Besseta gazed around in amazement. She couldn't believe how many people had come to the tournament. She supposed this was because she'd never been to one before. Her mother had always told her that they were Satanist's games. As she looked around her, she just couldn't believe that this was true. The place looked amazing. So beautiful. But it was so loud. Besseta didn't usually like loud areas.

As she felt the bodies of busy, excited people rush around her, Besseta felt like an ant on some of their shoes. Less than an ant even. Some mud. The dizzying effect of all this movement slowly overcame her. Besseta knew she was lost, had been for a while. Having a terrible sense of direction, Besseta sat. She didn't care about her dress getting dirty. She didn't really mind about getting in others' way. She figured, if they really didn't like her sitting there, they'd help her find her way to the exit, or even the stands, so she could watch some of the events for the first time in her life.

When she'd arrived, Bess had been excited about finally getting to see a Tourney. She didn't feel that way now. Today was meant to be a break from all the horror she'd been through recently. First running away from home, then getting into arguments with people in the street, and embarrasing anyone who came near her. She felt a tear slowly trickle down her cheek. Could anything more possibly go wrong? Would anyone be kind enough to help her? She knew she was being over dramatic, but she felt her hour of need had come, and everyone was too busy to notice.

Edmund had finally arrived at the tournament grounds. He had entered the jousting late and was uncertain if he’d actually be able to participate. It had been far too long for such sport and though his previous shoulder injury still aggravated him at times, he was eager to test himself again. He had briefly consulted with Esabell, helping her to find proper seating before he then chose to stroll through the crowd accompanied by a very minimal band of guard and servant. Dressed in the maroon colors of Pemberton’s highest nobility, his attire was rather simple for being from such duchy. Simple but obviously wealthy, the silken material detailed with expertly sewn golden embroidery and boots that had been polished until they gleamed. None of this really mattered to Edmund for his eyes were locked onto the sights before him, evaluating, greeting, mingling. He wasn’t very good at that last notion, finding it difficult to surpass the polite exterior given towards unknown courtiers. He maintained an invisible circle around him, albeit unknowingly, and when another tried to cross that line, the duke seemed to back off. Sometimes lessons were learned the hard way and Edmund had no desire to be burned again.
As he casually walked, the sun’s warm rays shined down. It was pleasant weather, winter’s long stretch of cold having abruptly ended with the hope of spring, and now summer. The seasons were rapidly changing. Time’s endless march.. Edmund had been duke now for how long? Was it really a mere matter of weeks or had he always felt this stoical sense of duty? Musing silently was a habit he longed to break no matter if the odds of that were quite minimal. Edmund needed this day, not only to score his own skill but to loosen the self imposed knots that crept along his neck. Perhaps he’d speak with some other duchy leaders, or perhaps he’d...
Edmund paused, noticing a lady sitting squarely in the midst of moving people. He neared her, now seeing the lone tear that had crept down her cheek. He didn't recognize her but then again, he still hadn't memorized every courtier within his own court. His expression was grim as he halted, forcing others to go around him in a wide berth. Edmund wasn’t about to budge and he wouldn’t let a woman be stepped on like some mangy mutt. Squatting down so that he met her eye level, his emerald gaze peered to hers as he offered his hand for assistance. “M’lady,” he began in his characteristic baritone, “are you injured?” Concern flickered across his brow, the question evident in his stare. Was she lost? He wondered wordlessly but outwardly, his face remained oddly set between impassive and worrisome.

Besseta hadn't noticed the man advance towards her. Which amazed her, what with the small army that surrounded him. Even as he knelt down to her level, Besseta only realised he was there when he started speaking. "M’lady are you injured?” he asked. Besseta was surprised by this. It had never crossed her mind that she would look injured.

She forgot about replying to the man as she looked at him. He was obviously from Pemberton, wearing the maroon signifying the highest nobility. It took a moment for this to sink in. Then she suddenly understood. "This man must be the new Duke of Pemberton, the one everyone's been talking about", she thought.

Besseta suddenly remembered how she had forgotten to answer the Duke's question. [i]"Lord, or Duke, I am not too certain, I am not injured. Just lost and upset. I am sorry for getting in your way. But please, help me find my way out. Or to the stands. It would help me so much. Thank you." Besseta lowered her head and seeing the sight of her dress, felt another silent tear trace its way down her cheek, just at the thought of how she looked in front of the Duke.

