|Blood and Pride|
|Summary:||Halfsepton Marsden patches up the Ser Riverses after the battle in the Pyke's lower bailey. The men discuss wounds to body and pride.|
|Related Logs:||The Storm King's Host|
|Pyke Isle — Hospital Tent|
|Apr 06, 289|
The first skirmish on Pyke that the Riverlanders participated in has come to a close, the injured seeing to their wounds and the healthy seeing to the slain ironmen. Once Gedeon Rivers is able to pass Jarod's prisoner along to someone who can find a place to tie him up, the blond knight made his own way towards the healers, thoughtfully touching the maile at his chest where its been stained with blood. Fun times.
Jarod has found his way to the hospital tent, to get his various gashes seen to. He's sitting on a stool there now, awaiting Marsden's attentions. "I'm wondering how the whole of the army's faring, I suppose," he says, picking up the thread of some conversation they seem to've been having. "Was a bloody little fight with our lads from the Cape and those squids in the bailey. I heard talk Ser Lannister was leading men in other parts of the castle, but I didn't see him."
"Ah the whole army, Well, the westlanders, Reach boys and buggers from King's Landing have all seen some hurt. They weren't as bad off as we were there for a few days, but they didn't have bloody trouble landing here as we did on Harlaw. Most folks found there way here after breakin' down their holds..And the Crownlands? They got them redwyne sailors holding the line with their men at arms..And there's a lot of sellswords here. People I know, like Pickled Dick Swyft, an a few others. Folks want a crack at glory an riches, Ser." Marsden says as he's making a motion for Jarod to remove his shirt, while he's sliding on a leather apron over his dull brown robes. "We've seen a steady stream in here. It actually makes me grateful for the time pulled in close." he adds before there's a look over his shoulder for a moment, and then he's pulling around his kit. "You know I had to stop Ser Kamron Mallister from going back to the line yesterday? His head still show signs of bein' cracked like poor eggs." sucking on his teeth Marsden reaches for the skin of water from his side and is uncorking it, before pouring the water over his hands. "I swear some of you ain't seen war before, or only have seen it from horseback."
"I've seen it," Gedeon says simply, removing his cap and pushing the maile coif back with a sigh. "Hullo, Rivers. Your prisoner's secured, how are the leaking bits?" Glancing over at Marsden, he adds, "Pickled Dick Swyft? You know, there are some names I should think a man would do his utmost to keep from following him about."
Jarod strips off his shirt. His side's been bandaged, so it's not so much leaking anymore, though upper body movement still makes him grimace some. The bit about Kamron makes him bark out a low chuckle. "I think the Mallisters're smarting from the way the duel between Ser Martyn and the squid lord went on Harlaw. Eager to earn back a bit of glory. And take Seagard's part of the vengeance for what was done to the coasts." At the sound of Gedeon's greeting he turns his head, offering the other Rivers knight a deep nod. "Thanks for that. Hope the fellow lives long enough to talk with. I've some questions of my own for him."
"You know what they say, you cannot change what folks call you." A wry smile showing on Marsden's lips. "No matter how hard you try." A tap to his nose before he is looking back Gedeon. "Ser Rivers." means of a greeting to the Valentin knight. "Speaking of Pickled Dick, I don't know how he earned the name pickled. Some think it's because he fucked his way into a disease-others say it's because he drinks himself poor. I believe the real story comes from him trying to escape a tough situation in a pickling barrel."
A low whistle there from Marsden to Jarod's words before he is looking back to the bandage. Knife out-and he's cutting it away so as to peel back gingerly. "The way they want to stop smarting is to invite a horse that can go backwards in time and let Ser Martyn fall. Whether or not it would be a trap- would save the honor of the house. But, that sort of slight is small, even if poorly viewed." A sniff as his eyes scour over Jarod's chest. "When did you last change these bandages?" thrown out.
