|Summary:||Senna checks on Rutger's wounds and offers her own counsel.|
|A tenty place!|
|April 8, 289|
The night wanes on and the siege engines are giving the defenders some rest, before they will pick back up again during the evening. A nice barrage to terrify those inside and keep them from getting the rest that the men in the camp so enjoy.
Currently, things are quiet in the pavilion of courtiers, notably in a rather goodly sized tent which houses one Ser Nayland. His armor is off in the corner, the knight's diminutive squire doing the finishing touches on cleaning the arm. The tent itself is rather spartan. A place for sleep, a trunk of this and that. Arms and armor, otherwise there is not much to place it out of the ordinary of any of the other knight's tents.
As for Rutger himself, he is clad in dark breeches, with an off white shirt, hanging oe'r. The shirt is kept lose as the flames flicker outside and in, allowing for some light in which to conduct business, or sleep.
Tents are not conducive to knocking, but armed camps are not conducive to unannounced entries, either. And so there's a shadow outside the tent for a moment before Senna clears her throat, tapping a finger on the outside of the tent to a light thump. "My lord?" she calls in softly, waiting for acknowledgement before slipping into the tent. It says something that she's thus far managed to move through the camps without being unduly accosted, but whatever protection she has must be working. Aside from looking a little worn and drawn, she seems to be in good condition.
A glance up before he is looking over to his squire, Lucamore. "Leave us." a simple command, given with a wave of his hand before he is nodding to the Armsman as well. "you can wait outside." said plainly, before he is nodding to Senna. He rises up slowly, before he is moving over to the small bench like table afforded him. Thereon a small cask of ale, which he taps into another cup. A sip, before it's offered out to the healer. "Mistress Delacourt, I am glad to see you can be pulled away from the Riverland camp for a moment.." said even as his two men slip out and let the tent flap drop behind the healer once she is in. A wry grin shows on his features before he is taking up his own cup again. "..Where I am clearly disliked." said with a slight chuckle. "Luckily here, I am better recieved…For a former royalist."
Rutger waits at least for the healer to get herself situated before he is returning to his camp chair. "How did your little talk go after I left?"
Senna watches the squire and armsman leave, a faint smile following them out before she turns back to Rutger. "Well enough. To be honest, I don't think Rivers has the stones to impress the king," she muses, brows rising at the offered cup. "Which isn't to say…" She pauses, taking a sip from the glass and leaning a hip against the table. "He could earn the loyalty of the people of Stonebridge, given time. He can be charming, and fair. He's that air about him that the smallfolk will be able to relate to. But he seems short on the grand gestures that will earn the king's respect." She watches him as he sits, each nuance in his movement, her eyes sharp.
"It is as I think. I know he will come talk to me, but I'll find him away from here, I believe. I offered a chance, and indeed despite him being a bastard, I've not said anything bad or poor about his character. No that wouldn't do and it'd make us seem unsure and petty. The one thing we have to fear is our King's love of Tully and perhaps Jason Mallister. Jon Arryn, we have a better chance with as he will look to the legality of the claim and see we hold the true papers." he adds, before nodding. "I figure as much, which is why I am trying to make our appearance good. Which being amongst the ranks I know has helped. I have seen Lord Royce, and he's seen me despite knowing I was taken down in the Bailey." a wince there before he sips his cup, pausing to set his cup aside so as to remove his shirt gingerly. "I assume he is suspicious about my newfound niceties. Just so." a gesture is given as fingers move for the bandage ends. "I'd rather him distrust my honest intention and set himself up for failure. Senna, you should have seen them all when they arrived and I was there to meet them. You would have thought I fucked their mothers on a pile of dead puppies by the stares I was earning."
"Didn't you?" Senna asks blandly, setting down the glass and moving closer to help with the removal of the bandages. When the gauze sticks, she pauses, pulling a bowl of oiled canvas from her satchel and filling it from that skin she carries with herself. "I'd imagine your father was more pleased, though," she muses, dipping a rag into the liquid and carefully dampening the bandages. "Especially given the loss of Lord Ryker, seeing his heir alive, well, and successful must have been a comfort."
