|Flesh and Bone|
|Summary:||A merchant near the town square is harmed, and the nobles at Terrick's Roost render aid to save his life.|
|Town Square — Terrick's Roost|
|The town square of Terrick's Roost could be considered well-kept by the standards of the surrounding area. The stone streets run right up to the building fronts around the edge and the locals have kept the spaces between free of grass and weeds that might otherwise upstart between them. There are several homes and nicer shops located here which incline their business or residents towards those not of the peasantry. The Sept of the town can also be seen from here with its ornate stone front rising above the surrounding structures just down the cobblestone road.|
Dressed in his riding leathers and loose-fitting, comfortable silks, Jaremy rides alongside Caytiv at a leisurely pace towards the center of town. With a pair of sworn swords following behind slowly, the two are rather well-protected outside of the gates of Four Eagles Tower after the word of the murder at the Rockcliff has passed. In fact, the Rockcliff Inn itself slowly passes them as they reach the center of the crossroads.
Some merchants have set up shop at the crossroads, selling everything from whittled goods to food and wine. One such merchant raises a squawking, flapping chicken that appears to be none-too-pleased with being held upside-down by its legs, saluting the two men before he turns to stuff the feathered creature into a cage. "Rowt get in with the rest of the lot you fiesty cunt…" He murmurs, fidgeting with the cage.
Off towards one of the stalls to the east, there's a loud thump, followed by the sound of breaking glass. A sudden commotion erupts as a horse breaks free from a wagon, scattering jars all over the street as a heavy wagon overturns and the horse races down the road towards the farms in the distance.
Caytiv has been in town a good long while already, playing at beast of burden all through the thoroughfares when he'd spot a lass or older gentleman with a heavy or unwieldy load to carry. On spotting his Ser he'd joined up with him for a walk alongside Jaremy's horse in the middle of the perimeter set by the guards, chattering with him about the events of the day. He's dressed no better than the average commoner, and has felt content enough before this to go without a guard. He's a big boy, after all. He crouches slightly to the balls of his feet in an alert stance at the sudden noise, and when the overturned cart is pinpointed as the source of the commotion, he's quick to run along over there, leaning down to snag a rolling jar as he goes, assessing the accident briskly with his eyes even as he asks aloud, "Anyone hurt here? Call out if you can." There may, after all, be someone under the cart.
A harsh, ragged groan sounds from beneath the cart, barely audible past the pounding of the hooves of Jaremy's destrier racing past the accident to catch the frenzied horse that nearly rides over a young man in the road. A small patter of dust kicks up as the one-day Lord of Terrick's Roost tends to the damage that the horse may cause as Caytiv tends to the cart.
Jars have shattered all over the place, oozing honey all over the road as an overweight man with salt-and-pepper hair and a heavy mustache is trapped at the stomach beneath the weight of his cart. His wife, a red-headed lady of the same near age with her hair kept up in a scarf, is panicking to try to lift the cart free from atop her husband. "Elden! Elden! Oh Seven no, no no no…" She barks out a sob, eyes filling with tears. Please! Master help us…he's trapped!"
Upon entering town, Dafydd has to slow his horse's step to be sure his charger doesn't place his feet where they don't belong. While sure of step, he's not necessarily assured that he won't place them on something that would squeal in pain. Of course, being in town also requires a closer eye to the women riding with them. With the offer of watch from the back, it does free him, somewhat, to watch the point through which they're riding and be sure nothing untoward comes towards their group.
The loud, sudden noise isn't quite as loud from this point behind, but it does cause some commotion. Not yet recognizing Ser Jaremy, he puts a hand out in communication with Stragen in the back. He's spurring the horse forward, and it seems safe enough to bring the women up…
He still doesn't know Jaremy well enough to recognize the form as he rides off to catch the loose horse, but it's enough to rein up and dismount in order to help.
"What—" The cart is on him..
As the small contigent of most Camdens and the Master Stone arrive near the square, the confusion causes the Falconer to draw up to a stop, her gaze drifting to the Lady Alyse. "My Lady, please stay…" She is already dropping from her horse and the satchel is shifting along her side. She slowly lowers and sets her feet to the ground. She makes a gentle sound to her gelding and then turns, looking to Dafydd. She is then stepping forward towards Caytiv and the smashed jars, oveturned cart taken in slowly. "Where is he? The trapped man?" She asks of the Miss before dropping to her knees and leaning over to get a look. "We do not wish to move it the wrong way.." She says.
