|A Harpy in Highfield|
|Summary:||Tyroan travels to Highfield and meets Robben, Tiaryn, and Aleister.|
|Related Logs:||None Directly.|
|All Over Highfield|
|Township, Courtyard, Entrance Hall, and Grand Hall|
|10 October 2012|
Naylands are a distinctly endangered breed in Highfield, particularly when they come in the form of a single lordly knight and his apparently unarmed valet. Tyroan Nayland rides in from the south as bold as brass, and although he has been invited, a great deal has happened since then, so his invitation may not have spread, and so it may well be that the first warning most of Highfield has of his approach is the hurried return of a scout. The Bootleather Harpy rides with a sour grimace on his face, looking this way and that as he and his sole human companion ride through the upstart town around the motte and bailey that is Highfield. As old as the knight appears to be, his valet looks even older, with a shock of white hair well receeded from his forehead, and even deeper lines than his master.
Having been out and about, Robben now makes his way back in the direction of the keep. He pauses as he notices the Nayland, nodding a little bit as he sees the man and his valet. Studying the aged knight carefully for a few moments, while making the way the rest of the way over to the entrance of the keep. Staying silent as he watches Tyroan's approach for now.
Tyroan trails his horse to a halt at the gates of the palisade, straightening up in his saddle and knuckling his lower back with a grimace. He looks down at the guards in place, then growls out his own introduction, "Ser Tyroan Nayland, Lord Steward of Stonebridge." A tiny little smirk, very dry, gathers at one corner of his lips, "I've been invited for a feast." He seems rather amused, for all the low gravel in his voice.
Robben is unable to hold back a bit of a grin as he hears Tyroan introduce himself. "Ah, a guest," he says, after a few moments of pause. "Welcome, Ser Nayland. I hope your travel was suitably uneventful?" Stepping forward a bit further, before he offers polite bow. "I'm Lord Robben, youngest of the two brothers of Lord Ser Aleister." Another brief pause, before he adds, "Welcome to Highfield."
Tyroan shifts his attention to the younger knight when he comes to the rescue of the guards, nodding his head a bit, "A guest, come hungry and thirsty." Is that a hint toward the rituals of guestright? Probably. "Lord Robben. Not Ser Robben." Well, this Nayland is certainly a blunt one. He looks over the Charlton, resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle, "No inclination, or did you have weak wrists as a boy?" Evidently, it's not meant as a serious question, as he continues onward, "Thanks for the welcome, Lord Robben. We hear all kinds of… interesting rumors about Highfield in Stonebridge. How much of it is true?"
His expression doesn't change as the Nayland points out the part about no Ser, although there's a brief flash of something in Robben's eyes as he nods a little bit. "Well, let's just say that as a boy, I had more brains than strength," he remarks a bit lightly, offering a bit of a grin. After a few moments of pause, he shrugs a little bit. "May I ask what kind of interesting rumors you have heard, Ser Nayland?" A few moments of pause, before he adds, "After all, it would be hard for me to say how much of it that's true if I didn't know what kind of rumors we're speaking about."
Tyroan barks a bit of a laugh at the response to his rhetorical question, "No shame in that, lad. Especially if you're smart enough to know it." As the lordling sees fit to keep up the discussion standing there before the gates, Tyroan knuckles his back again, "Heard the Knight of Highfield had to go running up to The Twins with his tail between his legs. Heard the Fensters got thrown out," another wry smirk twists his lips, "I understand that one at least. What can I say? An old man gets curious for gossip, and eager for a padded seat and something to eat and drink."
"Well, he was summoned by Lord Frey, but my brother seldom goes anywhere with his tail between his legs, Ser Nayland," Robben replies, keeping his words carefully neutral for now. "And the members of House Fenster that's been staying with us have left us to go to other places, that's true." A brief pause as he hears that last part, nodding a little bit. "Ah, please forgive me for forgetting that. We should probably head inside, then." Turning to start leading the way through the gates now.
