I don't recall /having/ an appointment or audience request..." Comes a swift rebuttal from down the northern wing as the herald pinpoints his quarry. Footsteps begin to pace near as the pair moves towards the keep's center hall, whereupon the conversation continues. "No, no, put them back on the desk, there's no need to pack...I'm sorry but did I not just-" And at that moment, Rowena's exasperated scolding is brought to a halt by the delicate little figure standing nervously in the hall as she comes all but barreling around the corner. "Meian," She states, mouth quirked into an 'o' of surprise while the gears in her brain tick away toward the dreaded conclusion. "Good eve to you, I just spoke with your husband barely two nights ago, such a fine coincidence." Coming to stand still at a safe distance near the throne, Rowena places both hands over an arm rest and grips it rather tightly. "It /is/ a coincidence?" She adds with a tone slightly higher pitched than the former. She nearly swallows her lower lip in punctuation, teeth nervously nibbling at it.

Now at that, Meian outright startles. There's no other word for it, little frame straightening abruptly and practically leaving the ground in its haste to pull itself together. Eyes widened she dips into a curtsey, a deep one, a faintly glazed expression lingering on that pale face. "A-actually, it's f-funny you should s-say that- Your Grace- b-because he asked me if y-you'd like to, aaaah... W-wouldn't you like to c-come out to Night's E-edge for the evening? It'll be lovely..." This speech is all delivered at the nadir of that curtsey, the lady-mage only daring to peek up at Rowena once her words trickle away.

Slinking quietly behind from the southern wing comes a maidservant. She pauses very briefly to look at Meian over Rowena's turned back, offers a guilty kind of smile, then scurries quickly out of sight into the north wing. Knitting her brows in suspicion, Rowena whips her head 'round only to find herself facing arsenic walls. Intriguing. Looking back to Meian warily, she lifts one hand away from the armrest and leans against it with a hip. The wisdom of healers and scholars past floods her gaze now, placing the young woman beneath intense scrutiny. "I do enjoy visiting the domicile of my kin, however it seems we've a bout of inclement weather upon us. Is there a reason in particular? I was just about to finish my letters to the Grand Master regarding Celeste's inquiries of knighthood. Has she questions pertaining to this or has someone fallen ill?"

Meian only now dares to straighten, rubbing at the back of her neck with one small hand. That glassy weak smile just lingers on her face, the last bastion of a girl who has indeed found herself abruptly out of her depth. "T-there is, actually, yes, a reason in p-particular," Meian slowly confirms, and then brightens just slightly- smile daring to widen, as she offers up, "and d-don't you fret a m-moment about the weather, Your Grace, I c-can probably help you with that."

Surely he hadn't...that would be utterly impossible! In just a day and a half, orchestrating a wedding affair, much less getting half a notion as to where the intended groom would be hiding? Surely not. Surely. Casting off these silly paranoia with a twitch of a shrug, Rowena bows her chin into her chest and takes a deep breath. Where had her manners flown to? Was she really this worried and frightened that a freelander could manage to conspire with a few key parties and trick the former undead horsemaster and Prince of the Blood into being cornered into such a trap? Nay. Finding a grip on herself, Rowena lifts her head again with an easier smile. "Forgive my less than inviting greeting, Miss. I /should/ instead be congratulating you on your recent marriage to Master Firelight. Rain has not stopped my travels before and I suppose it won't do such tonight. Just let me take a few things from my bed..." At that precise moment (he'd probably been huddled around the corner for awhile now) the herald bustles around from said corner, struggling under the weight of a very overly loaded Backpack of the Watch. "'Ere you are, yer Grace!" He pants and casts a half bow without managing to tip over. "I'll go see to the horse." Dumbfounded, Rowena stares after him with blank expression.

And now the smile that toys with Meian's lips is unable to remain at bay. No, now it spreads, shattering her expression's terrified rigidity into something very much like... outright, unabashed glee. The mage leans in, pale eyes wide, and whispers, "I h-have a very, very lovely dress for you, Your Grace. I t-think it won't disappoint you." And she winks, cheerily, straightening once more and folding her arms behind her back. "My h-horse is already ready outside!"

