(123-10-15) Sifting Through Dust
Sifting Through Dust
Summary: Lord Lorcan invites Emmeline to join him. He tells her about his search for a wife. She tells him a story.
Date: Saturday, October 15, 2016
Related: None
Players:
Emmeline..Lorcan..

Quill and Tankard

This is the common room of the Quill and Tankard, that famous Oldtown Inn that has never closed in five hundred years. The building is a noble old half-timber structure with plastered stone between the enormous old black beams. It sits on a small rock of an island at the edge of the Honeywine River, and is accessed by a little footbridge, or by water-taxi.

Rivermen and seamen, smiths and singers, priests and princes, Lords and sellswords, travelers both noble and small, and the novices and acolytes of the Citadel - all come for a taste of the fearsomely strong apple cider that makes this inn so beloved by Oldtown's people. There is a pleasant buzz of chatter, cups and tankards being filled and refilled, and general laughter.

The fire in the hearth allows for a merry glow and a comfortable warmth from Oldtown's breezy, misty cobblestone streets. Benches and tables offer places to sit, and there is a deliciously toothsome smell in the air of food from the back.


Drizzle soaks the cobblestone road as it runs alongside the Honeywine river, grey under a gloomy sky. An all around dismal day, and yet Emmeline meanders with a sunshine smile, wearing a thin dark cloak against the rain. With eyes the color of clear summer skies, the young barmaid gazes through the shop windows at the wares within. The shops lining the road, across from the river's edge, are filled with elegant jewelry, fine armor, and expensive baubles - all meant for the wealthy city citizens and not a poor barmaid. And yet she stops at a window, gazing in wide-eyed awe at the vibrant silks, woven in with intricate patterns. Simply standing like that, it won't take long before the rain soaks all the way through her meager cloak.

Within the shivering winds and the frosty tears of rainwater, the sounds of elegant boots stepping towards the barmaid alongside occasional clunks of metallic equipment are easily avoided… At such manner, Lord Darry proceeds to halt a mere handful of inches away, behind the gawking female figure as his mesomorphic body remains still except his palms which move to cross before his chest, pressing tightly against it while two hand-picked guardsmen of the Darrish expedition stand side-to-side with the male who's clothing is composed of the same coloured and patterned silk, except that it is yet a different copy of it, clearly hygiene is highly respected in his eyes. Regardless, the rainwater falls upon his body which easily sinks into the silk before reaching the stage of passing through which forces his clothing to stick against his pale skin, while his vibrant emerald eyes stare upon the female. The Lord's body in particular has a strangely uncertain, tense and disturbed stance, making it clear that being at ease and relaxed isn't one of his traits - especially in a town which is somewhat new to him, however, his regularly-shaded and soft lips move to part before his surprisingly faint but firm voice emits, "Fine silk, isn't it - lady?"

At the first sound of armor, Emmeline peeks off towards Lorcan and his men. Quickly, she returns her attention to the silks, hoping not to draw their notice as they'd drawn hers. As they stop behind her, the girl's shoulders lift slightly with tension. When Lorcan speaks, she looks up at him with meek hesitation. Nodding, she dips into a graceful curtsy. "Yes, milord. S'beautiful. If water were fabric…"

Lorcan traces her gaze towards the silks, clearing his throat as he turns towards her once again, staring deeply at her while his body remains at it's stance, "Mmm, well - lady… I'd advise that catching all of the rain won't help you in obtaining it. Would you mind?" — his body turns to face her sideways as he'd simply glance towards the Inn past the bridge, which sounds awfully much quiet and calm other than last night, "It would be appreciated if you'd accompany me." The Lord himself has a strange hint of empathy for the smallfolk, proven by events of last day - while it's emphasised that he does not find it insulting nor disturbing to have them in his presence. Clunks of metal proceed to emit throughout the streets as the rainwater drips onto the armour of the knights protecting Lord Darry, unrhythmic and disconcentrating at most.

Emmeline's gaze flits from Lorcan to the Quill and Tankard past the bridge. One does not refuse a lord. A wise smallfolk does not even consider it. And so she nods at once, shifting away from the shop window. "Of course, milord. And- and my name is Emmeline." She nods with apologetic respect.

