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Seeking the discrete aid of a capable knight and perhaps a squire would be far preferable to risking further humiliation to your name in open court. You look past the watchmen halfheartedly going about their business and onwards to the man heartily conversing with the ship’s captain. He is rather tall and broad of shoulder, surely a knight. A scribe or steward of some sort in better cloth stands near him, intent on a docket where the others are more at ease. Their laxity is understandable. This is a Redwyne ship. At your best estimate, the knight does not give off impression of a brute despite his size. You have heard bitter remarks on the conduct of knights, but you have met more than your fair share of knights who take their honor as seriously as they should.
Your course decided, it is time to take action. You smooth out your skirt and straighten your posture, seeking to look more the lady. Just this once, you are willing to say a silent prayer of thanks to Vaaro for providing you with better cloth than what a fishmonger’s wife should ever be wearing. There is nothing to be done about your hair, but you can at least approach this knight with some confidence. The sensation of being watched as you stride towards him, an ever present companion, is quick to return. You walk past the scribe and give the knight the slightest of curtsies and… oh. He does have a rather pleasant face up close. You blink and fix the captain with a pointed look.
“Uh. Right,” the seafarer starts, a little slow on the uptake. “This’s the lady I’d mentioned. This’s Lady Gwynfryd Duntreow. And Milady this’d be Ser Harry Bronston.”
“Pleased, my lady. Glen said you’ve had a spot of trouble,” the pleasant looking knight smiles.
“The pleasure is mine, ser. I was hoping to cross paths with an honest knight of your stature,” you say. “The road here has been…” you trail off for a moment to collect yourself before giving a brief summary of your trials. “I am for Grassy Vale… my lord father and my uncle, Lord Raymund Meadows, would both be ever grateful to the knight who would honor me with an escort to Grassfield Keep. As would I.”
The knight, this Ser Harry Bronston, does have the grace to appear moved by your words. He straightens at the mention of your need of escort. For a moment, just one fleeting moment, a feeling of elation rises in your chest.
“No.”