Tyroan smiles a little indulgently at the neutral words, nodding an avuncular sort of acceptance at the correction. "So no hint at what our Lord Frey wants with your brother?" As the younger man starts forward, Tyroan nudges his mount forward as well, his valet following quietly behind on his much less distinguished horse. "Young men often overlook the needs of their elders." He snorts softly, "When Barristan the Bold, young Ser Blackfish, and I were fighting in the Stepstones, we didn't much care what the older knights and lords thought. Figured we had the right of it because we could swing a sword harder."
Robben nods a little bit as he hears that, still leading way through the gates. "I'm sure my brother will tell you more about it, Ser Nayland," he offers after a few moments of pause, before the next words makes him turn around a bit to study the older knight rather carefully for now. "How did the older ones react to that, Ser?" he asks, sounding a bit curious.
Tyroan barks a laugh at the question, "Griped their fucking asses off about us young pups, and then put us in the right place to do what we did best." He shows his teeth in what might charitably be called a smile, "Just like we older knights do now. Fight with our fucking brains, not our biceps." Of course, this from the man still carrying a sword at his hip and wearing armor on his way to a 'feast.' "Then again, half the youngsters out there now are dumb as fucking rocks." One hand gestures southward, "As this whole Stonebridge mess shows."
Robben chuckles, "Some things never change, I suppose." It's offered with a bit of a smile, shaking his head a little bit. "Those kinds of messes tend to be bad for business, after all." A brief pause, before he adds, "How does Stonebridge fare, after the happenings?" Leading the way through the gatehouse and into the courtyard now.
Tyroan nods his head at Robben's observation, "Too right. Just remember that when you say you'll do everything different from your elders." He presses his right fist into his left palm, popping each knuckle slowly and separately before he answers the question that follows, "You mean besides your people trying to burn the town down or bury it in fucking bodies?" One shoulder rises and falls in a shrug, "The people're tough. The trade routes are still there. It'll be a strong fief under Nayland Stewardship."
Looking around the courtyard as they enter it, Robben offers a momentary chuckle. "I will do my best to keep that in mind, Ser Nayland," he offers, before the mention of the people trying to burn the town down and so. There's a hint of a pause, and the young man offers a bit of a nod. "Aside from that, yes. I'm glad to hear that the town is recovering." He doesn't say anything about the Nayland stewardship now, but gestures in the direction of the mews. "The stables are in that direction, Ser. I'm sure your horses will enjoy the rest."
Tyroan guides his horse in the indicated direction, although once he's out of the center of the bailey, he dismounts with a groan, twisting his hips and shoulders once he's on his own two feet. Behind him, his valet scrambles his dry bones out of the saddle as well, and moves to start collecting saddlebags for both men. Tyroan snorts softly, "If your brother had kept his shirt on, he might've been able to claw some rich repayment for my idiot nephews' actions." Running his hand back over his shaven scalp, he barks another laugh, "But then he wouldn't be a young man, now would he?"
Robben keeps silent as he listens now, before he nods a little bit. "We all have our faults, I suppose." It's offered a bit quietly, as he looks around the courtyard for a few moments. Looking a bit unsure of what to say now, it would seem.
Tyroan shakes his head, good-naturedly jibing, "Those wear away with age." His valet coughs into one hand, and Tyroan smirks sidelong at the older man, "Yes, and are replaced by others, Morgan." Passing the horses off to a pair of grooms, the Nayland knight turns toward the keep, "And now, lad… how about that bite to eat? And you can tell me all about your own faults." Is he joking, or does he actually expect the Charlton to confess his own weaknesses. Either way, the statement is dry enough almost to be caustic.
"My own faults? Well, we've already spoken about one of those, I believe. At least in some people's eyes," Robben offers with a bit of a smile as he starts leading the way towards the keep itself. "Not a bad looking place, for not having been here that long, wouldn't you say?" he offers, looking to the Nayland knight for the moment now.
