|Bootleather and Archer|
|Summary:||Tyroan questions Rafferdy about his alleged treachery.|
|Related Logs:||Arrested Development and Spies Among Us|
|A Guest Room, Fortress of the Sevens|
|Probably small and maybe a little cramped.|
|27 September, 289|
Rafferdy is laying on his back on a rug on the stone floor, his arms folded behind his head. He's staring at the ceiling, shirtless, and one of the armoire's has been emptied and moved to block the third story window.
Tyroan Nayland is apparently a busy man. He's only been out of a meeting with Rickart for a short while, and now he's calling on his imprisoned nephew. He gestures toward the door to one of the guards, who raps once then opens it. Tyroan allows a moment, then walks in, taking in the situation, "Nephew." The older knight presses his right fist into his left palm, letting out a series of four sharp pops from his knuckles, "You've stepped into the shit, haven't you?" There's no real heat behind those words, and perhaps even a bit of wry amusement.
Rafferdy doesn't look away from whatever amazing spot on the ceiling he's chosen to stare at. "I've done nothing different than I have for the last eight years." He shrugs, "He's angry about Riordan losing Stonebridge to you. I'm on the receiving end I guess."
Tyroan smirks tightly, "That was a prime bit of buggery Lord Walder did, now wasn't it?" Shaking off his amusement, he moves over to drop down into a chair across the room from his nephew, "That, or he's pissed as fuck about the accusations that you betrayed the family for a bit of trim. Now what kind of fucking idiot would do that, nephew?"
Rafferdy rolls his eyes, "If I had done that, I wouldn't be here." He sighs, "He arrested me after I finished begging him for betrothal to her. Does that really sound like the actions of a man who already worked it all out?"
Tyroan snorts at the protestations, "Don't blow smoke up my ass, lad. I know well enough that sell-swords and traitors," they're both spoken in the same disdainful tone, "don't tend to get paid when they fuck things up." He shakes his bald head slowly, "But I'm not here to bust your chops. I'm here to get information. Where'd you get your information on Charlton numbers?"
Rafferdy sits up, looking at Tyroan. "So, its been decided then. I'm a traitor." He shakes his head, "Unbelievable." He sighs, stands, and moves to the bed, where he flops down, sitting on the edge. "You don't even know me, but you judge me so quickly without a single damned member of my family even bothering to ask for my side." He shakes his head, "And you say it's me that is the traitor…"
Tyroan narrows his eyes at Rafferdy's response to his words, "If you want to have a chance of getting off, you'd best learn to fucking listen, boy." It's rapidly gone downhill from 'nephew' to 'lad' to 'boy.' "I just told you, I'm just here for information." He leans forward a bit in his chair, hardening his voice, "Isn't that part of asking for your side? If you suggest that I'm a fucking traitor again, though, I'll let your father throw you to the swamp."
Rafferdy furrows his brow once more, "Getting off implies I've done something wrong and am getting away with it. I've done no such thing." He stares at Tyroan a long moment, and then says flatly, "I scouted it myself."
Tyroan snarls, "'Getting off' suggests flogging your log. It also implies being found not guilty at a trial. And you can fucking bet that there will be a trial." Leaning back in his chair again, he draws in a breath, calming his voice again, "So when you told the people in charge at Stonebridge that there were only four hundred in their levies, you were just incompetent, not treacherous?"
Rafferdy shakes his head, "No. When I told them that, I was telling them what I was asked to tell them by the Haighs. I scouted myself and gave them the true numbers a few days later."
Tyroan arches his brows at the mention of the Haighs, "And when did the Haighs ask you to do that?" Leaning forward again, he rests his forearms on his knees, lacing his fingers together as he does, "And what else did the Haylords ask you to do?"
Rafferdy shrugs, "A few days prior. That's really all they asked."
Tyroan nods slightly, looking down at his knit hands for a moment, "So the Haighs and Charltons march over to Highfield, at some point you talk to the Haighs, and they ask you to tell your brothers that there are only four hundred soldiers at Highfield?" There's a bit of disbelief in his voice, but he continues none-the-less, "And you did? What was in it for you to give them that report?"
Rafferdy lifts his brow, "You don't believe that. Why do we bother continuing then?" He leans back onto the bed with a huff.
Tyroan unlaces his hands and braces them on his knees, "I'm an old goat, and I'm going to gnaw on this from all angles. I'll listen to whatever the fuck you have to say, but I've got my own questions too."
Rafferdy just sighs. "Then ask them and get the hell out."
Tyroan shakes his head slowly, "I just did. What was in it for you to give them that report?" Perhaps patience comes with age, but the elder knight seems to take this in stride, "And then you can tell me whatever you think your side of the story is."
Rafferdy shakes his head, "To them, they believed I was earning the hand of Katrin Haigh. To us, we were gaining an opportunity to communicate false information about our doings to them in order to give us an advantage in a battle in which we were clearly outnumbered."
Tyroan nods his head, "And what false information did you give them?" He gestures idly off to the west with one hand, "Because it sure as fuck seemed to me that it was the militia pikes that saw them off."
Rafferdy shakes his head, "We gave them none. After getting Father's permission to feed them false information, in the end, Riordan and Rutger vanished. Rygar and I never spoke. So, the plan never came through to anything. It was a waste. Another shining moment for Riordan's book of dropping the ball."
Tyroan nods again, "So help me get this straight. Your side of the situation is that you went to the Haighs once they had marched to Highfield," he stops a moment, asking, "Or was it before they marched?" He continues almost immediately, "and you offered to feed your family false information in exchange for marrying this girl when the Charltons and Haighs won, but you really wanted to fuck them in the ass and feed them false information?"
Rafferdy sighs, growing tired of all this, "I went to Haigh's before they marched, but after Riordan had ensured they were going to retaliate against Stonebridge. And that's true, though when you say it like that you make me sound like an idiot." He leans forward, "I understand you may not get this, since you weren't in Stonebridge until you magically swept it out from under my brothers, but we were going to get our asses handed to us. Riordan was a moron. Rygar was never around. Neither was Rutger. It was me and Bruce and Jarod. NONE of us had authority to do ANYTHING worthy of being help. So I did what I could. What I've always done. And it's NEVER been an issue before."
"Sounds like a fucking good thing for House Nayland that Lord Frey made me Steward then, when you put it that way, doesn't it?" Tyroan's wry smirk comes before a shake of his head, "Seems to me that Ser Bruce did a pretty damned good job with the defenses. Him and Ser Rygar." He hauls himself up out of his chair with a groan, straightening the sword at his hip, "So when did you make the deal with the Haighs? And there anything else you want to mention?"
"Ser Bruce did well, but he didn't do it alone. Jarod and I were pretty instrumental in that, not that I'd expect any of you to bother noting that now." Rafferdy sighs, "It happened when I was captured about a month and a half ago." He thinks a moment, then shakes his head, "No. I can't think of anything else."
Tyroan presses his right fist into his left palm again, although his knuckles don't pop this time, "I'll be in Stonebridge. You think of anything, send me a courier. I'll make sure you're allowed to do that. To me and Ser Bruce. I'll try to get this dealt with quickly." He moves toward the door, "No sense keeping you in here longer than necessary."
For the first time this evening, instead of frustration, Rafferdy shows a bit of disappointed sadness as his shoulders slump just slightly and he says softly, "It doesn't matter. None of this does. Father's already decided." He then lays on the bed and rolls over, turning his back on his uncle.
Tyroan watches his nephew slump in despair, then shakes his head in his own disappointment and departs, speaking with the guards outside briefly as the door closes.