The guardsmen stand proudly as the female's respect and manners are clearly appreciated - as well as for the Lord, as his lips gently curl into a warm smile, which seems beaming in such weather on the streets of Oldtown. Without a haste, the Lord proceeds to nod towards her once more, "Well met - your name is quite outstanding, in a pleasant type. I am Lord of Darry, Lord of Ruby Fork - Lorcan Darry, son of Lord Darron Darry - may he rest amongst the Men and Gods." - At the end note, the male's expression seems to faintly fade, yet it's ignored quite smoothly as he turns to make his way by setting his feet into work. His body follows the lead as it heads towards the estabilishment, crossing the bridge as one of his guardsman takes the intiative to open the doors, while the Lord remains outside, nodding towards Emmeline as he allows her the benefit of first entry. Suprisingly, the male is wise to avoid any physical contact with the female, the reasons are undoubtable due to the incident of previous day.

The lord's good-pleasure draws out a shy smile, which grows as he compliments her name. However, Emmeline sobers, growing solemn as Lorcan mentions his late father. As he turns to head for the tavern, the barmaid drifts after, accompanying him as bidden. The chivalrous pause at the door makes Emmeline smile, and with another little curtsy, she crosses first into the tavern.
It isn't time for her shift, and a couple of the other barmaids glance curiously at her. But seeing how she lingers in the presence of the young lord, they soon understand. When one of them winks at Emmeline, the girl flushes pink and drops her gaze before hesitantly peaking up at Lorcan. It's a quiet afternoon with the rain and most of the tables are free.

Soon enough, the interior is faint, a chatter or two emits amongst the small patches of men, women yet no children. Sellswords, artists and even a occassional noble occupy the center tables and the stools upon the edges of the building. However, the Lord follows inside, alongside his guardsmen as his eyes drift towards Emmeline's, smirking faintly upon her blush, "I'm afraid it'll be hard to relax in such clothing - for the both of us, it seems… I do doubt you have anything to replace those damp clothes?" The male remains still, standing firmly as he glances upon her, yet he doesn't require an direct answer which is proven by his gaze turning to one of his guardsmen, "Ser Rodrik, I am quite sure we have something in our stock that won't make a significant difference if it vanishes, hm? Bring the lady some fine clothing and for myself." Ser Rodrik simply nods before speaking out briefly, "M'lord." - turning to leave the building as he wanders off while Lord Darry proceeds to walk along the spacious halls of the Inn before reaching a rather small, personal table. At which, he lowers himself onto the bench with soft material covering it, leaning into it as he glances towards her, awaiting to see her choice of action and perhaps a response.

Emmeline's hesitation shows clearly that she has no second set of clothes. At least, not on hand. Hands clasped behind her back, she wrings them lightly, unsure of the best response. Indeed, her cloak provided only slight protection from the rain. By now she is quite damp. However, when the lord instructs his knight to bring her a set of fine clothing, Emmeline's eyes widen. "Oh, I-" she begins, but hesitates as Lorcan already heads off towards a small table tucked into a nook of the common room. The girl remains standing at his table, respectfully waiting for an indication that she should sit. "Please, I- I am not so soaked. Not damp. There's no need for- for such kindness." As she speaks in that hesitant, halting way, her cheeks pinken with a blush. She shakes her head. "And- please, I- I'm just a barmaid. Not- not anyone to be callin' lady. Please, I don't mean to be putting on airs."

Lorcan simply leans into the long, sizeable seat as the moisture from his body begins to wring out onto the material, yet it is secured against his own back. Slowly, his head turns to dismissively shake as his palm reaches out to motion inwards, beckoning over to her, "Please, take a seat by all means… And with all due respect, quite clearly - you're not dry, and that's all I need to know… as well as your social status and prestige is unimportant to me, as far as I'm concerned, you are a lady." The male's facial expression do not lie - his smile doesn't waiver, his eye-contact doesn't break off and his lips remain sealed.

Emmeline's cheeks burn with warmth as she settles down at his small table. But offered such sincere assurance, the barmaid looks up into his unwavering gaze with a shy smile. She nods, meek yet appreciative. "Thank you, milord. Your kindness, it's just… a bit overwhelming."
Another barmaid - this one on the clock - sashays over to the table. "Can I get ye anyfin' milord?" she asks with a broad smile. Emmeline glances up at her and flushes at the amused smirk the other barmaid gives her. She drops her gaze to the table, waiting for him to place an order.

