So, a needle pulling thread - 4.15 - Lynesse, Trystane, Agrivane

[Lynesse Velaryon]

In the solar, the lightest, airiest room of Castle Dragonhold, was Lynesse, placing the final touches on her brothers' presents. She had made arrangements with one of the castle's servants to go find both Agrivane and Trystane and bring them to her.

Sewing was a habit she learned - some of which out of necessity, the rest out of the serenity, the oneness of needle and thread. It was a quiet task, but one she relished immensely, and in the case of these presents for her brothers, part of making sure the young knights were garbed appropriately for their station.

So, she waited, running her hands over her newest piece - a small handkerchief that she was currently embroidering with her initials in pink and azure silk thread.

[Agrivane Velaryon]

His two-handed grip flexed with each blow that rattled against the practice sword. Wood against wood - the air cracked again and again with the sound. Give and take, with every swing, block, parry and counter that occurred. Everything matched with equal deftness and skill.

Sweat coated the young man, falling to droplets against the flooring of the empty hall, and his breathing was heavy. He was exhausted, but made every attempt to conceal it. Breathing was deep and rhythmic, held as tightly controlled as the wooden weapon in his hands. In through the nose, out through the mouth; every exertion paired by a sharp exhalation. There was an upside, or as much as it could be called: if Agrivane were this tired, he Trystane would be as well.

Agrivane backpeddled several steps, coming to rest on the balls of his feet. He shifted his weight, crouched low. He drew an acute breath inward, the barest of pauses, before he darted forward into a thrust. Tip of the wooden sword held low, prepped to arc upward with only a short twist of Agrivane's wrists.

[Trystane Velaryon]

Out on the field, everything else seemed to disappear. No obligations, no consideration, no rules but the rules of the sword. Trystane saw his brother's thrust coming. And though they were familiar enough to recognize nearly all of each others tells, being able to see something coming didn't always mean he could block in time. He tried to move out of the way, but the thrust came to fast. Even his parry failed to stop the sword's course and the blow glanced off Trystane's elbow.

He took a breath and let his brother revel in the victory. They'd been at it for hours and his body felt like it was made of rusty plate mail. He didn't even have the energy to summon up a proper scowl at the annoyance.

"You looked so helpless, I thought I'd give you a point," Trystane boasted between breaths. "What's the total up to, now? I'll still let you concede if you'd rather not face the shame of losing."

[Agrivane Velaryon]

Agrivane's responding laughter was snide and scornful in the way that typically marked his competitive urges towards his brother, a very private and personal distinction. A derisive snickering, choked away quickly by his exhaustion and lack of breath. His wry amusement was clear enough, however.

"Helpless, am I? Was I the one struck just now? Because I don't think I was..." he taunted, breathing heavily. His concentration faltered, and his breathing had become ragged. Nevertheless, he followed with an arrogant smirk... a very arrogant one.

"Whatever the score is, I'm sure that I'm ahead." He resisted the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at his twin.

Truthfully, he had lost track of whatever score the was some time ago, likely even before Trystane had as well. But Agrivane would never admit to it! ...Even if Trystane most likely already knew.

[Trystane Velaryon]

Every muscle in his body told him not to, but Trystane couldn't help rising to his brother's bait. He summoned up the energy to flourish his practice sword and urged his body back into a ready stance. His stubbornness won over his pain every time. That's how he'd learned to survive.

"Careful of getting too confident, brother," he warned. "It will be your undoing. In fact, why don't I undo you a bit right now? Another round. That is, if you're not too tired. Oh, you do look dreadful..."

His grin was merciless. There was no way Agrivane would let that remark stand. Trystane readied himself for the next round, determined to pay his brother back for that tap on the elbow.

[Agrivane Velaryon]

His brother was right: Agrivane would certainly not let that stand. How could he possibly do that? Oh, how easily goaded... at least where it concerned Trystane. Of course, Trystane obviously knew that; and that's what made it so effective.

