(123-01-22) Practical Things
Practical Things
Summary: Lady Ynys calls upon Princess Visenya to discuss the future, what each of them in fact can do for the other; and Prince Torren puts in a word in passing too.
Date: 22/01/2016
Related: References to the previous evening.

At an hour of the morning not too early and yet well in advance of the mid-day meal — calculated, yes, with thought — Lady Ynys Trant retraces her steps of the previous night to the chambers occupied by Princess Visenya.

The growing warmth of the day has her again in sleeveless sandsilk, this time of a lurid green which would wash out colouring less richly vivid than her own, with her lightly muscled arms bare again and her thick, dark, silvering curls tied at the back of her neck by an ivory silk ribbon wrapped several times round and tied with a careful not but no bow. Each of her wrists is circled by its own harmonious chaos of bronze and green and ochre bracelets; her only other piece of jewellery is the same ring the princess perhaps noticed last night upon the third finger of her left hand, a heavy dark golden signet ring showing the hanged man of House Trant of Gallowsgrey.

Shown in she comes unhurriedly to the princess, greeting her with a bow of her head and a small flickering smile. "Princess Visenya. Did you sleep well?"

Visenya is still in the process of being dressed when Ynys enters her chambers. She still smells of a sweet floral soap from the bath, and she wears a dressing robe while a Dornish girl twists the Princesses' shoulder length platinum blonde hair into a knot popular in Dorne. "Lady Trant." She says with a small smile that is still more on the reserved side. "As well as I can hope." She turns to study a tray of jewelry that a maid presents to her with a critical eye, "I'll wear the indigo today, I think. Sooo..silver."

"I've thought about that," her visitor mentions in a nonchalant murmur, glancing into the tray of jewellery as it passes her. "If I am to be with you for a time… The weight of my husband's name means nothing in Dorne; it is an association many here would not consider fortunate, either to me or to you. I will be Lady Ynys again, now that I am come home. That is, I think, one of the things I am supposed to do for Princess Amarei: stand near you looking like an Yronwood." She sounds wryly, dubiously amused. "… They don't know already what goes with what?" she asks then, nodding to the Dornish maids.

Visenya ponders the tray until she hears Ynys' words for what they are. She waves the maid holding it away along with the maid who is dressing her hair, and stands up from her chair. She is perhaps in the middle of her pregnancy, and she is not so big as to be ungainly yet, but she does stand somewhat slower that a woman of her good health and youth might. "A man's name has a good deal of meaning. Especially when he gives it to his wife. Are you ready to put aside your husband's name?" It is a sincere question, "It links you to your children." She shrugs a little, "Sometimes I mix it up."

The Dornishwoman smiles slowly; her head shakes once whilst the princess is still speaking and then her answer is proven to be ready on the tip of her tongue, as though she has indeed been dwelling upon the matter. "I don't need a name to be mother to my children," she tells her softly, standing there with her hands at her sides and her thumb curled round to touch her signet ring, "they're my blood and my bone and my tears, but not my name. I don't speak of renouncing it for all time, only of ceasing to flaunt it. And then that title is, I think, more my good-daughter's property now than my own." To her this last is unanswerable and she lifts her shoulders in a small shrug. Succession giveth and succession taketh away; and such is the natural order.

"Well, it's your name." Visenya says with a small nod of her head. "You should do as you see fit with it." She sits down then, and picks out her own jewelry from the tray that was left behind by the maid to hold one of the silver earrings up to her ear. "What is it like?" She asks suddenly, "To see your children grow and marry?" She puts down the earring to look up at Ynys, "I think of it with my own now even though they are not yet born."

"A mother shouldn't keep too tight a grip," the Lady Ynys (as she has elected to be) informs her honestly, hovering as a pillar of green sandsilk over the princess and her jewels, "ever." She lets that thought rest a moment. "We bring them into the world to give them away to their wives and husbands, and it is always too soon. I closed my eyes upon Thomos as a babe in my arms and opened them to see him hand in hand with Maryam… I like her, I chose her. Once in a while there is still a day when I would like to take him back."

Visenya gazes into the expensive true glass mirror as Ynys speaks, and makes a little bit of a face at her words. "We truly get to keep nothing, do we?" It is spoken in a tone that is equal parts as ironic as it is sad. She drops her earring into the tray as if unhappy with it before picking up another, "What of the girls?"

"We have them to ourselves, more of them than anyone else will have — the price being that we know all the while it won't last," Lady Ynys clarifies, shrugging one shoulder. "The world will give you worse trades, princess, greater sacrifices for less pleasure." She pauses — and then, in a tone slightly detached even in the face of the words they've just exchanged, presses on. "It is of the girls, or one girl, I wished to speak with you this morning. I brought my daughter with me to Starfall. I didn't wish to leave her among people she had known only for a matter of days, or to make arrangements for her return to Gallowsgrey before I had spoken with you. Would it be an inconvenience if I keep her with me a while longer?"

Visenya listens to Ynys with a pensive look on her face as she picks up another pair of earrings, these ones fresh red copper wire formed into the shape of the sun. They seem to please her more because she puts them on. "No, of course it wouldn't." She says with a glance back to Ynys before asking curiously, "How old is she?"

