|Summary:||After Benedict and Kittridge speak, the hedge knight has a confession for his squire.|
|Related Logs:||Punch Drunk Love (Minus The Drunk)|
|Room in The Common House — Stonebridge|
|A modest room with a bed, some chairs and a fireplace.|
|5 May 289|
There are a couple minutes between when Kittridge Groves steps briskly out of the room in the Common House and when it opens again, Benedict peering out and pushing his dark hair back from his face. "Locke," he says, peering about to locate the youth, "Sorry for that. Come back in."
And with the storming off of the Groves Lord, there's a slam of the door open and closed as the squire now comes in. Angry? Yes-ish. Clearly confused, but that is to be expected. However, Ser Benedict does not get a reprieve. Instead he moves a hand out to push the Knight back, as if the strength of the terrier could imbue such feats. "What in the fuck is going on, Ben?"
Benedict steps back at the push. He's done quiet a bit of letting others pummel and push him, today. He nudges the door shut and walks over to a chair, dropping into it. "The name I was born with is 'Nicodemus Groves'. Kittridge is my brother. Twin, actually."
Locke pauses for a moment and looks back towards the door, before he is walking over to where a cup remains from the night before. And he then carefully dips the cup into the dish of water used for washing- eyes narrowed at Ben/demus for a moment before he takes a sip- and then throws the rest into Benedict's face. "That's for lying to me. For all this time." Locke states. "I feel like I don't know you anymore." And he moves to sit on the bed, where he's not been sleeping.
"I thought we were close. How the fuck am I to trust you if I you don't trust me with your name?"
The water wasn't really expected, and Nicodemus/Benedict coughs as now soggy hair drips into his eyes. He shoots a baleful look over at his squire. Really? Wiping water and hair (and blood) from his face, he says, simply, "I'm sorry, Locke. In the beginning, it didn't seem important. And then, as time went on, I didn't really know how to start."
"Sorry don't work." Locke says in an almost there growl. A shake of his head and he crosses his arms and frumps even harder. "Seriously. You're the only person I know here, outside of the Stepstones- and you figure you can't say. Hey, I'm run away from my family- an took on another name?" A dry laugh. "It's cause you see me as a slave right? Can't just us shiftless fuckers for nothing." Alright, now he is having a pity party.
"Yes, Lockesley, you've struck the nail right on the head with that one," Benedict replies dryly. "I don't trust you a whit, it's why I've been teaching you how to use a blade for the past handful of years. I want the men I find duplicitous to better know how to kill me." He snorts and then presses a hand to his face for a moment. "I trusted you. I just didn't want you to think less of me."
It seems the Squire is about to say something, but he holds his tongue, as he furrows brows a bit further. A pause and he looks away. "I wouldn't think less of you." He says finally. "Everyone runs from something at some time right?" A tilt of his head. "Besides. You're." and he's quiet for a moment. "Nevermind."
"From something or to something. I suppose everyone does," Nicodemus agrees quietly. "I am sorry Locke. But now you know, and that's the worst of my secrets."
Locke nods as he sits there. "Indeed, I do. An you don't see me runnin' do you?" the squire asks before bringing a hand up to rub at his eye, or rather mash manly like. "You're not allowed to keep secrets from me anymore. If I don't keep em from you, you don't keep em from me." A sniffle there. "And don't call me Lockesley, again." added as if that was a grave thing to do.
"Yes," the knight says, holding out his arm to be clasped. "No more secrets, I promise." He quirks a weak smile. "Maiden's tit, lad. My name is fucking Nicodemus. I hardly see why 'Lockesley' is worth a fuss."
"One o' the lads back on the stones said it sounded close to Lesley." he states before grudgingly taking the knight's arm, and then a smile breaks through. AS he moves to bump shoulders with Nicodemus, affectionately. All's forgiven it seems. "Promise an kepts." he mutters before coughing. "If I knew he was your brother, I wouldn't have jumped in."
"S'all right, I think you hit me more than him, anyhow," Nicodemus says as he rubs his jaw. "We need to keep that quiet, by the by. Technically, I've been exiled."
Locke is quiet for a moment before he nods. "So what do you want me to call you, besides Ser?" a good question to ask, before he's laughing a bit-flush hitting his cheeks. 'Sorry, I was aimin' for his kidneys.." he states plainly before rubbing his jaw. "Fine pair we make. A former slave of the fightin' pits an, an exiled Lord." a grin at that. "We sound like a bard's tale."
"Ser Lawson, Benedict, Ben, same as you've ever called me," the knight says with a small shrug. "Seems the easiest thing for now. We might not be staying long, that fight in the middle of a tavern will cause enough gossip when we're meant to be quiet ears." He smiles, and then winces when smiling hurts his lip and jaw. "All tales have a kernel of truth in them. Even if it's just a kernel."
"Right, but if you come an stay here?" he asks as a brow raises up. "Then what? You still want to be Ben, or yourself?" Locke asks carefully, before he is giving a grin back. "I can't wait to be a knight. Earn my spurs. Then you an I? We can go around Westeros savin' women an killin' bandits." Apparently that is what knights do. "Me with my curved sword. An you with your charmin' good looks." a laugh there, before he sighs. "If some folk tells on ya. I'll fight em."
"I don't… staying isn't likely, Locke," Nicodemus points out gently. "They've gone on without me for six years. I haven't the right to ask to come back, now. And even if I could, I'm not sure it'd be best. I'm not…" he quirks a smile. Well, half of one, being careful with his lip. "Saving women and killing bandits, is it? I have a sword too, you know."
"I do know, it's bigger than mine." There's a joke there, but Locke doesn't linger nor really catch it. Still he grins before he is looking back over his knight and he rises. making his way to the water bowl, before he is looking for something to serve as a rag. 'Let me get you cleaned up, Ser." the lad offers. "Pity we're not. Not so much killin' here like back home." Yes he referred to the Stepstones as home.
"You're not going to throw anymore at my face are you?" Nicodemus asks wryly. But for that offhanded comment, he stares at the squire in silence. "No," he agrees softly. "Not quite so much, is there."
"No." he admits before he is getting a rag from part of the sheet on the bed. There he is dabbing it into the water bowl, and he leans in to start cleaning the abrasions, poor Nic earned from brother and squire alike. Locke nods for a moment. "We staying in Westeros? Or jus' leaving the Riverlands?"
"Wasn't planning on staying in Westeros," the knight murmurs, holding still while Locke begins to wash his cuts and scrapes. "Would you like to?"
Locke is quiet for a moment, as he does his duty. "Maybe." And that is all he will allow.