Tyroan looks up the steps to the keep itself, studying it in silence for a long moment before he looks around the keep, "Looks well-built enough. Still, it's wood." Starting up the steps, he adds, "Would have thought there'd be more room for people outside. But I guess that's what happens when you've got more fucking land than workers." The older knight keeps a careful lid on whatever real strengths or weaknesses he might see in the keep. After all, there's no real peace between the two houses as of yet.
Robben nods a little bit as he hears that. "True. But all things need to start somewhere, right? After all, not even the biggest and strongest fortresses were built in a few days, right?" Opening the doors leading into the Entrance HAll, looking around for a few moments. "Welcome to the keep," he offers, a bit lightly.
Tyroan drapes his left hand over the pommel of his sword, just a casual resting place for it, as he walks into the hall, "Everything starts somewhere, but even the biggest castles can burn in an afternoon." Harrenhall, of course. Not that Tyroan is old enough to remember that. "I'm surprised Ser Aleister isn't here to greet me himself, after the big talk in his letters. Maybe he was expecting more than just me and Morgan though." His steel-gray eyes shift over to his younger escort, and he gives an idle verbal poke, "Or maybe there's more to the rumors of Lord Frey's displeasure than some would say."
"The big talk in his letters, Ser?" Robben raises an eyebrow as he hears that. Studying the Nayland for a few moments, he offers the man a bit of a nod. "I'm sure he will be along shortly. There's always things to take care of, running a town, as I'm sure you know. Especially a town this new, of course."
The Naylands are invading! The Naylands are invading! Or at least, there's a Nayland here, with his ancient valet. He's walking alongside Robben from the entrance further into the keep. Tyroan smirks faintly, nodding his head, "He invited 'me and mine' to feast with you all," he gestures around the entry hall, evidently using the gesture to refer to the Charltons as a whole, "And even set the time himself. Apparently, however, it has been forgotten in the rush of news and planning in the wake of the summons." The new Steward of Stonebridge doesn't seem put out by this, rather he seems a bit wryly amused. The aged valet behind him shifts the pair of saddlebags on his shoulders, bearing up under their weight without any complaint.
Tiaryn has been in the keep, and she's coming towards the entrance. Her mass of curls is currently mostly under control, and she's wearing a lovely green dress, that probably doesn't do a lot to identify her. She appears to be looking for someone, her guard and maid just behind her, and staying appropriately near. Tia comes to a halt as she spies Tyroan and Robben, offering a polite curtsey. "Good day, My Lord," she greets, her voice carrying easily, a gentle and musical sound.
Robben nods a little bit, "I see. Well, it's true that the recent summons left a bit more work to do around here, which is probably why he hasn't been able to greet you yet." Turning to look over at Tiaryn as she approaches, offering a bit of a smile and a polite nod. "Lady Tiaryn. How are you today? Have you met Ser Tyroan Nayland here before?"
"A lesser man might take offense, Lord Robben." Tyroan smirks hard at the young man, turning his attention to Tiaryn as she actually curtsies and greets them. He nods his head politely, looking to Robben for the introduction. The half-introduction lets him make some wrong assumptions, and he offers up a gruff, "Lady Tiaryn. A pleasure." And then he adds in, "Are you a member of the Highfield branch or Lord Keegan's brood, Lady?"
Tiaryn's gaze goes to Robben and she then turns to the Nayland she's introduced to. "A pleasure to meet you, my Lord." She sidetracks briefly to answer Robben's questions. "Lord Robben, it is nice to see you again. I am well today, and I have not before now met Ser Nayland." She then turns her attention back to Tyroan. "To be precise, I am neither a member of the Highfield branch or Lord Keegan's brood, though I will be once my marriage to Ser Saethwyr takes place. I am Lady Tiaryn Flint, my Lord."
"That might be quite true, Ser Nayland. We should be fortunate that you are not a lesser man, then." Robben offers this with a bit of a smile to the Nayland, before he looks back to Tiaryn, offering her another smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you again as well, Lady Tiaryn," he offers.
