Page 201: Recycling Helms
Recycling Helms
Summary: Markus goes by to check on Aleister, and is given an interesting offer for his efforts.
Date: 03/Feb/2012
Related Logs: Battle for Seagard logs.
Aleister Markus 
Charlton Pavilion
The interior of the Lord Charlton's pavilion.

It's certainly been a rough week for Aleister and there's been no concealing the fact that he's been in and out of sanity, for word has clearly been spreading around the various camps that the Charlton Master at Arms was most certainly not himself. But, yesterday, something changed. The Lady Flint had come by to conduct her treatments and she managed to finally break the fever.

It's now been twenty-four hours since that treatment and with all traces of the fever gone, Aleister certainly looks better then he had and he's apparently feeling better, for he's risen from that mat and moved to a table. There, a lamp has been placed and the Lord seems to reviewing a few pieces of parchments, most of which contain a spattering of notes, written in haste with penmenship that is most certainly .. lacking.

One of the Lord's attendants, or perhaps his squire depending, would come to announce that Ser Markus Ilgrave is without, and wishes to come and pay his respects and wishes for well-being to the Lord Charlton.

As one of the attendants announces the presence of Markus outside of the tent, Aleister is settling the parchments to one side before giving a slight nod of his head, "Very well. Send him in." He doesn't rise from his spot, though he does shift a bit in his seat to more fully face the entrance to the tent.

Booted feet sound upon the floor as Markus steps within, ducking a bit as he enters the pavilion and blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the relative shade of the tent's interior. "My lord," he greets, as he bows his head to the man. "I hope I am not intruding overmuch on you?" He notes, before the man can reply, "It is good to see you up and about again."

Once Markus slips within the confines of the pavilion, Aleister is offering the man a slight incline of his head and a quick, "It is no interruption, Ser Markus." A pause is taken, a faint steadying of a breath before he continues. "I must admit that it is good to be up, though I fear I must still take it easy. But, I understand that I have you to thank for seeing to my life." A hand lifts, motioning almost idly to a table to the side, one that contains a pitcher and several goblets, "There is wine if you so desire."

His lips quirk a fraction as he steps over to the table indicated, looking over at Aleister when he says, "I can only claim a bit of the credit, my lord. As you might've seen from the helm I left you… that hammer of yours did most of hard work," Markus insists. "Would my lord have a cup of wine?" In lieu of a squire or a servant present, the sellsword seems fine enough with serving the nobleman.

Now, that trademark smirk of Aleister's begins to hint across his lips as he offers a quick shake of his head, "While that might be the case, Ser, in the end, I failed to take him down. Had you not intervened, I might very well have found my life forfeit." The mention of wine has him giving another quick shake of his head and a soft chuckle before he's offering, "No, unfortunately not. I'm afraid that I must remain with water for the time being. One of the few conditions the maester imposed upon allowing me the freedom to move about the pavilion." Again, his hand lifts, indicating that Markus should partake if he wishes. "Tell me, Ser Markus, to which Lord do you bend your knee?"

The knight frowns. "A shame, I should have liked to share a cup with you. Perhaps when you are better, then?" The pitcher of wine is set back down without ever having been poured from, and Markus crosses over to join the Lord. He doesn't yet sit, though, on account of waiting to be invited. "As to my knee, it does not bend at present. I collect a wage from Lord Anders Flint, to whom I've accepted a commission lasting until the conflict's end."

"Then so we shall, Ser Markus. For now, though, I will abide by what the Maester has requested of me." With the pitcher going unpoured and Markus making his way to the table, Aleister lifts a hand to motion to one of the other seats in a silent invitation of sorts. The news that the Knight doesn't bend a knee to a particular Lord has his brow lifting .. or some semblence of such, for most of his brow is still concealed beneath a bandage, "IS that so?" A quirk of his lips back to a smirk and a slight drum of fingers against the top of the table is given before he's offering, "House Charlton could use one such as your self, Ser Markus, and I know my lady wife would be happy to know that the man who saved her husband, was amongst the Knights sworn to his House."

He lowers himself into the creaking camp chair, looking grateful for the invitation. "Service in House Charlton?" Markus lets out a slow breath in a way that betrays he had not given it much thought before then, though he seems pleased enough with the suggestion. "I find the Lord Anders and his wife good sorts, and I have not languished in their employ… but there is much attractive about the idea of a more permanent post." He draws a breath, and asks, "How many knights does your House boast, my lord?"

Settled into the seat across from Markus, Aleister certainly looks better for a second day in a row. A simple nod comes to be offered in the other Knight's direction, followed by the hint of a soft chuckle, "Aye, the Northerner is not of a bad sort, Ser. I have known him for many a year now." Settling back into his seat, his hands come to clasp upon the table, "House Charlton boasts fifty knights."

"That is an impressive force, my lord, though I wonder at what hope I have to make a mark amongst so many surely talented men," Markus admits, not at all playing coy about the invitation, but rather serious, his chin propped up against the fist of the arm he leans on the chair. His smiles a touch, noting, "I can say, at least, I am pleased you would think me worth their company."

