|Summary:||Ozric has a few questions for Daryl.|
|Related Logs:||None. Well, none specific.|
|The Green — Terrick's Roost|
|A large grassy area bordering the keep.|
|December 13th, 289 A.L.|
It's a bright and clear day out, the early afternoon, just following another search party which inches closer and closer to its goal. "Come on, make it quick," Daryl speaks impatiently, seated at a table, his arm stretched over its surface. His forearm armor is removed, and a house retainer seems to be tendin to a cut that runs along his skin, from elbow to right before his wrist. He clenches his jaw and exhales as ointment is spread along the length of it. Nearby, a couple Terrick guards are on standby. The Ashwood shifts some, getting more comfortable, until the servant tending to him pleads, "Please…Stay still, M'lord." They are out on the green, the area right outside the keep itself. Daryl grumbles but doesn't move much after the request.
Well, the Lady Ceinlys gave her word that she would seek out the Young Terrick Lord. Today seems as good a day as any, particularly with the latest developments in the search for her daughter. Generally speaking, the Steward of Broadmoor has a reputation for an air of calm, pragmatic authority when it comes to dealing with those of other Houses. This proposed audience however may be deserving of another tack entirely. We shall see.
Apparently having decided to stretch her palfrey's legs - and save herself the walk to the keep yet again - the noblewoman makes her way up the lane at a brisk trot, flanked by just two guards in fairly plain livery. By Haigh standards, anyway. And trailing along at the back on a borrowed chestnut dray is her handmaid. The one with the face that could sour milk. Has her young mistress heard of the 'scuffle' in the Sept gardens? More than likely. Even here, she tries to have eyes everywhere. Does she care? Considerably less probable. The disagreements of the newly betrothed are rather far beneath the concerns of the lady.
Ever closer and yet far enough away, that it seems to taunt the hunters on and on. What little sleep was had is gone with the morning, and then as parties come back in to make reports in the afternoon, so does the Lord of the Tower make time to see to requests, and some of the other mre important business of the Roost. Amongst that is seeing to disputes where small, or in this case-grave. Coming out from the tower, dressed in fresh hunting leathers, is the rather tall and one eye'd lord himself. He is flanked by a squire and an armsman, as he takes his strides over towards where the Ashwood lord has seated himself. One of those assigned to mind him, does given the incoming knight a brief nod, as he moves to stand straighter. The knight, raises one hand before he is looking back towards Darly.
"Lord Ashwood, a moment." said softly, before he is looking to the incoming Lady. Oh good, more company. Still she recieve a brief nod-before he is looking back tothe man-and more importantly his lone eye fixates onto the tending of the wound.
Daryl doesn't seem to care for the matter in the Sept garden very much either, or that seems to be the emotion on his face. Impatience. He had rode out in the search party, and was eager to compare findings and have time to search the maps for probable locations of a cave hideout…They were -so- close. The wound seems fresh still, and will not be completely healed for some time. Regardless, it isn't actively bleeding, and Daryl rises before it can be bandaged, much to the dismay of the servant, though she dare not speak up now. Daryl steps towards Ozric, though hears the sound of approaching hooves. As the Ashwood spots Ceinlys, he dips his head in brief greeting, his attention going to Ozric then, "M'lord?" He inquires, seeing if this is about the search or the scuffle.
Reining in a little as her party draws closer to the green which borders the tower, Ceinlys tilts her head a little as one of her companions addresses her - perhaps informing her of just who the unfamiliar lord is. Well, how fortuitous. Men are so much easier to converse with outside in the fresh air, rather than in stuffy little rooms over paltry little cups served by dim-witted little servants. With a vague, wolfish smile the Steward alters her course subtly, drawing her palomino to a loping walk in order to grant the pair their chance to make decisions. Stay or go? Metaphors or plain-speaking? It's a merry dance, at times, this game. Still, both nods are politely returned as the young lady makes her unhurried approach.
With the eye focused on the wound, Ozric merely gives a brief cut of eye back towards Darly. "Just the precise thing, I wished to see you about." And there his finger point-but does not come close to touching or prouding said wound. No need to give the servant extra work, when the discomfort is evident in the moving of the lord before him. A shift of weight, and Ozric's hand moves to hook easily at his belt. "Do you mind telling me, of the events that lead to you recieving that particular cut?" A raise of his brow there before he gives an unworried glance to the rider and her horse. "I know we have no boar that tall-nor did you have such a wound when I saw you the other night."
As the wound is pointed towards, Daryl follows the gesticulation, nodding softly, though it can visibly be seen his mind would rather dwell on the search. "Surely," Daryl says, recalling the event, "Yesterday, I was in the sept garden with my betrothed, Lady Aemy Erenford." There's a pause, another look towards the incoming woman, and the Ashwood says, "I found it unusual that she had two guards with her that day, and not the one. So I asked why it was so." He shakes his head, his brows furrowing, "I wish I never had said a word. The man, Symon…"
"Did you provoke the man with action, or language?" Ozric asks carefully, before he is shifting his stance again, likely preparing to welcome the incoming lady. But, not yet, of course. Ozric keeps his focus, mainly on Daryl, even if his eye flicks up ever now and then to check the lady's progress. "Go on, please." the knight requests, in his usual gruff voice. At least, there are no cold looks as the Erenford party recieved, till lady Aemy began to talk.