Edmund watched the confusion cross the lady’s face as she peered upwards at him. Either she wasn’t injured or she was too shocked to realize it. Why else would anyone be sitting in the middle of a throng of eager contestants and observers? He knew the exact moment she identified him as duke and a familiar feeling of frustration surfaced when she refused to fully look at him then. Edmund was just another ordinary man beneath the newly acquired title. It was strange because he expected a certain level of this respectful distance and yet at the same time, it left him feeling out of place. Everything was still new, a certain degree still foreign though he managed to hide any of these lingering thoughts extremely well.
Still kneeling beside her, he listened to her explanation, his offered hand lowering to rest alongside them. When she tucked her chin downwards and yet another tear fell, Edmund softened towards her, his hand gently seeking hers as he guided her to stand. It just wouldn’t do to remain seated there and his guard could only hold off the crowd a short time on his own. This was a day of enjoyment, a long anticipated event which should be instilling joy, not sorrow. Edmund knew it wasn’t any of his business and yet he still wondered who had wronged the sad lady before him. Had Cecily cried like this? Edmund silently questioned but then he knew instantly she never would. She despised him and that was how it ended. Perhaps a part of him was still in mourning and so it was this empathy that led him to help the unknown woman. The fact that Cecily had even popped into his mind at all was enough for aggravation and he glanced away quickly before focusing once more to the woman near him.
As he straightened, he answered her as he presented his arm for her to hold as was acceptable. “Duke Edmund, my lady, of Pemberton... I don’t believe we’ve met before?” his voice was calm, meant to reassure and not intimidate. “Let's get you settled into the stands. It would be a shame for those participating to lose such a pretty witness to their sport.”
Edmund waited for her to accept his help and then led them back around in the direction of the stands. “Would you care for a refreshment first? Wine perhaps?” he asked her, his curiosity of who she was alighting within him. He wouldn’t outright ask her, not yet, giving her the chance to recover before having to present herself. Edmund paused in his stride, waiting patiently for her reply.

“Duke Edmund, my lady, of Pemberton... I don’t believe we’ve met before?” the Duke said to her. He sounded calm, which amazed Besseta, seeing how there were so many people around, and he was creating a lot of attention by stopping to help her. She wondered if she would ever be able to feel so comfortable in a place such as this. Besseta found herself almost awestruck in the presence of the Duke. Although, she didn't know if it was that or amazement. The Dukes she'd previously known had been horrible old men cheating their lands to get exactly what they wanted. Duke Edmund seemed the total opposite so far during this meeting.

"Lady Besseta. Lambe," she added on as an after thought, new to Ashton." Besseta was quite pleased with this reply. She was in control of herself, after weeks of sanity deserting her. Maybe this tournament was meant to be a sign to her, of better things to come. Maybe she would finally be glad she ran away and followed her heart here. Because up until now, she hadn't understood what her heart was trying to tell her, those weeks when she let it lead, for the first time in her life.

"Let's get you settled into the stands. It would be a shame for those participating to lose such a pretty witness to their sport,” the Duke complimented her. Besseta didn't really know what to say. She wasn't used to being complimented. Unless, of course, it was by one of her mother's men, just wanting to grab her innocence when her mother was busy with somebody else. And that wasn't exactly a compliment Besseta had wanted to recieve. But, the Duke seemed sincere, and she blushed. "Thank you, Duke Edmund. I would appreciate that. I have been so excited to finally come to a tournament!" Besseta finally replied.

And she was. She hadn't realised just how excited she was until now. It reminded her, sadly, of the childhood she never had. But she was living it now, and late, she was sure, was better than never. She only just heard the Duke's next comment, "Would you care for a refreshment first? Wine perhaps?” Besseta really didn't know what to say. She felt like a wine after the horror she'd just been through, but didn't want to make a fool of herself again. Not after the accident at the Pemberton Ball... But what could one wine hurt? No-one really knew her yet. So she replied with a quick "Well, why not?"

