[D1 LE] Master & Servant (Lord Bromley's Solar)

[Lord Bromley Meadows]

Climbing the stairs to his solar was getting harder with each passing year, but he wasn't ready yet to admit that he was getting on the old side, and he certainly wasn't going to allow that they move his private chambers to the ground floor. A serving boy was already waiting when he arrived, dropping heavily into his seat and taking a moment to catch his breath. He massaged one stiff and aching hand with the other.

The serving boy poured a glass of wine, "shall I fetch maester Hubert, milord?"

Closing his eyes, he shook his head, "it's fine. Just wait." The boy moved to the corner of the room and set down the flagon. He turned, so he could see out of the corner of his eye if his master should wave for him, but otherwise stood still and stared into space, hands folded in front of him.

[Marten Tremaine]

Marten exercised regularly, and had lost only some of the fitness from his youth. Still, he could feel a bit of ache in his joints from all the stairs.

Still, he was vigorous enough by the time he arrived at the door, giving it a firm rap from his knuckles.

[Lord Bromley Meadows]

The serving boy didn’t quite flinch, exactly, but there was a tensing of muscles as he heard the knock, ready to act on his master’s command. One that did not come. After a moment, he glanced at the aging Lord. Bromley had pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, eyes closed, goblet still in his other hand.

“Uh, Lord Meadows?” he inquired softly.

Bromley straightened, leaning back in his chair, “yes, yes, show him in,” and the boy jumped to obey.

[Marten Tremaine]

With a brief nod to the boy, Marten stepped into the room, approaching his seated lord.

"Milord." He said, bowing politely. "You wished to see me?" The words were formal, but warm enough for all that.

[Lord Bromley Meadows]

“Marten, very good,” he indicated for the man to sit, and the serving boy brought a goblet and flagon and offered wine. The low lighting accentuated the hollows of Bromley’s cheeks and eyes, and played off hair turned almost completely to grey. He looked tired.

“Marten, I won’t beat around the bush. This year has been difficult for you. I won’t insult you by pretending I could begin the imagine what you’re feeling.” The warmth he’d shown in the Hall was gone, his tone firm and no-nonsense. “But I must look to the future of House Tremaine. It would be imprudent to delay the matter.”

[Marten Tremaine]

As he took the wine, Marten let out a puff of breath. "Thank you. What's done is done."

But, they didn't seem to be spending long on niceties, did they. "Indeed. Believe me, the future of the House is very much on my mind. I certainly hope to secure its future, and the future of my daughters." He nodded. "It sounds as though you have something in mind, milord."

[Lord Bromley Meadows]

Bromley sipped his wine, expression grim. “Without a male heir, your position is a precarious one, and to delay marrying your daughters would be an error. While I’m sure you had thoughts towards suitable husbands before now, I must assume that your thoughts on the matter have changed.”

“I have it within my power to support House Tremaine, and I suspect few would take umbrage should you find a boy willing to give up his own family. What I lack is the boy.”

[Marten Tremaine]

Marten grimaced, taking a drink of the wine. "I very much hope one can be found. Our thoughts run alongside each other, there."

He sat up a little. "But suitable is still important. Not just for my daughter, but for the good of the house. Look how much damage one person can cause, and that's without even being the head of the household. I want someone who can handle the task."

[Lord Bromley Meadows]

“And your daughters?” Bromely’s countenance became stern, “are they prepared to hand over the House to another? Once the eldest’s husband takes the Tremaine name, he will become the heir. Will your daughters agree to be supplanted in this way?”

He sighed, weary, “I will do all I can to push those involved towards a suitable match.” He wondered, as he sometimes did at such times, how things might have been different if his own wife had survived her illness. Would she have been the one making these social movements? “But I do expect that your daughters will not hold up the process with wishy-washy excuses and petulance.”

[Marten Tremaine]

"They will not." Marten said, shaking his head. "They're good girls, both of them, in their own way." He smiled fondly, even despite the seriousness of the topic. "Mari may sigh from time to time, but she really wants to do right by the House. She may have her opinions, but she'll always do what's right. Jyn..." He sighed. "Jyn's been very dutiful of late. I'd say she's taking after her sister more, but it's a different sort. I think she was happier before," we all were, "-but I'm sure she'll support however she can."

Marten shook his head. "So have no fear on account of them. If we find a worthy husband, or even two, they'll marry."