1964-07-30 - Yon Summer Sky
Summary: Just a bit of dancing and singing and taking over the world. Okay, not realy.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
kelda karnilla 

The Shield-Maiden of Asgard's eldest prince has been wandering as of the morning. It dawned fair and bright, as it generally does in the Golden City, and the hallways were fairly empty save for those soldiers on guard in pairs and pockets of courtiers making their way towards various functions within the palace.

Kelda finds herself in one of the side rooms off the main hallway. This one seems to be dedicated to the musical arts. Various instruments are displayed on the walls and a few even seem to be impossible to play without magic or…extra limbs? In a day-gown of periwinkle, sweetheart of neck and with sleeves in long, draping swathes of chiffon, she seems to glide over as she approaches a harp. Plucking a string doesn't seem like terrible thing to do. The note rings, pure and clear, and the blonde smiles to herself.

"I don't want to perform. I want to go home!" An anguished sound radiating a Vanir accent tumbles down the hallway. In soft, low lamentations, the instruments absorb the melody of an irate woman. By the sounds of it, young.

Even keen ears may be hard pressed to catch the response. Low, darker incantation define no abundant charms.

"This isn't home. I hate it. Everyone looks down on me, they sneer at my clothes and they act like everything I do is wrong." Her tirade peaks and breaks, obviously taking in a breath. "You are the queen, no one says anything to your face, but they're full of nothing but spite and arrogance. They spit in our faces as much as smile at us at dinner. I don't care, I don't, I'm leaving!"

Thus does one copper-skinned young lady put her face in her hands and storm past the Norn Queen. She bulls through a series of music stands, hurriedly trying to make her escape. Kelda being anywhere in the vicinity might hear the slap of her feet on the ground.

Bringing her touch away from the harp, Kelda looks up, eyes slightly wide at the sound of retreating feet following the vocal frustrations of the Vanir. The battle-mage walks to the arched doorway of the small room and turns her gaze in time to see the young one in full retreat down the hall.

"Hmm," she says softly to herself, frowning. But — she heard the young one mention the Queen. A few steps to the next room, much larger, and she pauses in plain sight of the entrance, her hands clapsed before the girdle-belt in silver about her waist. Immediately, her eyes drop, first to the floor and then to the Queen's lips. Better to avoid that uncanny draw of Fate's reveal.

"Your highness." Easy to incline one's head in a proper nod when one's chin is already slightly tucked.

Off runs the Vanir handmaiden. She's one of those accompanying Karnilla from Nornheim, and sure enough to be dismissed after this private imbroglio revealed. The sobbing complaint is met with a hand rubbing over her eyes; cloth stained by tears darkens. The girl stumbles in an effort to catch herself and not gain any attention from Kelda. The shield maiden showing the least bit of interest causes her even deeper embarrassment, assuredly.

Karnilla remains shrouded in her own dignity, tall as an ash spear, her typical dark garments dredged from the wine-dark sea. The heavy mantle drips from her shoulders, slid off at an angle. The dip and curtsy in her direction warrants the slightest inclination of her head. Black, shining hair tints purple at the gentle motion.

"Forgive her haste and interruption. The young so often feign forethought." Youthful as the maiden is, those eyes are ancient indeed.

The handmaiden can certainly count on a mildly remonstrative last glance in her direction by Lady Stormrider after Karnialla's soft comment on the retreating member of her entourage.

"She interrupted nothing, your highness. There is nothing to apologize for," she replies, looking back to the Queen. "In her way, she is correct. The Court of Asgard has its ways of hunting out those unpracticed in the subtle arts of social politics. There are a good number with a wicked tongue and penchant for bringing others low as stepping ladders for their own ego and standing." Shield-Maiden titling brings with it a shielding of its own, in a sense. Very few wish to risk displeasing the battle-mage simply for her close connections to the Prince. "You practice music for the Court then?" Her glacial-blue eyes travel about the room, marking the music stands with polite interest.

"On the contrary, there most certainly is." All the walls have ears here. They possess insight carried on raven wings, flapping in midnight contours to hurry back to their master. Heightened creatures chase their stories how they will. Karnilla takes a few slow steps, her languid pace measured as it must be to avoid harming or bothering the unsuspecting. "I practice nonsuch for the court. It be unseemly for one of my stature to perform unless the All-father takes it upon himself to launch raptures by his own woven melodies."

Kelda nearly looks up, into those mysterious eyes, and catches herself. Once again, her gaze hangs on the Queen's lips, even if it may seem forward to focus as such.

"I should have been more precise — you aid in practicing music for the Court, I presume. I confess that this was not and probably shall never be in my masteries, the playing of instruments. I sing a mead-hall tune well enough, but to play…" She shakes her head, the braided coronet and gathering keeping pale strands from escaping. "No, I leave this to the bards and those of inclination."

The intangible depths of Karnilla's gaze are a slew of nebulous swirls and midnight contours revealing glimpses of could be, and possibility. Nothing is set in stone, not where the aqueous and the terrestrial collide. "It behooves certain of mine apprentices to learn how to conduct themselves in a court other than the Norn Keep. Though the demands are great, the Aesir hold a particularly high bar. Success or failure separate them. She clearly will not thrive to such a measure and I shall report the disappointment accordingly." From tone, the Norn Queen loses no sleep over the matter.

Her sentimentality may stop and end at the pools she watches over. A slight shift passes through her, a mild straightening. "Then you traverse to another corner of the palace?"

"I wander where my spirit of inquiry takes me," Kelda admits, her attention traveling the room once again. "I take appreciation in the musical arts, I assure you, but only as audience. Still…a shame that she could not shoulder the weight of the Courts. It must sting, to have one's time and efforts lost. You are welcome to walk with me, your highness, if you feel inclined to do so. I have no destination and will accede to your whims should you have one in mind."

Her mild smile does hold invitation in it, even if her averted gaze paints it more demure than in truth.

"Each walks their appointed route." She might say the same about a priceless grove burned to the ground by a lightning strike, a gem cleaved wrong under a jeweler's pick. Karnilla may in her way accept certain things as inevitabilities; she pursues the business of life with unfaltering certainty. "With the girl prepared to take her leave as soon as may be arranged, I shall no longer hold obligation to her. At the very least I ought to pursue something. Lest they claim me malevolent in my idle doings."

No doubt they say a great deal worse, given the opportunity. For all her diaphanous gown, the plum-tressed queen has little difficulty keeping stride with all but the fastest of Aesir.

The Lady Stormrider has heard some hear-say of the Norn Queen's supposed malevolence, but she is one for being convinced by action rather than word, as most warriors tend to be. Plus, the feather-headed ladies of the Court do hiss so jealousy of that dusky hair that contains the impossible moment between twilight and full-night. Silly geese. Thus, she travels alongside royalty once again down the hallway. It seems she's to pick the direction and it's away from the innards of the Palace, towards the outside and its inviting open air and sunshine. Hers is a moderate pace, communicating no interest in other courtiers joining their conversation at hand.

"What would you pursue in your open times, your highness? I presume you have hobbies beyond dueling with the sabres of politics and attending evening fetes in your name." Was that a hesitant tease from the battle-mage?

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