Alyse doesn't waste any time. The Camden noblewoman bounds off her mare and tosses the reins to the nearest trustworthy looking person. She dives into her saddle bags and pulls out a bulky oilcloth roll and a couple of pouches. "Stand aside," she says firmly as she elbows her way through the gathering crowd. "Stand aside. I am a chiurgeon." She didn't hear Damara. There is a man to be tended, and her duty is plain before her. She moves around by the wife and knees at the head of the trapped man. She gives the man a smile.
"There now," she says quietly. "I know it hurts, but I shall need you to tell me a few things. Where is the sharpest pain?"
Caytiv crouches down, as well, setting the jar he'd snagged up to his side. "Mistress, you'll hurt yourself, or him," he warns the woman trying to heave the cart upward, "Please, let us help," he looks up to Dafydd as if the latter had just been conscripted. "Ay," he replies to Damara, though he does not look at her, keeping his eues on Dafydd. "If you were to lift from the far side, and I on the near, we should be able to lift it evenly and not let it roll and hurt him further. "Ay, lassie," is called for Alyse, "Let us lift the load from him, then you may see to his troubles, ay?"
Stragen is quick to dismount, but he's not immediately rushing to the aid of the man underneath the cart. Instead, he's being mindful of the horses, and watching the surrounding folk that are no doubt gathering to gawk. There's nothing he can do other than to perhaps help in lifting, and there are plenty of common folk to do that. So for now, he's watchful.
And he's still dressed in his fine clothes from dinner..
Dafydd looks over the scene, blue eyes moving towards the other man who seems to be taking some measure of responsibility to helping the man. "I'll get this side, and on a three-count, we'll lift it.." Of course, finding the best place for a hand purchase is something completely different— though he has the benefit of gloves.
Getting a good grab on the side of the cart, he's got something that won't shift under him or around him. A nod is given towards the unknown, unnamed Caytiv, and takes a deep breath. "On three."
Looking to Caytiv, she nods her head and gets a good understanding of where the legs are pinned. "Here, this side will need the attention.." Damara says, rising and pointing to the one most heavily on the man. She watches Dafydd, stepping back for the favor of those with a taller build with then herself but it is obvious the mistress does not much care for being idle. In this case, she moves to the Lady. "My Lady…please step back for now." She offers her hand to her.
The poor man in in bad shape, red-faced from the strain as he wildly flails and beats his fist against the side of the cart, trying to find some sort of purchase to save himself as his animal-brain takes over. "The fucking car—" He manages in a wheeze, not doing much to conserve his breath in the throes of his panic. It's not helping his wife much either as she steps back, sobbing as she can barely contain herself, watching their wares slowly seep into the dirt and her wounded husband, making everything nearby tacky with muddy and golden honey. Hysterical, the wife and seller of honey takes another step back and stumbles over a small rock, landing on her backside in the dirt.
Caytiv would make introduction, but— "On three," he nods gruffly his assent, finding his footing in a frog-kneed squat as he gets the heels of his labor-roughened hands below a slat of the cart that seems fixed intact and likely to bear up under the shove, positioning himself to lift with his full form. "One… two…" he leads up the count.
Alyse cuts her eyes to Dafydd. "Uncle. Do not move it yet." There is a sharpness to her voice that is borne from a life or death situation; the elder Camden should recognize it. "If there is a piece of metal in his gut, even moving it straight up could rip his belly open the humours and he will die in agony." She looks at the honey monger and then purses her lips. "Hold," she says at last, leaning forward to reach under the cart and snake an arm up to feel around the man's gut.
Alyse pulls out at last and nods for Dafydd to proceed.
With each number counted off, 'One… two…' the word 'three' is about ready to leave his mouth, and the pair would then heft the cart off and right it. Of course, no accounting for the honey, but at least the weight will be off.
It's the barked request that they not take it up that gathers his attention, and the muscles in his back tense up, waiting..
At the nod for that, Dafydd looks across the way to catch the man's eye and finally issues, "Three…" and pulls up on the cart when the other does, one half of the team of two (plus others, certainly) to right the cart.
The very moment that the cart is lifted from the middle-aged merchant, the victim beneath lets out a pained groan and curls into a fetal position. No longer fighting in pain, he brings his hands to his stomach and rolls onto his side in the muddy honey that is soaking the dirt around him. His wife finds new life, scrambling up from the dirt as fast as she can to try to lean in through the collection of legs to rescue her husband. "Don't let it fall back down! I'll get him! Elden! Stay put, just stay put!" The woman manages between sobs, doing her best to try to find a way through their collected bodies to invite herself into the mix.