"...Well that would be an unexpected gift. I'll admit I've not taken care to have new clothes tailored for some years now," Rowena answers with a distracted tone and equally wandering gaze. Her eyes travel back to catch sight of a giggling maid scuttling back to the southern wing. It seems that a sly mongoose was being baited out of her own slyness. Curling her lips with a wry smile, Rowena nods her agreement to Meian with a more direct look this time and sets a more solid pace for the door. "I'd better help him with that bag, at any rate."

Meian pads along after Rowena, matching the pace with hurried little steps of her small feet. The girl's smile is unwaning now, bright and perhaps a wee bit triumphant as well. "Of c-course, your Grace," she acknowledges, making sure she doesn't fall far behind. "I'm s-sure he would be very t-thankful for your help..."

Leading the way through the vestibule and towards the main entryway, Rowena tries to keep her thoughts clear of her previous conversation with a certain ex keep librarian. "I suppose we'd best hurry if we're to make curfew," She quips, looking around for more signs of treachory...er...trickery. "Might I be so lucky as to encounter a delicious meal of your own devising upon arrival?"

"D-delicious I certainly hope, Your Grace, but t-there certainly is a... small meal awaiting," Meian confirms, with a gentle nod of her dark head. There's a faint hint of surprise in that high soft voice as well, clarified when she inquires after a moment, "H-how did you know I was the c-cook, Your Grace? I had not r-really thought you knew me at all..." And she continues to keep pace, certainly not hurrying Rowena but never flagging behind.

Dawnstar Keep: Courtyard

''Less a Keep than a Palace, the large ".-H-." shaped building known as Dawnstar Keep is an impressive and indomitable sight to behold indeed. The main "H" of the keep proper is what looms above you now, carved of an unique and equally unusual smooth arsenic-gray stone. As the building has been raised by the Light rather than Imperial hands, the walls are interesting as they harbor no seams or flaws, yet feature beautiful embossed decorations and ornate carvings that mark the building as something special indeed.''

''Windows are spaced at equidistant locations around the walls, hinting at the rooms within, while the entrance to the vestibule is shielded from the elements by an archway that extends from the building, protecting the pair of guards from the Imperial Tribunal beneath from inclement weather and burning sunshine alike. It should be noted that these guards also seem to check for proof of citizenship before permitting anyone through the heavy biinwood doors and into the keep itself.''

''A spacious yard and herb garden sprout from a carpet of soft, feathery greens. Herbs seen growing here include lavender, sage, mint, and tingleleaf. Marble benches of varying colors offer an occasional resting place for garden admirers. Cobbled paths lead around the garden and into the ingress which leads into the keep itself. That same path also leads back to the main road, which in turn leads to the monument buildings of Temple of the White Dragon that extends to the north, and the Southern Aria to the south, as well as back down the slope to Whitehaven in the east.''

"I've been to Night's Edge before, Meian," Rowena explains softly with a patient smile. It doesn't take a great deal of scanning the yard to notice her herald attempting to hold Umbrus' reins with one hand while heaving up a load he could barely carry with two. Umbrus, of course, is a little less than cooperative during the whole ordeal. As soon as he sets eyes on his mistress, the black paso fino hip-hops his hooves until his opressor is toppled beneath the weight of the slipping pack and trots over for rescuing. "Even stayed long enough to dine. People do remark well on your skills in the kitchen and my palate would have to agree."

Meian winces sympathetically at the sight of the poor herald's plight, the expression followed quickly by a light flush asserting itself over the pallor of her cheeks. "Oh," the girl answers intelligently. "I... s-suppose I can be... r-rather slow at times... b-but, ah, t-thank you, Your Grace." The gratitude is offered with audible sincerity, even as she turns and slips away to her own horse... similarly black, unnecessarily huge, and absolutely placid. He receives a fond rub on the neck, and offers a phlegmatic little whinny in return.

"You," Rowena turns to Umbrus and snatches his reins without resistance, "Are not such the gentleman." Umbrus bellows a snort in dignified rebuttal and flicks his tail with annoyance to the herald who has recovered from his stumble and is hefting the load back towards the horse. "Allow me," Rowena tells him gently and takes the backpack from his hands. With a grunt and shove, she's lifted it up to strap into the saddle. The herald, blushing for his efforts, backs away and glances towards Meian to see if she needs help.