"A warm meal for your friend with a fine beverage for myself would do… Thank you." Without a further chance of conversation, the doors swing open as two non-armoured men painted in hazel and charcoal proceed to approach the table, carrying minor chests which are beautifully decorated with golden strokes on it's deep brown case. Aside from that, the knight that left previously is accompanying them, yet a dismissive nod towards both of his guardsmen gives a clear message - both of them depart as they walk outside of the Inn, yet it's no wonder that they'll most likely wait outside. The stewards move to open the crates as one of them is filled with robes, coats and such, all made for masculine builds, while other one… The other one - is filled with great assortments of clothing: fragile, gentle and comfortable cloaks, decorated with fur, gorgeous and vibrant dresses alongside soothing and soft silk-robes, all of them in a variety of colours… The Lord simply nods towards the barmaid which is a fair sign of farewell, while his own body adjusts to lean towards his own chest, his palms moving inside as he rummages through before he slides out a brown coat of slightly loose and comfortable leather with a soft trail of fur coating the back and shoulders of it's frame. He simply moves to shuffle down the seat, allowing a great angle for Emmeline to stare into her own chest, "I will take no slight by giving any of them to you, please, take anything you see fit." — his head nods towards the servant with the chest which already fullfilled it's purpose, which sends a reaction of him simply shutting it, raising it - and leaving.

The on-duty barmaid nods at his order. "'Course. A bowl of stew for our Emmeline. And a cider for you? Unless you'd care for some mulled wine?" With the order confirmed, she starts to head off, but slows at the sight of the two magnificent chests. The woman's eyes widen at the sight of the finery contained within, but the lord's obvious dismissal sends her hurrying off.

Emmeline sits awestruck, staring as the stewards angle the open chest towards her, as if encouraging her to make her selection as bidden. It's clear that the gift well-tempts the girl. Although she doesn't move to take something, she doesn't take her eyes off them either. "Milord…" she murmurs, soft and hushed. At last, she can't help herself, and reaches out to stroke the velvet of a deep blue gown.

But all at once, Emmeline she withdraws her hands, folding them against her chest, as she looks to Lorcan. "Truly? Truly true?" She hesitates and half-laughs with a smile that shows how his offer overwhelms her. "Milord, for the likes of me? Such fine things? Callin' me lady was too much." She bites her lower lip, hesitating. "Are you making a game of me?" She watches him with anxious, uncertain eyes.

Lorcan simply turns to land his gaze upon her as his expression is warm, comforting and soothing as her questioning doesn't seem to influence his mood - soon, his lips part, "But please, the only game I play is the sad search for a spouse, I'm afraid…" His eyes gently hint with a feeling of nauseous loneliness, simply combining with his previous lack of companions other than guardsmen - yet, he dismisses the hints, traces and ideas by simply speaking out once more, "Take anything you like, it's not going to affect me, not significantly…"

Emmeline's eyes widen as Lorcan mentions a search for a spouse. It seems to leave her off balance. Her eyes flit back and forth from the lord to the fine garments, uncertain. But at last, she nods in respectful acquiescence and turns to lean and pour through the choices. Though her touch lingers on the luscious velvets and sleek silks, at last, she finds a black traveler’s cloak. Though it appears a simple garment, closer inspection reveals subtle, intricate embroidery. The girl holds against her chest, but then looks to Lorcan, as if uncertain that this is the choice he'd intended for her to make.

The male's eyes simply return the contact as his body is pressed against the seat, "Once again, anything /you/ would like." With that, his lips curl into an amusing but warm grin, as he simply turns to press his palms against the seat, carefully raising himself upon his feet as he leans towards the seat, his fingers cautiously curling around his choice of clothing - lifting it from the seat as he nods towards the female, "If that's what you wish to wear, follow me. Otherwise, choose and head the same way." After the male's lips seal, his body turns towards the stairs before he proceeds to approach them - ascending afterwards, walking off down the corridor until his body reaches a specific door at which he halts. Then, his palm reaches out to grip upon the handle while his other palm slides into his pocket, retrieving a golden key at which he yanks it into the key-hole, twisting the primitive mechanism which allows him to yank onto the handle. His body slips inside the room, out of sight.

Emmeline blinks as Lorcan rises from the table. But as he starts heading for the stairs, her eyes widen. "W-wait. Upstairs? It's a cloak, I- I can just pull it over what I've got. It's alright." She crosses her ankles, looking anxious as she glances to whatever guard might be lingering.

