(123-06-29) Shackles
Shackles
Summary: Elyas is leaving Starfall; Ynys is obliged to remain.
Date: 30/06/2016
Related: Morning Drinkies
Players:
Ynys..Elyas..

On few enough mornings of late has Lady Ynys Yronwood had the leisure to pursue her fav… one of her favourite pastimes; but, with talk of murder on every man's lips in Starfall's keep, and her own discreet plans thwarted thereby, an hour's escape necame a necessity.

And so, her thoughts lightened by sunshine and speed, her fine riding leathers dusty from a casual tumble taken, her hair bound up in a dark red kerchief and her groom at her heels, she strides into the common room of the Spearfish Inn, crowded even at this hour — come for the tourney, stay for the duel! — and shoulders herself into a place at the bar. She catches the barkeep's eye and lifts two fingers to him, to save time. The traditional stiffening of the sinews, before crossing to the island to take up again her keys.

A somewhat familiar face is lurking at the bar once more, a young sailor enjoying a quick breakfast of stale yesterday's bread and watery wine. Elyas looks up when he sees the lady approach and grins at her.

The two fingers for the barkeep turn into a casual wave to the sailor, or perhaps the pirate. And then Lady Ynys, provided with her two very small glasses in such haste that one of them is wet and sticky with precious fragrant liquor splashed over the side, steps away from the bar and circles round till she's behind the man next to Elyas. She nudges him.

He turns around, one hand already upon his knife-hilt.

The lady's eyes bore into his. "I think you'll find that's my stool," she explains to him in a low, velvety drawl.

He thinks about this.

Seconds later her two glasses are on the bar next to Elyas's scanty repast, and she's swinging a long, leather-breeched leg over her stool. Hers.

Elyas has watched the interaction calmy, the grin on his face growing with every second. "So you do like me.", he states once she's sitting down beside him. "Welcome at my side, Mylady." He lifts the half-empty mug in a little toast. "Enjoying the spectacle?"

The first glass is already at Lady Ynys's lips; she answers him at first only with a quirk of her eyebrows, then drinks it down and lets out a satisfied, sweet, altogether heady breath. "I never said I didn't," she points out dryly. And then, with a shake of her head, "I've had enough of the spectacle."

"Ah, but it was quite the show. All the nobles falling over themselves, preening like peacocks. May I say your dress was really impressive", Elyas adds. His eyebrows lift as he turns to look at her, though at least he doesn't do an actual brow-waggle. Then he resumes plucking the bread apart to chew bits slowly.

The lady laughs. The soft sound of it is almost eclipsed by the talk nearby, Starfall's remaining visitors having little to do at the moment but hurry into their cups; but even if it couldn't be heard at all the curve of her lips, the gleam in her eyes, would serve as proof of her amusement. "I like that dress too," she confides, inclining her head nearer to speak. "Why didn't you come and greet me? I would have liked someone new to talk to."

"I wasn't new anymore, was I?", Elyas replies with his customary half-smirk, then shrugs. "People like me aren't allowed near the nobles' stands. Not grand enough, you know. Anyway, you can talk to me now. I'm here. I'm bored. I'm in need of a good tale."

"Ah, yes. People… like… you," concedes Lady Ynys, enunciating the words slowly, sceptically, her eyes trained upon his and her brows slightly lifted. Then she looks away beyond the bar, shaking her head again. "I don't know any new tales. None I'd tell in a tavern, anyway. I look to you for one."

"Ah, tales of derring-do and adventures of the high seas, no doubt.", Elyas sighs theatrically, "Alas, I have none. We did have some fun recently, what with all the nobles sailing for Starfall for the tourney. Perhaps you noticed the Lord of Stonehelm's failure to arrive. Anyway—", he shrugs and looks at her sideways. "Why don't you make new tales of adventures. With me?"

Again Lady Ynys drinks before she speaks. Priorities. Half her second glass gulped down, she regards Elyas levelly and observes, "The good Lord Swann of Stonehelm is a shit, for whose absence from the festivities I can only thank you; and I," she presses her lips together and one corner of her mouth lifts, into a rueful, amused sort of smile, "I am not my own woman, these days. I have not been for… some time." And down with the other half.

Elyas shrugs to that. "And what's stopping you from becoming your own again?", he wonders almost leisurely, looking her up and down. "You don't look like a Meereenese slave girl to me, shackled to her master…."

"Someone asked me a favour," the lady drawls. She raises her hand again without looking round, trusting the barkeep to see that one imperious slender brown finger and do what's needful. "This world affords us more than one kind of shackles — the gentlest, or the sweetest, are in practice the most difficult to break free from. No mere blacksmith's hammer will shatter them. Have you," she asks, studying him, "never found it so—?"

This gives him pause for about half a second, then he shakes his head. "Not really, no. Shackles are meant to be broken once they become too heavy to bear. Even if they seem gentle or sweet. Must have been quite a favour you owed to be suffering now.", he adds rather pointedly.

Another glass comes sliding a couple of feet along the bar into Lady Ynys's waiting hand, which closes and immediately lifts it. She sips more delicately now, intending to make this one last a few minutes. "… I didn't owe it," she explains wryly. "If anything, I was owed. Nor am I suffering, as in the prelude to one of your adventurous tales. I am only feeling selfish. It will pass."

"I'm sailing tomorrow at daybreak on the tide.", Elyas says simply, getting to his feet. "Be at the quay if you want adventure. Be not if you prefer to remain shackled to your lady." He empties the mug and begins to head for the door.

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