There's more grace to that scrawny form than its sparseness of line might at first imply- Meian easily clambers upward onto the back of her bulky black mount. Said grace does take a certain hit once she's in place, however, the girl leaning forward to cling to the horse's neck with the discomfort of one still fairly new to riding. Still, her voice is certain enough as she calls Rowena's way, "R-ready to go when y-you are, Your Grace," and patiently perches.

Rowena clambers up onto the horse after her bag and takes a moment to settle into the saddle. "Let us ride swift and hard before the skies sweep us to Jadesnake!" Rowena calls to Meian and swipes an already soggy lock of hair off her forehead. One hand fights to right the cloak's hood over her head while the other waves to the herald. "I'll send word in morning!" She vows and takes up the reins firmly. Umbrus whinnies and shakes his eyes free of water, muscles tensed and ready.

"I'm with y-you, Your Grace!" Meian hollers across the courtyard back at Rowena, settling back just a little in the saddle- sitting it somewhat uncomfortably, but with acceptable ease. The rain seems to be given hardly a second thought by the girl, no hood procured against the weather. Instead she tilts her face upward to it for a moment with a blissful smile and then takes up her own reins at the ready, her own Whinny merely waiting with even-tempered resignation.

"Very well, then!" Rowena shouts, squinting against the rain. It is odd, the freedom rain gives to one's feeling. A disheveled grin crosses her face and she adds while wheeling Umbrus around to bolt to the road "I'm going to need a very hot bath when this is through!"

Mikin Road

''The smooth cobblestone road cutting through the lands held by House Mikin is designed with straight lines - even where the geography has otherwise refused to cooperate. Vassals of House Mikin and soldiers of the former Emperor's Blades have managed to ford swamps and ponds with bridges, cut through the hearts of forests, and carve gaps in hillsides to make way for the level road as it forms its axis across the landscape.''

''The historical monastary of Night's Edge stands to the north of this section of Mikin Road; the location having seen more than its fair share of owners and neglect in recent decades. However, though the ruins of Night's Edge can still be explored, the land has been given to a second incarnation of the devout monastary thanks to the determination of one Celeste Mikin and a liberal amount of funding and support from House Mikin, House Kahar, and even the Imperial Government.''

The depths of the Mikin Woods spread across the horizon to the deeper north and south, while the ruined wastes of Light's Reach and the sundered bluff that it sat upon can be seen towards the west at the end of the highway.

Atop Whinny - Shire, "Well, here we are," Meian calls cheerfully through the downpour as the horses make their way up the road to Night's Edge, the girl reining in her Whinny- who just snuffles and slows from his not-overly-enthusiastic pace as it was. "I c-can take your horse, Your Grace, I i-imagine you want to go right inside f-first... I'd s-suggest you step into the dining hall, go w-warm yourself by the hearth..?"

"We remain in one piece, thus the evening is deemed successful," Rowena chirps as the walls of Night's Edge slowly become more visible in the darkness. That is to say, lanterns and torches of men at watch become more visible. "My horse? Well..." Warily, she leans forward to go eye to eye with Umbrus. "I suppose he's wanting the warmth of a stable enough that he'll cooperate with you. If not, don't hesitate to find me!" Grateful for the chance to abruptly skip the weather, Rowena slides free and into the mud with a 'splat' before tugging at the saddlebag straps.

Atop Whinny - Shire, "Oh, but first, my g-gift to you!" Meian cries in sudden realization, sliding off the side of her own horse gracelessly and stumbling before catching her feet. "If y-you should like to wear it, I s-suspect it's been kept dry by all t-this..." And she hands a simple leather bag Rowena's way, closed and slick with the rain but seemingly mostly intact. "There are g-guest chambers off the dining hall to c-change in, my lady." Her other hand gathers up reins.