Tyroan nods his head at Robben, smirking dryly, "You should be. Imagine how Rickart's boys would have reacted to not having a welcoming committee." He settles into place, knuckling his back with one hand, as he responds to Tiaryn, "Marrying in? Brave of you, Lady Tiaryn. Brave of any girl to marry into a house." Nevermind that they all do it, "At least you're marrying into beautiful country. The Mire was a fucking disappointment to my own wife compared to Flint's Finger."
Tia chuckles softly, her blue eyes a touch distant, as she says, "I am marrying in, yes, my Lord. And I grew up at Tall Oaks, not far from here, so this country is more familiar to me than Flint's Finger. Though, you are married to Auntie Anathema, are you not? Or am I misremembering?" Her smile is impish, despite she's no young wilting teenager. "And I should perhaps admit that I did come to greet you, once I was apprised of your arrival. Might I count as a welcoming committee?"
It's certainly been a couple of busy days and as such, Aleister hasn't been seen too much out and about the keep. After all, there were missives to right and even though his Steward was talking care of some of them, there were still many that he had to attend to himself. Now, with the Nayland delegate having arrived, he'd taken the time to put away his work and he'd descend from the West Wing stairs, hands clasped behind his back as he made his way into the Entrance Hall.
Robben nods a little bit as he hears Tyroan's words. "They would probably have taken it badly," he agrees, before he adds, "That is, if they would have come at all, I suppose." He offers a bit of a smile at Tiaryn's words, looking about to say something, when he looks around and notices Aleister's entrance. "I believe the welcoming comittee you were expecting is here now, Ser Nayland," he remarks, before he nods to Aleister. "Brother."
Tyroan nods at Tiaryn's assumption, "For nearly thirty years now. Suppose that makes you some form of goodcousin half a dozen times removed, or a goodniece of some form." That little quirk of one corner of the shaven-headed knight's lips show's his amusement. Robben's note of Aleister's approach causes Tyroan to nod to the future Charlton-replacement-name nee Flint nee Camden, "And a damn sight more cheerful welcoming committee than most Naylands could've expected here, Lady Tiaryn." He then turns to Aleister, extending one hand for the other man to clasp in a sort of silent challenge, "Ser Aleister then, I presume. Ser Tyroan Nayland, Steward of Stonebridge."
Tia's gaze warms, since she's not talking about Tall Oaks any more. She incilnes her head politely, falling back a step as Aleister arrives. She even offers Aleister a polite curtsey, since it's only proper. "Lord Aleister." The quiet greeting is spoken softly, before Tia's attention is back to the guest. "I believe you are correct, Ser Nayland." She pauses, her own lips quirking into a smile. "Does that mean I ought to call you Uncle?" She glances over at Robben, moving a little more towards him, in order to let Aleister take over with his guest.
Looking towards Robben, Aleister gives a slight incline of his head towards him, only to follow it with a flash of a smile and a quick, "Brother." Then, to Tiaryn, he's offering that same smile and incline of his head, only this time it comes with, "Lady Tia." Now, to Tyroan, he approaches the man and accepts that hand with his own, offering a firm grasp, "You presume correct, Ser Tyroan. Congratulations on your appointment and thank you for accepting my invitation."
Offering another bit of a nod, Robben grins a little as he hears Tiaryn's question to Tyroan, before his expression turns a little more serious as he listens to the others for the moment. Offering a smile to the lady as she steps in his direction.
Tyroan barks a laugh at Tiaryn, "Call me anything you like, Lady Tiaryn, so long as you don't call me late for dinner." He shifts his attention back to Aleister as the man comes within arm's reach, returning the clasp with his gnarled hand. "I might say the same, except with thanks for giving the invitation." There's a pause, and he assays a bit of dry snark, "I might've invited you to dine at Stonebridge, but I think that would've been taken wrong." There's a pause, and he snorts softly, glancing back toward the Lady, "Speaking of late for dinner, I'm parched after my ride. Think we could talk over something to drink and a bite or two, Ser Aleister?"
