Disappointing Politics

Library - 

The Library of Dawnstar Keep is a source of wonder as much as it is a source of knowledge, as the majority of the tomes, scrolls, and documents, that can be found here did not previously exist in Fastheld before the rebirth of Light's Reach - or if they did, had long since become lost or misplaced.

'Though now the second largest source of literary work next to the Stanchion, the basic layout of the library is far from dramatic, following a general "H" path through the various shelves of neatly stacked books and tomes, and the occasional associated effect such as crystal balls and even a human skull or two that are being used as bookstops. The spacious room itself is actually rectangular in shape, but the tall shelves give a misleading sense of fictional design.'

'The carpetting here, it should be noted, is a calm blue with black trim rather than the usual lush red, and the walls that also serve as the North Wing's outer wall even feature a few tall and crystal-clear windows to permit light to stream into the solitude of shelves and script during the day. The stone walls remain that same dark bluish-gray, however, yet most of it remains lost behind the rows of tomes. Tables upon which study rest in the northern ends of the "H" branches, while candles and lanterns can be located when the need arises.'

'It is a quite cold night. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. It rains heavily, drenching the land in water.' The following of the six moons are visible in the sky: Torch I (gray/waning), Torch II (gray/waning).

The rain is forced to look longingly into the warmth of the library as it pours down, unable to penetrate the windows. To the rhythm of its pattering, a solitary figure waits at one of the northern table nooks, humming something to herself. The sound carries oddly in the vast but crowded chamber. Crowded with shelves and literature, that is. A silver platter of bread, wine, and some bits of smoked meats remain on the table, untouched, awaiting company. A servant steps into the library, approaching the Duchess and bowing lowly, "The Countess Nayla Zahir is here, your Grace." Said Countess waits within the door, hands clasped before her and head bowed slightly.

"Of course," Rowena nods, smiling to the attendant and stands from the biinwood table. "I was not going to drink all this wine by myself." Murmuring a tease to the servant in her gentle way, the duchess swishes dutifully from her seclusion and emerges around a 'hallway' of shelving to face the visitor herself. "Welcome, Countess. I hope the rain did worsen your travel too terribly?" She remains standing at a distance by her books and gestures with both hands for the younger woman to feel free to enter. "If you are too wet, there are warmer places to speak than this lofty space, should you desire."

"The rain was not much of a bother," Nayla replies pleasantly, in spite of the fact that her hair has been flattened down significantly by it. The Countess approaches and offers a humble curtsey, "My sincerest thanks to you for seeing me, your Grace. You do me a great honor in allowing me an audience."

"Then allow me to extend my gratitude to /you/, Countess, because you have given me a much needed reprieve away from herbal inventories. If I look at so much as one more sprig of sage this evening, I will sneeze." Dipping her head forward in a returned bow of sorts, Rowena extends her right arm towards the literary alcove from which she'd risen. A glance is spared to the attendant. "Thank you, Amalie. We'll be content together." Knowing well the underlying message, the servant bobs a curtsy to each woman in turn, then scurries silently away, leaving the two nobility to speak in peace. Rowena takes a gliding step amidst a swaying of skirts towards the table. "Given the timing of your audience request I may have a small hunch as to which matter it pertains. Would it concern you that a well known Godric Lomasa has also contacted me with such a request?"

"I know the feeling," Nayla replies with a small smile, starting for the alcove, "I'm a bit of an herbalist myself, although it's really more of a hobby than anything else." The smile fades oh-so-slightly as the former Lomasa is mentioned, and the Countess replies, "Everything Godric does concerns me, your Grace... So, I suppose it would be a waste of your time and mine if I went on with what I came here for, wouldn't it?"

A patient, self-satisfied smile causes wrinkles to form in the corners of the Duchess' emerald eyes. She bows her chin into her chest with a sage-like nod. "Perhaps. But as far as my intuition is capable of reaching, it is not yet able to discern all details. So please...indulge me as you wish and I shall listen."

"There is really not much to say on the matter, in all honesty," the Countess replies, "You are the only member of the Duchy I believe forgiving enough to even consider helping him, and it is in desperation that I even try. I was hoping..." Nayla sighs and quirks a sad little smile, "I was hoping that you might take pity on the woman foolish enough to have fallen for him."

"And here I suspected an outcry for denial! Nay, dear intuition you have failed me after all." Tsking softly, Rowena sighs and reaches to pull her chair aside so that she may sit against the table. It's with great care that she smooths her gown before and after sitting. A fidget, more than necessity. "Women in love do set their hearts for a course without sway, do they not? Woe to those who would bar that path." Offering a sympathetic nod in Nayla's direction, she gestures to the other chairs and then reaches to pour wine. "Matriarch I was of House Mikin. A woman's ruling to govern a house after the death of her brother. That was acceptable, yes. But now, matriarch of Valoria I may be, there is again a Patriarch to consider."

