|Summary:||Aeron and Tyroan have a chance to talk one-on-one for the first time since Aeron's return.|
|Related Logs:||None directly.|
|Map Room, Tordane Tower|
|23 October, 289|
Tyroan does not do well cooped up. He also doesn't have time to get uncooped up lately. And so he paces back and forth in his new study/work-room, stumping back and forth between the standing-height table with its maps and ledgers and the side table with its pitcher of Mire beer and several tankards. Another one sits on the main table, condensation collected around the base. Looking for an excuse from the tiny letters and numbers of the ledgers, he's sent for his second son.
And Aeron is always hard to get ahold of. Wether out doing solitary hunting in the morning to the rest of day spent personally assisting in the rebuilding effort, wether that be directing resources, what needs to be reparied over others, or simply dropping his scrolls and helping lift a beam, the younger Nayland man has been keeping himself busy. Or at least trying to be useful. So entering the map room, he carries one or two maps under and arm. "Lord Father." he greets, crossing the barrier. "You asked for me?"
Tyroan looks up, stopping his pacing and moving back to the table. He gestures for the younger Nayland to have a seat, making it an invitation rather than a command, "I talked with the Haigh girl for a bit yesterday." He lifts up his tankard, draining off the last of the beer in it and then hefting it a moment. The aged Steward moves back to the side-table, pouring himself full again, "Want one?" He waits for a response, then adds, "You seem to have fucking charmed her just fine. What do you think of her though?"
Aeron raises an eyebrow at this, making no initial comment as he takes, nodding at the offer of a beer. "Thank you." After receiving his mug, he continues to listen, then consider. "I wasn't aware that I had charmed her, Father. I was under the speculation that at least things were friendly between her and I. I do consider her a friend, if nothing else. I won't deny that her presence had made moving on…easier and not harder as I thought it would." That said, he glances back at the grizzled knight, drinking. "I think she is a good woman, father. And mostly sensible and fair-minded. Perhaps a bit…bitter to the idea of marriage, but I don't think just that one thing makes up the sum of who she is. I think she has skills that were undervalued or overlooked by her father and I'm trying to encourage her to help as she can. She is very attractive, I won't deny that, you'd have to be dumb and blind not to see that. And I believe Mother has taken a shine to her as well." Opinion, he drinks again. "What do you think of her, Father?"
Tyroan pours for his son and brings the tankard over, then moves back to his end of the table, leaning on his forearms and letting his gnarled hands rest about the mug, "I think she's fucking dangerous." There's no derogatory tone there, just a flat statement. Perhaps even an approving one. "She's smart, and she slips into conversation like an water moccasin through the Mire. If Lord Haystacks is out to fuck us in the ass, he chose a good spy. If he isn't, he's a damned fool for giving us one." He taps one finger idly on the rim of his tankard, "I've been meaning to go out hunting, see some of the land. But the Young Lord Groves and the fucking wolfshead are on their way here, the both of them. Think you can find a good spot for a deer-hunt after they're gone? Just you, me, and Ren." And a half dozen huntsmen and beaters, of course, but they don't count. "Maybe just you and me."
Maybe Aeron hadn't quite considered the idea of Sabriel being a spy. It wasn't certainly something he had really encountered in the North, where people were far too busy just trying to not die of frostbite, or being dragged into the woods by the occasional band of Wildlings. Though it should something he should consider, even given how things between them seem so pleasant. "I think she feels appreciated here. Wanted. Besides, I don't know what they'd be to gain, but then again, information is always useful." That seems to unsettle him only slightly. "I speak to her often enough, Father. Almost every day. Should I notice anything out of the ordinary, I'll be sure to let you know, though I do believe that she'll more of an asset for us and not against us." He's in mid-drink before before he mentioned Groves and Ashwoods. "Them?" he says with more than a bit of distaste in his mouth. "I know we're making nice to the Ashwoods, Father, but, isn't just the peace you sorted out good enough? I say leave them to their business and ours to our own." Even as he says that, he sighs. "You'll understand if I don't like, but I also know why it's being done. As much as I'd like to think 'let bygones by bygones', that's far too optimistic." However, the thought of hunting with his father brightens his face, setting the pair of rolled maps on the table. "I did just finish a scouting venture I've been doing the past few days. I've marks where all the larger herds in the fields and forests surronding Stonebridge, at least, the ones I've seen. Now that the rainy season has begun, they'll be sticking around before moving on."
Tyroan nods his head sharply as his younger son works through the possibility of having a spy in their midst. He nods again at the opinion that the girl isn't a spy, "I don't think she's hear to fuck us…" there's a pause, and he gives a dry smirk, "Besides you eventually. But it's something to keep an eye out for." The complaints about the Ashwoods cause him to drain off a mouthful of the bitter Mire brew, swishing it around as if trying to rinse a foul taste from his mouth. Swallowing, he adds, "If I could spit that shitstain on a pike, I would. He damned near forced me to do it with what he said about Jocelyn. But for now, I'll keep the fucking peace. They're coming here with lumber and some craftsmen to help finish the repairs. After that, I'll feed them, give them their fucking guest gifts, and shove them on their way." He nods once more about the hunting, "Some time out of this fucking room would do me good. And your mother and Lady Sabriel seem to think you need a purpose."
"And I would be more than happy to light the fire if you did, Father." Aeron states about the idea of an Ashwood cook-out. "Good, the less they're here, the better it'll be. But a uncomfortable to swallow peace might be preferable to another bloody conflict." Then a nod. "Right, apart of the treaty. I suppose that's something. I'll make sure to be wary on who is exactly rebuilding what." Lumber is fine, but craftsmen that he's not familiar is something else. "Getting out would be good for you. I don't think you've really had time to actually relax since first arriving and I can understand how the walls sometimes feel like they're closing in." That last gets an odd look for him. Didn't need his mother or bride-to-be vouching for him. "I have a purpose, Father. I am here to serve Nayland and rebuild Stonebridge."
