|Brothers in arms|
|Summary:||The long separated Flint brothers speak|
|Date:||26 January 2012|
|Related Logs:||War and stuff|
|Charlton hang-out - Seagard|
|Basic noble room in war|
|26 January 289|
The Charlton area is currently a mixture of the Frey bannerhouse and the Stark, though now, quite a few people less of those that hold the grey, black and white device of Flint's Finger. Now, it's common knowledge that the Flint hold at the waterfront was hit, and hit hard by a skirmishing band of Ironborn, those under the Volmark banner, and the line had crumbled, the Young Lord almost decapitated in a single blow by the Lord Volmark, and that Lord Ser Aleister Charlton had been bested in single combat. Some honour was shown in that the agreement the Lords had prior to their official 'battle' was upheld, and the vanquished Charlton was allowed to leave with his life, walking. Once back into camp, however, Aleister slumped into a chair (and later shuffled into a medic's bed for attention to those wounds), and Anders.. he lies still in a pavillion, looking a little worse for wear. His shirt is brown with blood, and the flesh is bruised and swollen under the bandages around his neck, the red seepage through the bandages kept at bay by the regular tending by the slip of a woman who lies asleep at the side of the stricken Young Lord. There's a brace to prevent too much movement, and from the looks of it, Anders isn't getting up or even moving around any time soon. He lies there, his eyes open, staring into the air above him, fingers moving on each hand.. each in order. Something to do..
Anselm's gone to the Charlton camp as soon as he'd heard about his brothers accident, he isn't even out of his armour as he moves towards the medical tent, his expression one of determination and concern. He looks down at the man with a faint frown. "Brother I'd heard tell that you almost lost your head?" He kneels down next to the bed so that he can better see his brother.
Anders doesn't move his head towards the sound of the voice, but it's easy enough to know who it is that is speaking. At least words are no longer an unintelligible buzz around him, and he's regained some sense. He doesn't stop moving his fingers, but also moves on to his hands.. carefully. "Brother.." His voice is low, raspy, "the bastards hit us hard. If it weren't for Aleister.." they'd have been dead, and he knows it. He owes his friend a great deal. "Wish you were there.." He chuckles, the sound dry, "and glad you weren't."
"Ah, I could do with a few more scars. I'm too pretty." Anselm frowns a little. "I should have made sure I'd been able to be there." He sounds almost guilty. "I can't have you going and getting yourself killed. I wasn't made for the role of Young Lord, such responsibility would sit poorly on me." He chuckles a little. "Still you'll recover, even if it does take time. Hopefully we'll have Seagard before then."
"This is going to leave a scar," Anders agrees, his voice still very low, both from the injury and out of consideration to the slip of a woman that sleeps beside the bed. That 'Charlton healer'. "Never badly wounded in the War, but now? Damned Ironborn." He offers a half smile to his brother, though he still doesn't move. "I'll recover. I'm out of battle, though.. but I don't have a lot of men left either." And as far as he's concerned, they deserve to go home. That's not going to happen anytime soon, however. "We didn't move with the others to do the house to house. You wouldn't have been happy to be left behind."
Anselm shakes his head. "I'm happy to do my duty brother. I don't seek glory, I just do what I must for duty." He chuckles a little. "Next time I'll try to be there to see you don't go trying to lose your fool head."
"Your Banner Lord Frey would have you do your duty to the line," Anders reminds, though there isn't any anger.. there is just a weariness, which is understandable. He raises his hand slowly to reach to grasp his brother's hand. "I would welcome the opportunity to fight alongside you, though." He chuckles, the sound dry and hoarse again, "Home is far away, and the days we climbed the tower, looking for ghosts even farther." He moves his eyes to look at his younger brother, "I think I'll haunt the tower when I'm gone."
Nodding Anselm chuckles. "Well, we'll no doubt have the oppertunity in the coming years. As I said, my duty will hopefully not keep me away forever." He shakes his head a little. "I'll haunt the forge. I always enjoyed watching the smiths work. And it seems you'd be alone in the tower… We never found anyone in our hunts after all." He grins to his brother. "But that is the talk of old men. You can't think of dying before you've left an heir." He grins to his brother for a moment.
Anders tries not to laugh, but his chest does rise and move in the action.. he can't help it. "Even after I offered to leave you with them. I think it was the offering they didn't care for." What a nice big brother. "Right now, I feel old, but once I am strong enough to move, I'll shed the years." He smiles, the action echoing in his eyes. "Now, that will have to wait again. Much to my Lady's chagrin." His Lady.. and last night was a blur. His expression falls in the thought, "If she sees me like this.. Brother, she will never give me a moment's peace."
nodding Anselm grins. "Well with a little luck you'll be up and about before you have to see her." He shrugs a slow shoulder. "Not that getting away from Seagard soon wouldn't have benefits of its own." He shakes his head. "Ah, you get one little wound and suddenly you're talking like it's the end of the world. Any wound you wake up from is one to be thankful for to my mind."
"Oh gods, if I leave Seagard, I'd be back to the Roost." And all the women. And.. "Do you remember Lady Tiaryn Camden? Who married Connell? She's back at the Roost. If she sees me like this, it may be worse than Corrie ever could be." Anders groans, though it's not without some humour, "Remind me never to get injured in battle again. Lord Aleister has sworn he will teach me how to avoid blows, but.." He actually offers a chuckle, without a hint of self pity, "You are right, of course. Any wound I wake from, I should offer my thanks. And the little healer you've taken up with," he gestures at the thin figure that still sleeps, "has done a world of good."
"I'm glad she took the time to decide along… Even if I'm not so sure her family wouldn't feel differently." He chuckles a little. "I have too little time to study my healing… It's a neglected art in our training."
"Well, the way she shows that interest in teaching you," there's a touch of suggestion in his voice. "Too bad she's common born." Anders grins soon after, his eyes shifting to the side, though he doesn't try to turn his head. "That, too, is a neglected art in your training." And in his, too, truth be told. Something he simply had no interest in, for whatever reason. Now, however…? "Find more time, then. I'm certain she'll share.. her knowledge."
Anselm shakes his head a little. "I'm only interested in learning of healing from her." He shrugs a slow shoulder. "As for other lessons. I suspect that I've plenty of time to find a Lady willing to teach me." He frowns a little, apparently not as oblivious as he often seems. "Perhaps once I have something to offer such a Lady beyond the possibility of making her a widow." After all he'll inevitably be required to make his own fortune once the line of succession move to Anders and his children.
Anders chuckles at his brother's response. "There is always work to be done home, brother. Remember, our Lord Father's men won't live forever either. Perhaps he may allow me to choose who next take on the responsibilities of Captain of the Guard, or.." He lets his voice trail off in suggestion. Still now, "I should sleep again. I got very little last night. The Mistress kept waking me on the hour to be sure I would wake. Brother, please.. feel free to return to visit so we can speak again." Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, "Just a little sleep."
Shrugging a shoulder Anselm grins. "Maybe, but for now I shall spare such thoughts for the future." He nods as his brother seems ready to sleep. "Then sleep, we'll speak when you're feeling better." He smiles faintly as he rises heading back for the Haigh's camp.