|Summary:||Ser Rivers of Terrick make goes to see Lord Rickart Nayland about what scraps of the Grey Garden remain for the Roost.|
|Related Logs:||The Harlaw invasion logs|
|The Grey Garden — Harlaw Isle|
|Thu Mar 29, 289|
Ser Jarod Rivers has spent little time inside the Grey Garden itself since the city properly surrendered, save whatever on whatever tasks his men have been ordered to. They've largely moved back to the camp to scout and man the pickets, and discourage much contact between the Terrick men and what few squids might remain in the rock Garden. Today, however, he's on a mission. To seek out Lord Rickart Nayland, and discuss the division of resources that'll be taken from the Grey Garden. He's sent a messenger to the Naylands to arrange this little meet, so he's heading to his appointment with the Lord of the Mire now. All shaved and shined up in his bastard heraldry armor, though he's brought along a guardsman in Terrick livery to carry the Four Eagles banner. "This should be interesting," he notes to said guard, who walks a pace behind him. Looking skeptical.
Lord Rickart has settled into the central keep of Grey Gardens, occupying a table in the great hall, before an old Ironborn longtable. As Jarod and his attendant approach within earshot, Rickart's boisterous laugh is audible even before the Nayland armsmen at guard upon the door open it to admit the Half-Eagle. Rickart sits at the head of the table with Riordan sitting to his right, and Stevron Frey sitting to his left. A lengthy letter in small, precise handwriting sits on the table before him. The grey lord of the Mire looks up as Jarod is admitted, "Ah, Jerold's boy. Come in, come in!" he beckons for Jarod to come nearer, looking aside to bid a retainer, "Bring the boy a drink."
"My Lord Nayland." Jarod stops to flourish the Lord of the Mire a respectful bow. It's not as dramatic as the one he tends to favor for the ladies, but it'll do. "Lord Frey. Ser Riordan." The third Nayland son earns a quick grin that even appears to be genuine. "It is good to see you well. We've come far afield from that first fighting with the squids at Stonebridge." He nods to the offer of a drink. "Been far too dry since landing on this rock, m'lord. My thanks."
"Much to the Ironborns' regret, eh?" Riordan laughs back to Jarod's greeting. By stark contrast with another Nayland, Rickart and Riordan (as well as Stevron to a degree) are relaxed and rather jovial in manner. Rickart voices, "These islands might be good for little else, but they have a honey wine here that is to die for. Or to kill for, I should say-" he amends with a broad smile that redoubles the wrinkles of his face. "Seat yourself, Ser! I'm told you have business for me?"
"Aye indeed," Jarod replies to Riordan, his own manner jovial enough as he sits. If a touch more outwardly nervous than he probably thinks he's showing. The bastard of the Roost is an emotive sort. "Where do they make such wine, I wonder. Can't imagine grapes growing on a place like this. Anyhow, aye. The plunder from the Grey Garden is to be divided among the host, as I understand it, and I wanted to talk on what might serve the Roost from these halls."
"Honey, my boy! They make it from honey," Rickart chuckles in response. "Can you imagine the grapes these rocks would squeeze out? All seed covered by skin, like clusters of little pebbles. Ugh," he shudders in imagined distaste. As the talk moves on, and a horn of mead is produced for Jarod. The grey lord draws a swallow of his own flagon and prompts, "Apart from your share of the Conqueror's Coin, what interests the Roost?"
"Our share of the coin certainly, m'lord, though I suppose the lion of that shall go to yourself and those who kneel to the Twins," Jarod replies, with a little nod of his head to the Frey at the table. "As is right and proper, as you led the host to breach these walls. Still, we all bled together, and I'd have what's been earned. The interests of the Roost, m'Lord, are the interests of making the coast secure again. Which I figure is the interest of all the Riverlands. I speak of rebuilding, from the pillaging the Greyjoy pretender prince did on his retreat from our shores. I'd like to see what materials might be taken from this place for that task. They broke it, their goods can fix it, is the notion." He cracks another quick smile, taking a drink.
"What did you have in mind?" Old Rickart wonders aloud. "Damned Ironfolk can't even build a proper castle-" he half jokes, giving a rueful half smile at the difficult nature of the fortress they sit within. Stevron listens acutely, but without comment.
Jarod sips of his mead sparingly, though he seems to enjoy what he takes of it. Rickart's joke about the castle gets an appreciative chuckle. "More like a collection of rocks they rather piled together than a proper castle. That comes to it, though. Stone was my chief interest from this place, m'lord. Primarily for the rebuilding of our town sept, which the Drowned-worshippers to took great love in destroying. Might do to craft some of our other buildings in town out of stone rather than wood, too. Less apt to burn in a raid and all, seems practical."
"Heh. Well, they aren't short of rocks about these isles, are they?" Rickart wonders aloud, drawing a smirk from Riordan. "Of course.. stone for building needs to be quality, and not just some jagged lump picked off the beach. Do you have the men for dismantling and moving? Have you the oxen to bear them to the coast and the ships to load them upon?"
"I have full confidence in the ability of my men to dismantle a bit of rock, m'lord," Jarod replies with that easy grin still on his face. "And we'll see to the transport. Though Ironborn stock would certainly make that easier on our backs. If we could make use of the Ironborn's livestock for it, seems only fitting. I also wanted to ask the state of the castle stores, m'lord. In terms of food and other such supplies."
"The Army will be supplied out of the castle's stores, my boy," Rickart responds at first, before a second thought strikes. "Ahh, you meant for the Roost?" A slow shake of the head, "I'll set aside what little is left, but between weeks of siege and feeding our army for the Pyke campaign, there isn't a great deal left." He starts to speak on, before pausing and itching at his jawline as he muses a moment. "I'll get you the oxen, boy. Will even arrange for a few ships to bear stone and a few table scraps back to the Roost. It will cost your share of the coin, but if you have any head for numbers, you'd know shipping and beasts would cost more than your fifty men would earn you, and you can even keep the oxen after."
"That's very generous of you, m'lord, and you've my great thanks," Jarod replies with a bright smile. "It gladdens me that we can treat as allies and brothers-in-arms, given the history enmity between our houses. I've never gotten on poorly with Naylands, myself. Ser Riordan and I fought alongside one another when the Ironborn fell on Stonebridge, as I'm sure he recalls." He drinks of his mead. "I'll take the night to weigh your offer, if you don't mind. To discuss the logistics with our serjeants and all, since they'll be seeing to the bulk of the lifting. But if they're satisfied, we can see it done on the morrow?"
Riordan raises his cup in jaunty salute at the recollection, but allows his father to carry on the conversation. "It serves us both, my boy: coin is worth more to me, and oxen, stones and transport are worth more to you. Though I will expect something further of you for the service." Rickart grins with the hanging demi-threat. "Keep your men close by mine when we move on Pyke. I have a wish to keep Rowan close by." Sloshing the honeywine about his flagon with the words, he muses aloud, jovial tone fading into a more thoughtful one, "A man ought have his sons with him in such days as these."
"Certainly, m'lord," Jarod promises quickly as to the matter of Rowan. "Lord Rowan's been a stalwart squire to me, and he's proven a good sword in battle. I'd not have managed without him. He'll make a fine knight soon. Was figuring on doing it proper after the Pyke was won. That's a fine place for a man to earn it, final blow against the squids and all." He takes a gulp of mead. "I can give you my word on that tonight. And tomorrow we'll settle finally on how to take our share of the supplies, if that's amenable to you lot. In the meantime, I think I'll enjoy this squid honeywine with you fine folk. First proper drink I've head in an ox's age, feels like."