"Perhaps for Ser Kamron himself. I think for the rest of the Mallisters, it was the Nayland banners swaying over Grey Gardens that really got them smarting. It's one thing to swallow down the bile and smile to the Freys. Quite another to accept the gall of their underlings. Should prove interesting in the next march, has Ser Kamron had a chance to speak to you about his thoughts, Ser Jarod?" Gedeon finds a seat or, failing that, a crate to drop down onto before he peels off his gloves. There's another nice cut across his hand, which has him frowning a little further.
"Last night, when I was having the wound cleaned out," Jarod replies to Marsden. The cut to his side was deep enough that it required stitching as well. It's an ugly-looking thing , and it'll leave him a fine scar, but it's healing without festering thus far. The bit about Pickled Dick earns a laugh from him, which makes him wince. But it's the thread about the Mallisters he replies to. "I don't know about that. Wasn't proper by the rules but…had I been standing second to one of my brothers up there? Can't deny I might not've done the same to save his life. Some things've got to be worth more than your personal honor." To Gedeon, he nods. "Aye, we talked on it a bit on the sail over. I'll aid the men of Seagard to gain any glory they can, but I don't figure it'll come so easy as all that."
"What you expect them that are in charge to do?" Marsden asks as his finger prod the wound, at the knight's chest, before he is leaning in to smell. Despite how he may be in battle, the septon at least has a gentle bedside-or in this case- stoolside manner. "I'm sure everyone gets their honor an pride hurt at something that other does. It's how feuds keep on, an how I keep in business." he mutters before he is reaching down into his kit to pull out strips of linen and some patchy green substance. Likely, moss.
"You'll scar nice from this, but I will say this, you're not infected from what I can tell.." And for that the moss is packed there at the side, careful careful. "Have your squire pluck out the moss come the morning, It'll draw anything hiding in there an soak at your bad blood…" And soon enough he'll be applying his own linens, cutting the rest of the other bandages away. "I also think you'd be safe unting this tonight when you're by the fire to let some good dry air get on it. Let it breathe despite how it might sting.." And soon he is wrapping the side up as he needs to.
There's a glance between both men for a moment before he is shrugging. "It would have been easier on Harlaw for em. Here they'll have to contend with every man in the Kingdom who wants it." Marsden adds pragmatically. There's a glance to Gedeon. "You had time to think on what I asked, Ser?"
"The better to be remembered if you manage, I suppose," Gedeon says with a small shrug of his own. "Real glory never comes cheaply, it's why we all remember it. So. We shall see." He watches the septon work before nodding a little for Marsden's words. "I have, and to speak with Lord Valentin. If you've still a mind to serve Oldstones, Oldstones will have you."
Jarod intakes a breath sharp when Marsden prods at his wound. Clean or not, it's still tender. As to the instructions about the moss, and the airing of his cut, he nods. "Aye. I'll get it seen to. I don't want to be out of the fight too long. I want a chance at a few things myself inside the Pyke, though less for glory, I hope, than to do right by my kin." He shifts a look between Marsden and Gedeon. "You'll be leaving the Naylands after the war's done, Halfsepton?"
"That it is." Marsden will agree before he nods to Gedeon. The sellsepton does pause long enough to offer a smile before he's moving to inspect Jarod's arm. "Good. You blokes won't regret it, Ser. I got my own ambitions-an I see them with you an yer house." Streem states before he is whistling and there's a press of his hand over the wound on Jarod's arm. "I think these stitches can come out..If you're worried, I can cauterize it after I yank em."
The question Marsden offer his own half grin. "I will be." he comments. "Sooner maybe, if the Erenfords keep camping close by." said before he's bringing his knife close to the skin. "Also, I can't see myself long in the Mire." honesty there. "Sides, I've heard good things of Lord Valentin. Goes hand in hand wit' my living."
"Are you hoping for a crack at Maron Greyjoy?" Gedeon asks Jarod, brows lifting a little. "I suppose I can't blame you there, is that why you were so eager to claim a prisoner? Think the fellow will be able to tell you where he's like to be in the battle?" To Marsden he says, with a small nod, "Ser Valentin's a fine lord to serve under, if you prove yourself loyal. It's a rough place, Oldstones, only at its start, but we've ambitions, too."
