|Interlude with an Amnesiac|
|Summary:||A man cannot look at maps forever. Kamron exits the command center set up in Tordane Tower, and finds time to talk with Garett and Desmond.|
|Related Logs:||Laying it on the Table and other Bandit Captive logs.|
|Stone Walk, Tordane Tower|
|Set at a slight incline, the stone pathway leads up a slight rise northeast out of the town square towards the single tower of House Tordane. Grass grows thick and plush along the side though it is well maintained. Private shops and stables are located up closer to the manor with the family's private stables attached directly to the exterior wall of the small castle.|
|2 June, 289|
The plush grass alongside the pathway up to Tordane Tower was probably not originally designed to support horses, knights, and men-at-arms, but many of them have been gathered in close to the makeshift command pose in the Tower itself. When Kamron exits from the Tower, a couple of the men-at-arms and squires rise up to their feet eagerly, but the Mallister gestures with his good right hand to settle them down again, "Nothing yet. Nothing yet." The armored man grimaces and rubs at his right temple, beckoning to his own squire. That worthy brings over a waterskin, and Kam takes a draw from it, grumping, "Well fuck."
Step tap. Step tap. Step tap. The metal *clak* noise of Garett's metal-capped cane announces his presence without speaking, the man leaning heavily on it, that keeps a leg of his straight, held fast in a combination of a splint and brace. Still won't stop him from walking around. Stopping after exiting from the keep, he draws a pipe from his sur-coat. "Some fire, lad." he utters to one of the men-at-arms who's minding the torch sconces. Picking up a stick, it's lit up, which he uses to light his pipe. Puffing softly he starts to continue down the walk at a leisurely, but slow, pace.
Kamron looks up at the clatter of the metal-shod cane, passing back the skin as the other man lights up a pipe. "You said Lord Desmond was your squire, Ser?" Apparently, he was listening to something other than his own ranting and the planning back in the Tower. "Sounds like maybe he's going to get the blooding he needs, eh?"
The pipe is griped between his thumb and index finger, Garett's other hand occupied with the cane. "He was. In another life. Hard to say if he still is." he replies, stopping and turning to face Kamron. "I've been told I've trained him quite well, so I can only assume he's going to be alright. Seems to have the eagerness to prove himself…" he looks away. "I think. Desmond and I, we have a lot of catching up to do." A shrug. "Not for me to say, Ser. That's his thing. I think he needs it more for himself than any of us. Got nothing to prove to me. At least, not now."
Kamron frowns slightly in thought, trying to put some of the scattered threads together, "Which makes you… Garett Westerling." One eyebrow lifts slightly, and he shrugs helplessly with his good right shoulder. "I'm Kamron Mallister." His left arm stays pulled close to his armored stomach, held there by the remains of a sling. "Haven't seen him fight before, but he seems a bit odd." Once more, he shrugs, "Probably more ready than my own squire though."
"That's my name. Or so people tell me." Garett replies wryly. Besides his leg being stuck in a brace, there's a massive scar running the length of the left side of his face, starting at his temple and ending all the way near his neck. At it's widest part, the scar is three inches across, still reddened, but more or less healed over. "If we've met previously, I'll apologize for not knowing you, but that's about the common trend for me recently." Desmond, or the topic of him, has him frowning. "I want…to say he can hold his own, but it…when you lose most of one's personal memories, much of this is guesswork right now. "What I do know is that I've been told he's been my squire for over five years and that apparently I believed in him when no one else would. This has also been told to me. Also, that I had intended to Knight him until, well, I died. Or, that's what everyone says what happened."
Kamron shakes his head, "You're in the clear. I don't think we've ever met before." He steps over to the other man, holding out one hand, "I can't imagine what it's like to lose your memories." There's a half-grin on his lips, "You've gathered up quite a few scars though. Even more than me or Martyn. And that's saying quite a lot. Something to be proud of, I think."
"I'd be more proud if I could remember just what the hell it took to earn them, eh?" Garett muses lightly. "Finally, someone I don't feel obligated to give that notice." he states, gripping the tip of his pipe with his teeth, taking the offered hand. "Which usually goes along the lines of 'If I've met you, I don't remember you, therefore, if I've somehow offened, I'll offer I once in a lifetime chance for me to take one on the chin. Because I probably deserved it.'. The Maesters tell me the blow to my head that I took when the ship I was on sank is what probably did it. Which is how I got this." he reguards with a tilt of his head to left to point out the facial scar. "And that." his chin dips toward his knee. "Not everything. Appparently I can recall my training, but not who I was trained by. Life knowlege, mannerisms, stuff like that. Names of people, things that pretain to me, are, well…you get the idea. It's an odd thing, looking in a mirror and not recognizing the person you see. But, enough about that. You looked a bit testy, Ser. It's rough. The waiting."