Tyroan nods his head, smirking tightly as he puts in, "You've got a duty. That's different." Taking a slug of his beer, he adds, "Now, you've got a purpose, even if it's a fucking short-lived one. I want you to work with the Highfield fuckers and make sure they don't do anything fucked up. After that, we'll see." That smirk returns, "And if you don't want women fucking worrying all over you, you'd better find a job to do. Something to keep you busy." The smirk fades, and he straightens up, a serious tone filtering into his voice, "Because your Mother and I do fucking need all of you. We're not going to be able to make Stonebridge ours without every one of us pulling our weight and more. Ren'll probably have to take over as Master at Arms, if not Captain of the Guard. There'll be a position for you, too."
Aeron visably blanches at having to be the face of the Naylands before the very people that tried to take it from them. "You mean I have to play patty-cake with the Naylands?" he says in a grim joke. Even if he doesn't question it, he won't question Tyroan. "I'll make sure they don't go anywhere they're not supposed to be. I won't see them spoiling all the work, the -good- work we've put into this place. Not after what we were left to work with." A deep pull is taken from his mug. "I know Mother frets over me, thinking that I'm going to run back to the North should I not like it here. And maybe in the past I had half-thought about it. But I'm here, I have a duty, and I'm here to serve. I will not abandon that duty now." Pause. "I will not leave my -family- now." A very Stark-ish thing for him to say. "Whatever you need me to do, Father, I'll see it done. Even if when I speak to them I'll have the urge to put an arrow through their eye sockets." Another nod. "Ren needs a challenge. He was trained to be a leader, I think he should be given the chance to prove it." Now he's vouching for his brother? What happened to the real Aeron and who is this?
Tyroan shakes his head, "Oh fuck no. Your mother and I'll be doing the fucking glad-handing with the wolfshead and his sister. You just get to make sure the craftsmen themselves don't fuck shit up." The Stark-ish statement is also very Nayland-y, and so it draws a sharp, approving nod. "If I can resist twisting that son of a bitch's head off like a fucking wine cork, you can resist feathering him." The commentary on his brother draws a snort, "We'll see how he does as a leader. I'm sure he'll be fine. And it's not like there's fucking much for the Master at Arms to do here. No little pissant lordlings who need their asses tanned when they skip out on sword lessons."
"Better you and Mother, then." Aeron almost looks relieved at that. "Though I think Mother knows how to deal with people like better than most, though it's not like I don't approve your methods as well. At least, those who were just trying to kill the people here little more than a month ago." Draining his mug, he seems to consider. "I'm sure he'll do fine. If anything, he'll enjoy the title of the rank, though sometimes I get the feeling he's just waiting for something. I would rather prevent anything happening. Being vigilant pays off more than reacting to something harshly, even if that too has it's place. But, with age, I think Ren will become a just fine leader of men. With age. But I can handle the craftsmen, make sure they can't run around unchecked. I'll be sure to set an example if it comes down to it, even if I prefer they get along. But, it pays to expect otherwise. If anything, it'll be one less thing you or Mother will have stress over."
Tyroan blinks in a way that is somehow… sarcastic. "What, you don't approve of my headbutting people until they agree to do what I want?" He draws off another measure of his beer, then sets aside the now-much-lighter tankard, smirking hard, "And what in the seven hells do you know about what comes with age, boy?" Amusement filters into the words more than castigation, and he snorts, waving it off, "Go on, keep charming your Haigh girl. Just don't tumble into her fucking haystack until after you're married. Find us a good place for a hunt, and keep an eye on those craftsmen when they show up."
Aeron holds up a hand slightly. "Oh, no, Father. I do approve of that method, just only when the other party is too stubborn to see the proper point of view. Subtlety can sometimes be pointless. As for age, I know that your elders are respected for a reason." That's all he says on that. "I will, Father. Though I admit, her body is…well, four months need to pass as quickly as possible. If nothing else, she makes a good friend."
Tyroan snorts softly, "A good friend that you want to turn over a barrel and hammer like a bent nail." Rolling his eyes in amusement, he adds, "That sounds like it'll turn out real fucking well." He points a warning — and joking — finger at his youngest son, "If you ruin Lord Haystack's chosen girl before the bedding and he takes back the dowry, I'll fucking cut your balls off." No, that's not a serious threat. Waving him off, he looks over the disarray of papers and books, "Be there when the Groves and Ashwoods arrive if you can. And see if you can find Ren before they get here."
"I respect her more than doing anything that would endanger her like that." Aeron notes, smiling a little at his father's words. Could be that's just the way he shows he cares. A little bit. "I think, no matter what happens, that it might turn out alright. Better to get along with her and have less stressful marriage than have a frozen one with an equally frozen wife. Believe it or not, Father, I could only hope I have as decent a marriage as you and Mother." Getting out of his chair, he nods. "I will be there. I'll make sure Ren is there as well. Try to not drag him outside to make an appearence."
Tyroan smirks at the description of his own marriage, "You get used to one another, after a while. Time smooths down all barriers. Or some shit like that." He takes a swig of his beer, finishing it off and setting aside the tankard. Evidently, that was his last word, trusting to his son to gather up his elder brother without further chivying. Pulling one of the ledgers toward him, the aged Steward begins to page back through it, grumbling words under his breath that descend further and further into curses.