Thread: The Weight of the Crown (JellyFish & Greeneyed23)

Aretha tapped her nails against the wooden table gazing back and forth between her plate and goblet. She still wasn't hungry and neither did she feel any trust for Hama. Being a cautious woman to the point of paranoid, she cast sideway glances to the Souled. To her dismay, he had winked at her. Of all audacious things to do! Her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she looked for a napkin. Finding one, she reached over to where her brother Ducan sat and plucked a pen from his pocket. What do you think you doing?, he asked raising a arched brow. I'm simply making sure you don't ruin your clothing. You have a tendency to have ink bursting on your clothing, if I remember correctly. She answered with a smug smile. Her bother snorted but didn't make any further attempts to dismantle the truth behind her statement. He always seemed to be carrying some writing utensil and in the end a disastrous mess was left behind in the process. Satisfied, she began writing on the piece of cloth which she noted was finely made and slide it across to where Hama sat. 'Sir, I do believe your flirting with me. Are my qualms correct?' She had written the lettering in beautiful, neat loops that formed into words taken in a forward slant. Taking on a disinterested air, she spoke up. I must question something that has been bothering my conscious. Why exactly have we not heard of these attacks from before you've arrived dear Hama? Some would think that if such creatures did exist we would have heard of them parading on the lands. And certainly if they are on a mindless massacre. Not many people out of the royals and nobles have heard Aretha speak out so openly. Poets would make songs and lyrical adaptions concerning the royal family and their mysterious children. One of the rumors that spread like wildfire by the higher ups of the land tell told of the middle child who had a voice of nature. And rightly so. Any resentment which was in her evaporated and the notes she spoke in spilled like laughing water over smooth stones which glistening in the running streams. To the listeners ear's one could say it was the gentle sounds of earth as it moved through the seasons, of trees in the wind, of water slapping stone, or of animals play. In any case. it was strangely beautiful and somewhat moving, filled with the grace of the forest and it's creatures. Ah! The Lady of the Tongue speaks! Watch out, Hama! She'll wrap your words around you faster than a jack rabbit in front of a prairie fire! Siddel yelled across the table, some of the men chortling at the expression. Oh hush you. This a meeting and as such a discussion that is filled with questions that must be answered. She tried to maintain a serious expression but her lips failed to do so. She turned her attention back to Hama, resting her arm against the mantle of the chair and her hand cuppeding her cheek. The belt she wore of braided gold and pearls and hanging bells accented her slime waist, tinkled as she moved about. To her it was much difficulty to move in the simple but long red dress, that fell into gentle gathers to the floor. But the colors complemented her comely form that was wrapped in a black shawl, gracing her shoulders. She tilted her head, large, dark, fathomless eyes, deep as forest pools and twinkling in an unspoken challenge. The bun that her maid had tied was falling apart, mostly likely in due rush. The golden streaked brown tresses curled in dark cascades along her slender neck, framing a face at once so open and frank it would disarm the observer. The King coughed, waving a large hand as to dismiss his daughter's inquires. Don't mind her, she does this to every man she meets. A challenge of intelligence and sharp remark. Which is the reason she chases off every suitor within a day. Her shrewdness will torment any sensible man. Aretha shrugged, her mother choking on her food as her daughter's common state. Is it wrong for me to see if a man has more wit than his horse? Of every man I meet I promise the only thing left to be admired of him is his coin purse. Her father woofed a laugh so deep, breath seemed impossible to catch. She looked back to Hama, obviously playing a game she knew all too well. It's quite alright if you don't answer me at my father's request, though...it may bring about some doubtfulness on others... Hiding her face away from all to see, she mouthed gingerly, a smile playing with the corners of her lovely mouth, threatening always to dissolve her features into laughter. Do you accept, Sir?