Caytiv moves to lift on three, only to find the process to have been stalled by the lassie crawling under the cart to see whether there's any reason they should leave the cart in place. When she gets herself free of it again, he looks to Dafydd to reaffirm the count, and on the second go-round three is met with a slow but irrepressible unbending of legs. Arms tucked up against his chest, he shoves equal parts with chest and the heels of his hands to keep the lift at pace with Dafydd at the other end.
As the cart is moved, Damara is also going to one side to assist the man and try to get him free so that the men can set the cart back down. But it is the movement of the wife that forestalls her and something crosses her gaze before she looks away. She moves to help lift the cart's edge, nearest the man so that they can keep it up should either Dafydd or Caytiv falter. Her hands grip, digging in as she bends her knees and gets some muscle beneath her. She grunts and strains and her gaze looks to the Lord Camden and then to Caytiv.
The axiom 'lift with your legs' is unheeded by Lord Camden, just as it usually is by men all throughout the world. As such, there's something of a strain with the lifting, but nothing that can't be passed through with a grunt and gritted teeth.
Finally, the cart is righted, and barring any unforeseen catastrophes, like broken wheels that may off-balance it once more, it should be fine. "It's done.."
Of course, this opens it up for everyone else to swarm in to see if the gentle is injured badly, or if he'll survive another day.. with the aid and ministrations of a concerned wife.
With it back in place, however, there is little else for Dafydd to do, other than begin to move.. and ow slowly to gather up the honey pots that may still be salvageable. If not the sweets inside, then perhaps just the crockery?
With the help of a few passers by, Alyse drags the obese man out from under the cart. She makes a curt gesture to a man, who holds back the wife to keep her out of the Camden's way.
She crawls over the man, touching here and there while two others hold him flat on the ground. Finally, she purses her lips. "Who has strong alcohol?" she calls out. "Someone else get me several candles and light them." She unrolls the oilcloth, revealing immaculately shining surgical tools. She pulls out a vial from one of her pouches. "Drink," she says soothingly. "It will ease your pain." She tilts it to his lips, making sure that he takes a good draught.
"Damara, to me," she requests. "We need to let the blood from his stomach, and the leg will have to go." After so much fuss has been made about the gentle's stomach, it might only then be noticed upon Alyse's words that the poor man's leg is broken and mangled.
Unaware of what's transpiring within the Town Square of Terrick's Roost, the Lord of Tall Oaks makes his way into view from the direction of the Worn East, eastward and away from the Towers. Obviously, he'd been out riding, for he's astride his horse and two of his personal guard flank him on either side. The gathering of people draws the guards to the fore of Sarojyn, forcing him to draw his horse to an almost halt so that the situation can be observed and only after it's determined to be safe do the guards part, allowing him to pass between.
He doesn't move far, though, for once his horse has crested past that of his guards, he's pulling back on the reins to bring the animal to a halt. That done, he's slipping from the back of the animal and with a slight toss of the reins to the nearest guard, he's drawing his cloak against him as he simply moves to stand to one side, eyes shifting amongst those that have gathered.
The cart is out of hand and Damara relinquishes her grip before the other two have it uprighted. She takes a step back and then makes room as now a mere observer with little else to do but feel lost for the time. Yet the Falconer turns to look down at Alyse with the man, nodding her head as she is bid closer. From the satchel she draws out the linen that had held the silk for Gein and lowers to her knees. "Do you have need of me to do so, or shall I find you the cloth and supplies you need? I am sure there is a well about, my Lady." Damara offers.
Dafydd turns to some of those gathering and instructs them about crowd control before he steps back in order to keep an eye on his particular charges. It's a scan of the immediate surroundings that brings his eye towards the sight of the guards, which then causes him to search out a little more for he whom they guard.
There he is..
Raising his head to catch the eye of his brother, he inclines his head in gesture towards the pair of women offering succor. Not his fault on this one.
"Fucking Seven you're taking the leg!" The honey-merchant wife shrieks, suddenly turning into a fearless bar-wench, rushing in to try to pull Alyse away from her husband. Splashing the honey around as she stomps, she comes to a skidding halt at the sight of Lord Camden. Her hair whips around at the assembled faces, suddenly realizing that many of them are wearing clothing either too fine or too clean to be smallfolk. She calls out to the lot of them with tear-streamed eyes. "No! Please there's got to be something! Call the septon! Anything, my lords!" She holds her arms up to show that she wasn't just about to grab at Alyse. She turns and grabs Caytiv, having seen him arrive with one of the Terrick Lords. "M'lord!" She falters, sobbing against his chest.