Agrivane steadied his breathing, though it was with some difficulty. Muscles groaned in protest as he resumed a fighting stance. Legs spread wide, almost a crouch - low center of gravity; sword held level at his chest, tip forward ready for another thrust.

"Undo me? You make that sound so unpleasant," he taunted - then he sprang forward. Had his legs had voice, they would have screamed; and though he would have ignored those cries, there was little he could do to further his body's compliance. His lunge was too slow, too weary. It lacked the necessary aggression, and even as the tip of his wooden sword pierced forward, the advantage was already surely Trystane's. That would not stop Agrivane, however; he was not lacking in stubbornness, either.

[Trystane Velaryon]

Trystane seized on his brother's moment of weakness. Even if his own body was nearly spent, the thrill that came with the slightest taste of victory brought a second wind that allowed him to swat down Agrivane's sword with a clear snap. He pulled up the practice sword to make the decisive blow, but a movement in the periphery of his vision snared his attention away from the sparring match. Knowing Agrivane would surely take advantage of the lapse in concentration, Trystane stepped back and motioned for a halt to their game.

With triumph snatched right from under his nose, Trystane turned his temper on the servant lurking on the edge of their practice area. This man would pay.

"Yes, we see you! You can stop flapping your arms like a fool." He motioned around, as though the man had not seen where they were and what they were doing. "Are you deficient? Does it look like we want to be bothered with your jabbering right now?"

The man fumbled for his words. "I'm sorry... But the lady--"

Trystane rolled his eyes. This was just more of his time wasted. "Unless something is on fire or someone is dead, I don't really care. I hope, for your sake, it's one of those two."

[Lynesse Velaryon]

The wait was long. Even though she had her embroidery to work on, Lynesse was wondering what kept the servant and the boys away for so long. Still, this was the last time for quiet in the solar before they eventually showed up.

Her waiting was accompanied by the sounds of embroidery: taut fabric being pricked by needle, silken threads traveling through the freshly pricked holes, a symphony of colours more than of sound, but a symphony nonetheless. It all spoke to her - it was her giving of herself, more than she could ever say with words.

Yet, her mind wandered.

[Agrivane Velaryon]

Vibrations raced into his arms, clawed at worn muscles, as his sword was parried away. Agrivane knew it was coming: he was simply too tired, and therefore too sloppy. Already-strained muscles tensed and prepared to roll with the inevitable counter that should have followed. But, in that heartbeat where it should have come, there was... nothing. Instead, Trystane stepped back - seemingly abstaining from countering at all; and so too did Agrivane step away as well, surprised, and regained his guard. And then his brother signaled to stop...

Confused for a fleeting moment until he glanced backwards, Agrivane then noted the servant waiting at the edge of the hall. With a long sigh, he relaxed his posture and his guard fell away. He would have considered himself lucky, to have been spared Trystane's return blow, were it not so distasteful to have it been on account of a servant of all things. Agrivane's features hinted at the makings of a sneer.

Though his brother's dismissive insult of the servant amused him, Agrivane nevertheless interjected: "Wait," he said.

He turned to the messenger. "You, servant," he practically spat the word, "to which 'lady' do you refer? Lynesse or Brielle?"

"L-Lady Lynesse, sir," the man replied. His timidness made Agrivane sick; with a flippant wave of his hand, Agrivane shooed the man away, who bowed shortly then turned and left with no shortage of haste. Agrivane was satisfied to be rid of him.

He turned back to his twin, presenting a far more amicable tone and demeanor than that he displayed towards the servant. "When was the last time you can recall Lynesse actively seeking anyone out?" Agrivane questioned. "It's probably something important..."

"Besides," he continued, he grimaced slightly, loath to admit mistake, "you would have struck me. We'll call it even, at least." How it galled the man to say that; and he knew that Trystane would likely not let that one go any time soon. He tossed down his practice sword, which clattered heavily against the stone flooring.