Edmund was glad to see the blush slightly darken her cheeks. It helped smooth away the previous sorrow there and lent her face some needed color. Edmund didn’t like seeing a lady in distress but he also felt out of sorts around one that would cry for prolonged periods of time. Seeing how the woman recovered quickly was enough to have him offer a smile then as he helped her stand. Edmund admired strength, not so much in the physical sense but that of sheer will power. Whatever wrong this lady had received, he would do what he could to help remedy while he was here.
“Ashton, eh?” Edmund repeated, noting she refrained from telling where she had previously hailed from. It was really none of his business and yet his curiosity piqued nonetheless. Perhaps she had traveled from the nearby Harleston due to the plague threat. That would be enough to give most courtiers pause. Edmund was glad Lord Adrian, now Marquess Adrian, had forewarned him of such danger, thus enabling Edmund to order certain laws in attempt to restrict the disease’s spread within his own duchy. He wondered what Ashton was like, it being a land he had not visited and silently committed to seek the duchess from there while he was within the tournament grounds. Traveling to the duchy itself was not feasible right now nor would he want to give such faulty impression to others in Pemberton.
Edmund peered again to Lady Besseta. He was almost certain he didn’t recognize her and had he known she attended the Pemberton ball, maybe he would recall seeing her previously but as it were, Edmund had been too busy and preoccupied to notice much else at that time. The duke slowly led Ashton’s new member towards a line of vendors set up for this very purpose of offering refreshment. “Indeed, the tournament is a long anticipated event,” he agreed. Why then were you so sad? The unspoken question remained silenced. “I hope to participate in the jousting myself though I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty now,” he said in good humor. Edmund of course wanted to win but he knew it would be hard won if so. The deep shoulder injury Lord Francois gave him months ago had not healed exactly right and Edmund suffered from periods of soreness from time to time that spread across and settled into a dull ache. He knew jousting would alight the pain there but he also knew it would give him something to focus on and chase away any other interfering thought. Duke Edmund looked forward to testing his skill.
Stopping by a table arranged with several varieties of drink and goblets, Edmund chose a white wine for Lady Besseta, discreetly choosing simple hot tea for himself. Handing her the wine, Edmund tossed a coin in the direction of the seller who bowed while he murmured his thanks. Edmund waved towards the looming stands, his emerald gaze sweeping over until he saw the blue tent of King Ambrose. He was sure there would be available seating somewhere near enough so that Lady Besseta could sit without seeming too forward in the presence of the king. And if not, Edmund would offer his own seat. Such was the way of chivalry after all.
As they walked closer to the spread, Edmund spoke up again. “Have you met Duchess Lucy Rochester at all?” he inquired politely. He had heard only rumor and wondered now what the young ruler was really like or if she’d remind him of the collected resolve his own Esabell possessed.

"Yes. Ashton. It is where my heart led me, although I do not yet understand why. I guess all things take time." Besseta replied to the Duke. And she was telling the truth. She spent her spare time wondering about the mystery that was her heart, getting nowhere new. Which was nowhere at all. And, she found she minded quite a lot. Besseta liked a bit of mystery in her life, found it dull without. Maybe that was why she was here. All she'd encountered so far was mystery. That and embarrasment.

Besseta turned again to look at the Duke, and surprisingly found him peering at her. She turned away, not wanting to seem at all forward, or immature. She couldn't help to wonder what Edmund thought about being the Duke. How he found it. Whether it was very different to being a courtier. She still couldn't get over how nice he seemed. He actually seemed to care about his people. It shouldn't have amazed Besseta but it did.

As they reached the vendors of the drinks, the Duke answered her, "Indeed, the tournament is a long anticipated event. I hope to participate in the jousting myself though I’m afraid I’m a bit rusty now.” Besseta couldn't believe what hshe was hearing. The Duke, rusty at jousting. She knew nothing of the sport, but she was smart enough to realise an injury must have been the cause of this. "Have you been injured?" Besseta asked him, quietly and innocently. It was just a guess, and she didn't want to seem arrogant. Duke Edmund handed Besseta a drink. White wine. Not her favourite, but definately drinkable. And the red wine she would usually drink would have tasted horrible in the heat.

