(514-06-06) In an Inn
Summary: Cordelia and Angharad meet in an inn in Sarum and have a small chat.
Date: 6/6/14
Related: None
angharad cordelia 


It was a quiet night at the inn, for some reason or another. Gossip of a murder in the streets had chins wagging and suspicious looks cast over shoulders and the mood was notably somber. The sun had set hours ago and most of the travellers had already retired to their rooms. A few still milled about in the main room and Cordelia was among them.

She sits in a chair facing the hearth erected in the middle of the room, quietly perusing the letter in her hand, occasionally lifting her gaze to glance at the other occupants.

On one of those occasions when Cordelia looks up from her letter, she might note a dark-haired girl approaching where she sits. Gracefully she weaves her way through tables and chairs, her hands knotted together behind her back as she makes apologies and greetings to those whom she passes. She wears a simple dress of copper-coloured wool, the neckline embroidered with gilt coloured threads that match the borders on both sleeves and hem. There's a brightness to her, a vitality, her hair twisted through with flowers that are starting to wilt, though she seems not of a mind to pull them free as she finally makes the hearth and offers a quick smile to Cordelia. "Do you mind if I claim a spare chair for a moment, milady? I'm not yet tired enough to retire to my room."

Discerning green eyes do fall upon Angharad when Cordelia senses her approach. She gives the other woman a quick once over before politely nodding her consent. "It is yours to take, milady. Feel free." There were several nearby, but the closest is also directed at the crackling fire to help it's occupant appreciate the pleasant heat. The letter she was holding is folded neatly and set in her lap.

The attire the Pitton maiden wore was similiar to her companion's: a woolen forest green dress and small fur cape wrapped over her slender shoulders. Her dark blonde hair was tightly braided and fell down her back, though wispy strands had escaped in the labor of her travels. "From where do you hail?"

Angharad sinks gratefully into the seat, her right hand hitching her gown a few inches before it's smoothed neatly back into place once she's down. "From Newton Tony, milady," she says, tugging her braid forward so that it falls neatly over her left shoulder. "I'm Lady Angharad, perhaps you may know of my sister and brother. They both took part in the wedding tournament. Sir Seraphina and Sir Glaw." Having made herself as comfortable as she can, she holds her hands out to the fire, allowing the head to warm her a little, though even so a small shiver runs through her since she's no furs about her shoulders. "And yourself? Do you hail from far?"

Critical Success!
You check your recognize at 3, you rolled 3.

"Ah, Newton Tony," she states to no one in particular other than herself. "I am Lady Cordelia de Pitton, of Pitton manor. It is a pleasure to make your acqaintance, Lady Angharad." There is a pause after she formally introduces herself as she assesses her own memory before she nods to Angharad. "I'm afraid I have not met them personally but I have seen and heard of their feats in the tournament." Her pink lips curve into a small smile. "You must be proud. My brother and cousin competed as well, but I suspect the latter isn't pleased with his showing. I have not spoken with him since, however, so perhaps I am wrong." She looks thoughtfully into the fire dancing in the hearth. "I contemplated competing in the other contests, but I arrived too late to make the entry. Another time."

"Oh yes. Terribly proud," Angharad smiles, the tip of her nose crinkling as hands rub together and then get dropped back down to her lap. "Especially of Seraphina. She made it through to the third rounds before she was tumbled from her mount and sent out of the tournament." Another small shiver is given, her shoulders hitching towards her ears before, with a sigh, she slides her feet from her slippers and tucks them up beneath her in the chair before curling herself into it's corner. A glance to the letter that Cordelia holds. "But I am drawing you from what you were doing," she goes on to say. "… and I could not forgive myself if you were seeking a little quiet moment for yourself. In some ways I'll be happy to return home once the festivities close, I miss my books."

Her eyes are drawn away from the fire and back to the letter nestled in her lap. "It is nothing that cannot wait and it is rude to ignore company. I will read it in it's entirety when I retreat to my room." Cordelia regards Angharad curiously when she shivers and curls up in her seat as though trying to protect herself. Admittedly, the fire warming the room is small and the warmth only brushes the two women. "It is warmer here than it is there. Do you wish to borrow my cloak? It is not very big, but it may help."

Angharad shakes her head quickly. "I could not possibly take your cloak from you," she says, a smile melting over her face. "I will warm soon enough given the fire, and despite my claim of not yet being tired I shall have to retire soon, or suffer for it come the morning." She fluffs her skirt over her feet where they're tucked, then starts to pull at the flowers in her hair, disentangling them and placing them in a small pile within her lap. Wilting. Faded. They form a forlorn little heap, though she works with diligence and concentration until her fingers can find no more. "I love receiving letters myself. Though to be honest, there are not that many I know of that can actually write," she says, pulling a face before going on to add, "… or that are inclined to.

Cordelia watches the other woman work with the flowers dumped into her lap passively as the chatter between them continues. She is curious about their origin, but assumes Angharad simply weaved the garland herself. "Spring is arriving and soon we won't need to worry about the chill, hopefully." She peeks out a nearby window to gauge the time - it was pitch black outside. "We will sleep until noon if we stay up for much longer," she remarks with a nod.

Her face alights when the topic of reading comes up. "I have taught others how to read. The very basics, at least. I hope one day everyone will know how to enjoy a letter or story and pen their own to share with the rest of the world."

"That is a generous thing you do," Angharad says, twisting a stem of one of her flowers between finger and thumb. It's a tiny winter jasmine, delicate and pale with a blush of green that bleeds into it's petals where flower joins stem. "… perhaps I should do the same. Certainly it would not hurt. When I have children of mine own, they will all learn latin as soon as they are able." Something akin to a frown briefly ghosts her face and with the smallest of pouts she shreds the flower and allows its petals to float to her lap. "I do not believe that I have ever travelled to Pitton Manor," she say, looking back to Cordelia. "It lies to the east of Sarum, I think? You must be quite close to Camelot, I believe I'm quite jealous."

"I am no expert on it myself, but even the basics open up a bounty of possibilities," she is quick to assert. She admires the flower, even if she does not truly know what sort it is. They do not grow where she lives, as far as she's aware. Her hand raises to brush a wisp of hair behind her hair self-consciously. "Aye, I intend to do the same. It is easier for children to learn."

The change in Angharad's expression puzzles her, moreso when she shreds the flower she was beholding. "Was something wrong with it?" A blink before she continues. "And yes, we are closer than most manors. There is quite a distance between us and our neighbors, however, and it sometimes makes travel difficult if we need to be in a hurry. Also the land is… quite flat." No rivers or forests! "It has it's charms, but I like to travel."

Angharad blinks and looks at the flower she's destroyed. "Oh. No," she says quickly, scrunching her nose as she cups a hand about the wilting blooms and gathers them up from her skirts. "Just that their day is past, as is mine." Sliding her feet from beneath her, she slips them back into her slippers and bends to throw the floral remains into the fire, where the curl and catch, emitting a wisp of their fragrance into the room. A dusting of her hands. "I should go to my room now, but it was lovely to meet you milady. And land that is flat can be just as exciting as rivers and forests I am sure." Quickly she tucks any stray strands of her hair back behind her ears, gives a nod of her head, and if not delayed will make her way from the room and up the stairs.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License