Righting Things (Braeldia) [May 3010]
Mar 10, 2018 12:22:18 GMT -5
Post by Wynfled on Mar 10, 2018 12:22:18 GMT -5
The wedding had been something Wynfled simply had to attend. She had not exactly known the grooms, though her husband had been acquainted by his work. With such an open invitation to the most of the city; and a chance to walk beneath the towering ceilings of Meduseld and perhaps meet people who had name in the city; Wynfled had gathered along with her sister, and her friends, chittering and enjoying the drinks.
They had made a passing acquaintance at a wedding the month prior. Of course, Braeldia had looked a bit scruffy then; her hair all a wisp, and no fine feet for dancing. Her sister, Avila, had been the one to pass the judgments upon her, and though Wynfled had made no protests to them then… of course her thoughts were similar relating to the careful attention one must take to learning the dances; she saw shortly thereafter that things must be righted.
Braeldia, she had later learned her name to be, had been shortly whisked off by none other than the Marshal of the Mark himself! They'd disappeared somewhere; off from sight, the women's mouths gaping for the luck of a silly horse-girl to have drawn his attention. It had taken some asking to determine who, exactly, she was; the daughter of a Horse Lord. Of course. The men surely loved their horses in this town. Wynfled was not opposed to horses, but they were, afterall, the work of men.
Some time had passed, and Wynfled had tarried about the markets on her usual affairs, taking in news here and there, chatting among others, learning tidbits of information, and offering some of her advices. It was that day she was hovering about the market stall, looking at the finely scented soaps, when she saw the woman again.
“Lady Braeldia,” Wynfled greeted hastening toward her, speaking as if she knew her already. “I was hoping to see you about. I wanted to apologize for… well, for my sister. You see, she's not...” She lowered her voice. “She is not exactly well. Her mouth runs forth like Snowbourn itself and I try to keep her in line, but it's a desperate thing. Her condition. A wedding of all places to speak that way.” She shook her head in dismay.
She shifted her basket on her arm, touching Braeldia's arm. “I do hope you will forgive us, and let me right things.” Her face was concerned, brow wrinkled.
They had made a passing acquaintance at a wedding the month prior. Of course, Braeldia had looked a bit scruffy then; her hair all a wisp, and no fine feet for dancing. Her sister, Avila, had been the one to pass the judgments upon her, and though Wynfled had made no protests to them then… of course her thoughts were similar relating to the careful attention one must take to learning the dances; she saw shortly thereafter that things must be righted.
Braeldia, she had later learned her name to be, had been shortly whisked off by none other than the Marshal of the Mark himself! They'd disappeared somewhere; off from sight, the women's mouths gaping for the luck of a silly horse-girl to have drawn his attention. It had taken some asking to determine who, exactly, she was; the daughter of a Horse Lord. Of course. The men surely loved their horses in this town. Wynfled was not opposed to horses, but they were, afterall, the work of men.
Some time had passed, and Wynfled had tarried about the markets on her usual affairs, taking in news here and there, chatting among others, learning tidbits of information, and offering some of her advices. It was that day she was hovering about the market stall, looking at the finely scented soaps, when she saw the woman again.
“Lady Braeldia,” Wynfled greeted hastening toward her, speaking as if she knew her already. “I was hoping to see you about. I wanted to apologize for… well, for my sister. You see, she's not...” She lowered her voice. “She is not exactly well. Her mouth runs forth like Snowbourn itself and I try to keep her in line, but it's a desperate thing. Her condition. A wedding of all places to speak that way.” She shook her head in dismay.
She shifted her basket on her arm, touching Braeldia's arm. “I do hope you will forgive us, and let me right things.” Her face was concerned, brow wrinkled.