Kamron shakes once, then lets his hand drop again. He nods slowly at the explanation of the other man's affliction, "I have a cousin and several friends out there, and I'm fucking useless in the woods." He lets out a long, slow breath, clenching his right fist. "So yeah. It's rough. I can't do anything until they find the fuckers who took them." He shakes his head abruptly, "Then again, that's no different from a dozen or more others in Stonebridge right now. Then again, most of them are going to be more than half-useful once we actually find the sons-of-bitches." he gestures to his left shoulder as he speaks.
"More useful than myself." Garett replies. "So maybe I'm one-fourth useful? I can sit around a table and assume I know things about tactics. If they pay attention to me or not…" he shrugs. "That's their perrogitive. But, I'll tell you this much," he puffs softly on his pipe. "Wanting to be angry is the first emotion. Feeling useless only encourages it. Staying pissed off and looking like you want to kick the nearest dog isn't going to help. Though, you probably already know that. And it's not just you, so I really don't mean to come off like I'm chiding over something." The smoke from his pipe is fragrant, some kind of odd spice. "You've got natural talent for leadership, Ser Mallister. Don't ask me how I know, I don't quite know either, but my…uh, betrothed," he says that word oddly, "tells me I've seen my fair share of war, so maybe it's that, who knows. But some of those men in there were looking to you to take charge, even if you're only 'half-useful'. Right now, you need to keep that anger capped. Walking around spittin coals is an easy way to fuck up."
Kamron studies the other man, then shrugs, "One third?" He shrugs his shoulder slightly, "I've dealt with angry before. I've fought through it, I've planned through it, I make it work for me." The compliment draws a chuckle, "Thanks. You know, there may be a benefit to all this amnesia thing. You get to do the whole courtship thing again." Laughter bubbles up despite his generally undirected anger, "And if rumor's right, you get to have another first time, too." He shrugs again, "Sorry."
"If you know how to deal with it, not really place to question, is it. Just saying, I've….well I think I've seen a few men fly into a stupid rage and get themselves killed for it. Or worse, they get others killed." He considers that. "Have I seen that?" he seems to mutters more to himself. A sigh. Then he blinks, apparently hadn't heard that rumor. At least, not since coming back. "That was the rumor?" he generally seems rather surprised by that. "Huh. Well, I wish I could tell you if it's true or not." He waves off the apology. "Shit. What's to be sorry over? If I can't laugh at myself and things I don't even know if I did, then fuck," his tone veers toward the overdramatic, "then life just -isn't- worth living." A chuckle follows that. "So…that was the rumor. No wonder Briallyn didn't want to talk about it." Considering this, he smiles at him. "Soooo…go me?"
Kamron shakes his head, chuckling softly, "Yes, you probably have seen it. I've seen it myself." He nods at the description of the rumors, "Yes… that was definitely the rumor." He frowns thoughtfully for a moment, "I wouldn't suggest bringing it up to Lady Briallyn too heavily, I think, Ser Garett. From what I've seen of her, she is a very strong woman." Nodding his head slowly, he adds, "Good that you can laugh. After all this, we should have a drink. Find something more entertaining to laugh about than our own foibles."
"That's what I keep hearing about her. I suppose, I have good taste, eh?" Garett muses. "Then again, I have no idea if she's my kind of woman, though she certainly has a bit of fire to her. And…I suppose I like the ones that don't always conform as to what a lady should be. I think." A headshake goes along with that. "It's hard, trying to figure out how I feel about people that I've known for some time, and yet don't recall. Only a feeling. A nagging at the back of your skull like you should know them, but nothing comes to mind. But the nagging still remains. And I came to conclusion as I healed in the woods off of Seaguard. I decided I can either fall into a depression that might lead to madness because I can't remember who I am, or where images that come ablaze in my mind, and yet I have no damn idea what meaning they have. Fear the idea the memories may never come back at all. Or," he shrugs, tapping ash out of his pipe by tapping the bottom against his thigh of his good leg. "Or I can laugh at it. Simply make best of the situation as I can."
The pair of Knights aren't that far off from the enterance to the Tower, speaking along the side of the walkway. "We should. But hell, I've learned it's never wise to keep all of one's foibles bottled up. You end up being some kind of pouncy fucker with a pole shoved up his ass. Or just end up lacking any kind of sense of humor, taking everything far too seriously."
Desmond is certainly wearied when he comes upon the conversing pair, hat tucked into his belt. "Oh, Ser Garett… Thought you might've gone back to the inn." Kamron gets a stiff nod. "I'm not entirely sure if you were ever this social," he asides to the other Westerling through a bemused whisper. This is all he says, otherwise, unwilling to interrupt just yet.
Kamron shrugs his shoulder, "Well, now you get to decide if you like them or not." The discussion of self-deprecating humor draws a laugh from the man's lips, "You mean like a Frey." He glances over to Desmond, nodding once and adding, "Might as well let him be social, Lord Desmond. Might do him some good." The joke is half-hearted, however, as the mention of the Frey has put him in a funk again, "Fucker isn't even hiring hedge knights or anything." Well, that's a non-sequitor.