Tia's smile is full of her amusement at the jest. "I shall have some ale and refreshments sent out, my lords," she says with another curtsey. "If you will excuse me, I shall take my leave, so that you may conduct your business in peace. I trust my harp will not be overly loud while you are busy. It is a pleasure to meet you, Uncle Ser Nayland."
There's a flash of a smirk in the direction of Tyroan at the mention of an invitation to dine at Stonebridge and it's followed a moment later by just the hint of a chuckle and a quick, "I'm afraid I would have had to decline, Ser." Once his hand is reclaimed and mention of drink and food is made, a hand lifts to motion towards the doorway to the Great Hall, "Please. This way, Ser Tyroan. We can sit and speak of things while enjoying a meal." A look to Tiaryn draws a thankful bow of his head, followed by, "I am ever grateful, Lady Tiaryn. Thank you." There's a look to Robben, then, so that Aleister can offer, "Brother, can you see that the Lady Tiaryn is settled while I speak with the Steward of Stonebridge?"
Tyroan shakes his head at Tiaryn's worry that her harp will disturb their discussions, even as he starts to move into the Great Hall after Aleister, his valet — the only 'and party' he seems to have brought — following along near silently with a saddlebag over each shoulder. Nodding to the Lordling and Lady, Tyroan gravels, "Pleasure to meet you both." He waits a few steps further on to note, "Seem like good kids. But I wasn't talking about your reaction to any invitation. I think my brother would be calling for my fucking head if I invited you in just yet."
Tia grins at Robben, as he is asked to see her settled. "Come along then, Lord Robben, let's get the kitchens working and then I can settle to play my harp while you get to dance attendance on whomever requires your attention more." Amusement and teasing in her voice, as she gives her future good cousin a shameless grin. She heads off towards the kitchens, her guard and maid trailing behind her, and Lord Robben, of course, if he's going along with.
Beginning to make his way in the direction of the Great Hall, Aleister inclines his head in the direction of the guards who open the door and when he looks back to Tyroan, it's so that a sharp laugh can escape past his lips, "Oh, no doubt, Ser. But then again, it could be said that your brother is responsible for much of what has transpired." Looking back to the fore, the Lord simply passes the doors and moves into the Great Hall now.
Robben smiles a bit as he hears Tiaryn's words, nodding a bit now. "I've heard you playing your harp, my lady. It would be wonderful to listen, with or without dancing," he offers with a smile. Nodding to the two men heading into the Great Hall, he follows after the lady now.
Tyroan steps into the Great Hall, stumping down one side of one of the feasting tables, "Oh, I'd put most of that on my idiot nephew." There's a pause, then he clarifies, "Riordan, that is. Only so much a father can do when his son insists on galloping into idiocy like a septon into a whorehouse." He looks around him as he moves down the length of the hall, "Subtle, Ser Aleister. Very subtle."
Moving to the opposite side of the feasting table, it would seem that Aleister intends to sit opposite the Nayland Lord and as a hand lifts, to motion the man to sit, there's that hint of a smirk that dances to his lips once again, "I am not known for my subtly, Ser Tyroan." A faint clearing of his throat follows the words and then he's offering, "Yes. Ser Riordan provide himself a fool. One in which your brother should have dealt with /immediately/. Instead, he allowed him to hold his grasp upon Stonebridge and continue to offer insult after insult."
Tyroan settles down onto the bench where directed, rolling his shoulders with a grimace as if trying to loosen knots there-in, "And you and yours shouldn't have raised spears in return. There's been plenty of fucking up on both sides, Ser Aleister." Bracing his hands against the edge of the table, he leans forward slightly, "So what are we going to do to make sure the town isn't wrecked and worthless?" His voice goes even drier, "Besides not send men to set fire to it."