Alyse whispers a soft prayer to the old gods, something about asking the rocks for steady hands and water for a healing touch… Only then does the woman look back at Damara. "You shall be my assistant," she says quietly. "Look in my pouches. You will find things that are labled." Her eyes turn to the wife and compassion flickers there. However, there is work to be done. "You have a choice, Goodwife," she says carefully. "You may keep the leg and loose the husband, or keep the husband and learn to live together in this new chapter of your lives. With time, he will manage perfectly well without it."
And she turns back to her work. Someone arrives with a bucket of water, with cloths and alcohol and candles, all of which are immediately lit. "Let the candles burn," she says. "We shall need the wax." Rolling up her sleeves, she selects a knife and tests it's blade. "Damara, pull the leather strap out of the bag and put it between the man's teeth." She waits for a moment and then bathes the knife in the alcohol. The first incision is made, this one into the man's gut where a bruise is building up. "What I would give for leeches," she mutters.
Caytiv fixes the cart with a suspicious stare as if putting a curse on it to make it stay upright, pulling his hands from it slowly and then looking over his shoulder with a wince and a hiss of a curse when the… doctor… lassie… calls for the leg to be off. While he's hardly surprised by the wife's distress at the news, he's no less than shocked to be grabbed at and m'Lorded. He draws his lips into a tight line and rests a supportive arm around the woman. But the surgery is already underway, and he shakes his head. He's seen a bruise like that before. "He needs the care, Miss, and badly. The Seven have blessed him already to have someone on hand who can manage it, or he'd surely pass before we could get him elsewhere to get saved."
Doing as she is bid, Damara moves to the bags and sets aside the cloth in case that Alyse was to need it. The prayers are heard and the falconer, though silent keeps her own to herself. Best not to disturb those that follow the Seven, not in the open anyways. The Mistress returns with the items that are labeled, holding them against her and mixed with the leather strap settled over her arm. She sets the former down and the moves to kneel closer to the man's upper part. She offers the strip of letter and says, "Bite down.." The Mistress is slow but as the incision is made to relieve the build up of blood, she is forced the strap into his mouth before he should bite his tongue.
It doesn't take long for Sarojyn's eyes to play over those who have gathered in the scene and for the most part, none of them are a surprise. But it's that voice and the figure that seems to be attending to the wounded man that draws a lift of the Lord's brow and when his gaze finally shifts away, there's a slight shake of his head. Dafydd's expression is then noticed and a faint smile drifts upon his lips as a hand lifts to give a slight wave, as if indicating that such things were unavoidable in nature. When his hand falls away, he's simply looking back to those of his house, watching with an intent interest and remaining quite quiet for the moment.
Checking the cart after the unnamed, unidentified Caytiv, Dafydd kicks a wheel out a little so it's more securely and squarely settled before he turns around and walks back to where the horses stand, waiting for their return. He reaches a hand out to take the reins of his, and with a nod to the silent Stragen, reclaims his horse and walks towards his brother, Gethin in tow.
"Brother," he keeps his voice down. "we were on our way to give the bird back, and we came across the cart." The story of his niece's arrival needs to be told over drink.. and that can come later. He still intends upon visiting the taverns upon their return. "Mistress Damara will undoubtedly be pleased with your presence."
The husband honey-seller, for all his pain, is conscious enough to understand that he hurts badly, and that he can barely keep himself awake. His eyes blink wildly as the bit is forced into his mouth, and he reaches for Damara's skirts with a shaking, terrified grip. Lifting his head, he takes in a series of deep, panicked breaths through his nose. Ignoring the bleeding from his stomach out of fear for his leg, he gives a shaky, unsure nod towards Alyse.
Meanwhile, the wife no longer fights the surgery that is about to take place. The adults chase away the children in the crowd as the community as a whole seems to come to an aid. In the crowd there are shouts about bottles of strong wine being on hand and strips of cloth are being town from clothes for bandages. The wife, hysterical, looks up to Caytiv's face, and for a second the look crosses her vision…she wants to fight this. It passes quickly, and her look is replaced by a new round of sobs as she grips the front of his tunic and lets her feet fall from beneath her, hanging onto him as a dead weight as she tries to navigate between fear and mourning.
Despite being so young, Alyse moves with a skill borne from much practice and a natural talent. "Damara," she says. "Are his pupils large or small?" She swiftly rips off the man's pant leg on the mangled side and pulls out a piece of charcol and jots a line. She looks up just in time to catch the man's nod. For a moment, she is still. Finally, she nods back. "Give him a drink," she instructs the woman. "And then hold his shoulders down. I need two more to hold his legs."