He stalked off through the entrance of the hall, which at least informally served as the twins' training area, leaving his brother to follow. He turned down the passageway towards the solar; Agrivane hadn't asked the servant after Lynesse's whereabouts, as he already knew the most likely place to find her. Entering the room's open archway quietly, the man had to blink momentarily at the light spilling from the room's two opposite windows. He cleared his throat slightly, a rather meager way of announcing oneself...

[Lynesse Velaryon]

A soft smile formed on her lips as she saw her brothers, hot, sweaty, and sticky from sparring as she looked up from her rather tidy work. "Agrivane, Trystane! I made these for you." Putting aside her work, she picked up the two parcels, crossed the room, and gave them to her brothers - hoods with liripipes in wool, the colour of the sky, edged with the pink of a carnation flower. At the same time, though...

"Are those the best clothes you have?"

[Agrivane Velaryon]

Agrivane took his parcel carefully in his hands, of a mind not to dirty it with the dust, sweat and grime that he had accumulated in the last few hours. He unwrapped it gingerly, opening it with deft fingertips; inside, a chaperon. Its colours distinctly matched their houses banner, and its quality noticeably fine; if one thing was ever to said of Lynesse, Agrivane thought, is that she was not lacking in skill with a needle.

He glanced down at his own present attiring, taking an appraisal of its worn and tattered state.

"No," he replied, "these are simply my sparring clothes." For Lynesse's sake, Agrivane's arrogance and vanity that would have been otherwise present was curtailed heavily - though, the underlying meaning was likely very clear, regardless: 'as if these pitiful rags are all I have to wear!'

[Trystane Velaryon]

Trystane looked over Lynesse's gift to them. Agrivane had been right; it was rare for their sister to show this much initiative. At first he was stunned into silence, but then with a kindness reserved for only one of two people, Trystane gave a smile that was free of any hint of selfishness.

"Thank you, Lynesse. You've done fine work." He would have been fine just to leave it at that, but he couldn't stop the more dominant side of his personality from slipping in a bit. "It's rare to be able to wear something that can match our natural looks, but I think this might do just that."

At the question of their clothing, Trystane gave a long-suffering sigh. "Now what a silly question. Of course, as Agrivane says, these are certainly not our best." He leaned in and winked as if sharing a secret with his little sister, though the comment was perfectly audible. "But just between us, I would look better in a dishtowel than our brother would even in his finest. Don't you agree?"

[Lynesse Velaryon]

Resigned, Lynesse sighed, responding quietly. "That wasn't exactly what I meant, but..." She trailed off, more keen to go back to the relative safety of her embroidery, but instead stayed, waiting to see if they would understand what she was trying to get at.

"I. I heard a rumour, that's all. Entertaining visitors, maybe? Something about being in our best clothes and I..." Back to being quiet, again, Lynesse looked down at her toes, suddenly fully aware of how awkward she was next to the glorious knights that were her brothers.

[Agrivane Velaryon]

Agrivane rolled his eyes, and in juvenile mockery of his brother, made move to gag slightly. "Is that you're way of telling us that you want to garb yourself with a dishtowel, Trystane?" Agrivane taunted, his voice dripping with wry amusement, "perhaps we should have you dress in loincloth - you're suitably uncouth for it."

"Maybe we'll send you East to live with those barbarian types - Skall-things, or whatever it is they call themselves." He laughed, almost a giggle. Then, with the slightest of steps, he shifted away ever so minutely - nevertheless, surely not to be missed by his brother - and with a quick twitch turned his face away in faux disgust. He failed to disguise the hints of an all-too-satisfied smirk, however.

He had trampled over his sister's comments, though for all his faults not intentionally so. As it was, the attention of that 'glorious knight' had become caught up in trading barbs with his identical counter-part.

[Trystane Velaryon]

Trystane patted himself on the chest approvingly. In a rare turn of events, his brother's comments had done nothing to rile him up. In fact, he wore a look of serene grace and a dreamy smile as he seemed to look off into a far-away place somewhere in the corner by the ceiling.

"Is it uncouth to reveal perfection to the world, Agrivane? Why, I imagine one look at this glorious form would turn the heart of any island barbarian. Just think of it! They would worship me as their god...." He gave a knowing glance to his twin. "I'm sure even the court ladies wouldn't mind it one bit."