Once Tyroan has settled down, Aleister does the same and it's only a moment later that a couple of servants emerge from the kitchen, making their way to the table to deposit a pitcher of wine, goblets and a tray of breads, meats and cheeses, "I did what needed to be done, Ser Tyroan, to put your family in their place." The servants, receiving no further word from Aleister, simply take their leave. Settling his elbows upon the table, his hands come to steeple before him, forefingers resting against his chin, "Breaking our most sacred of oaths? Refusing a trial to a Noble? Come now. Your brother would have done nothing less had I offered such grave insult to him."
Tyroan reaches out to pour himself a goblet of wine, then offering one to Aleister as well — and pouring if he accepts. Taking a sip and setting his own goblet down, then eating a bite of bread and cheese, Tyroan responds bluntly, "Bullshit. You could've taken the matter to Lord Frey. Or Lord Tully." He shrugs a bit, eying his goblet a moment before taking another sip, "It might've taken a fucking year to get settled, but it wouldn't've cost lives, cut off trade, or burned parts of Stonebridge." Pulling a bit of bread apart with blunt fingers, he adds, "My idiot nephew fucked up by the numbers, but someone on your side did too." And there he's giving the Knight of Highfield an out.
There's a simple incline of his head to the offering and when it's poured, Aleister's hands unsteeple and he's claiming the cup, to lift it to his lips and take a sip before it's lowered back down, "And we both know that it would never have been resolved. And meanwhile, your nephew would have continued to offer insult after insult." The cup is set aside so that he can claim a piece of bread, only to break a piece off and place it between his lips. Once it's chewed and swallowed, he's offering, "But what's done is done, Ser Tyroan, and can not be changed. Know that I have no desire for Stonebridge. Had no desire for Stonebridge. I may seek to further my name and family, but I know well the perils of spreading ones self too thin." Leaning back now, the piece of bread is set aside, "Your brother's line has been removed from Stonebridge. Cast back to the Mire. Tell me, Ser, will your family deal with Riordan? To make sure that he can do no more harm?"
Tyroan shrugs one shoulder, letting the past settle aside for now. "Everyone wants Stonebridge. Maybe not right now, but it's like a whore after battle, ever since the last Lord Tordane died." The question that follows the other knight's statements, however, draws a much broader shrug from the elder, "Fuck if I know. If Rickart doesn't do something to whip the boy into shape, he's lost his fucking mind. Breaking guestright was just stupid as shit. But I don't run the house." There's a pause, and Tyroan leans in again, resting his forearms on the edge of the table this time, his hands wrapped around his goblet, "So tell me… how much did the other little shit, Rafferdy, tell you lot before the attack?"
An almost quiet chuckle escapes past Aleister's lips as he inclines his head once more, "Perhaps. Perhaps not, Ser. Stonebridge will ever be an issue of contention, though." That said, he's quiet for a moment, listening and then almost barking a laugh at the mention of Rafferdy, "Another of your brother's grand sons." A hand lifts, giving an idle wave, "He is of little consequence, Ser Tyroan. He fed you what information we wanted you to know and he offered nothing of real consequence in return. Nothing that a scout from either side couldn't have determined." A pause and then he's flashing a quick smile, "Not that we would have trusted anything that he'd passed along, anyways."
Tyroan nods his head at the words that follow the bark of laughter, "Rickart's got a bunch of kids, and a bunch of fuck-ups." He dismissal of Rafferdy's actions draws a snort from the bald-headed man, "I don't know about that. He's a good distraction for my Lord Brother from having to deal with his favorite son's fuck-ups right away." Taking another drink of his wine, the older knight shrugs the situation off, "So. You obviously want something out of Stonebridge to seal a longer-lasting deal. So who's being thrown under what fucking wagon wheel?"