She waits for all of this to be accomplished before she wields her saw, squares her shoulders…
And makes the first cut.
Caytiv catches up the wife— who may as well be a feather in comparison to the cart— as her legs give out on her, and he turns her slowly away from the sight, not particularly wanting to look at the mess, himself, either. "Ay, Miss," he lets her mourn without trying to stop her from doing so. It's a mournful thing, isn't it? "Go on and cry, now. Later on your bloke'll need to see you clear-eyed, ay? 'Tis a great blow. But there'll be much he can still do if he keeps his spirit and won't let it have the best of him. And he's more like to keep his spirit if you're there-keeping along-with."
"Large..I think, m'Lady.." Damara manages titles even at this time of need. She narrows her gaze and watches the man, trying to catch his focus. "Shhh shh, look to me..look at me." She smiles for him, a gentle hand resting on one of his arms as she then reaches to offer the drink she is instructed to give. Once he is done, she looks down to Alyse's movementa nd then looks up to the man once more. "Easy there..tell me your name..where are you from?" She urges gently. "A beekeeper?" She means to keep a slow conversation.
Anais arrives from the Roost Lane.
At Dafydd's approach, Sarojyn's attention is drawn back to the man, to whom he offers a slight nod of his head, "Fortunate that someone with skill was close when such a thing occured, brother." Eyes then shift back towards Alyse and Damara and then to the wife and Caytiv. Each is paid a moment's attention before he's looking back towards Dafydd, "Perhaps, she will. Perhaps not. At this moment, though, it is of little concern." He's not ignorant to the conversation that transpires around him and when the request is made for people to hold both shoulders and legs, he's simply stepping forward so as to move to hold the legs as was indicated.
Dafydd watches the beginnings of the surgery impassively, his gaze moving towards his niece and her ministrations. Is she strong enough to wield the saw in order to cut through bone and sinew quickly and effeciently? Has she ever done this before, as there will be copious amounts of blood that will burst. Of that, he's sure.
Nodding at his brother, he doesn't air the concerns, but rather remains behind while the Lord Camden moves forward to aid.
The strangled, muffled screams of the honey merchant on the ground are almost as heart wrenching as the pitiful, struggling movements he makes as he can't help but try to fight to save the leg. Even though just a moment ago he had given Alyse the word to continue, he suddenly finds himself buried under the weight of noble and commoner alike as his smashed leg has begun to be sawed away. All talk and mindfulness dissipate as he is splashed with alcohol, blood, honey and dirt. Blindly, his fingers grip Damara's skirts as his head pounds back into the mud, splashing all of them.
The wife can no longer bear to hear the pain of her husband and looks up to Caytiv's face with pulsating eyes and red-angry eyelids. Her mouth opens, previously calmed by his words, and falls into a state of shock. She lets go of his tunic and lands on her knees with a splash, wrapping her arms around his legs for dear life.
Strong enough to wield a long bow? Strong enough to saw through a leg.
Alyse is just full of surprises. She puts her back into the effort of getting through the bone. Blood is everywhere, and THIS silk dress is ruined. She doesn't talk. But, eventually, she breaks through the other side and yanks the tourniquette even more tightly on the man's thigh. The leg is severed, amputated just above the knee.
She leans over and grabs up the candles, pouring their combined wax over the horribly frayed and frazzled exposed nerves, muscle, and bone. It will be a miracle if the man doesn't pass out from the pain by now.
Damara quickly lowers her hand to press over the man's in her skirts. It would be a usual thing to protest, but given the circumstances she merely smooths her hand to his. She watches him with some concern and continues to talk to him to offer some sort of distraction. "Easy there.." She says gently, patience learned from her time with the falcons. She can hear the sawing happening and she winces some for him, narrowing her gaze as if to flinch for the lost limb.
Caytiv totters a little bit as his legs are grabbed, but he bends his knees, slowly but without yielding, compelling the woman to release him as he sinks to his knees by her, holding her against him to cry it out with one arm while the other hand scoops honey into a little hillock in order to divert a rivulet of blood from its course toward them. Words are fruitless, by now, and so he doesn't make effort to produce any more of them, just making a low hushing noise by way of giving her something to listen to besides the screaming.
Accidents followed by screaming will draw attention, and Anais was not so far from the town square to begin with. When news of the chaos reached her, she came as quickly as she could, drawing her horse up a short distance away as she tries to take in all of the details. "Seven bless," she breathes, dismounting in a swift motion and leaving the horse to the attentions of her guards. There is screaming and blood over there, but she moves toward Caytiv and the woman first, crouching to place a hand on her brother's shoulder as she looks between him and the shocked woman.