"Ah, my thanks," Rowena smiles meekly, keeping the bag closed for fear of what lies inside. Such things would best be revealed in private. "I will be happy to be relieved of my gown, I'm certain. Wet silk does get very, /very/ heavy." And cumbersone. Walking with more a waddle than her usual straight-line step, Rowena keeps one hand on the strap of her backpack and uses the other to tuck the bundled gown close to her chest. As she escapes the rain, Umbrus snorts again and stamps a hoof, sending a spattering of mud into the air. He looks to Meian woefully with those big, blue eyes and snort-rumbles again.

Night's Edge Monastary: Dining Hall

''The eunuchs of Nights Edge Monastery long ago gathered in this arched chamber in mass for three meals each day. In the morning, they ate a meal called Suns Grace. When the sun reached its apex at noon, they came together for Days Fullness And as the sun descended toward the west each evening, they made their way up the shadow Watch Walkway to the dining hall for the meal knows as Shadows Fending.''

''The spacious hall was originally designed to hold more than a dozen tables capable of seating more than one hundred eunuchs, the abbot and his staff. Designed in shades of dark and light, the walls of white sun clay brick lead up to dark shardwood rafters in the shadowy recesses of the arched ceiling, with a polished-smooth, rich wooden floor worn with the passage of time and heavy use. The room's acoustics are surprisingly soft, the worn floor doing a great deal to limit the noise when full with those who call the manor home.''

''Along the back wall is the large fireplace and the room's banked ovens, built into the brick of the wall itself, with freestanding stoves and a large steel spit for roasting meats. A small, heavy biinwood door leads out to the narrow armory and on to the salle in the southwestern corner, while another larger and braced door leads off into the courtyard. On the north wall, an arched embrasure leads off into the manor's guest quarters, while to the east, a wide and heavy archway leads on to the peace of the chapel.''

Victoria has pulled one of the chairs from the tables over to the wall next to the fireplace, where she can lean back and rest against the stone, facing the room. Her eyes are closed, her hands resting in her lap, but she still manages to present a rather odd figure, dressed as she is in full leather armor, including gloves and an enveloping cloak. Even while resting, her delicate features are slightly pinched into a perpetual frown. She sits motionless, barely moving at all, even with her breathing.

"Light above," Rowena mutters to herself, shouldering her way in through the dining hall doors with her eyes kept to the leather bag in her hands. The duchess has been through quite an ordeal, it seems, at least in terms of weather. Her cloak clings closely to her equally drenched silk gown. Matted hair sends little rivulets of water trickling into her lashes where it can be blinked irritably away. Okay, she bit, so where now was the catch? Rowena is so engrossed in her self mutterings that she's crossed over half the hall en route to the guest wing before taking note of the rather obscene quantities of feast laid out on the tables /and/ the woman sitting near the hearth. Stopping for a moment in her tracks, Rowena quirks a brow. "Pardon my intrusions...miss? Might a guest chamber be free for my using that you know of?"

Victoria doesn't reply immediately, though her eyes open rather quickly at the sound of Rowena's voice. It seems to take her a few seconds to become aware of her surroundings again. She blinks, raising her head to peer at the drenched woman. "Ah.. my Lady?" She straightens up a little. "I don't know in particular, but I can't imagine Lady Celeste would turn you away, so I'm sure there must be.. something.." she frowns, looking momentarily concerned. "Do you need a... towel, or something?" She's obviously not a domestic servant, and thus the offer is a somewhat awkward one, but it seems genuine nonetheless.

"I..um." At a relative loss for words as she switches her attention from the leather-clad woman to the bounty of food, Rowena pales slightly. "I'll find one. Thank you." Her steps are fueled with a new vigor now, suspicions running high about the contents of the package in her arms. Leaving the warmth of the dining hall behind, she walks stiffly towards the guest wing.

Victoria frowns a bit more, tilting her head to one side as she watches the Duchess depart, but leans back against the wall anyway, settling into a comfortable posture once again. She seems to be cautiously returning to a resting state, her eyes narrowing again. Overall, she seems pretty thoroughly exhausted, in the physical sense at least.

Night's Edge Monastary: Guest Chambers

''Once reserved for important guests of the abbot of Nights Edge Monastery, this spacious sun clay chamber has been renovated to roughly its original state, with a fireplace set towards the northern wall and a lovingly polished floor worn from the passage of time. Etched over the stonework of the fireplace is the image of a half-moon, half-sun of white sun clay tiles and black basalt stone.''

