675-04-15 - Impending Betrothal
| Impending Betrothal | |||||||
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| Summary: Alajos learns a tiny detail from his sister Ortensia, that arouses his anger. | |||||||
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The party has weight anchors at Equis a day ago and is sailing to the Isles now. Some are enjoying the voyogaes, other not so much. One who definitely does not enjoy being at sea is young Duke Alajos, who hasn't stirred from his cabin. His servant has been seen to and fro with the bucket. Food has been rejected. Woe.
Ortensia Istivean, the young duke's older sister emerges with rosy cheeks, straightened shoulders and energetic movements. Her vivid knocking at his cabin door speaks of a certain long-known persistence she had often shown while handling Alajos. "Move you fancy backside out of there, young man. Enough whimpering, come out!"
Oh no. She. Alajos groans. The servant opens the door a little later, peering out at Ortensia. "Mylord is not well. He asks you to come back later.", the young man tells her. Looking like he'd love to have a break and be up on deck for a bit.
Swiftly Ortensia graps the young servant's wrist, plucks him out of the half opened door and manages to slip in herself. "Not well. The boy is well enough. Prepare his doublet, I'll show you how well he is, when he is finally done suffering. "
Her look at her brother is jovial, satifactionary, but her smile a bit sardonic, when she coos "My poor little lamb. Did the sea hurt your tummy?"
Alajos is in his cot, blanket tugged up to his chin and rather green in the face. "Ortensia. I am not well.", he insists and glares at his sister, "You know I don't like the sea. I will just remain here until we have reached the harbour." He looks rather defiant.
The pat on his shoulder is gentle, yet forceful in all its gentleness. "No, darling. You will grow some of those round, hairy things people like you usually have between their legs and follow me upstairs. The servant may drown your sheets in perfume, it still smells like vomit down here. Of course you are not well," Ortensia comments with a wrinkled nose.
"You have to stay representable. Chop-chop."
Alajos eyes Ortensia when she speaks of things she has no business speaking of. But he realizes that he just won't get rid of her for now and finally sits up wearily. "My head hurts.", he moans and staggers to his feet, holding on to something to deal with the motion of the ship on the waves. "Why do you want me to go up on deck anyway?"
"To make sure the sailors will spit on your shiny shoes, while the seaguls will shit on your lovely little head, of course." Ortensia answers, her posture a pinch more complacent now. "And to show you the sunset and the swallows. You haven't seen anything that beautiful in your life before. I promise."
There is nothing as beautiful as the sun setting over the woods at Woriscant.", Alajos claims somewhat petulantly while he allows the servant to put a fancy blue coat with golden embroidery over his crumpled shirt that covers the ducal person from neck to knees. With a big sigh, he follows Ortensia out of the cabin, giving the servant a change to clean up some. The ship keeps doing its thing, going up and down with the roll of the wave and Alajos is thrown against the wooden wall outside the cabin, which earns Ortensia a glare.
Ortensia bursts out in a light-hearted, silvery chuckle that had not been heard from her for years, as it seems. "You will get rid of your land legs soon enough. But look!" she says, pointing at the peach-coloured horizon, the rufscent reflections on the rather smooth sea and the graceful passaging of some black swallows dancing through the evening air, there elegantly interlaced flight paths and there sharp twittering.
"Swallow, swallow, if I could follow... of course Woriscant has its beauty, but look. No treetop as an obstacle, no mountain to restrict your eyes," she sighs. "And take a deep breath. The air smells a lot better here, doesn't it?"
"But there is nothing to see anyway. Just water.", Alajos points out, once he has emerged on deck. Slowly, always making sure that he can hold on to something, he makes his way to the railing, which he grips with both hands. Only then can he start to appreciate the sunset colors and the fresh air, which brings a bit of color back into his cheeks. "It's not bad.", he admits at last.
"I knew you would like it. You can tell your future bride about it. Young women love sunsets and birds." Ortensia explains, watching her brother carefully.
For a moment it doesn't seem like Alajos even heard her. Maybe the seagulls are cawing too loudly. But somehow it trickles through his clogged-up brain and after a bit, he narrows his eyes, looking at Ortensia. "I don't have a bride. I have no interest in a bride.", he just states.
Softly his sister lays a hand on the young duke's arm. "Our cousin slipped me a little secret, Alajos. You will marry. I highly doubt your interest in a bride is much of his interest in this matter, she is said to be the King's direct kin and a pleasant chit. You will have to marry, brother."
"What?!", Alajos now looks seriously upset. "You are lying! Why would Ralph tell you and not me? And why would he not ask me first? He knows I'm not ready to marry!" His hands grip the railing of the ship tighter until his knuckles turn white. It seems the only thing he can do to stop himself from bursting into tears.
"Because he knows I'm the only one, who would be able to talk sense into you, before you disgrace us on an official event. You haven't been ready for quite a few years now, I wasn't that lucky myself." Ortensia says mildly. "He knew you would reject his offer. But now you are the last male Fennim of our line, as much as you like to hide that fact at times. It comes with certain duties. Cheer up, she is said to be pleasant enough."
"I would not disgrace you. That dreadful feast at the Isles has nothing to do with a potential bride for me, has it? It would be a damn long way to lure me for an official announcement. Or -" He goes really pale at the thought, "Is she from the Isles?!" A foreigner!
"I know you wouldn't disgrace me, not intentional at least." Ortensia comments with a weary little smile. "But I thought it might be in your interest to better now, than later. And no worries, he hasn't matched you with one of the brutes. I can't tell you much about her, Ralph knows more about all this, I'm as curious as you should be right now. Maybe it's not a bad thing to have both of you on a ship right now, you should discuss that matter before you step ashore, I think."
Thoughtfully she leans over the railing as well.
"If I'd see Ralph right now, I'd toss him overboard!", Alajos fumes angrily, "He has NO RIGHT! to do this to me!" He hits the railing with a fist, which is not a good idea, since it's made of solid wood. At least the pain brings him back to his senses. "Do you know her name?"
"No, I don't know who it is, exactly. As I said, she should be kin to the King and a pleasant thing." Ortensia explains with a regretful shrug. "If I knew anything more, I would have told you, I promise. But there is one thing I know for sure: We are a noble family. A miller's son could say something like that, if he doesn't want to marry a sailmaker's daughter, but that's not how our matches are chosen. We grant our people wealth and peace by our chosen spouses, and believe me, after all that happened our people could use your bride's dowry. Some of the smallfolk still hasn't fully recovered from the famine yet."
Alajos keeps glaring at his sister, though he also looks a bit nervous now. "King's kin? It's not Barbeta, is it?", he asks, looking panicked, "I will not marry the princess, I'm telling you! She is ... I can't bear her! She chatters all the time. No!" He turns around to hurry back beneath the deck to find Ralph and shout at him, though another big wave sends him stumbling into some crates. A fitting end to a day that's definitely rock bottom already.
(675-04-15 - The Main Line Needs to be Continued follows directly)