Lifting a hand, Aleister gives a slight wave, as of dismissing the mention of how impressive it is and when the hand comes to lower, he's offering, "You have already made your mark, Ser Markus." Once more, his hands come to clasp before him, "As the Master at Arms for House Charlton, it is I who is responsible for training the Knights and then commanding them in battle. Your worth has already been proved. Your measure weighed and tested."

He chuckles at some internal thought, and shakes his head but faintly. "The thought of being sworn to service," Markus explains, his free hand settling on the surface betwixt the men. "It is a rather appealing one, my lord. And to a House that stands so high, clearly on the accomplishments of those that bear its name…"

A knowing nod is given by Aleister as the smirk begins to once again hint at the corner of his lips, "I can well imagine, Ser." The mention of accomplisments, though, draws a quick laugh and then a short, gasping breath as the Lord is clearly not entirely healed. But, he continues on, as if it was simply routine. "There is a reason that House Frey considers us their most loyal and powerful of their bannermen, Ser Markus." Now, he's leaning forward a touch, an arm coming to rest upon the table, "Unlike some, we do not sit idle and hope that fortune finds us. We earn our wealth and position and those that are sworn to us are well looked after."

Markus exhales a long breath, his eyes favoring the features of the man across from him. "Would my lord take insult if I had no answer for him just now, and took a matter of time to think his offer over?" he wonders, asking without quite asking.

Considering that in which Markus asks, Aleister offers a quick chuckle as he gives a slow shake of his head, "No insult will come to be taken, Ser Markus, should you wish time to consider the offer that has been placed before you. It is, after all, the least that I can do for the service that you have already provided to my House."

"Well, I'm pleased you find it so, my lord. Though I think it only my duty on the battlefield, and am merely pleased I was able to perform it so," Markus assures him, not quite demurring from the remarks but not basking in it either. "Might I put a question to you, my lord?"

"Others would not share your sentiment, Ser Markus, but your words are truly appreciated." Aleister's own words come with a somewhat firmer nod of his head and at the mention of a question, a hand is lifting to give a continue motion, even as he voices such a thing, "Please, Ser Markus, ask that in which you must."

"Lord Volmark was a noble and a champion amongst the Ironborn. He was outfitted as such," Markus points out, leaning back into the camp chair, "And as the man who fell him, the choice of spoils falls to you first. I apologize if talk of spoils seems a touch… petty for a Lord of so wealthy a House, but I must ask sooner, rather than later. I procured his treasure, the helm included, for your safekeeping should you wish it, and it would be untoward of me to hold it much longer without informing you."

There's perhaps a moment's surprise that crosses Aleister's features, but he's quickly concealed back behind the curve of his lips to a smirk and a slight incline of his head in the direction of Markus, "Again, you have my thanks, Ser Markus. In terms of the spoils, I wish nothing more then the breastplate that Lord Volmark wore. The rest," His hand lifts, giving an idly wave before lowering, "you may do as you wish with."

He nods, firm, showing neither pleasure nor displeasure with the Lord's request. "I shall see to it that the breastplate is delivered. Thank you," Markus adds, at the end. "And, for what it is worth, I do hope you keep the helm as a reminder. It was quite the sight, even after I cleaned it of the man's gore."

"Very well, thank you," comes the immediate reply from Aleister, though it's quickly followed by a low, lingering laugh as he casts a look in the direction of a chest, no doubt where the helm has been concealed. "Oh, you needn't worry, Ser Markus, it will come to serve as a reminder. I will be having one of the Charlton smithie's looking at attempting to remove the dents and to repair the metal, to try and restore it's previous image." For what reason, though, is left unsaid.

Markus' lips curve upward at that comment from the Charlton knight. "Dare I suspect my lord will wear it into battle during the invasion of the Iron Isles?" he asks, his interest easily piqued on this topic, at the very least.

The question from Markus draws another laugh from Aleister's lips and a slight bow of Aleister's head in the Knight's direction before he's offering, "Indeed I shall, my wound permitting of course. I think it would be a rather .. fitting display, since it seems to be a well known symbol amongst the raiders of the Iron Isles."

His smile becomes more of a smirk, and he nods with satisfaction. "Good. I'll do what I can to keep near by in case the few that aren't cowed by the sight think to undo some insult to their sea-salted pride." Markus' hands settle on the arms of the camp chair and he says, "In the meantime, I wish you a swift recovery."

His smile becomes more of a smirk, and he nods with satisfaction. "Good. I'll do what I can to keep near by in case the few that aren't cowed by the sight think to undo some insult to their sea-salted pride." Markus' hands settle on the arms of the camp chair and he says, "In the meantime, I wish you a swift recovery."

"Then, Ser Markus, I shall look forward to having you fight by my side. I know that such a thing will settle the thoughts of my lady wife." Now, Aleister's hands come to rest on the table as he uses it as leverage to aid in lifting himself from his chair and once he's standing, a single hand and arm come to be offered in the other Knight's directin. "Thank you, Ser. I look forward to when we meet again."

Markus stands along with the noble lord, and extends his hand and arm to take what is offered and give a firm shake. "You and I both, my lord Charlton. My best to your Lady, and your health." When he is released, the man does offer another bow of his head before he turns and quits the pavilion.