"…replied that it was because I had little honor." He shakes his head. "A petty argument. But I pursued it. I told him as a commoner and chaperone, it was not his place to verbally voice his opinion about my honor." He looks directly at Ozric, "He again disrespected me in front of my betrothed. I lost my temper, spat on the man, and turned away to speak to Lady Aemy…But I wasn't the only one who lost my temper." Another look towards the approaching Erenford, yet he continues, "I heard his steps first. As I turned to look back at Symon, he was already upon me. He had a knife in his hand, one I had not seen on him before, likely hidden under his armor. He dug it into me, but I was able to push him away and draw my sword. I instructed the other guard to take Lady Aemy somewhere safe. He didn't make any more aggressive actions, perhaps he realized the seriousness of what he had just done, as he had put the knife on his belt." A pause, "Thats when I moved for the keep to report this."
"Like that." Ozric says as his brow barely raises. "He produced a knife and then placed the thing, bloody no doubt, back into his belt?" And there the Terrick Lord mulls about words, his head andgaze drooping for a moment. "Why did your men, not seek to take him or detain him until my guards could be called?" And there he looks back towards Daryl. "Surely if he had stabbed you, the knife would be fresh, and his hand red to mark the crime would it not?" And with that he is coming over to inspect the wound itself, leaning down. A glance over to the servant. "How deep would you say it is?" Ozric asks over his shoulder, before he reaches to tap said servant on the shoulder. "Did your men see to this wound, or did you seek out our Septon? One of our other healers?"
Daryl listens to Ozric, brow raising just a touch, and a nod. "Correct." When he inquires further, the Ashwood shakes his head, "I was alone, Lord Ozric. And wounded. Not to mention that even as my position as deputy of Highfield, I do not have authority to make arrests here. Well, unless permission is given by you. At the moment I did not have it, so I hurried to the keep. My wound was tended to there, as I had lost some blood on the way."
The servant looks up as she is addressed, "Quite, my Lord, for a cut. It will likely require stitching…" A look to Daryl, "Once it is properly tended to." Pointedly.
"Indeed, you cannot." Ozric replies before he is waving a hand at something, likely a fly. "Can you tell me who tended to your wound?" A glance back to the Servant in question and he nods. "Then, I will recommend that you take this to our Septon, as he has deft hands for these matters." Ozric says, before he is looking back towards Daryl. "Despite what law you cannot enforce in my lands, I believe you could have detained a man, without arresting him. I take it, the man left with his own knife?" A raised brow there, before air is pushed evenly from his nostrils. "I see..As it is right now, Lord Daryl. I am going to keep men on you, and on the Erenfords, and ask that you stay away from your intended until we have this matter clear." A glance back to the other man. "I shall not keep you from her long-and you will know when an arrest or any such action has been made." And there a bit of a coldness seeps into his words. "I do not like having to pull men from this, to insure that those searching do not murder one another." A glance is given back to the Ashwood. "Anything else?"
Hmm. This doesn't look much like a lordling's sunny-day picnic, does it. Though bright blue eyes take in each of them with unabashed interest, Ceinlys remains well out of earshot. All she can judge the atmosphere upon is expression and body language. But that, apparently, is enough. With just a fractional adjustment of her reins, she steers her palfrey to overshoot the men and divery more toward the tower once more. Whatever that discussion is, quite frankly she doesn't want to be roped into it. She has enough on her platter, of late.
"Nor do I, Lord Ozric. There should be no distraction from the search, and as I will continue to be out looking, atleast the men you intended for me will be put to good use." He bites his lip as he thinks, "One of your house retainers, though…I did not ask name." As he suggests going to the septon, Daryl nods. "This is of little importance, and that is the reason I did not risk detaining him while I was already hurt. I care little what happens to the man, atleast until we find Lady Hafwen. Just please. Ensure M'lady is safe. I can't trust the man who stands beside her and calls her 'friend' yet tries to gut her betrothed." A shake of his head, "Lets focus on the girl. Then? Do whatever justice you see fitting. I care not."
Daryl watches as Ceinlys turns away, and he raises a brow then, trying to catch her gaze before she leaves.
<FS3> Ceinlys rolls Ignoring Daryl: Success.
"Good, and keep the hunt in the forefront of your mind." Ozric states before he is looking over to where Ceinlys has turned her horse. A brief shrug, before the lord turns, and begins to stalk back towards the tower. "Get it looked at." he comments over his shoulder, likely about the man's wound. "And then get back out." With that, the one eye'd knight is off to see to some other things.