(514-08-04) A Possible Solution
Summary: Amalthea goes to check on Martyn after the fiasco in the marketplace.
Date: (514-08-15)
Related: None
amalthea martyn 

It's a hot summer morning and the camps and the outskirts of town are mostly empty. Folk have gone about their business already, some to sell goods in town despite the fiasco at the market the other day, and some have gone to the streams and rivers to bathe. Suffice to say it is easy enough for Amalthea to pick her way through the encampments on horseback, though not so easy to find someone to ask where the de Baverstock tents might be. When finally she does, Thea makes her way there, inexorable as the rivers that run near by. For once, the Dinton wears a brooding expression on her plain face, all her usual abundance of energy vanished, or at least kept tightly under wraps. "Sir Martyn?" she calls out, when at last she approaches. "Are you there?"

Seated outside, Martyn is eating some bread in quiet, smiling as he does. He pauses when he hears the call, and raises a hand, with the piece of bread in it. "Over here…" When he sees who it is, he smiles, "My lady…" A brief pause as he sees the brooding expression, and he goes quiet again.

Amalthea's chestnut head turns and her dark, troubled eyes fall upon Martyn. She tries for a smile, at least, and manages one that brightens her face if only a little. There, she dismounts, a movement of ease and long training. "I hope I do not interrupt?" she asks the nicety while she drives a peg into the ground with her booted heel, wrapping the horse's tether around it. "I came to see how you fare, after the market… incident." Finally she looks up, concern etched on her features.

"Of course you're not interrupting," Martyn replies, with a smile offered in return to her. There's a brief pause as he hears that question, and he looks to her, offering her once more a smile. "I'm fine. Thankfully it all ended before I could take much of a beating…" He pauses, studying her carefully for now. "How about you?"

Amalthea's answering smile is wry, twisted into something mostly unreadable. "I was unharmed in the mob, save for a few bruises to my legs and sides, thank the Lord." She casts eyes upward briefly, touching the rough-hewn cross at her neck. "And I am much relieved to see that you are, as well. Thank you for rescuing me, Martyn. I could have been trampled, and I am grateful to you that I was not." She pauses, sucking in a breath. "I am sorry for… everything else, though. I had hoped… that you and sir Rowan might eventually become friends."

Martyn looks a bit relieved as he hears her words, offering her another smile. "I will always do what I can to rescue you if you need it, Thea," he says, words kept rather quiet. At the last part, he grimaces momentarily, before he nods. "Don't give up hope yet. Although I admit I made a huge mistake thinking he might be able to understand humor while in a… pressing situation…" He goes silent again offering her another smile.

"Rowan is much more serious," Amalthea replies, though the smile she has for that sentiment is fond, warm. "Tis humorous, really. I thought you two were much the same in that regard, until that day in the Boar's Beard you near frightened me out of my wits by sneaking up on me." There's a little chuckle given, the sound reminiscent of the soft burbling of a stream. Then she shakes her head, humour falling away. "I suppose the wisest course of action would be for the two of you to keep space as best you can, and… you and I…" she sighs. "He is bothered by it. He would not stop our friendship. He has more honour than that, but I do not wish it to be a thorn in his side. I do care for him."

"Life is too short to be serious all of the time," Martyn remarks, before he shakes his head a little as he hears the rest of it. "Actually, I think there's a far better solution, although it might be a bit more… painful for both me and him."

Amalthea's confusion is supreme. It is etched in the laugh lines around her eyes, in the way her brows arrow together like thunder clouds crashing. "I do not like the sound of that. I do not wish to cause either of you more pain," the lady replies, snaring her lower lip between her teeth in a distinctly feminine, worrisome gesture. She remains silent, awaiting explanation, watching Martyn quizzically.

Martyn is unable to hold back a brief laugh as he sees that confused expression, reaching out to pat her shoulder lightly. "Do not worry, my dear. I was simply talking about a time-honored solution for knights to work out their differences. Him, me, blunted practice weapons, and us swinging them at each other to work things out."

The solution doesn't seem reassuring to Lady Amalthea, for some reason. Her mouth drops open in an uncouth gesture, and she simply stares at Martyn for a moment, as if the knight had grown two heads. Then, throwing her hands up, "Men. Why must beating each other bloody be the solution?!" It doesn't sound like a question that needs answering, for all that it's posed as one. The Dinton adds, her energy returning full force, as if the dam holding it back had sprung a leak. "I do not wish to see either of you hurt! Not over me! Nor do I wish to be the cause of gossip in town for two men fighting each other!" She runs out of breath, and her words hang for a beat, before she adds, softly, "… do you think it would work, though? Could… could you be friends, then?"

"Hey…" Martyn begins, before he goes silent again for a few moments. Once more reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her. "For all intents and purposes, it is simply to knights meeting each other for a spar," he offers quietly. At the last part of what's said, he smiles, "I don't know for certain, but I promise that if it's up to me, we would."

The Lady seems only somewhat reassured, expelling a long-held breath. She smooths her palms on the front of her work-worn tunic, then nods her dark head resolutely, chin setting in that familiar, stubborn motion. "All right. If he wills it, and you will it, and it will help…" Amalthea looks back up at Martyn, smile rueful, but at least there. "Then I will leave the both of you to it. Though, I will not be present for it, I think." Despite the qualifier, she sounds certain of that much.

Martyn nods a little as he hears that, offering her a quiet smile. "I will do what I can to make sure him and I will be friends, Thea. Because I know you would be happier then, which would also make me happier." A brief pause, before he adds, "And we all need a bit of happiness, right?"

"I have never heard truer words," Amalthea opines, a real smile breaking like a wave across her lips, washing across the space between them. "Thank you, Martyn. I will pray each night that this method of yours is a success, for I do not wish to deal either of you further hurt. I honestly cannot believe," a look of earnest bafflement touches her face, "that I am even in this position. I do not see what either of you sees. But," she adds, touching his hand briefly, "I am grateful for it." Then the Dinton takes a step back, towards her horse. "I ought to get back to work."

"You're welcome," Martyn replies, before he adds, "And I hope so as well. I don't want him to think of me as an enemy, after all." Nodding at the rest of what she says, he smiles. "Take care, and we will speak again later," he replies.

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