Fairly a long while after, the Lord returns, bearing the leather clothing covering his body, his hair slick once again as his back alongside the shoulders are coated with fur. He proceeds to approach the seat once more, slowly lowering himself upon it as he glances towards her, simply raising his shoulders before dropping them, "Well perhaps I haven't though of that…" — a brief chuckle escapes his lips before he seals them, staring at her in silence as it's obvious he doesn't have much to talk about.

Emmeline is left at the table without a word. But no one comes to usher him after him. Perhaps she'd misunderstood. As he rejoins her and merely chuckles, the young barmaid seems to settle. Offering him a soft smile, she nods. "S'a beautiful cloak. But even this, it's too generous for the likes of me. Yeh don't have to be offering such gifts if s'just a bit of company you want." She pauses. "Would you like me to spin a tale? A story?"

Lorcan finds himself silent upon her comments, clearly having no way of countering such statement yet it's clear that the decision is made as the servant simply shuts the crate as he lifts it - walking off with it. The Lord upholds a fine, warm smile as his body warms up, allowing his muscles to slowly decline with upholding a tense stature, making it much less intimidating and much more soothing around him which is emphasises with the strange trust towards the female as no guards stand to protect their Lord from, well, her… His lips slowly part, "A story? Hm?… Well, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself first?"

Emmeline sneaks a regretful peek at the chest as the steward bears it away. After all, she sits still cold and wet. But she smiles up at Lorcan, soft and shy. She winces with a grin as she asks for her to tell him about herself. "Ah, me? That'd be a dull story, truly. I come from a village. I wandered away. Travelled here and there. And now I'm here." She giggles. "See? It's done already. But I can tell a story you might like. A story of a man who was searching for his beloved. I can tell you how he came to find her - and how he learned to see the end in the beginning and take heart."

The male's eyes gently squint upon the female as he slowly tilts his head, "You're not trying to mock me, are you?" - an amused smile falls upon his face until he softly sighs, "It's a sad matter, to be honest… I have neither a heir or a 'Lady Darry', hmph… But very well, do as you please." At such moment, the barmaiden arrives, hosting a tray resting on both of her hands, before she lowers it upon the small table. Upon the table, lies a single bowl with a steaming stew alongside two mugs of a sweet, refreshing cider alongside a jug filled with several of such portions. The Lord gives a fine nod towards the employee before reaching into his pocket, rummaging through as he slides out a pouch that is tightly secured - only to be changed as his thumb releases the tension in which it allows him to recover a handful of silver stags that he hands over, only to slide his pouch away afterwards, returning his attention towards Emmeline.

Emmeline's eyes widen without guile or hint of jest as Lorcan squints at her. She parts her lips to respond, but just then, the other barmaid arrives. Emmeline glances up at her as the food is placed before her. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Of course, dearie," responds the other barmaid, but then glancing off towards Lorcan's dry clothes, she casts an arched brow at Emmeline. Shaking her head at opportunities lost, she departs
Emmeline's gaze follows the other barmaid for a moment before she returns to Lorcan. "Mine seems a sad story. Tears slide down a man's cheeks. He wanders the market place, through lamplight and shadows. His feet ache and his throat is parched. He has been searching. Searching and searching. Sifting through the very dust."

"What are you looking for?" he was asked. Tears blurred his vision, and yet he sifting. "I search for Layli. I look everywhere for her. Even in the dust. Mayhaps I will find her." The others laughed and said, "Fool! Layli is pure of heart, and yet you look for her in the dust?" Emmeline shakes her head. "But they didn't understand. Such was the fervor of his search. That even in the dust he sought her."

Lorcan slowly shuffles to rest against the seat as he stares towards the female, his lips sealed as he seems finely interested in the story, or at least the outcome of it. However, about mid-way through, his palm reaches out as his head softly turns to glance upon the table - his fingers slowly curl around the handle of the mug before lifting it as he leans it towards his lips while his glance returns towards the female. Then, his lips part as he presses the edge of the mug inside of his lips, tilting it to pour a respectable amount of the liquid inside, the sweetness overwhelming his mouth as he eagerly swallows it, moving the mug away from his lips which he seals, setting it down back upon the tray without breaking the glance. On the other hand, the male's expression has significantly faded from vibrant, amused and intrigued to a rather disturbed, depressed and anxious emotions, contrasting with his opinion and status on such topic.

"Searching, searching. Through the day and into the night. He couldn't sleep. Nor rest. So he wandered. But as he passed through shadow and lamplight, a guard shouted. He gave chase and the man ran. He ran through twisting alleys darting left then twisting right. Why does the guard hound my steps? He is a demon - a fury come to torment me in my darkest hours."