The hint of a frown begins to tug at the corners of Sarojyn's lips as the sawing continues, but the Lord of Tall Oaks simply holds the man's other leg and when the sawing finally ceases, his leg now amputated and severed, there's only the slightest shake of the man's head. Still, nothing is said. Not to the blood that begins to well up around them and ruin their clothes, nor to his daughter who tends to the wounds. Instead, he's looking around for someone not doing something before he finally says to anyone who will listen, "Ensure that this man has a room and if need be, reserve one at the inn."
"Annie," Cayt utters the word in relief as his sister lays hand upon his shoulder, not letting go of the woman at his side. "Her husband," he explains why he's holding onto the female and why she's in such a state, pointing at the fresh amputee with his eyes. He then looks to Sarojyn, and up to Annie again, hopeful. "Can we find her a place, and him one to recover in?" he asks in a whisper.
Blood is everywhere, and long before the limb is completely severed do the cries of torment from the merchant end. Passed out, he lets go of Damara's skirts and his head rolls to the side, the leather bit falling from his drooling lips. A limp body for all to see, his chest still continues to rise and fall, although shallowly, as the shade of his skin has lightened a bit due to shock and blood loss. He's been badly harmed…but he'll live…if he's strong.
The wife at Caytiv's feet has been reduced to shuddering, childlike sobs that are slowly being reduced to shivering and extreme emotional fatigue. Though she can't bring herself to open her eyes, she clings to Caytiv's leg as if he were a doll and she were a child.
The sounds off hoofbeats in the distance approach, bringing Jaremy back to the scene with the rampaging horse calmed and secured, no longer a danger to any of the smallfolk. Yet unable to see through the crowd, he slows the two horses and maneuvers them away from the crowd, careful of so many smaller bodies around the scene.
The woman with the saw jumps a little when she hears her father's voice right in her ear. She is literally covered in blood at this point, but the look she gives her father is still innocent and young. Without a word, she turns to Damara. "The vials," she says quietly. "Rose oil, turpentine, eggs." And she takes the bandages that were collected.
"Absolutely," Anais says without a pause, giving Caytiv's shoulder a squeeze and leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek as she rises. "I'll see to it, Lord Camden," she calls over to the man, pressing her lips together with a wince at the sheer amount of blood surrounding the man. But her steps are purposeful as she moves toward one of her guards, a hand on the man's forearm as she gives him directions and nods toward the Rockcliff. He nods in return, then strides toward the inn, leaving the other to guard Anais.
A glance is stolen in the direction of Alyse, but Sarojyn has nothing to say for the moment. Instead, he offers his daughter a brief nod of his head before he's looking in the direction of Damara. That same nod is offered before he finally lifts his head to look towards Anais. There, a quick, "Thank you, my Lady," is offered before his attention returns to the man and when he finally passes out, the other leg is released and his hands come to wipe upon his cloak as he begins to rise, leaving the other two to tend to the wound that was just caused to the man.
As she is instructed, Damara is focused on her task, reaching for the named vials that she was asked to bring out earlier. She begins to go through them and finds what is needed. "Here.." The falconer offers each in turn to the Lady as she seems a bit perplexed as to their use. Her own knowledge only concerning field dressings for hunters. She wets her lips and closes her eyes, trying to forget the gruesome sight as her other hand remains gently on the man's who holds her skirts. She lets out a slow breath, perhaps pity filling her for the loss of what was once his.
Alyse lifts her head again. "Someone send for a Septon?" she asks quietly. "I think the couple shall need his services." Gratefully accepting the vials, she mixes their contents into a bowl that someone had brought, intending it for the letting. Eventually, an ointment forms which Alyse slathers on the now cauterized leg. Bandages are wrapped around and around until the man's leg becomes a swathy bump. She sighs, tired it would seem and stands to begin quietly cleaning her tools.
With the sobbing wife being tended to by Caytiv, Jaremy finally returns to the group, coming to a stop beside his squire and his betrothed. He plants a hand firmly on Caytiv's shoulder and gazes down at the utter catastrophic mess that has been made of the small family's life. Their wares have been destroyed, his leg has been removed, and although their horse has been returned to them, their cart is in need of repair. He lowers his eyes in reverence, looking to Anais in silence. "This man's life is saved…" He says, turning to the bload soaked Alyse and his squire as another smallfolk runs in the direction of the sept. "…their board at the inn will be covered by Four Eagles Tower." He looks to them all, saddened, but with purpose.
