As Turail is allowed through the doors, he'd catch site of First Prince Theowyn off to the side checking the edge of an axe that had obviously been hanging on the wall just ahead of him. The old weapon, likely three to five hundred years in age, is still in good condition. It is among the other weapons within the room that are part of his collection. Theowyn had likely been informed on the visitor previous, not turning in the direction of the door, as the greeting comes. "Lord Turail. Friend. The palace treats you well?"

"Peace Favor, my friend." Turail responds as the door is slipped shut behind him by the same servant that ushered him in. He steps rather easily a few more paces within, his eyes roving over his surroundings, "The palace treats me well. I have you to thank for that I suspect." the Lord remarks raspingly, his hardened blue eyes more blue grey as they are wont to become for unknown reasons. "Quite the collection you have here." He adds.

The servant swiftly closes the door behind, leaivng them alone within the room. "The collection is slowly building, though it still lacks many centuries with some key weaponary advancements," Theowyn begins to set the weapon against the wall, not daring to part sight with it until it is safetly on the hooks. "If the Palace treats you well, it is because the men and women within have respect for you, Turail. I do not address problems of respect for guests unless there is an existing problem." Theowyn steps away, his steady blue gaze picking out the placement of the axe. He reaches forward to readjust it. "Unfortunately not everything is clear."

The blademaster laughs softly, foraying a bit closer to where the Prince stands. "Mud could be called clear against the turmoil of the present day, I would wager." He tilts his head slightly, the jet of his topknotted hair very dark indeed, except for a single strand of silver on the left temple. "And what is that piece there? What is its history?"

"A First Prince of the Sword that would secretly wield an axe," Theowyn notes with amusement, somewhat satisfied with the positioning now. "Notice I will not name names." The tone is light, the topic only half serious. "It was good to see you within the High Court. It would seem Duke Paedrig wishes you still within the House," he comments lightly, taking a few more steps back as he spies out the axe before finally turning to the former Duke. "I would say the High Court was indeed as clear as mud."

"He could have seen me hanged I suppose." Turail responds softly. "I did withstand him on the day of Cathryn's death with regard to the Seat." He shrugs, his position as the prince turns about thoughtful, his one elbow cupped in the other hand, his hand stroking his chin. "As for what my place within the house is... I do not know. Perhaps my road does not lie there at all." He drops his hands and rests his thumbs along the edge of his belt buckle. "It is actually on this matter that I have come to commune with you this eve." He finally comes around to the point.

"You will not hang for the crimes of another," Theowyn states flatly. Whatever on-going investigation is still taking place, Theowyn obviously has concluded its results with regards to Turail. "Another purpose, Turail?" The inquiry holds a modest curiousity in tone, as he heads toward the desk within the room. Over-top is Theowyn's sword and belt.

Turail of course was not thinking of the crimes of another, but his own refusal to yield, before there were even papers from Cathryn directly identifying him as Heir. He could have been hung for that easily, had Paedrig pressed the issue. He does not point this out. "I need something to do." Turail states plainly, turning towards the desk as well as Theowyn moves, "Always I have been plyed towards some task." His rasping voice rises and falls as he speaks his mind. "I do not know how to idle away. In fact, I think were to to not find some other duty to fill.. " He pauses smiling almost apologetically for these thoughts, "I think I might seek the horn, or simply return to Shienar."

"The horn?" Theowyn's tone does rise in surprise at that, as he turns to Turail with a look of consideration. "There would certainly be better use for a trusted Blademaster then to be set about chasing a horn that has yet to be found, and likely won't be for another thousand years." The sheathed blade slips off the desk as he begins to strap it through the waist of his pants. "I do not know if you'd appreaciate the colors of the Queen's Guard," Theowyn suggests mildly. "Though that would be an immidiate need of mine that I would impose on you before I accept a departure to hunt the horn." There is nothing said about Shienar.

A dark eyebrow is cocked upwards, not at the idea of serving the queen directly, but perhaps at the way in which his friend worded the comment. "Oh?" Such a small word to be infused with so many mingled emotions. One corner of the blademaster's weathered thin mouth lifts. "I confess the very thought has passed through my awareness several times in the last weeks as well." He turns away and can be heard stroking his chin as he speaks, "Though I thought perhaps the Queen might not approve, nor trust me, given recent events. Still, it would give me some purpose to fulfill." He pivots slightly so he is looking at the Prince from the right.