''Rich red curtains hang in the narrow embrasures over windows tall and thin that serve to let in light on those summer days when the fireplace's warmth would be oppressive, yet keeping the room cloistered by remaining too small for anyone but the smallest of children to pass. The room absorbs sound, providing a quiet refuge amidst the manor's daily activity.''

Once safely inside, Rowena dumps her backpack at the foot of the bed but maintains a firm grip on the leather bag in her hands, eyeing it with something just shy of a glare. They couldn’t have possibly. They didn’t know her measurements!

Eyeing the bathtub longingly, Rowena hesitates as to what to do next. Leave it! But she was cold. She needed to change NOW before her chest was enveloped in coughing fits. Suspicions and sensibility battling one another, Rowena allows her fingers to fumble with the tie then lay the package down onto the bed.

One step away, she sheds her current garb and kicks it irritably towards the hearth’s warmth before lunging two steps back again until she’s hovered directly over the thing of her terror. “Don’t be such a nervous child,” She tsks herself and with a decisive eyeroll, sigh and mutter, flicks the flap back from the bag’s opening, seizes a handful of the fabric within, and yanks it out into light.

''The shriek that follows carries well through the earthen walls, through open expanses beyond the door, and lands a muffled version well within the hearing range of those in the chapel. An impressive feat, all told.''

Some minutes later as Rowena sits staring at the dress, there’s a timid knock at the door. The voice of Meian eeks through. "Ah, d-do you... need any help?"

Rowena's voice replies with a very, very low, controlled tone. "It seems I've befallen a small predicament, is all. Should it be that I endure the remainder of the evening in this rain-begotten gown and catch my death of cold, or should I inappropriately stroll about the keep grounds wearing the colors befitting of a woman's particular, singly occurring day?"

Through the door, quite audibly, Meian responds with "Ah, w-well, Your Grace, I d-don't think we've got anything else in your size, but I'd be g-glad to check..."

Silence is her only answer.

Tentatively, Meian adds "Your G-grace, if you'd like me to come in... I mean, I'd be h-happy to help you with a-anything... getting dressed, or f-fetching anything you'd like..."

There's another drawn-out pause then Rowena sighs. "Just...well I seem to have left my combs and such at home. That and some water perhaps will be all."'

"All r-right, I've some combs.. one moment..." A sizable pause, and then: "Okay, Your Grace, shall I c-come in?"

"Aye..." Rowena answers softly and there's a rustling of fabric.

Perched on the edge of the black marble tub is a slump-shouldered Rowena. Her original gown has been shed and lain before the hearth whereas the green, velvet dress is currently held in her lap, splayed out like a body across her stocking-kept legs and bared arms. The duchess is hunched over in her under garments, staring at the green with a guarded expression though there is some trembling to her breathing. Then again, that could simply be her shivering. "I'm at a loss for words, Meian..." She murmurs, glancing up as the door opens and drawing the dress a bit more closely to her frame for modesty's sake. Skin that's not seen the sun for o'er a decade contrasts sharply against the black marble as she folds her arms around the gown and midsection, expression transitioning swiftly from bold duchess to frightened fawn.

Meian modestly averts her pale eyes, clearing her throat gently, as she opens the door. "Ah, Y-your Grace... I... am s-somewhat at a loss for much of everything," the girl confesses, proceeding inward and shutting the door behind her. One hand holds a sizable silver goblet of water, which is set down on the edge of the tub- the other holds serviceable if simple wooden combs, one coarse-toothed and the other fine. "But K-kael is the sort of m-man who... takes few words lightly."

"This I have learned..." Rowena muses, a degree of warmth seeping back into the corners of her eyes as she narrows them on the combs. "So I suppose it would be horrid of me to overturn his past forty hours of work. Tell me, did the man even sleep?" Rising, she carries the dress to the bed and lays it down there, bending to unthread the enclosure in back.

"Probably not," Meian confesses with a low, shy laugh bubbling up from her throat. "Your Grace, I.. am s-sure you are a-accustomed to having the help of maids, so if there's a-anything you would wish for my aid with..." The combs are now settled next to the dress, the girl straightening and stepping back to give Rowena a good amount of room. "W-well, I'd be honored."