"Do all you need for the arm. I want that one healed fast," Jarod says, giving his appendage over to whatever Marsden will do with it. The bit about Valentin earns a grunt. It's a non-committal sort of sound. "I look forward to returning to the Roost for my part. Seven willing. Still business to finish here, can't say where any of us'll go until it's done." As for Gedeon's question about Maron Greyjoy, he nods a firm affirmative. "I'm Lord Jerold Terrick's only son upon this rock, bastard or no. If I can avenge what was done to the Roost, I owe him to see that done." Another nod, about his motives with the prisoner. "In part, aye. Hoping he might know a few other things, too, concerning my home shores."
"Well and good." Marsden quips back towards Gedeon. "Everyman should have something he wants to strive to. What about you, Ser Gedeon?" a brow raised. Sure he has heard some things, but it never hurts to hear from the fish's mouth so to speak.
And there he's cutting lightly at the threads with a quick and skilled hand. ONly then does he start to ease the thread from the flesh with his knife-ever careful. "I lost my pickers on Harlaw.." he mutters before he is taking another out. "It'll be right as rain if you let it breathe. As for your chest. I'd say you can go on the line, but I'd take it easy for a day if you can spare it."
Gedeon's brows lift for Marsen's question and he laughs. "Oh, I strive, septon. I strive. But now I'm curious. What are your ambitions that you expect to line up so tidily with that of my lord's?" For Jarod's words, the other bastard offers a small nod of understanding. "You'll have to tell me how that works out for you, ser."
"Man's got to have a dream," Jarod remarks wry, gritting his teeth when the stitches on his arm are cut. The bit about being able to get back to the line picks his spirits up. He nods, making no verbal promises to take it easy. "I'm sure it'll be a fairly public spectacle, however it plays," he replies with a half-grin to Gedeon. "Every lordship will want to take the head of a Greyjoy son to notch his belt. Still, I'll take my go at it hard if it comes to it. I'm also wondering if the squid might know how those taken from our shores're fixed here. There were a good many folk taken as thrall or slaves from the Roost. Women, for the most part." His grin fades.
"Mine, Ser?" a faint chuckle there from the halfsepton. "What every sellsword eventually wants. Stability, though mine has it's own reaches and isn't tied directly to coin-which is nice might I add. You can have fine things with coin." Marsden drones on without really going into detail, but the root of it is there. With the stitches done He's setting his knife down on his propped knee. A look given to Gedeon. "You got anythin' that needs looks?" The arm itself is not rebandaged. Rather it's left alone to breathe.
"What's the other part then, the part that isn't interested in coin?" Gedeon presses the sort-of-septon, brows still raised, though now it's curiosity rather than surprise. "My hand, I suppose. Prefer to keep both of them working. Chest should bend all right, the cut to the stomach's barely a scratch." Glancing over at Jarod his own expression fades to something more solemn. "When the King's army wins the day, I'm sure those taken will be returned."
A nod at the knight's words, before he is reaching for Gedeon's hand. There's a slight glance, before he's smirking. One hand slides down to his kit to stow his knife. "It's fine. Pour some ale on it." As for what Gedeon seeks There's a clicking of his tongue as the septon turns back fro the hospital tent. "I'll tell you once you bring me an armband of red to wear, Ser." A tilt of his head. "Ser Riverses.." And with that he is leaving the two knights to their own.
"If they live to see the King's army win the day," Jarod says to that. "I half-figure the squids might just kill those they took from our shores. No point in it, but there was no point to what they did to the Roost as they retreated. Couldn't hold it, so they broke it for those that would. I'd like to get to them before the squids have their chance at that." A quick "Thanks, Halfsepton" is muttered to Marsden when the man finishes with his arm. He idly flexes his fingers but he doesn't stress it too much to start.
"I doubt it," Gedeon muses watching as the healer makes his exit, "To kill their own thralls would be to admit they expect defeat. It seems… against their nature to do such a thing." Then, canting his head, he asks, "Halfsepton? Is that… a title or a barb?"
