Page 430: He's Dead, Brenn
He's Dead, Brenn
Summary: Tyroan unintentionally informs Brennart of the death of Young Lord Marvish Erenford.
Date: 24/September/2012
Related Logs: None directly.
Tyroan Brennart Anathema Jocelyn 
Anteroom off: Tower Hall, Tordane Tower
The entrance to the tower opens into a larger common room for receiving guests. Effort has been made to bring warmth and light to the interior, as well. Rugs have been hung from the stone walls as well as placed on the floor to bring at a welcoming ambiance. There is a large table with several chairs off to the left of the door, a cooking hearth against the back wall, and a wooden staircase that leads up. An antechamber behind the stairs is where the servants live and bed down.
24 September, 289

With the Erenfords undoubtedly on their way out of Stonebridge, the new Steward has requested a meeting with the Erenford lord remaining in town. He's staked out one of the small rooms off the main hall of Tordane Tower, with a few ledgers and maps scattered over a table, candles and lamps burning low, and a pitcher and several steins of the bitter Mire beer on the table. Tyroan has had several tall chairs brought in and set around a table normally reserved for standing around, and he's perched on one now, rubbing at the small of his back as he awaits his guest, who will be shown in promptly and without delay upon his arrival.

Brennart walks into the tower and glances around, spotting a servant he asks them where the Steward is and gets pointed towards the one of the small rooms off the main hall and begins to head over there, rereading the little note he'd been delivered making sure he got the name right before he folds it up and puts it into his pouch. As he enters the small room he gives Tyroan a small bow, "Lord Tyroan, you requested to meet with me? I'm Ser Brennart Erenford, I received your request for a meeting as I was gathering my belongings to return home."

Standing on one foot, his head bowed into the feathers of his crippled wing, Balerion the Raven sleeps. He had been placed on a portable table perch some time ago at the insistence of Stonebridge's new witch. Anathema Nayland is standing near one of the low-burning lamps in a gown of burnt harpy orange with highlights of yellow embroidery around the waist and bust. She is worrying at five slender runes in the palm of her hand, feeling the neat engravings on each fingerling stone as she waits. When the new Young Lord enters, Balerion lifts his angular head abruptly and caws at the Erenford. Ana turns toward him, and she offers a gentle curtsey.

Tyroan looks up as Brennart enters, hoisting himself off his chair and moving around the table with one gnarled hand extended toward the other knight, "Ser Brennart. Ser Tyroan Nayland." He barely has to glance back toward his wife before he speaks for the both of them, "We're sorry to hear about your loss. From everything I've heard, your brother was a good knight and a good man." And if he'd heard nothing about the man, the polite fiction would not have hurt anyone. "I'm glad we caught you though. I'd like to send you home with something else."

Brennart blinks, "My loss? Something happened to Nevan? I'd just spoken with him recently he was taking the knights back to Heronhurst, what happened?" In his current state of shock he doesn't notice the man approaching with open hand he just blinks slightly and shakes his head, "I ahmmm…" He finally notices the extended hand and clasps it, "Could I bother you for something to drink? I… Do you have his body here that I'll need to return to father?"

Anathema does not throw her runes despite the fact that they are still being turned about in her palm. She casts a glance toward Tyroan. "He does not know," she murmurs to her husband before she sweeps forward with the softest rustle of her skirts. "My Lord, no. Your brother Ser Nevan is fine — hearty and hale, the Gods do say. It is your brother Marvish." As she speaks, she ghosts a hand against his back, leading him toward a seat. Once he is settled, she dutifully goes to fetch him a glass of the bitter brew. She casts a glance toward Tyroan, a heavy meaning in those dark eyes.

Tyroan isn't one who surprises easily, but Brennart's reaction causes him to blink and draw up, "Oh fuck." The man's shoulder's slump a bit, but his voice doesn't lose any of its growl, and he retains his grip on Brennart's hand, adding his left over top of the other man's, "You hadn't heard?" He lets his wife explain the rest, adding in, "We got a raven." And he releases the younger man's hand, gesturing him over to the table and patting the back of one of the tall chairs as he does. There's a bit of paper shuffling, and then he plucks out a thin strip of paper, setting it before the Erenford. In the terse words of a raven's message, it lays out the fact that the Young Lord took a mortal wound north of Heronhurst and expired. "It's Mire beer. Have to get a taste for it. We've a little wine if you'd prefer." The shaven-headed man glances back at his wife, curiosity flickering behind his dark gray eyes, but he doesn't voice his query.

Padded footsteps come down the curved stairs, pausing at the bottom of them, hearing muffled voices that drift through the Tower hall. Tilting her head to one side, Jocelyn listens to see where the voices are coming from. Lifting her face, looking down the hall she slowly starts her way down. Soon she come to an opening, in which she pops her head around to look inside of it the room she comes upon. Before making herself known she stands listening to the conversation for a beat and then two. Lifting a hand to her mouth and covering to stiffle the gasp that threatens to spread. Swallowig hard, she steps into the room so that she can be seen.