Nayla seats herself in one of the offered chairs, "They certainly do, yes. Seems this one has set hers on a rather... eventful path." The Countess lets out a soft sigh, before continuing, "Yes, there is a Patriarch to consider. But it is much easier to get in touch with you, your Grace. It is also perhaps a better path to get you to hear my plea first. After all, if you cannot feel pity enough to help me, what chance have I to convince another?"

"It is my calling to help people, Countess. That is how I was appointed to my position those years ago. I will hear your plea, but then you must hear my perspective so that we are both at understanding with one another." The tankard of wine is left to rest after splashing a little in each goblet and she gently pushes one in Nayla's direction. "Eat, if you'd like." Eyes and ears focused intently on her visitor, Rowena permits her fingers to busy themselves with tearing away a piece of bread.

The Countess takes her goblet with a soft word of thanks and takes a sip from it, "Of course, your Grace. It would be rather rude of me not to hear your point of view on the matter, especially after you have been most generous in not throwing me out for even thinking of such a request." Nayla smiles mildly and says, "My plea, as you may have guessed by now, is to have Godric accepted as a member of House Valoria. Under the condition that I will be doing everything in my power to make him tone down the rampant pride that has gotten him into this mess in the first place. Although... I must admit, I have been trying at it for some time already, without much in the way of success. I am willing to do whatever it would take, however, if it means keeping him."

To this, Rowena's lips twitch and eyes avert to her wine as she swirls it idly in the goblet. Masked amusement, perhaps. "I imagine that every woman wishes she had a means of tying reins to her husband's actions. Those of wiser minds of course have learned that a man's pride will traverse his own way, burdened or not. It is the natural way of things, for man to forge his own path through the world. Through society. And, be as it may, the disowned Baron has spent much of his forging gallivanting through muck. Now he's found himself dangerously deep without the alliance of his name, that which he chased away with a long history of foolhardy decisions." Rowena punctuates the allegory with a troubled furrow of her brows as she tastes the wine, then relaxes them with a second one. "Bitter grapes do not produce so sweet a bounty." The goblet is set back to rest with a muffled 'clunk' of its solid, silver base. "What does House Zahir say of adopting the wayward Lomasa? His claiming of the Zahir surname would not inhibit your relations..."

"My Matriarch believes that adopting the Baron is political suicide," Nayla states plainly, "It would be to defy the Duke Lomasa and invite all of his problems with the man onto oneself. I am saddened to admit that I quite agree with her Grace. She is actually the one who referred me to you, under the belief that the Duke would not be offended, and perhaps that you could have a calming influence on Godric."

"Your matriarch is correct in her assessment of what such adoption may bring," Rowena nods, lifting a few fingers to scratch at an itch beneath her circlet. "I do not believe there would be reason for Duke Lomasa to resent House Zahir for sheltering Godric beneath their wings, but I do believe that there is risk investing your name in a seemingly unpredictable man." The Duchess clears her throat softly and folds her hands complacently in her lap. "Duke Lomasa has already expressed a degree of frustration with House Mikin from his tensions with my cousin. Their conflict threatened petty feud for a time. While I hardly fear the Duke, nor care about his personal opinion of myself, I am charged with nurturing this newborn House into its prime. While our numbers are now great, Valoria is yet young and all young things remain unstable for a time. It may not do well to add scandal, should his trend of ill behavior continue, to our infant history." Words gently spoken but firmness radiating from her gaze, Rowena lifts one hand to bring a piece of bread to her lips. "If House Valoria is to adopt Godric, it would take great convincing on his part to impress our converged bloodlines. He is not the first man to seek refuge from me. The former Baron Adaer Kahar now resides with the name 'Bryce' to rebirth his life's journey. As much as I wished to give him a second chance to prove himself worthy of the title Baron as a Mikin, the Prince was not as eager, nor my brethren. I am not the only voice who holds weight to speak on his behalf to the crown. Others must be rallied to do the same if fairness is to be had. If fairness is not to be had, and the decision be placed solely on the House heads, then it still must be considered by one more body, despite his more ellusive tendancies."

"So basically, 'I'm afraid I can't help you,'" Nayla summarizes, taking a rather long sip of her wine. Some of the color seems to have drained from the Countess, her already-pale complexion nearly white and her eyes losing much sign of life. Other than that, however, she manages to maintain about the same facial expression and body language of one knowing that their opponent in a simple game of cards is about to win.

