|Summary:||Hardwicke attempts to coordinate the coordinated. Caytiv provides musical accompaniment.|
|Date:||January 17, 2012|
|Related Logs:||Together Again and Staying and Going|
|Roof Terrace — Four Eagles Tower|
|This is open to the air except for the rookery at the opposite end of the open walkway. Parapets and crenellations are about.|
|January 17, 289|
The sun is setting on the town that is now recovering slowly from its occupation of the barbarian horde.. er.. Ironborn. Shops and homes are ruined, and some rebuilding efforts begin with a razing of the structure, to rebuild it completely. There are controlled cooking fires that dot the town, and the various locations that have been set up are easy to spot in the dwindling light— the infirmary, the different community 'soup kitchens', and the different billets of the various Houses.
Anders Flint is on the roof, on the parapet of the keep— the first time he's been up here, and is looking over the town, his arms behind his back, fingers entwined. No cloak covers his shoulders, though some might feel a chill in the air. He doesn't wear his armour like others might, or do, but rather is in his 'everyday', which is set a little finer than most homespun that others may choose. He is turned towards the south, looking over to where his encampment lies, the fires more a glow than an actual dot that can be seen distinctly, and he exhales, his expression contemplative.
In contrast, Hardwicke is in breastplate and full Terrick livery, his longsword belted at his hip, as he has been wont to do. The searching flicker of his dark gaze suggests a search, perhaps directed to the parapets by a helpful servant who saw the Young Lord Flint head in this direction. "Ah," he says when he spots him, moving the last distance to the parapet Anders occupies. "My Lord Flint. A word, if I might?"
Caytiv hasn't been much at the tower itself since his return with the troops from Stonebridge, but as the night's made all and sundry to put down their labors and quit clearing debris, taking their suppers and thereafter taking their rests, Cayt finds his way up to the parapet, his old haunt, with his lionskin rolled and tied in rope hanging at his back, evidently meaning to take the night up here if he is let to. He's wearing riding trousers rather more fine than most of the commoners would wear, but his shirt is of the same course linen, if dyed the black of his father's land.
Anders takes a hearbeat before turning around fully to the words, and he does so slowly. His fingers unclasp, allowing his hands to swing naturally back to his side as he looks to identify who has called to him. "Yes?" comes first as the acknowledgment that he is who, well, he is before, "May I ask what it is about?" Friendly enough, cordial.. before he follows it with, "Ser." Caytiv's entrance onto to the parapet earns the lad a glance of recognition; one of the Lady Camden's friends, before he returns to Hardwicke. "Is there something amiss?"
A quick glance takes in Caytiv's arrival, though Hardwicke's gaze lingers on the lionskin with a thinning disapproval. "Hill," he says gruffly before looking back to Anders. "Not amiss, my lord. Lady Anais asked me to speak to you. Said you had offered to send your men on foraging parties, and she thought it best we coordinate your searches with some of the smallfolk. They'll be familiar with the area and know best where to look."
Caytiv meets Anders' glance with one tired but not yet sleepy, a work-worn look that is heightened with a tacit nod of greeting, eyes lingering on the Lord before Hardwicke arrests his attention and, "Ay," he tells him, but doesn't interject further than that, not otherwise interrupt their discussion. He's listening, though, for certain, as he looks back to Anders when the matter is put to him.
A hand rises, and Anders shakes his head. "What I said was that we will not be a drain on your hospitality. She asked that we be paired with townfolk when we move about, and we are.. in the spirit of .. cooperation. Your folk get a feeling of protection and we get a feel for the land. It is mutually beneficial. I have offered that whatever we do manage to find, we will certainly give back to the town." His brows rise, "Is there more, now, that she wishes? If there is, tell me, ser.. and I will see what it is we can do." Caytiv's nod is given a response now, though he knows the single syllabled word is for the other man. "So far, we have managed some fishing from shore, some bread with the stores we brought, and some brewing, though our ale will not be ready before we depart the Roost. And, the leftover fish has been given." Anders pauses before, "Does she wish that we specifically aid her hunting and fishing parties?" He doesn't sound.. averse to the idea, but he's seeking information.
Caytiv crouches slowly by the parapet, then shifts his center of balance backward and his knees down and forward until he's on his knees, sitting on his upturned heels. The lionskin roll is brought from his back to rest across his lap, and from one end of the roll he pulls a reed-tipped pipe, and from the other end a second, slightly smaller pipe of similar craftsmanship. He listens to the give-and-take of the men of note.
