|Summary:||Senna runs into Hugh in Stonebridge, and the pair talks about serving Naylands.|
|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.|
|June 7, 289|
Hugh is wandering along the road, a bit aimlessly. He is whistling as he looks at his surroundings. He is young, but he is tall, lanky. he seems to be caught mid growth spurt.
Aimless is not something Senna does often. Instead, she does purpose. And at the moment, she has one large basket on her hip and another balanced on her head as she makes her way up the path toward the keep. There's fabric, there's fruit, there's bread…Supply run, maybe? As she approaches Hugh, she considers the young man with a brief curl of a smile. "Ahoy there," she calls over to the young man, picking her way up the path. "Not headed for the keep, are you?"
Hugh looks over at the woman with the baskets and the great sense of balance. He flashes a smile, "I am not heading anywhere, really." He follows it with a shrug. "I am getting the lay of the land," he says in a rather officious way, which sounds odd from the young man. He looks at the basket on her head and something nags at him. Something in his training. 'Do you need help?"
Senna was possibly counting on that. "It would be nice," she agrees, smile flashing as she shifts her weight to one hip to better support the basket there. "You may be getting the lay of the land, but I'm headed back to Tordane Tower, myself. Special delivery to resupply after the recent influx of ladies. Care to accompany me?"
Hugh steps closer to the woman and reaches out his big hands towards the basket on her head, "Shall I take that one? You know a bunch of people left already. They say it's too dangerous here now." He looks at her, "I haven't seen you yet. I'm Hugh Asterholm. I am the Lord Regent's new squire."
Senna bends her knees to put the basket in Hugh's reach, straightening once he has hold of the basket. "Dangerous is such a relative term," she chuckles, glancing over her shoulder toward the village. "Besides, this place has been a battleground for the better part of the last year. No one's turned to force of arms yet except for the Ironborn, and the Naylands were able to keep them out. I wouldn't worry too much over the Charltons." Shifting her basket to her other hip, she continues up the road toward the keep, smile easy. "Are you, now? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Squire Asterholm. I'm Senna Delacourt, a retainer for the Naylands."
Hugh takes the basket easily, "The pleasure is mine, Mistress Delacourt. And I am not worried about them. I have faith in my cousins' abilities. I just wish that I could help a little more. I am so new that, I haven't been able to do much." He speaks as though he is starved for conversation and his words trip out enthusiastically. "Do you like serving my cousins?"
Senna quirks a brow at that question, though her smile lingers. "I'm proud to serve the family," she answers. "Sometimes I enjoy it more than other times, but that's life. The Naylands were kind enough to take me in after the war, when I didn't really have anywhere else to go. So it seems to me I owe them a little something in return. What about you? How do you like squiring for your cousin?"
Hugh grins, "I don't know yet, but I assume I will. I like him. And I have been preparing for something like this. I just came down from Hag's Mire a couple of days ago with him. He seems tired form the battle with the kidnappers, so she has told me to get to know the place. But Stonebridge is very small, isn't it? But perhaps if there is danger ahead, I can be of some use." He looks at the woman as he joins her in her walk to the tower. "What did you buy for the ladies? And which ladies?"
"He ought to be tired," Senna smirks at Hugh's description of Riordan. "I gave him enough sleeping draught to take down a horse last night. He needed it," she adds in self-defense, before he can protest. "He asked for it. It's good to hear it worked, though." She rifles through her basket at his question, looking things over. "Oh, well. I've got apples and honey for some tarts. Picked up some butter while I was in town. And some fresh linen for shifts, because I don't think we'll be salvaging what they were wearing any time soon."
Hugh blinks in response to Senna, "Are you a healer, then? I didn't know that." And the cogs in his brain churn inside his head. "Are all the ladies well? I saw one being carried by a knight in a quilt. She was leaving as well." He looks at her and lowers his voice a little, "Do you have any suggestion for pimples?" He raises his forelocks and shows her one rather small one on his forehead, but he looks as pained about it as if it were a sword wound. Then yet another question, "Are you going to make tarts yourself?"
Senna watches the squire as she walks, not quite managing to hide her amusement. "I am a healer," she answers the first question first. "And rather a good one, if I do say so myself. Which is why I can tell you that Lady Muirenn had taken ill from the damp in the cave, but she has a rather delicate constitution anyhow. The rest of the ladies didn't suffer from much more than nerves, thankfully." She leans in to take a look at the pimple, considering. "I can make you something for it. Nothing but time will stop them from showing up now and then, though. As for the tarts, I think I'll leave that to the chefs."
Hugh lets his hair flop back down over the offending red spot, and he makes a face, seemingly oblivious to any amusement that she might show. "That's what the healer up in Hag's Mire told me too. That I will just have to wait." He sighs, "But I would appreciate it if you have something. I got one on my nose a few days ago. Thank the seven it is gone now." Puberty sucks. He looks a little concerned, "The Lady Muirenn seems pretty ill. Do you think she will die from it all?" she is the healer, so she must know." and no. He seems to have no filter. At least not one that works all that well, yet.