Suddenly, Trystane remembered they were not the only two people in the room. He turned his attention back to his sister and furrowed his brow slightly.

"Sorry Lynesse, did you say something?"

[Lynesse Velaryon]

It was easy to forget about her. She didn't speak much, and with Trystane and Agrivane always engaged in sparring, both physically and mentally, it was common to repeat things. Clearing her throat, Lynesse spoke again, only a touch louder, her voice still husky. "I said, I heard a rumour. That we may have guests and that we needed to wear our best. I..."

It was sometimes difficult to live in their shadows, to be ignored all the time. It made her feel that she was the cause of all of this, that she was responsible for being forgotten about.

"I... just got an idea to make something more befitting for who we are, so our guests don't think we're some sort of savages. I just think that maybe I need to make you something really nice, that's all."

Her voice kept cracking, her mind racing about the whys and the hows she was the way she was and the reason why she was rejected all the time - clearly it was something she had done long ago.

"I mean, I have some nice silk that might work...that is, if you want." And if she could, she would make them look even more the part of glorious knights, maybe blurring the line between that and prince. She looked down at her feet, very self-conscious, very mousy - very much the opposite of her brothers, who were her own personal gods.

[Trystane Velaryon]

Trystane felt a mix of pity and annoyance at seeing his sister circle around what she really wanted to say. She needed to have more confidence. She was a Velaryon, after all, and that near-constant look of uncertainty didn't suit her. She might even be called beautiful if she lost that moping frown on her face. Perhaps not as beautiful as her brothers, but it almost didn't seem fair to hold anyone else to so high a standard.

"Lynesse, I hardly think we should worry about whatever lesser people might get into their heads about us. Our family shouldn't have to prove anything. Just let them look at our history and try to call us savages." His words became a bit heated, but the energy was not directed at her. Lately it felt as though the old blood Svavel really did mean nothing, with riffraff like the Mallorys seated as heads of the province.

"But if it makes you happy, sister, we would be glad for the favor. Silk will be an excellent choice to complement us, don't you think, Agrivane?"

[Agrivane Velaryon]

Pity was a rare occurrence: an emotion seldom felt, and even more infrequently paid deference to by his egotism. Those instances that warranted such… unsavoury emotion were extraordinarily far and few between. Lynesse, however, was among the ‘privileged’ few that could incite such stirrings in Agrivane. He pitied her for her timidity; her demureness; her lack of will. But mostly, in truth, he pitied Lynesse because she wasn’t like him.

The emotion was rather distasteful.

Agrivane waved off his brother’s repartee, uncharacteristically displaying disinclination towards continued exchange of verbal barbs. His attention, presently, had been turned away from sibling rivalry towards his sister.

“Yes, silk would be lovely…” Agrivane half-muttered, paying little mind to the comment. The twins could indeed make even a dishtowel seem dashing – he far more so than Trystane! What intrigued him more was something else entirely.

His question was aimed at Lynesse; his voice was quiet, but his tone firm. “What rumours, exactly? Just what guests are you speaking of?”

[Lynesse Velaryon]

Gulping, feeling that she was being interrogated, Lynesse answered. "I overheard one of the servants talking about our liege-lord planning a visit, and I just thought..." Biting her lip, she looked up, curious as to how that would make things unfold at home. After all, she had sworn fealty to him, but that was about it. There wasn't much she could do about it, being a girl, but she was in fealty.

As for the sewing, it had to be done, then. "I'll need to make measurements. Please don't fight about it?" This came out in the way that most of her requests did: more like a question, less like a command, and always in her strangely quiet voice.

[Agrivane Velaryon]

"Mallory..." He nearly spit the name. Agrivane had his own reasons for animosity. It usually seemed that dislike and hatred for the current provincial lording house ran rampant throughout House Velaryon; most members of the family held their own reason or another for the sentiment.