Rowena sighs, mirroring the lengthy sip of wine despite the taste. Scooting it aside then, she folds her elbows on the table and leans inward a touch. The waterstone pendant sways free of its resting place against her breast and twirls silent radiance on the biinwood below. "I know that my responses are not considered ideal by your worried heart, Countess. Heavy words fall heavier still on hopeful ears." Something softens in the diplomatic hardness of her eyes, revealing a glimpse of the Rowena that most used to know. That glimpse elongates into steadfastness, her visage relaxing to loosen the neutral mask. Here, across the table from she, sits a young woman whose position mirrored one of her own past youth. Only one of cold heart could turn away so listless a face. "Lose not your faith in my empathy," she murmurs, "If Godric is unable to be accepted into a noble name, and I emphasize the word 'IF', no end is fully spelled for your...love? I, too, once loved, or thought I loved, a man whom station had not blessed. He was the steward to my eldest brother at East Bluff Keep. In time, his diligence in his work grew him great favor in Alieron's eyes, and my brother consented to the possibility of a union. He would not gain nobility, no. His blood denied him that. But I would not lose mine. He simply would remain as a consort to this Duchy. Had our closeness not crumbled, I imagine the concept would have succeeded." Something between a grimace and a smile surfaces to her expression as that memory is brought to light. "I am not attempting to be a barrier between you and yours. I am only explaining that I cannot promise he will bear the name Valoria." Ending in almost a whisper, she retracts her intimate lean back into her seat, watching Nayla with careful concern.

"The likelihood of Godric gaining such favor is the same as, perhaps less than, that of regaining his nobility," Nayla remarks flatly, "If he was any good at gaining favor with anyone other than myself, he wouldn't be in such a position in the first place." A soft sigh and the Countess adds, "I had no hope to begin with, your Grace. I told you before, I came here out of desperation. Please speak plainly with me: is there really any chance that you can help him?"

"If he can plead his case before myself and the Prince and in doing so, gain our trust. Then yes. If he cannot...then it would be an irresponsible decision on my part to recommend his adoption. Meaning no." Retiring her game face in full, Rowena takes another sip of wine and pats the table. "Word has it he already seeks an audience. Advise him that successful entrance into House Valoria will require a drastic shaping and swift correspondance to Serath and myself."

"I'm not holding my breath for something like that," Nayla remarks, "But I will be sure to tell him. There is no harm in trying, after all." The Countess finishes her own wine and lets out a breath, "I don't suppose I'd be able to speak on his behalf in such an audience as well?"

"If you wish, yes, you may accompany him and speak." Nodding her consent, Rowena chews thoughtfully on another piece of bread. "The words he wishes to put forth must come from his own mouth, however, for a man who lacks gall to speak on his own behalf is not fit for those of our court. Having met Godric on a couple of occasions, I do of course know him to posses gal indeed."

Nayla nods, "He will speak on his own behalf, of course. I merely wish to be there and fill in the points I know he would not think of. Try to put into words what I see in him."

A secretive smile draws Rowena's lips to one side. "A woman's eye is always more keen when it comes to aspects of the soul."

"Perhaps," Nayla replies, "But there are times when I wonder if it isn't the opposite."

"I've yet to admit to such a short-falling." Smile broadening, Rowena looks down into her hands. "Well, my dear Countess Zahir, I hope that my words have helped to give you a sense of some direction, even if they have failed to deliver comfort. For many years I abhorred the political strings that keep our homes afloat. I rebelled in most ways I could, subtly. Having grown older and having acquired far more responsibilities than I might have liked, I find that some of it does, in fact, have roots of reason beyond this catty aparation we call reputation. It makes sense. Some. When you leave here this eve, carry with you the knowledge that I understand your plight and the pain it brings. But if Godric is to be reconciled and drawn into our House, it must be justified by reasons other than the love that a woman from yet a separate House possesses for him."

Nodding, Nayla rises slowly from her seat and offers a low curtsey, "I understand, your Grace. Thank you again for seeing me. Your words have, indeed, been of great help."

"Then it was no trouble," Rising also, Rowena gives a curtsy in turn, refraining from smiling at the gesture. It had, afterall, been a long time since she had done such. "Do not hesitate to contact me with further concerns. My ears and doors are frequently open." And, in the midst of the lengthy consultation, the rain has lost its vigor. Teary clouds begin to dry up, so sayeth the sporadic rapping of lonely droplets from the sky.

"Of course, your Grace," Nayla replies, "My thanks again. May the Light ever shine on you and your House." With that, the Zahir turns to make her way out.

"The Light is in no short supply here, Countess," Rowena chuckles softly and lifts a hand in farewell, remaining at the table's side. "May it keep you as kindly." Waiting there to hear the sounds that confirms the attendant has reclaimed her visitor safely, Rowena listens to the alternating drum of water above.

The skies may appear to be clearing by the sound of it, but the failure of moonlight to shine through the darkness suggests that turbulent hours lay ahead indeed.

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