It is at that moment that Torren enters their chambers. Not that this moment is any more or less opportune than any other moment. The point being, he's here now. He only catches the last few sentences of the conversation between his wife and Lady Ynys, and remarks after the question, "Pray excuse me. I hope I have not interrupted. Say the word and I shall go find something else to do." The corners of his lips pull up at the end of this.

"Thank you." Lady Ynys's dark head inclines in a deeper nod, relieved of at least one of the concerns which sprang up during the course of Princess Amarei's inspired rearrangement of her life. "She is just sixteen; her name is Alysia." She turns, bracelets chiming; "Good morning, Prince Torren," she adds in an undertone, leaving the question of interruptions to his wife.

"Sixteen." Visenya observes to herself. "She ought to be introduced to Lady Vynesa. She is seventeen, I believe? I think she feels a little lonesome sometimes because Lady Lara and I are both older than her." When Torren comes in she gives him a small but pleased smile. "We shall not deprive you of your own chambers, my love." She turns in her chair to speak more freely, "Lady Ynys was just telling me her daughter has accompanied her, and she is sixteen. I thought that perhaps she and Lady Vynesa could become acquainted since Lady Vynesa is seventeen."

"My chambers can be taken or left. I would, however, be loathe to be deprived of such pleasant company as I find in them." Torren's gaze shifts from Visenya to the Lady Ynys, clearly including her in that statement. He moves further into the room, leaning down to kiss his wife's cheek. Then he sits, settling back against the chair. "Has she?" he asks, once Visenya has finished. "I think that is a fine idea. She will no doubt appreciate a companion more her age."

"Lady Vynesa is the young lady under your protection?" inquires Lady Ynys, who has remained standing, albeit with one hip resting casually against the side of the princess's dressing-table. "I would be happy to throw them together if you wish it; I would like Alysia to make Dornish friends as soon as she can. She's still mourning her father and a companion would be of benefit to her as well. My intention has also always been to marry her to a Dornish husband," she admits, "though I had not thought we might come to find him ourselves."

Visenya's smile widens at Torren's words, and she looks absolutely pleased when he kisses her cheek. Once he has sat her attention turns back to Ynys. "Yes. She has the ill fortune of being married to a Uller with peculiar tastes." This is admitted softly and in a discreet tone, and once it is spoken of she leaves it. "But she is sweet, and gentle, and will probably be more apt to befriend a girl from a Westerosi house before others might." She adds, "Not that I think Lady Alysia will be seen as an outsider." But she may be warmed to a little slower, is the meaning. "A Dornish husband. That should be an easy enough task, don't you think?" She looks to Torren, who is probably more familiar with what young men are eligible, than she is.

Torren's gaze shifts from one to the other, taking in the conversation. His smile slips a little bit when the young woman's husband in mentioned, though he refrains from adding much else, until his opinion is sought. When it is, he nods. "Of course," he replies. "There are any number who might suit. Though she is still a bit young to settle on anyone yet." She isn't really, but Torren's sisters were wed later than many, and of course, Mariya remains unwed even now.

Lady Ynys doesn't remind anyone that her mother was a lady of House Uller. She nods, with an air of offering due consideration to what is said; she offers fewer of her own opinions now they are three, not two; she does however murmur, "Too soon to decide the question, but not too soon to consider it. I would like her to look around and see what she sees." And then, "But I think we speak too much of your consideration for me, and not enough of what it is you would like me to do for you, princess. I must tell you," her lips twist in amused reminiscence, "I don't think Princess Amarei can have suggested what she did because I proved such a superb lady-in-waiting to her."

"I married old. Some of my cousins have married as soon as they flowered." Visenya observes with an amused expression when Torren says that Ynys' daughter is still too young. To Ynys she says, "As I said before I imagine Her Highness thought I would be more at ease with a woman who has reason to support peace between Dorne and the North."

"We all have reason. Some don't know it yet," is Lady Ynys's way of at once denying and recognising the unique qualities for which she was chosen. "But my question was a serious one. I don't know what you would like me to do for you, in a practical way, or where I might step upon someone else's hem. Even your hem, for we all have our own customs. If you'll give me a general line, though, I won't bother you too much about the detail."

"I actually haven't thought about the practical things." Visenya says frankly. "I suppose what I need more than anything else is guidance. How to interact in the proper manner so people start hating me a little less." She shrugs gently, "You gave me good guidance last night with…" She waves her hand dismissively to say it doesn't matter who he is. "That is what I need more than anything else."

Lady Ynys's watchful dark eyes flit over to Prince Torren, observing his reaction to his wife's frank talk of being hated. "Whenever you wish it, princess, of course," she promises easily. "Why don't I think of the practical things?" she suggests then. "At least so far as speaking to Lady Dayne to have my chambers moved nearer yours, and making the acquaintance of your staff. And I'll send your girls back to finish dressing you…?"

Lady Ynys will certainly find a reaction to observe. Torren's eyes are on his wife, and at the mention of hate, there's an almost imperceptible frown that crosses his face. However, it is fleeting, and when it's gone it would be difficult to swear it had been there. "I think that would be wise," he confirms. "Thank you, Lady Ynys."

If Visenya notices Torren's frown she makes no show of it. Her eyes are on Ynys, and she nods easily at the older woman's suggestions. Save the last one. "Actually, I'll call them in after a moment or two." Perhaps she wishes a private word with Torren once Ynys is gone. Or she'd just like to be alone. Who knows. "Thank you, Lady Ynys."

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