There's that smirk again at the mention of Rafferdy being a distraction, but that final question draws a quick chuckle and a shake of his head, "I could make demands of recompense, Ser, and you could make demands of recompense. Neither one of us are going to get what we want." Now, his hands come to settle upon the table, fingertips idly drumming against the surface, "Give me your word, Ser Tyroan, as a Knight, that my people. Not those of Charlton, but those of Highfield …" Because, there's that very nasty rumor circulating around right now, ".. will be allowed passage through Stonebridge. To visit. To be treated as their station demands, no different then you would expect from us. Let us consider the past a wash, Ser Tyroan. In return, I will send craftsmen to aid in the repairs that were caused upon Stonebridge as a result of this conflict."
Tyroan nods his head at the chuckling words, although the clarification as to who the Knight's people are draws one craggy brow upward sharply. "Same as it was before this shitstorm?" There's only a moment's hesitation, "So long as you make the same promise to me and mine, you have a deal." He snorts softly, "I'd return the offer to repair damages, but all you're likely to have is some beat-to-fuck grass where your levies were camping." Taking another sip of his wine, and hiding a faint grimace half-heartedly, he adds, "You don't have many craftsmen, and putting Highfield craftsmen in Stonebridge right now might not be the best idea. How about putting up some coin or materials for the repairs instead?"
"You have my word, Ser Tyroan, that you and yours are free to come and go through Highfield. That you will be treated as Nobles should be treated and afford all that your station demands." With those words come an incline of Aleister's head and a faint cluck of his tongue, "Your right. We don't have much in the way of things to repair. But we do have craftsman. Lots of craftsman." That smirk dances to his lips once more, "One hundred and fifty of our core population are craftsman, Ser. With several dozen more of the Terrick's craftsman in our lands as per our accord with them. But, I can see some lumber sent as well." A pause now, enough so he can regard the man, "And the men are of Highfield. Not Charlton. I no longer stand alongside Hollyholt, Ser Tyroan and no longer follow his command. He's chosen his own path and forsaken Lord Frey. I will not do the same."
Tyroan nods as the other knight gives his word, "Then you have my word in return." And then Aleister continues, and the Nayland's eyebrows raise again, "Fuck." There's a bit of amusement behind the word, more than any darker emotion, "Well then. Lumber. From the men of Highfield." He hides his surprise at the bigger shock a bit better, covering it with a sardonic laugh. After he controls that, he waves one hand slightly, "Sorry. Can't help it. Lord Frey's most loyal house goes over his head." Composing himself again, he grunts softly, "Sounds like you're between a rock and a hard place too, Ser Aleister. Well, unless you fuck up hard enough to get Lord Frey calling his levies against you, you won't have Nayland pikes marching up the south road any time soon." The casual statement probably leaves him the wiggle room he needs if he has to go back on the intent, but it comes off quickly enough that it's probably not even that thought-out.
A quick snort escapes past Aleister's lips and it's followed by a slight shake of his head, "The Lord Frey summoned me the moment he received word of Keegan's swearing to Lord Tully. To see what my .. intention was." Now, that smirk dances back to his lips and his shoulders lift into a slight shrug, "Let's just say, Ser Tyroan, that he made a compelling arguement for swearing vassalage to him. But, it was my Uncle who chose to support the claim against Stonebridge, arranged the Alliances and funded the actions. But, at the end of the day, it was I who led the men." Now, a simple nod comes to pass, "As such, I will see to the repairs and provide some of the supplies necessary for such things. You are not your nephew, Ser, and I will not hold you responsible for his insults."
Tyroan nods his head, "Whatever else anyone says about Lord Frey, when he wants to, he makes his bannermen hop. Least I can do is give you the same courtesy." So it's Lord Keegan who will join Ser Riordan under the wagon wheels. Gesturing to the snacks set out on the table, "But you've got your work cut out for you distancing yourself from your Uncle. If I can bother you for a room for me and my valet, I'll be out of your hair in the morning." And that draws one hand up over his own bald scalp, "Since I've been out of my own for decades."
"That he does, Ser, that he does." Another incline of his head comes to be offered and at the gesture to the tray, he's offering, "Please, help yourself." And with that, he's reaching over to grab a piece of meat, to lift it to his lips and savor the taste. Once done, he's offering, "Fresh from the forest." Listening to the last, there's a faint chuckle and another quick nod of his head, "A room will certainly be provided for you, Ser, and a meal before you depart, should you wish it. I will also have my scribe draft up what has been spoke of, so that we can set it to paper in the near future, if you desire."