"Clean slate, you're right." Garett agrees. "My opinions thus far; Briallyn. Honest, blunt, wears far too low cut dresses…possibly on purpose. My cousin Cherise. Likes money, a bit judgemental, and doesn't have a decent grasp of humor. Other than that, harmless, though she could stand to treat Desmond like a man. Speaking of Desmond," he gestures at his fellow Westerling. "Good kid, will be an even better Knight and…holy fuck," he glances at the squire, not taking note how his eyes glow like a cat's at night, the light from torches making them reflect errily. "That's either going to intimidate the fuck out of your enemies, Desmond, or it's going to get you many women. Both, if you're lucky."
Desmond straightens a mite, addressing Kamron. "Who are we talking about? Who's not hiring hedge knights?" At Garett's assessment of the people he's met, particularly Cherise, his shoulders drop slightly. "I hope she's safe. Well, all of them of course. As much as we tend to snap at one another. Oh hells, it hasn't done either in my experiences. Doesn't intimidate you, does it? By the by, Ser Kamron, sorry for speaking out of line earlier. Though I'm sure you know what it is to be momentarily consumed."
Kamron laughs at the 'low cut dresses' comment, shaking his head as he does. "That's a bad thing?" He blinks at the mention of Desmond's eyes, leaning forward to look at the other man's eyes, "Woah. That is freaky as shit." Shaking the thought off, he looks back to Desmond, "Not a problem. We're all a bit wound up, as Ser Garett mentioned before." He grunts softly, then adds, "And Lord Walden Frey. That fucking piss-ass son of a fuckwit. He's trying to court Lady Saffron Banefort, and he's being a little shit."
"Freys….Freys…" Garett's gears turn for a bit. "I don't have much of an opinion. Not at the moment, at least, but that is a bit odd that they haven't done anything to assist. Especially if the woman the Lord Walden is trying is one of the ladies being held. I'd be out there too, but I think it's already pretty evident that I'm right now, I'm all but useless in a fight at the moment." At Desmond's worry, reaches over to pat the squire on the shoulder. "She'll be alright. Probably chastising them on their living conditions or something. You'll get them back, I have faith in that. The thing everyone here needs to do is work together. Which, from what I've already observed is going to be a bitch and a half to do in itself. Can't have dissent amoung the ranks or questioning each other. Not when other lives are on the line." Though, his usual humor he's had since returning isn't really here. "I'm sorry by the way Desmond, I don't think I got to tell you that. Losing five years between you and I. I know it means a lot to you. Briallyn told me I was going to Knight you before what happened to me. I'm sorry you had to wait longer for something you obviously have worked so hard to deserve."
Desmond smirks slightly, leaning back and closing his eyes when Kamron proclaims the oddity. "Now /that/ is what the women say, Ser Garrett." Kamron goes on to speak ill of the Frey, and the squire has to grin. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you disliked him, Ser Kamron. Please pardon if I say too much, but were you not attempting to court Lady Saffron yourself?"
At Garrett's words, Desmond just shrugs. "Yeah well. It's all right. I mean… punching you helped. Besides, you remembered some things."
Kamron shakes his head at Garett, "The Freys are the most cowardly, most miserly, most misera — " And then Desmond's words cut through to him, and he does a double-take, "I was what?" He blinks and shakes his head, "No. No I'm not trying to court Lady Saffron." Okay, maybe he's protesting a little bit too much, but that's totally not the case, right? "I'm totally not the marrying type."
"Desmond." Garett chides half-heartedly. "That's how rumors start, eh? Let's not add to it or anything." he says with a small smile. "Whoever Ser Mallister wants to court, well…that's his business, not ours." The matter of the Freys gets a shrug. "I'm still relearning which house hates who, but really, that hasn't been all that hard. And things sometimes filter back into my head. But, the topic of my memories is going to get boring if I talk about it too much." Looking around, his lips thin together, a trait that he sometimes does when he's thinking. Even before his injury. "Ser Kamron. I don't suppose you have a sword on you, do you?"
"Tch, do I seem like some rumor-monger to you?" Desmond does seem offended by this notion, he's no clucking hen! "As for houses, eh, I'm still learning who hates who these days." Every subtle mannerism Garett recalls heartens him, in some small measure. "What do you want with a sword?"
Kamron snorts at Garett's chiding, "I rather don't want to court anyone, thanks." The question that follows, however, causes him to shake his head, gesturing to the axe at his hip, "I don't carry a sword, sorry." A call comes from inside the Tower, and Kam half-turns toward the building. Gesturing in that direction, he nods, "I'm going to go look in on that. I'll look you up for that drink after we chop the fuck out of these bandits."
Whatever thought on his mind, he shakes his head. "No, just an idea I had but…perhaps it's better if I save it for when this madness is over with." he says, dismissing whatever was on his mind. "Didn't mean it to come off like, Ser Kamron. I just make it personal policy not to get involved in anyone else's buisness. Yeah rain-check on that drink, certainly."