"I sent my man with coin," Anais murmurs quietly to Jaremy, moving to his side as she takes in the destruction. "Gods. What /happened/?" For all she's clearly taken aback by the destruction and what she's walked into, she at least hasn't fainted at the blood, nor is she screaming or running away. Yet, at least.
The hazel-eyed Camden looks at the wife, looks at her patient, and then checks the man's vitals one last time. Finally, she nods. "Be sure to tell them that I shall return in the morrow to check on the man and change out his bandages. I shall also give him a laudinum tincture to help ease the pain."
Once her tools are cleaned and stored back in their oilcloth roll, once the vials have been collected and placed back into her medical pouches, Alyse gathers her belongings and walks back to her horse, stowing all these things in her saddle bag once more. Finally, she turns back to Damara and her father. "Gein?" she asks simply.
For the moment, Jaremy and Anais are 'forgotten', for Sarojyn is moving enough so as to place a hand on both Alyse and Damara's shoulder as he murmers, "We are of the people." A squeeze is offered to each before the hands fall away, heedless of the mess around him and when his attention finally shifts towards Jaremy, there's a low dip of his head in respect for the man's words, "Once more, Young Lord, you have shown me what you are." Now, his eyes drift down to the mess that covers the ground, the broken cart and wares and the man that still lays there. A simply nod is given and when his gaze lifts back to Jaremy and Anais, he's offering, "We will see to the cost of their wares." Then, when Alyse moves away and back to her horse, there's a slight nod of his head as he looks back to Damara.
Jaremy grimmaces faintly, eyes tilting to Anais. "Ah, I assumed…" He sighs, running a hand through his hair as the smallfolk have already begun breaking out spades to bury the mess, salvaging what they can of the honey pots that haven't been destroyed. "Caytiv and I were riding into town and we heard the crash. This horse of theirs…" He motions to one tied next to his. "Got spooked when the wagon's wheel snapped and bucks I think, turning the cart over on to the man it seems. At least I assumed as much, the damned horse nearly ran a boy over. We split up. Are you okay?" He reaches for her arm, eyes rising to the Camdens.
"And you have shown us what you are." He speaks out, searching Sarojyn's eyes. Finding that he won't be able to talk the man out of covering for the wards, he breathes inward through his nose and agrees. "Generous of you. What a mess, aye? We'll all do what we can to keep them comfortable. I know these two, they will be grateful." Watching Damara and Alyse, he lifts a brow in Saro's direction, not recognizing them.
"My Lord.." Damara says softly to Saro and then breaks her throats, gently extracting the injured man's hand from her skirts. She starts to rise after squeezing it gently. It is to Alyse she looks next and her brows furrow. "Gein…my Lady, I will go on from here." She says gently. "You will need to rest and change after your ordeal…" The falconer insists but then her gaze lifts to that of Jaremy and Anais, finally realizing others are there. "My Lady..my Lord…" SHe knows Anais but Jaremy is not known to her, green eyes lifting back to Sarojyn as the falconer falls silent.
"I'm fine," Anais assures Jaremy, offering a brief, distracted smile. "Better off than they are," she adds, smile fading all too swiftly. "It seems they were lucky in those who were here when it happened." When Jaremy reaches for her arm, she reaches out to take his hand. Who's going to notice or protests with everything that's just happened? Watching everyone's eyes, she clears her throat at Damara's greeting. "Jaremy, this is Miss Damara Kells, the falconer at Tall Oaks," she offers in quiet introduction. "Miss Kells, this is Lord Ser Jaremy Terrick." There's a curious glance for Alyse, but she doesn't press at the moment.
Alyse shakes her head. "I have done the operation before," she says quietly to Damara. "You shall not go on alone. If you can bear the smell, I shall accompany you, Mistress." She too trails off as she realizes that introductions are to be made. With a rueful glance at her clothing, she smiles wryly and heads back to Sarojyn's side, waiting quietly and patiently to be introduced.
To Jaremy, Sarojyn is offering another slight bow of his head, perhaps at the first of his words or at the fact that he did not try to argue the nuiances surrounding the wares. When his head lifts and he's catching that lifted brow after the look, he's shifting his attention to Damara, to whom he's quickly murmering, "As will I, Damara." That introduction is covered by Anais and when he looks back to the pair, he adds, "She has become a trusted confident of mine. One to whom I would trust with my life." Then, he's looking back towards Alyse and when she makes her way back to his side, he's looking back to Jaremy and Anais once more, "Lord Jaremy Terrick, Lady Anais Banefort, meet Lady Alyse Camden. My daughter."