Tyroan snorts softly, "Yes… we probably should put it on paper. I remember deals bigger than this being done by handshake. Those days'll never fucking come again." Now that's just being old and grouchy. Still, he nods, "Yes. We should have something drafted up and signed. Think your scribe can get that set by the morning? If so, we can get it signed then, and you can work out how to get as far from your uncle as you can, and I can work out how to bring a town back from being lead by a dumbshit."
A sharp laugh and Aleister is giving a slight shake of his head, "I'm afraid, Ser Tyroan, that those days are before the times that I remember." There's just a hint of a grin and then a pause, a faint hrmm and then, "How about in three days time, Ser? I'll have my courier deliver it. Simply put; when I announce my deparure from my Uncle, I will no longer be called Charlton and will be forced to seperate and choose a new name. Any document I set seal to, now, would be labelled as a Charlton and void once this happens." A loophole he could have used and chose not to, it would seem, "Providing you have no issues with that short delay."
Tyroan grunts at the perfectly valid point the other man brings up, and nods, "Three days." Pulling over the tray of munchies, he starts to collect a sort of open-faced sandwich, "On another note, Ana apparently met with your sister while she was at The Roost and was quite interested in seeing more of her. She's more than welcome to join us in Stonebridge, or I can suggest to Ana that The Roost might be a more realistic place for more talking right now."
"Three days it is," is answered in return and with 'business' set aside for now, Aleister gives a soft chuckle and a slight nod of his head, "Ahh, yes. My sister enjoys her time at the Roost and the like, I will admit and we've shied away from Stonebridge, lately, for obvious reasons." Just the hint of a smile passes to his lips now, "Perhaps my sister and I will make a visit to Stonebridge, Ser, if it would not put your family out."
Tyroan nods his head, "You'd be welcome." There's a pause, and a smirk, "Although something fewer than fifteen or twenty guards might be best for all involved. Makes intentions clearer, and means there aren't as many hotheads who were just trying to fucking kill each other standing around with their hands on their swords."
Alright. That earns a laugh from Aleister and a slight incline of his head once more, "In all honesty, we really were there to aid in the search. Everyone went west, so we looked north. Returned at nightfall. But, your nephew decided we had seized the Inn and were stopping everyone from coming in, even though the innkeeper and several other nobles could attest otherwise." It's not said as a point, but rather in humor and it comes with a shake of his head, "But to make sure there's no mis-intention, we'll arrive with far less."
Tyroan shrugs his shoulders expressively at the explanation, too busy chewing on the sandwich to speak immediately. Once he's cleaned a bit of his mouth out and washed the food down with a swig of wine, he adds, "Fuck if I know what that idiot child was thinking. Good. Then I'll leave you to your business, and get on with mine." And again, he gestures toward the food and drink placed before him.
Lifting a hand as Tyroan motions to the plate, Aleister snaps his fingers, which brings a servant forth from the kitchen entry way. There's a flit of his eyes to the young man and it's followed by, "See that whatever drink and food Ser Tyroan wishes is prepared and then show him to one of the Guest Rooms." Looking back to Tyroan, he begins to rise from his seat before offering an arm in the direction of the man, "I thank you for coming to speak with me, Ser, and I look forward to more peaceful times ahead."
Tyroan nods his head in thanks, rising as well to clasp the Knight of Highfield's hand once more, "This is what happens when people just fucking talk about what's going on instead of going off like a half-cocked crossbow." Exactly who he's referring to there is up for debate, but there's plenty of scorn directed outside of the room to allow it to be eminently reasonable that he's talking about Riordan. "Peace is good for everyone. Especially everyone in Stonebridge." That draws a smirk, and then he sits down again, "I'll look for your courier in three days."