"Die? Gods, no," Senna shakes her head. "Not of three days in a cave. If she did, it'd be more because she's been sickly than that anyhow. But for your spots, I can make you some alcohol with witch hazel to dab on it. Not," she cautions, pointing a finger at the young man, "For drinking under any circumstances. It'll make you truly sick, and you don't want that."
Hugh rolls his eyes a little, "I won't drink it. I am sure I can get a proper drink if I just ask." His wide mouth quirks into a smile, "Well, I am glad she won't die. AT least not yet. I don't know her, but it would be sad, I suppose. As a healer, have you had to dress battle wounds before? What was the worst you have seen?"
"I've dressed many battle wounds," Senna answers with some amusement, shifting the basket to her other hip. "I travelled with the forces to Seagard when the Greyjoys decided they'd had enough of playing nice. Ser Gedeon's gut wound took an infection, which was very ugly. But I have to say, the amputations are always the worst."
Hugh's eyes light up with a morbid curiosity than only sadists and teenage boys can possess. "Well, yes, the amputations have to be sickly, right? With the fellow screaming as you saw his bones. Have you taken off a whole leg before? And what do you do with the leftoverbits?"
"Burn them if you can," Senna wrinkles her nose. "Bury them. Sometimes the man wants to have a whole damned burial for the thing. I don't much keep track of that part, though. Once the limb is off and there's no infection, I'm finished. But yes, they're ugly things. Best avoided if one plans to be a knight for any amount of time."
Hugh listens and nods as if taking her advice to heart. "Oh…I don't think I'd like to lose a limb. I will be a very good knight, though. I am already begun my training." He boasts a little. "I'm strong. I will be very strong when I'm older."
"That's one part of being a knight," Senna agrees, smile wry. "Though there's a bit more to it than that. But I imagine you've got plenty of time to work out what sort of knight you're going to be. Ser Riordan's a good knight to squire under. Well thought of, good at his job. He should do well by you."
Hugh nods, "My aunt is proud of him. My father says I have have a good opportunity. I just hope he has some time to train me." He hesitates and asks curiously, "You said you were taken in after the war? How old were you?"
"King Robert's war," Senna clarifies. "And I was seventeen when it started. I might have just turned eighteen by the time it was over. My father died at the Trident, though, and my mother had been dead for years, so I'd have been in some dire straights if the Naylands hadn't offered me a place in their household."
Hugh says, "We are known for our generosity." And whether they really are or not, Hugh at least believes what he is saying. He swings th ebasket in his hand, "Tell me, why did you become a healer?"
"My father," Senna explains, "Was a tourney knight of some renown. Ser Anson Delacourt." There's still a little bit of pride in the name, though it's tempered by something else. "Like I said, though, my mother died when I was small. So I started learning so that I could help him after tournaments. The problem with being a tourney knight is that you can't always afford to pay a healer, and when you're not a noble house, you don't get a maester, either."
Hugh nods, "I should think it would be hard to work on your father." The young man looks thoughtful, and then he looks over at the woman and suddenly stops himself, "Oh…excuse me, Mistress Delacourt. I am talking too much, aren't I?" His brow furrows as much as a boy's can. "You are too polite. Many just shout at me to shut my mouth." He chuckles a little.
"Do they?" Senna laughs, amused. "No, I'm not in the habit of telling people not to talk. Personally, I find that one can learn all sorts of interesting things by listening rather than talking. That," she continues, smile crooked, "And the lords and ladies don't usually take kindly to servants who tell them to shut up."
Hugh sighs and nods, "But I am rather used to it. But it's usually the other knights and older squires, I will admit." He grins, "You are kind, Mistress. And I wish you were making teh tarts. I think I could get you to give me one when it was hot and fresh."
"Oh do you?" Senna's smile flashes as they draw closer to the tower. "You might wish to rethink that. Besides, if I were making the tarts, I doubt you'd want one when it was ready. Baking is not my best skill." She shifts the basket, nodding to the guard on duty as she enters the courtyard. "But I should get back to work. And I suspect your knight may be up and about by now."
Hugh nods, "Yes, I hope so. And even a bad tart is better than none, I think." Hugh hands off the basket again. "I enjoyed talking to you. I suppose I should do somethign useful."
"Here," Senna says, setting her basket down and taking the other from him before starting to redistribute the goods inside of them. "Take these to the guards on duty." That's a basket with bread, fruit, and cheeses. "That's useful, and might even make you a few friends."
Hugh grins and nods taking the basket, "Thank you Mistress Delacourt!" The boy peeks in at the food. "Give my best wishes to the ladies, and I look forward to trying your solution." he taps his forehead.
Jarod steps out of the smithy, holding a small purse and frowning slight as he shakes it in his palm. He's headed generally back to the tower. He idly whistles as he goes, though the tune seems to change from one step to the next.
"Take care, squire," Senna grins when he looks through the basket. And with that, she takes the basket she still carries and heads into the castle, skirting around Jarod as she goes.