|Duties As A Knight|
|Summary:||Kamron and Rygar have a difference of opinion.|
|Related Logs:||Two Men Enter|
|Grey Gardens - Harlaw Isle|
|The labrynthine fortress of Grey Garden sprawls atop a bare, rocky hillock commanding the south-eastern quarter of Harlaw Isle. The countryside is largely bare, with thin soil over weather-worn rock.|
|28 March, 289 A.L.|
The task of rooting out the alleys and back byways of the Grey Gardens is an exhaustive task. Even with several hundred Riverlord soldiers keeping watch on the Harlaws cornered in their keep, the other fighting men are more occupied with patrols and searches than the traditional habits of pillage. Many have taken up residence in the abandoned homes of the absent Ironborn, and moving from door to door taking survey of where various knights and noblemen are located is Rygar Nayland, taking tally for purposes of logistics.
Kamron has been absent from any noble or knightly gatherings since the scuffle on the bridge and the sortie that followed, but that doesn't mean that he's been hiding away from everyone. Indeed, with his cousin fully occupied by healing, Kam has thrown himself bodily into doing his best to provide leadership for the Mallister men and keep them active and engaged in patrols and watch-standing. He's been… mostly successful. A shield in Mallister purple and silver hangs outside what used to be the residence for a large but not particularly wealthy family, and when one of the Mallister men standing guard outside informs him of the Nayland's approach, Kamron comes out to meet him, his helmet hung over the pommel of his dagger. Bowing briefly, the Mallister greets the Nayland, "Lord Rygar."
"Ser Kamron Mallister," Rygar greets with a curt dip of his head and shoulders to the emerging nobleman. Behind him, the stern knight's squire busily writes down the name that his knight had spoken upon a compact ledger. "What is the count of your men quartered within, Ser?"
Kamron frowns in thought for a moment before he answers, "Twenty-three in this building," He raises one leather-gauntleted hand to point to the next one over, "And another fourteen in that one, Lord Rygar." There's no shield in front of that building, but a torn strip of purple cloth is tied around the handle of the door. "Most are still quartered outside in the encampment." There's a pause, and then he offers, "I believe that it's Groves in the next building after that, but I'm not certain."
Rygar nods shortly once to the offered count, before prompting, "And who is the ranking officer of these men, Ser." Although phrased as a question, the tone is one that expects a particular answer, already.
Kamron draws himself at the question, almost as if he can hear the expectation and the disdain he undoubtedly expects to follow his answer, "I am, Lord Rygar. With Ser Martyn still recovering from his wounds, I've been arranging their patrols and watches." Try as he might to keep the report flat and perfectly polite, there is perhaps a bit of challenge in the words.
"Are you," Rygar returns levelly, drawing a slow breath through flared nostrils as he studies the younger nobleman's countenance. "When Lord Jason Mallister fell before Seagard, he was accounted as a hero of the Realm. A true knight who fought and died with honor and would sooner perish than forswear himself. I wonder, Ser: were you his second, would you have interfered in his duel, as well?"
Kamron's lips press together tightly enough to thin them and drive some of the blood from them for a moment, but only a moment. There is no mischief in his eyes when he raises them to meet the Nayland's gaze, "No, Lord Rygar, I would not have. Lord Mallister met his end conscious and undefeated until the end. Ser Martyn was defeated, helpless and unconscious. I do not know what words passed between Lord Mallister and the Grayjoy, but I do know what words passed between Ser Martyn and the Harlaw. No stakes nor terms were offered by either man. With Ser Martyn unable to do so, I yielded in his name." Perhaps not in so many words, but it was definitely words to that effect. "Only when the Harlaw attempted to murder the helpless man did I physically intervene."
"So. You took it upon yourself to yield on behalf of a general of the Crown. Do you not believe that Ser Martyn was prepared to die in his defense of the King?" Rygar prompts, with a raised brown brow. "I think not," he muses after a moment. "I think Ser, that you reacted with unrestrained emotion, and did not wish to see your kinsman slain. I think, Ser, it was that an no shred of just cause which stirred you to action."
Perhaps proving some portion of the Lord's words, those self-same words stir up anger within the Mallister. Kamron bristles for a moment, forcing himself to silence so that he does not respond intemperately. He breathes in, long and slow, and lets the breath out through his nose. "I would thank you, Lord Rygar, not to flatter yourself to know my thoughts or reasons to action." Whatever may have flared within his breast, his words are cold, and more than a little sharp. Perhaps he hasn't battened down all suggestions of intemperance. "Is it not the duty of a sworn knight to defend the helpless, Lord Rygar?" He doesn't wait for a response, but powers ahead none-the-less, "Is it not the duty of a second to speak for his principle when the principle cannot? Ser Martyn was, as I said, defeated and helpless, so I acted in his defense and in his stead."
"Ser Martyn were defended by his arms, armor, and skill, Ser. To call such a man helpless is to do him a great disservice, and a greater shame," Rygar returns coldly. "Do you doubt that Ser Martyn was willing and ready to die for his cause? He has told me, by his own word, that he was prepared to die, and that he never yielded. It was not his wishes, but your own upon which you acted, Ser Kamron." A short breath is drawn, and he speaks on. "The duty of a second is to prevent precisely the manner of interference that you undertook, Ser. You have robbed your kinsman of his dignity in prolonging his life. That you remain defiant after taking so dishonest a course is to your own infamy, Ser.
"Think of me as you will, Ser Rygar." Kamron just keeps his words from becoming a growl, "For I do not care. I discharged my duties as a knight and as a second as I believed right. That -you-," one finger points up at the much taller knight, "Believe otherwise does not concern me I'm sure that you would find wrong in the actions of Ser Arthur Dayne, if he wore the silver eagle of Mallister."
"Alas that so loyal a knight as the Sword of Morning was not a Mallister, Ser," Rygar returns coldly. "Had he been so, mayhap we would have stood together in a just cause five years past, rather than opposed." A steady breath is drawn. "Good day. Ser."
Kamron barks a short, explosive laugh with little real humor in it at the word 'just,' but he does not verbally riposte. A hint of the man's usual smirk returns to his features, "Good day, Ser. Enjoy your facts and figures." And then he's nodding once, and beginning to turn about to return to the building which undoubtedly has Mallisters standing just out of sight listening to every word being spoken in the street out front—the better to gossip about it later.