Offering Meian a knowing smile, Rowena bows her head. "Thank you, Meian. I'm not sure what means you had to take in order to acquire this gown in so little time, but I hope it was not much." Moving past the girl, she takes up the goblet of water and lifts it to her lips for a small sip. A cool touch to a dried throat. The rest of the water, however, is put to far different use and becomes splashed on her face once she's knelt by the wash tub. "If I am going to face a puzzled and potentially annoyed Prince, I'd best look the desired part, eh?"

Meian giggles helplessly, her eyes twinkling with uncontrollable good cheer as she murmurs, "W-well, it wouldn't be so bad if e-everything you said to Kael c-came true, would it, Your Grace? Him, and a c-chapel, and a priest and flowers and a d-dress and rings- though I don't know w-what you said and what part of it h-he came up with all on his own, really. Anyway, the d-dress is more the e-effort of a wonderful tailor who was up w-working all night on it, all I did was p-pay, and after all the money w-we were given for our own w-wedding.. oh, dear, I'm r-rambling..." She clears her throat and continues to stand back. "You'll be lovely."

"Meian," Rowena chides softly, rising from the quick wash and casting a worrisome eye over her. "You should not have spent your wedding's wealth on my...risky proposal of one. I /will/ reimburse the both of you." Blotting her face dry with a bath linen, she moves back towards the bed and shifts through the backpack in search of a few items. Out falls a vial of scented oil, a pigment powder, and a handful of tiny hair pins. "Let us begin the masquerade..." Forte is lifted cautiously off her crown and lain to rest atop the bed blankets, freeing her hair for grooming.

"B-believe me, Your Grace, the s-sums we were g-given... it was more m-money than we knew how to spend, and m-more money than t-that dress cost even with g-getting it made in such a hurry," Meian assures Rowena carelessly, shaking her dark head. "...a-are you sure I can be of no help?" the girl ventures after a moment, pale eyes watching the details of the noblewoman's toilette with quiet interest.

Picking up the thicker-toothed comb, Rowena glances keenly over her shoulder and sits precariously sideways on the edge of the bed. "How fair your skills in braiding?" She inquires and invitingly holds the comb backwards while plucking up a few hairpins. "I've ribbon in the pack to bind the final product."

"Entirely capable," Meian assures the noblewoman, hustling forward to accept the wooden trinket. Her hands reach up with deft gentleness, aiming to gather the fall of chocolate locks in one hand and pass the comb through, beginning at the bottom of the hair and working their way up if any tangles are encountered. "I shall d-do that just as soon as I've it all perfectly smooth.." And she sets to work with single-minded attention.

Sitting with practiced stillness, Rowena flinches not at any snags, her gaze focused strictly ahead. While her outer self remains calmed, however, her innards continue to reel with uncertainty. A long night lay ahead...one way or the other.

The assembly of braids- each finished by the ribbons purloined from that indicated pack- is managed quite quickly by hands that seem accustomed to the task, Meian preparing the hairdo with silent and focused attention. As she tucks a last hairpin into place to ensure the bun is steady, the girl steps back and finally lets herself breathe, a deep, slow exhalation paired with an approving smile. "A-all right. That's t-that, then." She turns to gather up the dress, holding it out and open for the noblewoman to step inside. "And now..?"

Touching a hand to her hair, Rowena takes a deep breath. "Now we face...the rest?" Delicately, she slides one foot after another into the volume of the gown and pokes a hand into each sleeve. "I'm not even certain how to proceed beyond this room, in all honesty. I truly did not believe this would come to pass. It was meant as a jest, by my words..."

"Hopefully one t-that will bring happiness as w-well as mirth, Your Grace," Meian murmurs gently as she slides the gown into place, attending to its fastenings as swiftly as she had attended to the matter of braiding. "We s-shall have you dressed, and h-head to the chapel, and if n-nothing else, you have a bit of a rehearsal, mmm?"

