|Friends In Low Places|
|Summary:||Ser Jarod Rivers, bastard son of Lord Terrick, and Ser Kevan Tierney, a lowborn hedge knight, meet and renew acquaintances.|
|Related Logs:||Takes place right before Rest For The Weary|
|Terrick's Roost - Smithies|
|Through the stone archway is a small, dimly lit blacksmith's shop that appears to have two main proprietors; one who deals in dinner wares (whitesmith) and the other in smaller iron items like fasteners, hinges, tools, and nails (blacksmith). The area is not what many would considered clean and the dirt floor is devoid of anything flammable. Each side has a heavily contructed heating element and a large, raised anvil nearby for the final forging. Tools are hung upon the walls in very specific places while the finished products are kept on a set of shelves at the end of the shop past the work area.|
|Mon Jul 18, 288|
The afternoon shadows are lengthening as evening approaches, though there's still a few hours left in the day to attend to business. Jarod Rivers is down at the smithy making some attempt to do that. Sort of. He's waiting as new shoes for his horse are seen to, occasionally trying to make idle conversation with one of the apprentices. They all have jobs to do, however, so they don't pause long to idle with him. The Terrick crest tied onto his sword belt marks him out as one of the castle's men-at-arms, though his clothing is otherwise unremarkable (if, like his sword, of very decent make). Finally devoid of anyone to try and make conversation with he starts idly whistle. It resembles a somewhat zippier version of a common Riverlands drinking sound, though the way he's doing it makes the tune wander close to unrecognizability.
It's still early enough to see a number of Terrick's Roost's smallfolk out and about, trying to conclude their last business for the day, so no one pays much mind to the man who rides into town. Ser Kevan Tierney, still clad in his riding leathers, does get a few odd looks as he passes, mainly directed at the hawk perched on his arm and the distinctive castle-forged greatsword strapped to his charger's saddle. Kevan nudges the horse towards the smithy; it's apparent from the horse's gait that the creature's thrown a shoe. He makes an odd sound towards the hawk; the bird obediently flaps her wings, taking off into flight so Kevan can dismount. Throwing his cloak over his shoulder, the free lance hops down from his saddle, tying the reins to a nearby post and quietly explaining his need to the first apprentice whose attention he's able to grab.
Jarod keeps whistling he notes and watches Kevan's approach, though the tune trails off after the next round of what could charitably be described as the chorus. It's the bird that draws his eye more than anything else, though after a beat his eyes narrow at Kevan himself. Expression curious, and as if the sight of the man tickles something in the back of his mind he can't quite place.
As the apprentice runs off to the smith, Kevan leans against the post his horse is tied to, stifling a yawn as he folds his arms over his chest. It's obvious from his apparent weariness and the mud streaking the hem of his cloak and the bottoms of his boots that he's been on the road for some time. He looks to and fro, taking in the sights of Terrick's Roost, such as they are… and then he stops, as he notices the young man squinting at him. He's about to dismiss the boy as a random gawker, until he feels a twinge of recognition in his own mind. He pushes himself off the post, taking a few steps towards Jarod. "We've met, or I'm a Dornishman," he finally says slowly, his voice a low, raspy baritone.
"Haven't met many Dornishmen proper," Jarod replies. His own barritone is not particularly raspy, for his part. It is friendly enough, if still curious. "But you don't look from so far off as all that. We've gotten a fair few swords through here the last few days, on their way down direction of Stonebridge. Aye, you've a familiar look about you. You one of Lord Mallister's men?"
Kevan chuckles; it's a short, caustic sound. "Hardly. I bend the knee to no man." Not unless he's paid first, but that's not something that a smart hedge knight brags about. His own tone is friendly enough, and matches Jarod's in the curiosity department. "Aye, on the way to Stonebridge myself, I am. Thought I'd rest a day or three at the Roost; I made better time on the road than I thought I might." The mention of Mallister seems to jog something in Kevan's mind. He snaps his fingers, pointing suddenly towards the younger man. "That's what it is. You squired for one of Mallister's bannermen during the Rebellion, didn't you?" He gestures towards Jarod's face. "Ser Vernon. I seem to remember the old goat breaking his pretty boy squire's nose clean off." Kevan snorts. "You still bear the mark, all right."
A boyish grin, which only makes him look younger and simpler to place, breaks across Jarod's face at mention of Ser Vernon. "Just crooked it a notch. I've rather come to like it. Ladies like a few scars so long as they aren't anywhere vital. Lets them know you've got some good stories. Not that I tell the real one that often." He laughs. "Jarod Rivers. Ser Jarod Rivers now." And he can't help but say it with a touch of pride. "But right. That's where your face comes to mind. You were one of the hedge knights with Lord Tully, aye?"
Kevan gives a pained grimace at the term 'hedge knight', but he nods without complaint. "Aye, so I was. Ser Kevan Tierney, at your service," he replies, sketching a perfunctory, and perhaps a bit sarcastic, bow. "Rivers… I'd forgotten you were Terrick's bastard." It's said lightly, not meant to condemn; even a noble's bastard has more noble blood in him than Kevan himself, after all. He might not talk like a commoner, but Kevan's never tried concealing his lowborn origins. "Ser Jarod, eh? Well, I offer my congratulations. But then, everyone who survived the Trident with four limbs intact earned their spurs that day, if they didn't have them already, you ask me." He sobers slightly at that, his memories taking him back to a blood-soaked battlefield. "Done well for yourself since, I see," he finishes, nodding to the younger man's clearly well-made sword and cloak.
