|A Sign of Station and a Sign of Gratitude|
|Summary:||Ozric congratulates Mortimer on the successful end to the search for the children.|
|Related Logs:||What is Dead Can Never Die|
|Infirmary, Terrick's Roost|
|A short flight of stone steps leads down from the level of the Sept proper into a secluded and quiet chamber to the rear of the building. The walls here are not so ornate, nor so decorated. It's the rich atmosphere of calm and warmth that invites the guest onward across the floor. Cots of sturdily carved wood line a wall on each side of the room, spaced well enough apart to leave plenty of room for healers to move amongst those being cared for within them, and each has a small table for a night-light and pitcher of water. Though a trio of tall, narrow windows high upon the far wall provides some illumination in daylight hours, by dusk the chamber relies upon well-tended braziers for warmth and light both. A tall set of shelves toward one corner houses piles of freshly laundered and folded sheets and blankets, while a lower cabinet at the other side is scattered with bottles and jars, even the odd sheaf of parchment and world-weary candles.|
|Wed Dec 19, 289|
It's just before the midday hour and most of the town is doing those last few things before lunch. It's no different in the Sept either as the godsworn of the town hurry to finish all they need to before it's time for prayer and food. For one of them, one of the Septa trained in the healing arts, the task seems to be that of changing the bandages around Mortimer's chest and hand. Not that the former looks too bad now, there's certainly no sign of any infection but still, a few more days or so she tells him. He himself is simply sat enjoying the relative quiet, lifting his arms out of the way as she tells him too.
Even if the noon prayers and chants can be heard, they do not last for long. Rather the calls are lost as soon as they are heard. The door to the infirmary aiding as some barrier. Still it should be no surprise that others would traverse to find there way down into this place of healing for body, as well as soul. The dark figure of the Young Lord, should not set anyone at ill ease-even if he comes carrying a parcel. There's a brief pause as eyes slide over to the Septa as she sees to the deputy, but he doesn't interrupt. Not yet, anyway-instead the one eye'd knight makes his way with a quiet nod over towards Mortimer.
"Master Trevelyan." comes the usual gruff bark. "How are you?"
Mortimer has been in enough fights of one form or another in his time to not feel self-conscious about talking to others with his arms out in the air like a moron. He's not about to interrupt the Septa's progress either, so Ozric doesn't get a bow, just a nod in acknowledgement instead. "Healing m'Lord," he replies with a quick glance to said Septa, "or so I'm told anyway. Few more days for the bites and scratches, longer for the broken bone." Bringing his splinted right hand in a little to emphasis where said bone is located he waits a moment as the bandage is tied off then drops his arms again. "Fairly light all told I think. How are Lord Fenster and Groves? They took the worst of it."
"It could have been worse. You could have lost your head, or arm." Ozric replies quickly, before he crosses over to take a seat on a nearby empty cot. The wood and material groaning under his weight, but then-cots are such noisy things. "I am glad though, you are on the mend. I need dependable men like you in my employ, and in service to House Terrick. These past couple days, you have proven your worth above and beyond." And there he shifts the long parcel in his lap. "I also know you did not care to be leading those high born men. But, you did so admirably. You even handled the Jast knight just fine-which I would say is a grand feat."
Having already seen to the bindings on his hand, the Septa gathers her things and after a few parting words along the lines of 'take it steady' and 'keep the hand elevated' she leaves the men to their conversation. Nodding both his thanks and an acknowledgement of the instructions Mortimer then turns back to Ozric as he starts to pull his shirt back over his head. "It could have been a lot worse aye m'Lord," he agrees, "we all left there on our own two feet though, and with all the children that were left." There's a brief pause as the issues cause by a shirt sleeve and an immobile hand is sorted and then he continues, "thank you, but I fear more of them may have not cared to be lead by a commoner than might have said so at the time. The Lord Groves made his feelings known in the inn yesterday, and I don't think Lord Ashwood was impressed either." Shaking his head a moment he then shrugs once and concludes, "I fear those who did nothing at first will add it to their list of grievances with us to cover their own failings."
"They wouldn't have escaped. We had them should they had pushed from their place-and the children.." He doesn't trail on and on about it. Instead he nods briefly, before he is reaching down and slowly unwrapping the cloth around the object he carries. "Lord Groves, is a fop, and one that can barely ride at that. He thinks to lead on my land-and he cannot. Lord Ashwood is a liar and a weasel. Both of their opinions mean spit with me." Ozric says firmly before he slides out scabbard and blade. A glance is given over towards Mortimer. "I know you do not use one regularly. But, as our thanks for your help, I would like this to be yours- to serve as a sign of station-and all else a sign of my gratitude." It is not an overly pretty thing. But good scabbard, and just short of being a broadsword, it is offered out. "Ser Perrin seemed not to mind. Only those vain glories that worry about what women think and gossip over would object. This was your case. And you led for me. Simple as that."
Mortimer listens to Ozric's opinions on the two Lords named, but adds no comment himself, they are Lords after all and with nothing specific of his own to add he's not about to engage in idle speculation or gossip. Instead he simply nods to note that he's paying attention as he carefully slides his tunic on over his shirt. His belt would be next, but that's trickier and he figures he'll wait until the Young Lord isn't watching before he sorts that. Thankfully, a distraction comes in the form of a sword. It would be fair to say that for a moment or two he's not entirely sure what to say, such weapons being expensive after all. Reaching for it with his left hand he eventually manages a, "thank you m'Lord," and then a more relaxed, "best be careful though, or people might start mistaking me for a knight." checking the weight for a moment he then lays it across his lap, not being able to test it properly yet until his other hand heals sufficiently. "Lord Perrin is a good man," he agrees with a nod, "his reasons for searching I have no cause to doubt."
"We aren't giving you spurs. Just a short sword. I'd pick a dirk, save most of those belong to men in the tower. This is yours. Rust's been cleaned and it has been sharpened." Ozric says with a faint grin. "I am not putting you on airs, Master. Just something proper for a deputy of the law." And with that he rises up once the weapon has been passed over, he rises up. "Still you did what was needed. And the reason I put it on you, was because of how I had seen some of our Lords behaving. In their hands, it would have been disastrous." He simply states. "And in mine, it would have bred resentment further. Sometimes, Mortimer, there are no pleasing men." And with that he stands, looking over the retainer. "Get yourself well, and a deserved rest. You earned it."
"Don't think they'd fit my boots anyway m'Lord," Mortimer replies with a faint smile and an expression that, if anything, reads relief. As Ozric rises to stand he does as well, setting the blade t one side before he does so. "Thank you m'Lord," he offers again, along with a slightly stiff bow as he figures the Young Lord is about to make his departure, "I will do my best." He has other things to do, like find the archer who shot Dania, but an extra day or two shouldn't hurt any more than the weeks already given over to the children.
Ozric grins over his shoulder towards Mortimer and offers a brief nod. "Good, that is all I ask." he says before he taps fingers to his forehead in a salute. A turn, and the one eye'd knight departs as quietly as he came.