"I suppose..." Rowena mutters, looking down to the lush, forested green that now flows over her form. The color of fertility, new life. Blushing faintly, she sets to work with the remainder of her toilette, batting the peachy tone back into her now-ashen cheeks and blotting some of the mint-scented oil onto her palms. From there, it's used to lightly swipe over the braids and very cautiously pull a few wisps free from her temples. The silken locks are twirled around her fingers until the desired shape is slicked into place.

A soft, approving sigh escapes Meian as she steps back, taking in the sight of Rowena. The knocking causes her eyes to widen, and the girl cautions, "Oh, Your G-grace! I'll get t-that, don't you worry about it-" And she hurries for the door, only opening it as widely as is necessary to squeeze her tiny frame through before closing it once more.

Night's Edge Monastary: Dining Hall

''The eunuchs of Nights Edge Monastery long ago gathered in this arched chamber in mass for three meals each day. In the morning, they ate a meal called Suns Grace. When the sun reached its apex at noon, they came together for Days Fullness And as the sun descended toward the west each evening, they made their way up the shadow Watch Walkway to the dining hall for the meal knows as Shadows Fending.''

''The spacious hall was originally designed to hold more than a dozen tables capable of seating more than one hundred eunuchs, the abbot and his staff. Designed in shades of dark and light, the walls of white sun clay brick lead up to dark shardwood rafters in the shadowy recesses of the arched ceiling, with a polished-smooth, rich wooden floor worn with the passage of time and heavy use. The room's acoustics are surprisingly soft, the worn floor doing a great deal to limit the noise when full with those who call the manor home.''

''Along the back wall is the large fireplace and the room's banked ovens, built into the brick of the wall itself, with freestanding stoves and a large steel spit for roasting meats. A small, heavy biinwood door leads out to the narrow armory and on to the salle in the southwestern corner, while another larger and braced door leads off into the courtyard. On the north wall, an arched embrasure leads off into the manor's guest quarters, while to the east, a wide and heavy archway leads on to the peace of the chapel.''

Kael, looking ... 'a trifle moist' and, frankly, a bit worried, stands just outside the guest room, apparently the source of the knock. There's... yes. That's a burlap sack, tossed over his shoulder, an aging thing that probably held a handful of potatoes, but is certainly not large enough to hold a people - but he musters a smile, speaking to the closed door - "Yer Grace? S' time, if yer up fer comin' out."

Meian is the first answer to Kael's question, her little form squeezing out of the door through a crack that's hardly big enough to permit her egress. "She's j-just about ready, Her Grace is," the girl informs the mage excitedly, eyes sparkling.

"I don't have the words to express this situation at current, Master Firelight," Rowena clips her tone from inside, clearly nose to nose with the man but on the other side of it, "But when I do, I assure you it will be a mouthful." That said, the door is yanked open a bit more widely, and in it stands the product of what was without a doubt many worried hours. Glancing briefly past their heads to ensure a clear coast, Rowena is at first oblivious of the sack. "Where is he?"

Victoria steps in from the salle, looking even more 'moist' than Kael, in the sense of actually dripping on things, as she pushes her hood back off of her head and straightens her hair out from under her collar. She remains just inside the door, glancing around the room and looking generally dark and sinister.

Kael doesn't flinch - rather he smiles, warmly - "'es near. Jus' one door from where w' stand. Jus' as y' wanted... 'cept.. m' nae about t' put a wildcat 'n a sack." He winks. "but I brought ye th' sack, if y' still wanted 't." He takes a breath, "wi' ye come?"

Meian claps her hands together in sheer joy, and then turns to dart across the room- lithe movements taking her over to where a bouquet's been set aside. This she seizes, the spray of Mikin orchids held with cautious care as she sprints back to Rowena to offer it up with a curtsey. "Oh, do, Y-your Grace," she offers with heartfelt, earnest entreaty in her voice.

In spite of herself, a little smile still tugs at the corners of Rowena's lips as she eyes the sack. "It might come in useful, so keep it handy," She notes, then looks to the flower-wielding Meian with an odd glint in her eyes. "Because flowers are better than a footrace.." she murmurs, nose wrinkling in humor at a fond memory. "All right. Shall I be armed with these rather than the sack?" Accepting the flowers with a graceful curtsy of her own, the duchess clamps her hand around tonight's fate.