Her brows lifted faintly; and she nodded, looking forward again, hands turning her closed glasses over, slow and thoughtful.
"I lean towards honesty as a general policy, where kin are concerned, and where it can be afforded. I would prefer that they know." She met his gaze from the corners of her eyes, mouth crimping.
"But them knowing you for father doesn't by nature mean the rest of the world must know. For my part, I won't be able to hide them; but I can delay the inevitable. Ideally, I'd manage the mercenaries from the background, assign their leadership to trustworthy seconds. I have candidates already selected. Undertake a great deal of my other business in short or by proxy..."
She tapped the rim of her glasses lightly upon the curve of the metal forefinger of the opposite hand, looking at him again, brows lifted.
"Dorchadas is a predominantly... martial culture. The vast majority of its men employed forever in Caer Scima's armies, the soil useless for much. While in the south, families are... more clearly defined, tight structures, in the North..." she shrugged. "Sometimes the only bonds you have with them is the surname. The father-name. A man chooses the name by which his offspring shall all be known when he sires his first child; bastards and legitimate children alike, as legitimacy has nothing to do with heredity, and the count of one's offspring are... considered a sign of virility, good fortune, etcetera. For those with any sort of notable ancestry, elements of their own father-name are heavily weighed upon," she lifted her shoulders faintly, "So that if you're familiar with the various wildling clans or have served with the armies for any amount of time, you can typically infer one's family tree just by hearing their name. At the most basic," she tilted her head, watched him again, "A father-name resembles some notable aspect of a father, something you'd done, as a stamp someone might recognise."
no subject
"I lean towards honesty as a general policy, where kin are concerned, and where it can be afforded. I would prefer that they know." She met his gaze from the corners of her eyes, mouth crimping.
"But them knowing you for father doesn't by nature mean the rest of the world must know. For my part, I won't be able to hide them; but I can delay the inevitable. Ideally, I'd manage the mercenaries from the background, assign their leadership to trustworthy seconds. I have candidates already selected. Undertake a great deal of my other business in short or by proxy..."
She tapped the rim of her glasses lightly upon the curve of the metal forefinger of the opposite hand, looking at him again, brows lifted.
"Dorchadas is a predominantly... martial culture. The vast majority of its men employed forever in Caer Scima's armies, the soil useless for much. While in the south, families are... more clearly defined, tight structures, in the North..." she shrugged. "Sometimes the only bonds you have with them is the surname. The father-name. A man chooses the name by which his offspring shall all be known when he sires his first child; bastards and legitimate children alike, as legitimacy has nothing to do with heredity, and the count of one's offspring are... considered a sign of virility, good fortune, etcetera. For those with any sort of notable ancestry, elements of their own father-name are heavily weighed upon," she lifted her shoulders faintly, "So that if you're familiar with the various wildling clans or have served with the armies for any amount of time, you can typically infer one's family tree just by hearing their name. At the most basic," she tilted her head, watched him again, "A father-name resembles some notable aspect of a father, something you'd done, as a stamp someone might recognise."