As they walked closer to the stands, Besseta began to see the King's tent. Edmund spoke up again, "Have you met Duchess Lucy Rochester at all?” Besseta didn't really know what to say. She hadn't really heard of Duchess Lucy before, only very vaguely.
She guessed she was the Duke's new wife. "No, sorry. Can not say I have had the pleasure. Have you?" Besseta asked. The last words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. They made her feel so rude. It was her natural reflection. Or at least, had become, since her move here.

Edmund wasn’t a man who readily understood matters of the heart. In fact, he would rather avoid such feelings and focus on the cut and dry end of life. Mystery was a nuisance to him, an intangible struggle to then hopefully discover truth. It was much easier to seek the absolute from the get-go. Security came with expected duty; already defined rules. There was less chance of getting hurt. Less chance of living. Thus he did not fully understand what led her to Ashton, merely shrugging a noncommittal reply when she had first spoken.
Once Lady Besseta glanced away from him though, Edmund was humble enough to avert his gaze. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her nor did he mean to bring her any additional concern from those she already had. Her inquiry as to previous injury brought a dark storm to his emerald sight but it passed just as quickly. Edmund would not forget the despicable man who had dishonestly drove a blade into his shoulder. He had learned a couple important lessons from that day. One being that Edmund gave too much credit to unknown lords, and the other being that he would rather die than sink to an equally low level. Honor meant more than mere mortality.
The talk moved on to the subject of Duchess Lucy, Edmund hoping Lady Besseta had already met her and could give him the heads up before he would introduce himself to her but alas, she denied having such opportunity. She turned the question around to him and the bold inquiry brought a mischievous smile and chuckle from the duke.
“No, no,” he said between the good hearted humor, “She is the duchess of Ashton.” Edmund grinned at Besseta, winking once to let her know he didn’t mind her ignorance nor did he resent such upfront dialogue. It was preferable actually, this lack of pretense. Edmund led his company towards the royal tent as he continued speaking. He walked casually, not in any hurry to relinquish their conversation. “My wife is Duchess Esabell,” he added as an afterthought, wondering if she had debated about this. He was careful to keep his tone respectful and void of any other telling emotion. “I have not yet met the duchess of Ashton hence why I asked, but I am sure it will be a pleasure,” he added thoughtfully. To be honest, he had no idea. Pemberton imported many items from Ashton and yet he had no clue what the ruler of that duchy was like. Esabell probably did and Edmund would seek her advice as he often did but until he found a private moment with her, he would investigate on his own. Soon enough, he would find out as he intended to meet her here. The tournament was the perfect place for such interaction.
Edmund looked down to Besseta then, curiosity etched across his facial features. “How long have you been residing in Ashton?” he asked, unable to stop the probing question.


[ooc... I think the next time it is my turn to post, I should move it to this thread: King's Pavilion
Is that ok with you? We could continue on there.]

Besseta felt utterly ridiculous. The wine must've already gone to her head. Thinking about it, she knew exactly who Duchess Lucy was, although she hadn't yet met her. Besseta blushed and bent her head yet again. She really had been making a fool of herself today. When Besseta looked up she noticed they seemed to be heading towards the King's tent. She had previously just seen it, not thinking anything of it. Besseta didn't really feel ready to meet royalty, but would never pass up an opportunity as large as this. She was very thankful for their casual pace, so besseta had a chance to get her nerves under control.

“My wife is Duchess Esabell,” Duke Edmund added to his previous comment. Besseta hadn't known this but was sure she was a lovely woman and an even better Duchess. She thought a man as nice as Edmund wouldn't do terrible things, and that his wife would be just like him. but then, she was only guessing. "I ave not yet met the duchess of Ashton hence why I asked, but I am sure it will be a pleasure,” Edmund exclaimed. "That is fair enough, I suppose. I am sure it would be a pleasure to meet Duchess Lucy," Besseta replied.

Besseta noticed how close they were getting to the King's tent. It didn't really scare her too much anymore. Duke Edmund seemed to have a relaxing effect on Besseta. Not a bad effect, like she was so relaxed she could go to sleep, but relaxed as in she felt comfortable doing almost anything, including possibly meeting the King.

[OOC...yea, that sounds like a good idea. I will look in that thread from now on.]