Emmeline leans closer, continuing her story in urgent tones. "He ran, chased by a clamor of steal and shouts. He cursed the guards to the heavens. His chest burned, with the ache for his love. And then before him, the alley ended in a towering wall. He cursed the guard. But then with untold suffering, he climbed and hoisted himself over the edge. Then fell. He fell into soft earth. Cool and still. And opening his eyes, through the stems of bushes, he saw her. Layli, his beloved. Behind the garden wall, she stood shining a lamp, looking for a ring she had lost. The ring he'd given her."

Emmeline smiles across at Lorcan. "And the man wept. Tears of happiness. And in his heart he cried out to the heavens, that the seven might bless the guards. He'd thought them demons, but they were spirits of deliverance."

Emmeline pauses, lifting a finger. "And… had he seen the end in the beginning, he might have wished blessing upon them from the start. That is as it is in all things. Darkness must ever give way to the dawn."

Rather awkward yet faint blows of air exhaling from the Lord's nose fell upon Emmeline's skin before he decided to gently adjust his head to restrain from disturbing her. And so on, he simply rested against the material while his body awaited, still - listening to the story as the expression gradually lights up, giving his face a fairly welcome sight… Regardless, the male slowly parts his lips, "Well… I never thought of you to be religious… And is your hidden message trying to convey a instruction for me - of looking for the best in the worst?" his head barely yet noticably tilts, glancing at her in silence while soon enough, the moisture that was previously left on the seat has soaked into the male's clothing, yet the amount was scarce enough to create no discomfort nor even get across the layers of clothing to reach his skin, allowing him to rest while remaining dry.

Emmeline bites her lower lip, grinning. Now that her story is finished, she shifts back into her usual way fo speaking. "Mm. If he'd been able to see the end in the beginning, he wouldn't have suffered. I think that's what it's supposed to mean." She hesitates, before bowing her head slightly. "You seem to be in pain… but I hope you might see that where you are now - any struggle you face - s'pushin you on to your love."

Lorcan simply moves to raise his arm to gently gesture to emphasise his words along, "Well… I am afraid that as far as I know, everyone I've met so far is less than interested… in such manner, all I can say is that my life will not uphold without a stop… with that said, i'm afraid that time's not especially in my favour." The male's shoulders rise to drop afterwards as his body slowly sinks into the material, further and further relaxed with each minute passing, however, his expression doesn't seem to fit along with his stature.

Emmeline blinks, not quite sure how to respond. She bites her lower lip, but in the end, she simply tugs closer her stew (now a bit cold), and starts to eat. After a time, she peeks over at him and murmurs, "How's it that time - s'not in your favor?"

"Oh well… I do doubt that 'plowman of the silent fields' has ever come across your ears… A fine nickname in the Riverlands… a nickname that stands for a man who sits up in Castle Darry and does nothing for his people… Indeed, a nickname for myself, from the people… What I am trying to declare, is that I've been known for taking too much time for each and every task…. That is something I wish and /need/ to change, yet once again - I don't believe I have found any bride so far and neither anything else that has profited my House nor anyone standing up for it." The male responds while resting against the seat, having not much anything else to do or say.

"At least… the years don't weigh on you as heavy as they might were you a lady," offers Emmeline with a faint, optimistic smile. "You have time still. Might seem like you're running, running through a maze of alleys, but you'll scale the garden wall soon!"

Lorcan exhales deeply as his body turns to face ahead as he gently leans back into the seat to extend his feet, informally, "I do sure hope so…" - the Lord speaks out as his eyes seem to drift upon the ground, staring in silence as it doesn't seem that he has anything to elaborate, until his lips part once more, "A strange thing, you see… I do spend more time with… 'smallfolk' rather than nobles… Or to keep it accurate, I 'only' spend time with smallfolk as it seems…"

Emmeline bites her lower lip. "Ah. Well, you might have better luck not sifting through the dust. Though, um… Iris seemed quite enchanted with you. And I'm sure there are many others eager to be lifted up."

The male glances upon the female before tracking his gaze towards her lips. With that, he slowly shakes his head as his palm reaches out to carelessly press his thumb against her lower lip, the rest of his palm would carefully press against her chin as he'd simply move to press onto her skin - although softly, he'd firmly move to slide her lip from underneath her teeth before moving his palm away, "Don't make yourself split your skin and shed blood… at such matter, it does bring questions as to why your body reacts to the topic in such manner… If I'm to be reckless, I'm quite sure that many would indeed more than love to become more than a barmaiden, the lady from last night most certainly…" At which, the Lord's expression seems careless, his body sluggish against the seat, "Does that assumption involve you?"