Brennart lets himself be placed into a chair and nods, "Mire beer sounds fine… Marvish passed, I can't believe it I thought he was safe back at Heronhurst." He sits there for a moment and then blinks again, "Wait that means… Oh fuck." He straightens out his clothes slightly, "I appologize for my reaction it took me by complete surprise, I'll have time to mourn on my trip home but I'm sure telling me of my brother's passing wasn't what you'd called me here, you'd said you had something you wanted me to go home with correct m'lord?"

The woods-witch silently sets the beer down before the new Young Lord. As she steps back around the table, she carefully tucks the small stones into the hidden pocket of her skirts. "We do not have the details, My Lord," Anathema says to Brennart. It is Balerion who spies Jocelyn entering the room first, and the raven caws softly at her; his beak hangs open a moment before he squawks, "Home, home." Then he ducks his head to start cleaning his feathers. Ana smiles wanely toward her niece, gesturing her further in. "Come, sweet girl."

Tyroan has his attention fully on Brennart when the raven caws, and Tyroan looks up to his niece slipping into the room. He nods his agreement to Ana's invitation, then turns his attention back to the other man, moving over to the table and leaning crossed forearms against it, "Don't apologize, la — " he just stops himself from calling the new Young Lord Erenford 'lad,' coughing to cover it up and instead going with the more proper, "Ser Brennart. No, it wasn't. I'd like to buy some wine and ale from your House. Enough to get the levies piss drunk so they can celebrate. But all I can pay you in is grain."

The sound of the raven causes a gasp and jump from Jocelyn. She hadnt seen it there, and then it made nose and well… sudden things happening to her right name just made her heart leap to her throat. Heart pound, she stares at the Raven hard, "You scared me." she scolds the bird softly when she passes the bird by, making her way to her Aunts side. With a step back she curtsies to those gathered, eyes a little wider than normal she looks to each of Tyroan first, then Brennart and then finally Anathema. Havinh heard the sad news from the doorway while eavesdropping, she doesnt say it again outload.

Brennart jumps a little when the bird caws but recovers himself fairly quickly before he nods slightly, "I think that can be arranged, we could always use the surplus grain and if we needed the coin there's enough hungry rich houses to sell it to. Looking for a few barrels of wine and ale?" He throws himself into getting the numbers down so he doesn't have to dwell on other news at the moment, "I'll have to talk with my father and get the grain to alcohol rate down but our cellars have enough to get the levies piss drunk just depends on if you want decent alcohol, good stuff or the stuff to get piss drunk on and hope you don't die from it."

Balerion twists his head around, blinking several times at her before he returns to grooming those long, iridescent feathers. Anathema draws Jocelyn to her side, a protective arm around her shoulder. The two have yet to have their tea, so Ana has defaulted into surrogate mother mode — especially as the girl's own mother is still at the Mire. "I needn't ask if you heard the news," she murmurs to the girl softly, offering her a knowing look. But that is how it has always been with Anathema — she always knows things. She then glances to the men as they talk. "The men of House Nayland saved this city from ruin, we would like to give them a night to celebrate."

Tyroan gives Jocelyn a tight little smile, "Don't worry, that's as close as Balerion comes to breathing fire." And then he turns back to Brennart, nodding at Anathema's response to the Erenford and adding his own, "I don't want any of them going blind from it, but it doesn't have to be great. Just strong. I'll send you with a measure of grain, and you and Lord Erenford can decide if it's not enough. I'd like to get it drunk before all the open mouths drag their asses back from The Mire."

Nearly blushing at her aunties words, Jocelyn nods in response "Yes, I heard." her eyes drift to Brennart with warmth and care "I'm sorry for your loss, Ser Brennart. Please give my most sincere words of apology for the loss to your family." she says. There is a twinge of deep rooted remorse inside her for the cousin she hardly knew that is now gone. She swallows with her mouth set in a grim line. I should probably include this sad news in the letter my Mother, in the off chance she has not heard." The thankful embrace around her still has Jocelyn rigid upon initial touch, but she soon relaxes when she knows from whom the touch is from. Blankly she listens to the rest of the talk around her, the men needing to get pissed drunk. Not that she didnt agree, but she also wasnt adding in anything to it. The silience has her eyes drifting downward.

Brennart nods, "I'll have to get back to Heronhurst to set it up but I'll make sure it's decent and strong, I saw the fighting the men deserve to get drunk and at least enjoy it. Looking at enough for around 300 men? That was just my rough count when we arrived but I'm sure it's off by a bit just have to be sure we get enough for them all and probably some surplus for those heavy drinkers and the folks that stayed in town that helped build up the defenses? I'm thinking about two maybe three wagons worth?"