"The the matter is settled," Theowyn slips through the words fast enough, insuring there are no second thoughts as he adjusts his shirt. "Of course, selecting a position for you may not be as easy. A Blademaster that served in Shienar. I would assume you would have a position of perference?" he asks next, eyes briefly trailing to Turail. He still doesn't directly address Turail, moving across the room closer to the mirror.

"I am not overly concerned with position, except that it should use me to my fullest. I want a challenge." the Roesone Lord states lucidly, almost forcefully." He does not bother to follow the Prince this time, perhaps beginning to catch a sense of unease from the man. "I assume you are aware.... I have not been present at Roesone Manor much of late. In fact I have taken a guest chamber at Tiras Lorn." His eyes linger on the prince.

"A matter of concern. I have heard," Theowyn confirms, a light chuckle escaping his throat though at that admittion. "Not that I have been spying out your activities, Turail. But the Daughter-Heir does deserve my watchful eye, and for that reason I have heard of your change of residents." He doesn't mention the part of knowing that Turail was in the palace a few days before with Cende and Rennar. "There is a woman with Rennar, Cende. What do you think of her?"

"Perceptive, wary, dutiful. I am told she is Rennar's bodyguard for the time being." Turail responds without hesitation, a slant of the attitude of his head following, his blue granite eyes flicking to one of the Prince's sigils in the room as if verifying something before he adds, "And she wears a sigil I could have sworn was your very own, my friend." Its a question, without the question mark.

"Cende does?" The question is casual, Theowyn not fidgeting about the room as he considers the matter. The consideration is not heavy, exactly, though there is certainly a weight on his shoulders in regard to this subject. "She is loyal to Andor's royal family. She can be trusted in its defense, and hence her positioning with the Duchess," Theowyn ponders if that is an answer enough, as he steps forward a few steps to pick up a few more matters of jewelry from the desk. As he leans forward, he continues, "Though there is more, obviously. Cende is not unknown to the palace. Her and I were nearly married two years ago." He lets that subject drop as he turns back to Turail.

Turail does not have to express any surprise verbally, his rising eyebrow and twitching cheek muscle under his jagged souvenier of a trolloc blade say fairly loudly, /Oh indeed?/ Still he does not press the issue. "Speaking of marriage, I am wondering what rumors have reached your ears concerning mine?" Turail is interested to know just how far reaching the rumors surrounding the difficulties between he and his own wife have become. Asking at the palace is one way to find out.

"As I understand it, Lady Janeva is staying within the Roesone Manor," Theowyn reveals what little he knows, which by tone would show that there would be no more gossip then that. "It was clearly expressed that your wife had not followed you to House Hune, though I make no assumptions." Seeming to be ready for whatever duty he has heading too, Theowyn does no longer have the appearance of being rushed. He does lean against the desk.

Turail shakes his head, his expression growing vaguely melancholy under the layer of stone that constantly entombs him. "That is correct. She did not." He remarks softer. "She has duties to the house that my toppling has not anulled." Softer still, "And I have lost honor. I do not believe we shall remain... joined.. much longer, Theowyn." Something that may have been a sigh, or may have simply been a breath being let out is heard. "I wish simply to stay out of her way. This is hard enough for the both of us without salting the wound."

Though it was something he had suspected, Theowyn does seem taken back by this announcement. "Marriage is a difficult matter to hold on too, isn't it?" Theowyn doesn't mention his mother affair that brough Kellian, or others within his family. There is a certain dark cloud that begins to form over him. Now those eyes vagualy move across the room as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Turail scrunches his brows as if considering something problematic. "It is. Made all the more tenuous by the arranged factor." He lifts his eyes, "We might have been happy eventually together.. but as things stand, the common ground we had is cut away.." He shrugs. "The wheel weaves as it wills." His tone is resigned, but bearing a faint undertaste of bitterness. "She is a beautiful woman, too desireable for a scarred old man like me. I could never hope to be.. adequate." he remarks with a bit of frustration. Not that he has any feeling that his wife has been in any form unfaithful but... perhaps his sense of self has been shaken somewhat.

Theowyn's expression visibly casts downward as Turail makes frustrations and perceived inadequacy known. The features of the Warder harden just that touch more. "If I am to just woman by my sister, I would say that a man should never hope to be adequate. No man would be adequate of her love, yet, there is an acceptance and understanding on both sides." Though they are far from words of advise, a nod settles it. "The Domani are not of Shienaran or Andoran culture. Perhaps the cultural difference alone makes a union more difficult then otherwise likely."