Emmeline's soft gasp catches in her throat as the lord so bodly reaches out and presses a thumb against her plush lower lip. Under the insistence of his firm thumb, she parts her lips, releasing it from beneath the delicate edge of her teeth. Her young features flood with heat. "Milord, I…" she hesitates, dancing off balance. "I'm not fit for one such as you. Shouldn't be lookin' in the dust."

Lorcan simply drifts his gaze to examine the figure before him as he proceeds to shrug regardless, "If I were to be honest, I find nothing disturbing about you… All that is opposing me from disagreeing with you is that you're not of noble birth… Yet, after all, I am not a Lord of a Great House and I do doubt that such act would create much and significant issues… however…" Lorcan's lips remain parted, yet a rather disappointed, deep exhale falls from them - followed by his voice, "It wouldn't create any strong ties with any noble houses and whatever perspective you look at it, I'm neither in position nor favour of boldly encouraging you to do so… In addition, I know your person for a day or so…" With that said, the male's lips swiftly seal as he silently glares upon her, enough details have been spoken as it seems.

Emmeline blinks, off-balance and now a touch frightened by how the lord glares. The young barmaid isn't quite sure how the twists and turns of their conversation brought them here. "No, I- milord, I-," she stammers. "Please. I'd hoped just to lift your spirits a bit. I was once a mummer, you see. Please. I didn't mean to- to give any impression of- of such ideas. Too bold! Not mine. No."

Abruptly, a soothing noise of 'Shh' escapes the Lord's lips as he shakes his head, "Relax, I am not accusing you of anything… We're not under public pressure, have some self-esteem and refer to me as Lorcan, I'm going to grow sick and tired of that 'title'…" The male's eyes simply roll as his body rests against the seat, glancing upon her in silence.

Emmeline falls silent and meek as Lorcan hushes her. She settles against the back of her chair, sinking just a bit lower, as if trying to make herself small. She nods. "Thank you. S'true that- that it's a delight to be treated as a lady. It's a treat."

Lorcan traces her movement with a curious glance yet his lips part nonetheless, "I'm quite sure it feels as one… However, I must say - I do feel sorry for you in terms of your… background." The male's head gently tilts as both of his eyebrows rise to emphasise his statement before he returns into a normal glance, yet his palm reaches to grip upon the handle of the mug once again, raising it before leaning it towards his lips once more, slowly parting his lips to allow an edge of the mug inside, tilting it which forces the liquid to pour inside of his mouth, just to swallow it as he lowers the mug - sealing his lips.

Emmeline smiles softly up at him. "No need. I'm alright. Life is life, no matter how we start out or where we end up. We've all got tears to shed of happiness and grief. They come no matter what background we've got." Glancing down at her bowl - most of the stew is eaten - Emmeline nudges it away. "Milo- Lorcan. I'll be needed on my shift soon…" She grins a bit up at him. "Part of my lot. I've got to work. S'not so bad. Can feel better than anything after a looong day, feeling you've done well."

Without hesistation, Lorcan simply nods to approve of her latter comment, "I'm sure it does… on the other hand, I am indeed weary so perhaps it is best if I have a fine sleep… On such note… well met, 'Emmeline'." Shortly after his lips seal, the male's body proceeds to rise as his palm extends towards her, offering a regular handshake, "I do wish you well in terms of your shift… now, if you ever feel like it, you do know where I sleep and live…" Lorcan's lips curl into a smile as his palm awaits a response.

Emmeline rises only once Lorcan does. She blinks at the offered hand, but shifts closer to accept it. Her hand is soft, yet her grip secure. "Thank you," she murmurs. Truly, the offer he implies - aid and protection - is a great boon to a smallfolk such as she. She scarcely dares to believe her luck.

Although what seems to be a rather unbelieveable thing, the Lord himself finds it rather simple, almost routine-like… So at which, he simply nods towards the figure before him, "Well met, stay well." — at such moment, his body turns to step away from the table before approaching the doors. His palm pushes the doors open, at which his head pokes through - yet his voice is too faint to hear. Shortly after, he steps back before ascending the stairs, followed by the two guardsmen which seem to stay outside of his room while he steps inside, shutting the doors before locking them from inside.

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