|Summary:||Martyn and Mortimer mark the anniversary of the Ironborn invasion of the Roost with a conversation on the tower's walls.|
|Related Logs:||Ironborn Invasion and more specifically Among the Pines and Nettles and When Ironborn Fight|
|The Walls, Four Eagle's Tower|
|The walkway around the top of the walls.|
|Sat Dec 29, 289|
It's morning at the Roost, not first thing, but nor is it yet approaching lunch time. The sun is out but a strong breeze off the sea is keeping the temperature down for now at least. The same breeze is also ensuring a fine rolling wave and with the tide at it's high point there's a constant and rhymical crash of said waves against the base of the cliffs below. The place itself, seems faintly subdued, many of the locals remembering the events of a year ago. Leaning on a section of wall looking out over the ocean is Mortimer, to mark the day he's wrapped a black cloth around his splinted arm, or someone has for him at least.
Every now and then, he suffers from nightmares of what happened back during that war. Not the events on the mainland, but the events when they took the war over to the Iron Islands. And the night that was is not much different. So when he couldn't get back to sleep, Martyn took a trip out onto the walls, and has been moving around there for a long while. Looking quite tired, he comes walking along the walls now, pausing for a few moments as he spots Mortimer. Not wanting to disturb the man's thoughts at the moment, it would seem.
Hands clasped together, or as close as he can manage anyway, and forearms resting on the edge of the low step of a crenellation, Mortimer does not immediately indicate that he's heard the footsteps of another. It's several moments in fact before he moves at all and even then that's just to lower his head for a moment before turning it sideways to see who it is thats approaching. As Martyn is spotted he straightens up, offering the Mallister a polite bow and a quiet "M'Lord."
"Master Trevelyan," Martyn offers a bit quietly at the moment. "How are you this morning?" Words still coming rather softly as he turns to look out at the sea, shaking his head a little for a few moments.
Now there's a question that could take some answering, and in all honestly, Mortimer isn't sure what the actual answer is. Taking advantage of the fact that Martyn is gazing seaward he returns to doing the same, leaving the silence to have as he ponders just what to say. Eventually though, he says, voice raised only high enough to be heard above the wind and waves, "tired m'Lord. It's going to be a difficult day and I doubt it'll do us the grace of passing quickly."
Martyn nods a little bit as he hears that, letting out a bit of a sigh. "True. We'll just have to endure the day as best we can, I suppose," he offers, rather thoughtfully, as he takes a deep breath. "In that year, we've lost good people, while some not-quite-as-good people still live."
Mortimer is, by this point, once more leaning on the crenellation, not yet in a hurry to be out and about keeping the peace it seems. "I'm hoping it remains this quiet," he starts flatly, "but any trouble will be tonight. Once the ale kicks in and someone says something stupid without thinking." Meaning he'll be spending his evening deadly sober and mostly likely in or around the Rockcliff while he'd far rather be elsewhere. At the mention of losing people he drops his head a little, the height of the wall meaning his forehead is only a few inches above his hands and he nods slowly. "Aye m'Lord, we've paid a steep price."
"True," Martyn replies, with a bit of a sigh. "Which means it isn't so bad for those of us that can just stay away, I suppose." Another brief pause, before he adds, "You, however, have my sympathies." Offering the man a brief smile.
"Thank you m'Lord," Mortimer answers with a notable lack of enthusiasm before reaching up with his good hand to rub his forehead a couple of times. "I must admit to still holding out the hope that Lord Justin can cover it, but I haven't seem him yet to ask." Turning to the Mallister a moment he almost asks the knight if he lost anything, before he brain catches up and he remembers that Lord Mallister himself was killed. As such he simply says nothing, turning to face the water once more.
Martyn grins, although it's a far more empty grin than many of the others he's given lately. "I can understand that,"n he offers, with a bit of a smile, before he sighs a little bit. "Been quite a bad year, I suppose."
Mortimer nods silently a couple of times before turning to glance to the knight and offering as optimistically as he can, "it mostly got better towards the end I think m'Lord, but aye, if I could do it over I would. Don't think there's many who wouldn't in truth." Benefit of hindsight and all that. "I dunno m'Lord," he adds as he rubs his head again for a moment, "Lord Revyn, Seven keep him, used to say that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger an' all, I'm just not sure I'm feeling it today."
"To be honest, I'm not sure if what doesn't kill us really makes us stronger," Martyn replies with a bit of a sigh. "After all, I should be feeling a bit stronger then, I suppose." A brief pause, before he adds, "Instead, it feels like that every time we've managed to improve, the Seven tosses something else in our faces, rather harshly." He shakes his head for a few moments now.
Mortimer eyes Martyn for a moment at that last remark, then shakes his head slowly. "Forgive me m'Lord," he starts, voice still as low as ever, "but I'd not blame the Gods for what can easily be put at the feet of men." Not that he knows exactly what the Mallister is referring to, but in his experience, most things are the fault of men. "Perhaps you’re right though, we're all cheated if his saying was correct."
Martyn nods a little bit, "Who knows? It's how it feels like every now and then, though." Letting out a breath, he shrugs momentarily. "Or perhaps I'm just looking for someone to blame. Had a rough night, so I haven't slept as well as I should have…"
Mortimer nods slowly at that, or part of it at least, the rest he'll leave to septons and nobles. "You're not the only one m'Lord," he admits, "I think my wife heard the warning bells twice, or twice at least that she woke me with it." Those bells that didn't sound that morning. Bitter at the thought of that he turns back to the sea a moment to compose himself again.