"Ser Kevan. That's the name. Well met." The term 'hedge knight' is used with no insult, and Jarod his hand in offer for the other man to clasp it. The bow just gets a chuckle. "Local byblow I am, yes." He seems, on the surface at least, merry enough about his bastardry. It's only mention of the Trident that sobers him some. "That's about the right of it. About all a squire needed to do to get themselves knighted after the Trident was have all their original fighting parts still attached, at least on King Robert's side, the way things went. Ser Vernon himself dubbed me not long after. I was old enough I suppose he figured it'd be best just to have it done with, if I was going to manage it at all." As for the cloak, a shrug. "I serve my Lord Father, which does for me well enough. You look as if you've seen a good bit of the road. That's a fair bird you rode in with, by the by." Eyes turn as if he's trying to track the hawk.
Kevan accepts the offered arm readily, giving it the firm clasp of a comrade-in-arms. "Aye, so it was. So it was." Ser Jarod's mention of the road triggers another yawn. "That I have," he replies with a nod. "And sadly not done on the road yet, either. Spent much of the past week riding down from Flint's Finger." Flint's Finger being as far as it is, the time frame involved suggests a certain haste on Kevan's part, but he doesn't elaborate. "But as I said, I've some time to rest up before the tournament in Stonebridge." His head tilts curiously to the side, as he casts a measuring look at the other man. "And what of you, Ser Jarod? Shall I see your name on the tournament rolls?" He laughs, a much more merry sound than it had been before. "I would be curious to see what you've learned since that sparring match with Ser Vernon." He looks upward at the mention of the bird; Andra is circling overhead, above the smithy. Kevan raises his left arm; after a moment, the bird swoops down with a cry of acknowledgement, coming in for a landing on the offered perch. The blond knight doesn't flinch as the raptor hurtles towards him, her claws latching on and clinging to his gauntlet. "Aye, she's a fair one indeed, she is," Kevan replies with a proud smile. "An excellent traveling companion, even if she has little to say."
Jarod takes a step back as the bird soars in, continuing to admire the creature. "There are certainly worse companions a man could have, I'll grant that. She looks a fine hunter, which must make traveling a bit less light. You spent some time up in the Northlands, then? That's a distance from Riverrun, Ser Kevan, you don't mind my saying so." The observation about the tournament prompts a snorted chuckle. "I'm sure I can find some entertaining ways to break myself. Aye. I'll be on the lists for the Grand Melee at least. Its a chance to cross swords with some of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms, and I'm not about to let it pass."
Kevan nods. "That she is. And a good thing, too, as I was never much with a hunting bow." He snorts at Jarod's mention of the North. "It is at that. And between you, me, and the bird, the Northmen are welcome to it. The Starks say 'Winter is coming', aye, but I say that up there, it never leaves." He utters a sharp chuckle, apparently pleased with his own wit. If Jarod is pressing for more information about Ser Kevan's travels, he'll have to press harder, as the blond man doesn't seem terribly inclined to discuss the particulars. "As will I," Kevan replies when Jarod mentions the melee, and gives a nod in response to his last. "Just so, just so. Might try my hand at the jousting as well. Was never much of a lancer myself, but I think Leviathan here enjoys the tilt." He pats the flank of his horse, a massive black creature that certainly seems to live up to the name. "Perhaps we'll cross blades in the melee, then," Kevan finishes, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Jarod seems less pressing for information than eager for a tale, and he can't quite hide his disappointment when an adventure from the cold North isn't forthcoming. "Well, Ser Kevan, it's summer in Terrick's Roost and everywhere else in the land, and far as I'm concerned winter can stay in the North for now. They're welcome to it. For your part, welcome to Terrick's Roost, for as long as you stay. The prices at our inn is reasonable if you've still coin from House Flint in your purse. Food's good, drink's better, beds are soft and the whores are softer and better company than your hawk, if you've a mind to that sort of thing." He cracks another of those boyish grins. "Good luck in the joust. I'll be saving myself for the melee. Besides, my brother's the better horse and it's easier silver betting in his direction. That is a fine animal you've got there, though, I must say."
Kevan nods graciously. "Aye, a good beast is he. I probably work him harder than I should; I move around too much to keep a proper stable, I'm afraid." He pats the horse's side once more. "He's never complained, though." Kevan smirks at that. His eyes flick over towards the inn at Jarod's mention. "And I thank you. A warm bed and warmer company certainly sounds appealing… but then, when you've been on the road this long, anything that isn't the saddle or the bush is a welcome respite." He winks knowingly. "Speaking of which, Ser Jarod, I do believe I'm going to head off in that direction. It doesn't seem the smith will be able to reshoe Leviathan until tomorrow." It does take him a moment to recognize the true nature of the disappointment that passed over Jarod's face a moment before, but recognize it he does, eventually. After all, he too was a young man once. Kevan pauses, turning back towards the younger man. "When next we meet, perhaps I'll let you buy me a drink, and I'll tell you something of my travels in the cold, hard North."
Jarod gets a laugh out of that. "Let me buy you a drink? You're the soul of courtesy, Ser Kevan. Well, I'll take you up on that. I should be down in town again tomorrow. The walls at the castle close in a bit rather often. Enjoy what hospitality you can find."
Kevan utters a booming laugh of his own at Jarod's riposte. "And you, young ser, are kinder than I likely deserve. Until tomorrow, then. You can find me at the Rockcliff, should you be inclined to look." He tosses a casual salute Jarod's way. "Fair eve to you, Ser Jarod." With that, he unties Leviathan from the post; reins in one hand and his hawk resting on the other, the wandering knight sets off towards the nearby inn.