Jarod chuckles. "A bit of both, perhaps, though it's how he introduced himself. So he owns it. I get the feeling he's not strictly speaking a proper septon, though he's not told me quite how. Calls me Half-Eagle, so I return the courtesy to him." Slight grin. He sort of courts the nick-name, back-handed as it may be in some quarters. "Against their nature? How do you figure? Haven't seen much killing or cruelty that's against the inclinations of the squids."
"He fucked an noble girl and got her pregnant," is Gedeon's dry answer for 'how'. "I don't think the order took kindly to it. Or the Erenfords, for that matter, the way he was speaking about them just now, though I'm not sure if they're his family or hers. No. Wait. I think she was a Goodbrooks." The blond knight shakes his head as he considers the squids. "I don't mean the cruelty. I mean, if they kill their thralls before we've taken the castle and before their forces fight ours, they're as much as admiting they expect to be taken. That admission is what I don't think they'd stomach."
Jarod laughs at that. "That'll do it, and no mistake. He should've stuck to fucking common girls. Doubt anybody would've cared. More than one septon was a regular back at the Rockcliff in its better days." As for the squids, he grunts. "Perhaps. Most men cling harder to their pride than what's solid that they hold, when it comes down to it. Funny how that works."
"Pride feels stronger, and no one will call you craven, if you win. And if you lose, well, it's death and then what does it matter anyhow," Gedeon answers with a small shrug.
"Aye, what does it matter, anyhow?" Jarod mirrors the shrug with a one-shouldered one of his own. He takes a moment to brace himself, then gets to his feet with a grunt. "Ser Kamron mentioned he was going to speak with you. He's interested in your claim to Stonebridge. He said there'd be an increased presence of Mallisters at the Roost once the war's done, to aid with the rebuilding. Will be useful, I figure, if the Naylands try to hold it despite whatever Good King Robert might say."
Gedeon nods. "We spoke briefly, though in the company of others, but Ser Kamron certainly seemed… interested in putting a face to the name, I suppose." A corner of his mouth lifts in bemusement for the rest of Jarod's words. "That could be very useful, depending on what the King does say. And it's good sense, with the Roost and Seagard as they are, for the Mallisters to want to protect a potential investment."
"Seagard's been hit hard by this war as well. Maybe harder than most can really see right now, with Lord Jason dead and Lord Patrek so young to lead them," Jarod says. "The Freys and their ilk'll try and take whatever advantage of weaknesses they see that they can. If they have some hope of Stonebridge bendings its knee in Seagard's direction again, they'll want to be strong in the reclaiming of it. What'd you make the rest of what you two spoke on? Of looking for ways to claim glory on the field and the like."
"Well, on the one hand, it seems a bit wishful, to hope to win the eye of the King by brave feats in battle. The stories are always so dashing, but the reality's rarely similar. On the other hand," Gedeon muses, canting his head in the opposite direction, "It can't hurt to surround yourself with your allies, and if we're all working to help each other, even if we don't grab glory, we're more likely to be alive at the end of it."
Jarod nods to that. "True enough. Though I promised Lord Rickart back at the Grey Garden that I'd let him keep me close. Or keep Rowan close, as the case may be." He shrugs. "I'm hoping that'll all get a bit easier soon enough. There are certain matters I'd like to settle before I take a run at Pretender Princeling Maron. Never know how something like that'll turn."
"Oh?" Gedeon asks. "Then you're not… going to wait until Pyke is reclaimed after all?" he queries, one hand tapping his own shoulder and then the other.
"We'll see how it plays," Jarod says, cracking a faint grin. "Anyhow. I should be getting back to my tent. I'll see you about, Ser Rivers. Try not to bleed anymore than you have to and all that, and we'll see what we end up grabbing on the battlefield."
"You do the same, Ser Rivers," Gedeon replies with a smirk. "You bleed more often than I do."
"I do the most damage to myself, generally. So at least I see it coming," Jarod replies, allowing his grin to flash to a full cheeky smile. Still boyish, though it doesn't make him look quite so young as it once did. Off he goes.
"I'm not so sure the one follows the other," Gedeon replies, watching Jarod head off. It's only after he's gone that the blond Rivers begins rooting around for some of that ale he's been advised to pour on his hand.