Alyse drops into a graceful curtsey. As if she wasn't covered in blood.
Jaremy blinks, apparently not expecting the word 'daughter' to pass from Saro's mouth. His eyebrows lift towards Anais, thoroughly impressed before the slides his head back towards Alyse, Damara, and Saro. Readjusting his hold on Anais' hand, he weaves their fingers between each other and squeezes softly, looking to the Camdens over the honey, mud, and blood covered scene of carnage. Alyse, with her bloody dress is quite the sight as she curtsies. "Well Saro…you've definitely done well. She's well knowledged." He nods pointedly to Damara and Alyse. "Pleased to meet you both. Definitely. I'm afraid this is all so abrupt, and with so much to do for these people should we perhaps part ways until we can meet at the keep?" He nods in the direction of "Damara. Please, allow me to tend to the matter of Elden and his wife if you've something to tend to."
As there is soft assent to the joining of her person in Gein's burial, Damara dips her head. But as Jaremy is introduced, she is offering a deep bow to the Lord. "Lord Jaremy, I heard you were ill. I am glad you have gotten well." She falls to silence as the introductions continue but it is when she is spoken to directly that her gaze lifts to Jaremy, "My Lord..it is a small matter. I am our bidding to whatever you need." She offers, looking over Alyse and then Lord Camden. "I simple thing that can wait." She says faintly.
"Of course she must be your daughter," Anais turns a warm smile on Sarojyn, extending it to Alyse as well. "I can think of no other family that would be so well-prepared for this sort of thing, and so swift to act. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Alyse, though I could wish it was under better circumstances. Thank you," she says more simply, dipping her chin in a deep nod to the other woman.
Alyse arches her eyebrow slightly at something, even as she looks to her father. For the first time since this ordeal began, she has a faint spark of amusement in her eyes. Anais' words, however, bring a smile to the young Lady's lips. "Indeed, Lady Anais. You are most kind. But really.. It does seem a little uncouth, as Lord Jaremy has pointed out, for us all to be standing here in the carnage chatting as if it was court." She spots the Septon as he arrives and quickly begs off to appraise the man of the situation and to press a small vial into the man's hand.
Only the faintest of smiles crosses Sarojyn's lips as he gives a nod of his head in the direction of Jaremy and Anais, "Because of the path that we have chosen, we must rely on our people, noble or not, and ensure that they have the proper skills. I am simply glad that someone was close by to lend a hand." He does fall quiet, eyes playing between the group and when Jaremy indicates they'll tend to the man and his wife, the smile hints a little more. And then a touch more when Alyse adds her sentiments, "I fear you are all right. Let us part ways, here, and hope for a kinder environment when we return to the keep."
"Thank you, Mistress Damara, I am feeling much better. Thank you for your offer, but no, at this time I would much prefer you and our other honored guests enjoy these lands." Hand in hand with his betrothed, Jaremy takes a step back as the smallfolk have nearly completed shoveling dirt over the blood and discarded honey, and in true communal fashion are taken measures to protect and secure their remaining wares. "I'll have our chairs arranged to sit closer to each other at dinner tonight, and later we'll meet in the courtyard and speak of this. Again, thank you for saving the man, these people will remember the name Camden well." Nodding his head, he looks in the direction of the Rockcliff and the Sept in the distance. "If you would please excuse us, I have a small matter of import in regards to our wedding that I must speak with the Lady Anais about."
Anais's brows rise slightly when Jaremy mentions the wedding, a brief glimmer of dismay in her eyes. No doubt there's an entire litany of horrible things going through her mind, from a lack of sewage trenches for all the visiting people, to an inability to get the right pies for the feast. She covers it up quickly enough, though, with a brief, polite smile for the Camdens. "I shall look forward to seeing you both at dinner," she offers quietly, stepping back with Jaremy to depart.
Alyse returns from the Septon just in time to hear the second round of 'thanks' and then the bit about the wedding. Her head turns to Anais and she gives the woman a strange look. Almost as if she felt sorry for the woman. But she covers it with a sneeze, because those ALWAYS contort your face into funny expressions. "Be well," she murmurs politely to the couple.
"My Lord.." Damara starts and dips her head as he bids them go. Gein is remembered and she then looks to Anais, "And my Lady, the honor shall be mine." She intones as well and then drops a bow before she is watching them go. The Falconer is moving for her horse then, meaning to take the gelding up. Foot finds stirrup and she is slinging herself upward. She breathes faintly, turning the horse about easily. "I will go ahead my Lord…your Lady daughter needs to be seen to.." The blood and all.