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[caerleons-blog]

“You are most kind.” She takes his prooffered arm, “Walking should be easier now.” They proceed in the direction suggested, and it’s the calmest walk she has had in a long time. Leif’s company being enough to deter the townspeople from making hushed comments behind her back. She wonders if he minds.

The cobbler is a portly fellow, standing just outside the shop with a tool she didn’t know and wood shavings caught in the panels beneath the awning. He stands, recognising the laboured way in which she walks as new business. They exchange introductions.

“A Caerleon, eh? Dinnae Etrurians have fairer hair? Ye look a true Lycian.” He gestures for them both to come inside, and the bell at the door chimes as it shuts.

Priscilla gathers some coin from her pouch and lifts her broken heel to the man. His eyes catch more on the gold than the work.

“Now that. That be gold with the Cornwell crest. I cannae take that, lassie.”

She colors. To be brought out of her lie so quickly, with Leif being nothing but gracious… Raymond hadn’t prepared her for this kind of response.

Fortuitous | Open

caerleons:

Leif. What a curious name. She would do well to remember it. And Jugdral, was that not quite a distance? The name of which she had only heard of from the mouths of travelers with thicker accents. His was slight–a testament to his refined class–and she marveled at how well he took to the Etrurian country. Such a traveler was welcome sight, from the looks she had been given by others up until this point.

“Oh, that is most excellent! Sir Leif, it would do me well to accept your offer. I would compensate you for your trouble. If you plan to travel Etruria, I may even be able to provide some assistance.” She nodded her head, regained her footing and turned toward the inn. There was a chance she would even know this acquaintance of his, however she did not press her interest.

“Where shall we start? I imagine there would be a cobbler nearby. I am not too familiar with the layout of this town, myself. My horse is stabled at the inn, here, if we’ve need of him.”

pleased that she accepts his offer, he brightens slightly — stands up a little straighter, holds his head a little higher. ❝ oh, you don’t need to compensate me, ❞ he replies with a small, almost boyish smile despite the graciousness of his practiced tone, ❝ though your assistance in etruria would be welcome, since you sound as if you’re familiar with the kingdom. ❞ he knows the rough direction of his journey, and would be able to get by on his own, but some extra help wouldn’t hurt, and he doesn’t mind spending a bit more time with her.

looking about, he thinks of an idea and turns back to her. ❝ will you wait here? i can ask someone; i’ll be back soon. ❞ with how people have been looking at her, he figures she’d have a harder time getting directions out of the townsfolk. happy to help, he moves to speak with the nearest shopkeeper, eagerness to please hastening his step.

after exchanging a few words with a few of the town’s residents, he makes his way back to the girl, gesturing further down the avenue. ❝ the cobbler is just down this road, past two more streets. a small house with a green-colored roof. ❞ instinctively, he offers his hand for her to take his arm for support if she wishes, glancing down to her damaged shoe. ❝ will you be all right to walk? ❞ he asks a little more shyly.

[caerleons-blog]

Leif. What a curious name. She would do well to remember it. And Jugdral, was that not quite a distance? The name of which she had only heard of from the mouths of travelers with thicker accents. His was slight--a testament to his refined class--and she marveled at how well he took to the Etrurian country. Such a traveler was welcome sight, from the looks she had been given by others up until this point.

"Oh, that is most excellent! Sir Leif, it would do me well to accept your offer. I would compensate you for your trouble. If you plan to travel Etruria, I may even be able to provide some assistance." She nodded her head, regained her footing and turned toward the inn. There was a chance she would even know this acquaintance of his, however she did not press her interest.

"Where shall we start? I imagine there would be a cobbler nearby. I am not too familiar with the layout of this town, myself. My horse is stabled at the inn, here, if we've need of him."

Fortuitous | Open

caerleons:

“Oh, my mistake. I shall look elsewhere. Please pay me no mind.” She took a step back, toes together. There was a noble air about him, and a grace to his words which set her at ease. Despite her curiosity at what would bring someone so refined to this area, she bowed her head and made to leave. He called out to her. Word had travelled. She tried to ignore how he colored when she returned his attention (though it was admittedly cute) and responded evenly, “I am Priscilla.” Now, it wouldn’t be proper to just leave it at that, he seemed kind enough, “Of House Caerleon. I’m afraid they must have me mistaken for someone else.” Raymond had ever expressed the importance of keeping their family matters secret. Until such a point as which she could trust they would keep the information in confidence, Priscilla of Cornwell was no more. “And your name, sir? Whatever brings you here?”

priscilla. he tries the name in his mind, shaping its sound with a cerebral tongue; it’s unlike anything he’s heard before back home. nevertheless, it’s elegant and somehow fits her —  a sparkling kind of name. he’s unsurprised to hear she’s of nobility; she had carried the air of one from the moment he had spotted her from halfway down the street. 