"Perhaps." Turail has been rubbing his chin again as Theowyn has been speaking. Curiously, he bears a five o clock shadow where he might be well shaven most days. "Domani women are a mystery even to the Creator I suspect." There remains yet some tension in Turail which seems to express itself chiefly in the turning of his hawk signet on his finger. He has to rouse his will to do so but shakes these thoughts off, turning the conversation back to the Prince. "But what of you? Are your interests still twined up with the Kandori Princess, Elyse?"

"They do," Theowyn confirms, though while faced with the subject of Turail's failing marriage, Theowyn is less then warm in his thoughts. "You have heard Captain-General Kellian is my half brother, born out of marriage, Turail. Adultry is something that sets its path in the royal blood, it would seem." Theowyn does not mention more, as he shakes his head lightly. Turail might not have expected the path this conversation would take within Theowyn's mind. "It frustrates me, Turail. To love and honor my mother, and yet to know her dishonor against my father." These emotions simply burst from Theowyn, even as his tone is rather calm.

Fortunately Turail himself is ignorant of certain matters which have been exposed in the Roesone home recently or he might have something of his own to say on the subject. However he shakes his head, "You cannot convict the dead Theowyn. It does no good, nor any justice either. What do you think.. of your brother, then?"

"He is the bastard son of my mother," Theowyn responds. Though there is both hurt and confusion on his tone, it is barely at level of notice. "A man of honor, and one worthy of Captain-General." There is more, the expression shows it. Theowyn's eyes spot that floor again. "I did never ask if that would make him the First Prince of the Sword by definition. Perhaps not, but I feel if I ask it will open more then I'm willing to accept."

Surprisingly, or not, be that as it may, the half Shienaran can completely understand the wary unsettled feelings Theowyn is experiencing. he nods slightly. "I do not think... it would, my friend. Inheritance is always based more on official lines than unofficial." Still it seems a bit troubling to him. Both men have their lions to wrestle, and tigers to declaw it seems.

Theowyn is visibly relieved, even when the change of his expression is only a fraction from what it was earlier. At that he nods, as though a simple fear that had been festering within him has been given a good bashing. "Silly of me to worry on this, when we face a war. Or none-war, as this /Renford/ will have us believe." Theowyn sighs, more frustration showing on his features as he pushes of the desk, his eyes still aimlessly scanning the room.

"Hmm, yes. Still no definite identification on him then I take it?" He can still see Demonder's expression as the two men grappled. He should have been faster on the division of the two. Its not the first time he has not been fast enough to prevent a disaster. His expression gets distant, seeing someone somewhere else, another time before snapping back into the focus of the current moment, and fixing on his boyhood friend.

"He will likely provide proof," Theowyn admits, pacing the room in a general impatience. "Until then I treat him no better then a common criminal. But I doubt the man is foolish enough to come here without more evidence. In truth, I do not know what he could bring forward, only know that if the White Tower is satisfied with what he shows, then he will be released."

"Something is not right with his story." Turail speaks barely loud enough to be heard as Theowyn shows signs of restlessness. "Impossible to pin down.. yet.. I cannot help but feel there is more than he is telling us to this matter, even if all he did bring forth be true." He rests his hands together behind his back and rocks on his heels slightly.

"That is just it, there is more. The story told is convenient for him." Theowyn begins to pick a path toward the door. "Let me consult with my brother on a position for you, Turail. Master of Sword, or perhaps Lt."

Turail bows his head slightly, and then bends at the waist, before following to the door. "As you wish. Place me as you have need of me, and I will obey." There is that ceremonial feeling creeping in to Turail's voice, as it oftentimes does when the man is giving a personal oath, though not labled as such. It need not be an official oath to be binding if it comes from Turail.

Theowyn's hand moves across Turail's shoulder, as he manages a slight nod in response. "Turail, I thank-you. The need for a man of your skill and experience is needed within the Queen's Guard. It comes with honor that you have accepted service beneath the Quen."

Turail turns smiling half wryly, the lines around his eyes crinkling a bit. "It is I who owe the thanks. You give me an anchor, and a purpose. The weapon needs to be used, as much as its weilder needs to employ it." He bows again more formally, perhaps anticipating the military discipline he is about to re-enter somewhat. "Peace Favor your sword, Prince Theowyn, and the Light shield you until again we convene." Remaining bowed, a backwards step carries him over the threshold out of the room, and the turns and strides of smartly, seeming a bit less burdened.