His mood had now soured – any visitation by the Mallorys would prove a tense, unpleasant affair.

Agrivane sighed, acquiescing to his sister’s ‘demands’. If one could call them that. He moved to sit, draping himself lazily in a small chair present in the room. It was too small for any real comfort; sized, as Agrivane imagined, rather for his sister. He asked, "Are we to take these measurements now, then?"

What he really wanted at that point was a bath, and maybe a drink...

[Trystane Velaryon]

Trystane bit back a snicker. "If you can stomach our brother's stench, that is." Though, in truth, they could both do with a quick wash. Trystane hated the way his sweat dried stickily on his skin, not to mention the fact that it was terrible for his complexion.

But rather than the overt animosity Agrivane displayed, Trystane took the news of the impending arrival with a cold disdain. He was now more determined that Lynesse's new clothes be an utter success; they would show the Mallorys all the reasons why their family deserved more much more than it had received. Trystane extended his arms for Lynesse to take his measurements.

"I'll go first, but be sure to make mine last. Agrivane's will be practice, so feel free to use up all of your mistakes on him."

[Lynesse Velaryon]

"Maybe you might feel better after getting clean, and I don't think the silk would do well with sweat on it. Whenever you're done, I'll take measurements." As usual, this trailed off like the rest of her sentences into virtual silence, as if speech pained her.

What pained her more was the animosity between Trystane and Agrivane. Really, all her desires were to get people to get along, especially within her family. It was all she had. "I have some work to finish, so whenever you get back will be good, but I need to get started today if I'm to get things done in by the time of the visit."

[Trystane Velaryon]

Trystane shrugged. Usually the thought of being made to wait would annoy him, but they hadn't really planned much else that day. Besides, this was Lynesse. Regardless of his own feelings, he was just grateful to see her engaged in something.

"As you wish. We'll come back in an hour or so, while the light is still good. Not that I don't trust your hand, sister, but working in the dark isn't good for your eyes." He took a step forward to pat her on the head dotingly. "And it wouldn't do to have you squinting at the Mallorys when they come to invade."

Turning back to Agrivane, he nodded towards the door. "Let's be off, then. Where are the servants when you need them? They always seem to be butting in when they're not wanted, and now that there's real work to be done they've gone and disappeared. It's utterly unbelievable!"

[Agrivane Velaryon]

Agrivane had again ignored the expected attempts at goading by his brother, though it was nevertheless far from an uncommon display of ‘maturity’ on his part. Rather, his thoughts had turned inward; stewing morosely on the apparently coming visit by House Mallory, which would undoubtedly prove to be a loathsome experience for the entirety of the house. Selfishly, however – and not particularly surprising, perhaps – Agrivane’s concern was primarily towards his own ends.

Presently, attention shifted back to the conversation – to which he proceeded to groan in response, quite audibly. “Be off?” He questioned, his tone hinting at how closely bordering on preposterous he found the idea. He would not simply wander about waiting on someone else, even if that someone were Lynesse. The notion was absurd.

“Can’t you just take the measurements now?” Agrivane continued, irritated. The man’s mood had dipped into melancholy and frustration in those past few moments, obvious in the tone of his voice and the subtle grimace that twisted his mouth. He waved a hand lazily, a dismissive gesture only marginally shy of contemptuous – though it was, even despite Agrivane’s temperament, aimed at neither sibling directly.

“Surely you can use some other material, and make do – substitute the silk, later,” he stressed; more petulant complaint than either demand or even request.

[Lynesse Velaryon]

"If I take the measurements now, you'll be even more uncomfortable. I want it to fit right, and if you're all sweaty and itchy I won't be able to get it right, and I want this to be perfect." Shifting uncomfortably, Lynesse looked at her brothers, one ready to do whatever he could to help...and the other...well, less than cooperative.

"And, silk drapes differently than everything else. I can't just substitute another fabric." Whether or not she realised it, her voice sounded slightly whiny, as if she picked up on Agrivane's dissatisfaction. Besides, it was she who would be waiting on him, not the other way around.