&& though he wonders if she’s covering something up, she seems so confident in her statement that he thinks little more of it. maybe everyone really is mistaking her for someone else. it’s not his place to speculate, especially given that he’s not even of this land. 

❝ oh. i see. my name is leif, of leonster, on the continent of jugdral. ❞ he decides it’s best to put himself on level ground with her for starters. introducing himself as a king so often scares people away, and he has no interest in waving his title around. or scaring her away, for that matter. he finds himself intrigued by her, drawn. curious.

                     ❝ i am traveling to etruria to visit — ❞ 

                                                          ‘ a friend ’ doesn’t seem quite right. 

       ❝ — an acquaintance. i’m only here to spend the night. 

                                    ah, might i escort you to find a cobbler, at least?                                     with how the people here talk about you, it may                                     not be safe for you to wander alone. ❞

[caerleons-blog]

“Oh, my mistake. I shall look elsewhere. Please pay me no mind.” She took a step back, toes together. There was a noble air about him, and a grace to his words which set her at ease. Despite her curiosity at what would bring someone so refined to this area, she bowed her head and made to leave. He called out to her. Word had travelled. She tried to ignore how he colored when she returned his attention (though it was admittedly cute) and responded evenly, “I am Priscilla.” Now, it wouldn’t be proper to just leave it at that, he seemed kind enough, “Of House Caerleon. I’m afraid they must have me mistaken for someone else.” Raymond had ever expressed the importance of keeping their family matters secret. Until such a point as which she could trust they would keep the information in confidence, Priscilla of Cornwell was no more. “And your name, sir? Whatever brings you here?”

Fortuitous | Open

caerleons: 

Priscilla took to the side of a wall, set her stock down and kneeled to undo the clasps of the broken heel. It hadn’t torn through the sole, but to lose it over a mere skirt through town… Had she ignored the advice of the stablekeeper, she would have Albans now, and heel intact.

Regardless, the attention being on horseback would have drawn left her to mutely agree to the hostler’s care. Even dressed down, she caught the lingering gaze of more than a few townsfolk. She idly brushed her hair behind her ear, her other hand coiled over the contents of a thin pocket. Which would know of Cornwell’s fall? How many would then refuse her coin? It was still a few days’ travel to the estate in which she hoped to curry favor.

Heel set in with her things, she rose. Her shawl was primly dusted as she prepared to receive their stares. A noticeable dip in her step. Pushing back her reservations, she approached the nearest individual, their back turned.

“Forgive me, is there a cobbler nearby?”

under normal circumstances, never having been one to pay much attention to town gossip, leif would have carried on with his own business. this is only, after all, one simple stop on his journey, no more or less remarkable than the rest. after having located a suitable inn, he’d deposited his more valuable belongings, glad that he had chosen to dress modestly for the trip — at least until he arrived at his destination. still, the innkeeper had looked at him curiously, and he can’t blame her; he’d needed pack horses to carry all of his finery for later, and —

          ❝ … — look familiar to you? didn’t house cornwell … ? ❞

the whisper of passing patrons had caught his attention. he’d quickly dismissed it then, but now, as he walks through town, it comes up again and again. people whisper as he passes by, and not about him, but some girl. the rumors are too fleeting for him to pick up a complete portrait, but it’s definitely not anything good.

only by following everyone’s stares does he manage to find her, curiosity winning out over ambivalence. she’s adjusting a shoe, and he pauses mid-step, unsure how to approach her. ( he has been king now for over a year and still has trouble knowing how to talk to girls outside of an official capacity. )

                                      in the end, she approaches him. 

❝ a cobbler? i … i’m afraid i’m not from this town, ❞ he replies. this close, she’s startlingly pretty, and he’s caught off guard, a flush rising to his cheeks. ❝ i heard others talking about you. who are you? ❞

[caerleons-blog]

Fortuitous | Open

Priscilla took to the side of a wall, set her stock down and kneeled to undo the clasps of the broken heel. It hadn’t torn through the sole, but to lose it over a mere skirt through town… Had she ignored the advice of the stablekeeper, she would have Albans now, and heel intact.

Regardless, the attention being on horseback would have drawn left her to mutely agree to the hostler’s care. Even dressed down, she caught the lingering gaze of more than a few townsfolk. She idly brushed her hair behind her ear, her other hand coiled over the contents of a thin pocket. Which would know of Cornwell’s fall? How many would then refuse her coin? It was still a few days’ travel to the estate in which she hoped to curry favor.

Heel set in with her things, she rose. Her shawl was primly dusted as she prepared to receive their stares. A noticeable dip in her step. Pushing back her reservations, she approached the nearest individual, their back turned.

“Forgive me, is there a cobbler nearby?”

[caerleons-blog]

“I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting long. Let’s get started, shall we?”