Anathema accepts the sudden rigidness followed by the soft release from her niece. She does not even remark on it, allowing it to ebb and flow in peace for now. She looks between the two men again as they speak. "How is your horse, Ser Brennart? We could certainly lone you are more rested and faster steed if you require it," the Lady Steward offers. Then she slips into quiet as the final figures are decided.

Tyroan nods to Brennart, "Close enough. I'll figure out the fucking numbers," he should probably be apologizing to Jocelyn for the language, but he rather rarely does that, "and have the grain ready to go in the morning, along with an escort for it." And for the new heir to Heronhurst. Wouldn't do to have him expiring on Nayland land." Glancing over to Jocelyn, he adds, "I'll be sending a courier to the Mire in the morning too." As in, 'you can tag your letter along if you want.' Picking up one of the steins, he drains off a good swallow of the bitter brew and wipes his mouth with the inside of his left sleeve. It's an old jack anyhow.

Brennart shakes his head at Anathema's question, "No m'lady my horse is rested enough to get me to Heronhurst" Then he looks back to Tyroan, "Looks like I'll be leaving Stonebridge in the morning m'lord, I'll go ensure my things are ready to go then by your leave?" He glances over at the mug that was brought and forgotten for him and takes a large swig from it and comes up sputtering a little, "This really is bitter but already feel the warmth from it."

Still, Jocelyn stays quiet and just enjoys being in a room full of family. Listening and nodding where needed. Looking to her Uncle she nods at his pointed look about the courier that will be going out. "Thank you, My Lord. I'll have it ready by the morrow for it to be sent out with whatever you have going." The laungage didnt seem to bother her any. Maybe because of being captive and getting use to it by the camps men? Or… even just her own family, they were known to swear. A lot.

Anathema bows her head gently to Brennart as he seeks his leave. "May the Gods protect you on your journey home," she blesses softly. Then she casts a glance toward Jocelyn. "And you, you are to get some rest, sweet girl. I would still like us to have a bit of tea before I head for the Roost." She offers her a kindly smile before she steps forward to offer her fist out to Balerion. The crippled raven hops onto it with a flutter of inept wings. She draws the raven up to her shoulder opposite of Jocelyn, where the feathered beast rests.

"The Roost!?!" Jocelyn turns her head sharply to look at her Aunt, "But you cant! My Lady Aunt, Its not safe!" perhaps shes over reacting just…a tad… But she is a little paranoid about anyone going on a travel trip, especially a female. Sleep? Rest? She couldnt think of such things right nows, even if her eyes were rimmed red and she looked like she hadnt slepted in days. A full nights rest did sound so very nice though.

Tyroan nods at Brennart, "Of course. Take your time." He finishes off what's left of his beer (thankfully it hadn't been a full mug in an hour or so), then picks up two of the ledgers, closing them and gathering them into the crook of his arm, "An acquired taste, Ser Brennart. Take your time. The room and the rest of the beer's yours if you want it." There's a pause, "I'd say something funny that'd make you feel better, but it just doesn't fucking work like that." Jocelyn's reaction to Anathema's words draw a shake of his head, "She'll have two sons and two guards with her. She'll be safe enough."

Brennart nods, "It doesn't get easier with experience either, second brother I've lost in the past few years." He shakes his head as he takes another swig from the mug and blinks, "Goes down much easier the second time. Thank you for the hospitality m'lord." He stands as everybody's getting ready to depart, "I won't be long in here m'lord just need a moment or two alone before I head back to the inn, I've still got a room there."

"Shh," Anathema soothes softly. She glances up toward Tyroan at his words, and she nods gently. "You needn't worry, Jocelyn. Your Auntie will be well-looked after. Come, let's go upstairs. We will see to your rest, and then tomorrow we will have some time together, hm?" She offers to the girl as she starts to guide her toward the exit of the room with Balerion on her shoulder.

"I had guards too, My Lord Uncle!" Jocelyn protests to his words, even though they were meant to make her calm, they didnt they just added some more panic in there for travel. "The roads arent safe." she says softly when she turns her head to her Aunt, heeding the command to shh, slowly falling silient all together and letting her guide her on where she is to go. Glancing at Brennart since he needs his time alone it seems. "Will you please travel safe, Ser Brennart…" she glances up at her Aunt again.

Tyroan nods his head at Brennart's words, studying the younger knight, then stumping over to him to clap him on the shoulder, "We'll be dipping our flags for your brother here too. Give our condolences to your parents?" He waits for any response, then moves to depart with his wife and niece, shifting his steely gaze over to the latter worthy next, "The roads will be fucking safe, by the time I'm done with this place. If I have to march the levies from one end of the fief to the other."

Brennart nods, "Aye m'lord I'll pass along your condolences to my parents, and I'll be sure to pass along the respect you've given my brother by dipping your flags." He takes another drink from the mug as he watches the others leave and when they're no longer in sight he drops down into the chair and chugs the rest of the mug finishing up with some coughs before he sets it down and covers his face in his hands.