Griffin's Talons | Bartholomew & Ciara
"Good morning, sweetheart," said Bar Varmont, entering the breakfast room. He pased on his path, kissing the top of his daughter's blond head as he went to his place at the table, claiming his plate. He was famished, indeed, and glad to find he would not be consuming his repast alone. The sight of his son and daughter was always welcome to him.
Though the chamber was set for breakfasting, complete with a steaming buffet, this was not in fact Bar's first meal. He'd been up before dawn, riding for Ormond in hopes of meeting with its lord. Once again, the lord there had proven to be out and the butler, an elderly man by the name of Diarmuid with a Malconaire accent, had refused to admit him, making some vague excuse about illness within. This was not, in fact, the first time Bar had found himself refused and, though the excuse had then proven a hunt which had taken all from home and which had also prevented anyone from seeking in the Ormond woods lest they should be taken for prey and shot full of arrows. The first time had been queer -- generally, even fro an elaborate hunt, there was someone left back, not to mention news of it beforehand, but he had accepted it. This second time, however, left something scratching at the interior of his mind.
Claiming eggs and sausage for himself, Bar took up his place at the table, placing his napkin in his lap. "Darling," he began, flashing his gaze towards his daughter. She spent more time mingling at court, really, than he did, given his duties, he considered. She might know more. After all, Lord Ormond was noted for a fondness for the ladies -- one ludicrously inappropriate imperial princess, in particular -- and Bar had no doubts that Cassandra, being who she was, was quick to intimate what she knew to her fair cousin.
"What know you of Lord Ormond?" he paused, spearing a piece of egg to chew on, and beginning again when he had swallowed. "I've been twice to call on him -- the Emperor is keen to know more of him, given his...closeness with our Cassandra -- but have been twice turned away by the same servant. To be sure, he calls himself the head butler but...I never seem to see anyone else about. There are excuses for this, to be sure, but...It seems strange." He paused. "I seem to recall that Alaric said he was once invited to the estate for some hawking. I confess, I'm somewhat minded to ask him to accept the invitation, even if it truly was given only in jest. What think you, Ciara?"
He shook his head. "But here I am nattering on about such courtly nonsense, when we've matters of our own to discuss." He sighed, put down his fork. "Has Eoin spoken to you much regarding his...betrothal?" The announcement had come as much a shock to Bar as to anyone else, the Emperor having consulted precisely no one on his ideas. Bar meant to object, but he knew he must approach it the right way. Roderick was a stubborn man, and too obvious an opposition would only have him digging in his feet on the subject all the more.
His own ideas for Eoin were unsettled, it was true, and certainly on paper Eoin could not do better than his imperial cousin, but Bar did wish them both happy, as well, (though still happy within their own sphere, of course, a match with a serving girl would have met with paternal ire most certainly, had Bar ever come to hear of it!) and it was his contention that neither Guin nor Eoin were made happy by this match. His own hopes for Eoin had gone towards Sonya or Eithne Malconaire (before her own inter-familial betrothal), or perhaps one of his Calleary cousins -- he did not think coming anywhere too close to the throne would greatly please his son and the thought certainly disquieted Bar on many levels...not least the fact that it left him with three children, each of whom were placed squarely in a different branch of the Varmont competition for the crown. The knowledge flooded him with disquiet.
"I don't suppose, my dear, should -- should the Emperor maintain his desire to see your brother wed our Guin -- I don't suppose you might consider perhaps...rethinking your own...marital arrangements?" He paused, voice calm. He did not wish her to think he was trying to be anything other than rational as regarded this point.
"You know I wish for nothing more than that my children should each be happy and cared for, and if your heart truly aligns with Godfrey Calainon, well...But, my girl, I shall be frank -- you can see the political difficulties this puts us in, as a family, with yourself aligned with Edmund, and Eoin with Guinevere...and, in the spirit of frankness, Godfrey is a more..." he did not wish to say 'a more reasonable man'... "He can be more easily...dealt with than the Emperor, when it comes to matters of persuasion. That is, Ciara: he will not keep you against your will. If you no longer wish to wed him, I feel confident he will set you free and allow you to find another." Roderick, however...What was his new arrangement with Eilionora Stafford, if not proof that he was not quite so attentive to the hopes and wishes of those around him?
If Bar had had his way, Elaine would have been his only bride, another to be taken only after her demise left him single. What had Roderick's many wives brought the empire besides confusion and suffering? Oh, Bar loved his nieces and nephews who had resulted from the other marriages, dearly, but mistresses were common and acceptable for a reason, but now their very existence as legitimate heirs meant that an entire empire was destined to bleed...
Besides, there was something in Godfrey which Bar did not quite like. There was, indeed, soemthing not quite right in any of the those three Calainons, and it had always been with reluctance that Bar had consented to the marriage, in the first place. While he also felt that Eoin's new match wasn't quite right, he hoped that a dissolution of the ties to Godfrey might at least be one positive to result. Still, if Ciara wanted Godfrey, she would have him with her father's best wishes and fondest hopes. He did not mean to stand between his daughter and her happiness, even if he quietly considered it ill advised.
"Know that I don't press you for an answer, yet, unless you are already decided upon the matter completely -- I only ask that you mind your heart and, when you know what it wants, I should like to hear it, whatever your answer may be."