A single brow arches as Hardwicke considers the younger knight. "Perhaps I am coming late to the discussion," he says a bit dryly. "If you've already partnered and benefitted from the guidance of the locals, I may have little left to arrange, my lord."
Caytiv takes a bit of rough wool string tied around one of the pipes and winds it in an easy figure eight such that the long pipe and the short pipe are joined into one instrument, their reeds lined up side by side as he watches the knights in their discussion.
Anders cants his head in askance, confusion playing upon his visage for a moment before he straightens again. "Ser?" Beat. "Benefitted?" He exhales slowly, his expression shifting towards the more neutral as he first glances at Caytiv, and then back to the knight before him. "We have been able to feed ourselves, Ser. Is that the lady's intent, that we pair ourselves with your townsmen for their protection and our benefit, or is there more she wishes, like.. our fishermen teaching your hunters how to fish? Or perhaps your children how to do so so that their tables may be filled? If that is her desire, then that is yet to be arranged."
Both brows lift now. "We do reside on the Cape of Eagles, Ser. Our smallfolk know well how to fish as well as hunt." Hardwicke tips his chin down, his hands folding loosely at the small of his back. "Lady Anais requested I arrange a partnering between our smallfolk and your men, that the townspeople might be able to guide your soldiers to the most likely areas as well as be reassured of the safety of the area now that the siege is broken. I have been given no instructions beyond that, no."
"Ah.. apologies then. I was given the impression they were afraid to take to their boats for fear of the Ironborn. I stand corrected," is the easy reply. Anders inclines his head in acknowledgment of the words and considers. "What I can do is give you what I have.. our paths, our foraging totals, and who my men are with. Then, you can look it over and see whether it is satisfactory to you and to your Young Lord and Lady. Will that satisfy that which she has bid you do?" He offers a slight smile, his tones echoing it, "We wouldn't wish for you to return to your Lady with empty hands." Anders takes the moment to step aside in prelude to a slow pace, "I took it upon myself, ser, in the interest of.. good will, of which we have very little at the moment for some reason. I would wish different, but that is not the case. A request such as that which the Lady made is easily taken by me, and I believe would go a long way in relations. If I have caused difficulty, I seek to give ease."
Caytiv slides both reeds over his lower lip, and, puffing out his cheeks like some sort of bullfrog, he elicits from the matched pipes a low droning noise, oddly loud for such a little instrument, but not unpleasant— well, perhaps not. Likely it depends on your taste in music. It's a rustic sound, lacking in polish, hearty.
"A natural fear of the enemy that had been occupying their homes is quite different than a lack of ability to fish, my lord," Hardwicke points out evenly. He opens his mouth to continue, only to find his attention quite suddenly drawn to those bullfrog pipes. He stares at Caytiv a moment before looking back to Anders. "Very well, my lord. And I will speak with the smallfolk accompanying you to make sure that all the likely areas are being explored." A beat, and then, his voice dry once more, "I'm sure that Lady Anais feels nothing but good will for your obliging cooperation."
Caytiv lets his feet slide out from under him, knees bending and then rising as he moves from sitting on his heels to sitting on the stones, back against the parapet, his attention moving from the men and their negotiations to the music of the pipes, such as it could be called music, a little trill here and there over the droning, but he's obviously not all of that good at it. A hobby, maybe, but not one he takes much time for.
And there it is, the perceived snarked swipe. Very nice. Smooth. Anders smiles, though it doesn't quite make his eyes to lighten his regard. All is taken into account for further relations with the massive Flint holdings to the north. They may not be rich, but they are large. His tones are even, courteous. "Thank you, ser." With the words, he looks to Caytiv now, the pipes buzzing and humming in the rustic, earthy-sounding music. He listens for a couple more long moments before he looks first to the knight, "I wish you good evening," before departing, and a nod to Caytiv, acknowledging the lad at the pipes, and the music. "Good evening, squire." before he looks to depart the parapet.
Hardwicke bristles very slightly at Anders' smile, but it is a common enough reaction from the knight. He watches the Flint go before looking back to Caytiv with someone of an exasperated expression. "I'm going to push you off soon enough," he tells him before stalking off back into the keep.
Caytiv lifts his head at what sounded, through the dim buzzing of the pipes, rather like a threat. "Ay?" he asks, brow drawing as he regards the knight there.
"Just keep it down," Hardwicke says in a grumble over his shoulder before he's gone.