"No. Rutger replies back dryly. "I do believe the current rumor is that I choke them. Then fuck them. I don't know." dismissive with those ugly stories which cling to him, the way flies do to piles of shit. "He was, though given the addition of my new Man at Arms, I believe that he thinks foul play was involved." which brings a frown to Rutger's visage "That-or he truly fears for me here with Ryker's illness.." He opens his mouth as if to say more, but then shakes his head and drinks. "One can never be too careful." His hands drop away allowing her freedom to his side. "The question remains: How do we move forward? This war though ample opportunity, did derail some of my work."
"Well, if the opportunity to fling yourself in front of the king presents itself, you could try that," Senna suggests, smile tugging at one corner of her lips. She's quiet for a moment, wetting the bandage and slowly working it away before she looks up at him again. "Honestly, my lord? You've had his ear for the last several months. If you've not won him yet, whatever you've been doing isn't working." She looks down when she says the last, fixing her gaze intently on the bandages. There's the slightest shift of her shoulders, bracing herself, but she doesn't move away, either.
Silence follows the last thing said. And indeed this would be a fine time to bring his hand out and crush the healer's windpipe or even strike her down as any other lord would do. Instead there's a slight hum before his hand moves out, and he brings his thumb to caress her cheek. Rutger merely chuckles with a faint wince. "I never count anything as sure, Senna. Nothing. Even though I am sure that our good King has heard all I can say and indeed knows me to be a loyal knight and a good companion-never discount how the heart may overrule logic and reason." And there his hand drops, but never does he strike.
"It would suit us better if Gedeon died in battle or because of his wounds." A slight glance given to the healer. "Then it would be a moot point." Still he is not advocating killing Gedeon. "The Mallister debacle though on Pyke does help us as does our showing here." a sniff. "I won't say we have him. Not yet., Not until I hear that Gedeon will indeed remain Ser Rivers of Oldstones, as opposed to Tordane."
Senna doesn't quite flinch at the touch, but she doesn't entirely relax either. "If it's heart that wins the king, then perhaps there is a path of…compromise," she suggests, rolling the bandages as she goes. "Perhaps if you were to make an offer to Ser Rivers. One that he'd be unlikely to take, but which would impress the king. Such as offering him a position within Stonebridge. Naming him Knight of the Bridge, with a nice stipend, for example."
"I would have no trouble doing that." he replies, before there is a look given back to Senna. "He might see it as buying off, and it could make our position look weak-though getting ahead of the Terricks in saying we are cruel or unjust. I could offer it to him, and it would keep him close. Though whether or not he is ready to leave Oldstones yet, is another matter." Rutger muses. Still an idea is better than not having one. "Personally, if it could be done, I would love to have him switched over from the Terricks to us- as unlikely as that would be."
"If he doesn't take it, then he looks overproud and foolish," Senna points out, setting the bandages aside and settling to her knees to better inspect the wound. "While you still look like someone who has the best interests of Stonebridge in mind. Hard to complain about someone who's willing to take Geoffrey Tordane's bastard, whether or not he ought to be heir. And don't you have a sister?" she asks, reaching into her pack for a tin of ointment to spread over the mottled bruises. "Why not arrange a marriage? It's better than he could hope for otherwise. Don't frame it as a confrontation. Frame it as rightful lieges doing their best to provide for their vassals."
There's an amused look on Rugter's face as he watches the woman see to his side, a stretch of his ribs as he casually asks. "How does it look?" a moment away from the manuevering talk. " All good, though I cannot see Father consenting to marry Rowenna off to a bastard. But, given that she fled for King's Landing.." silence for a moment there. "Perhaps he will see it." He being his father of course. The Nayland knight silences himself for a moment before he is grinning again, one hand dangling out for his cup, just short of his fingers. "And where did you come up with these ideas? Food from another source?" Curiosity and all that.
"Stonebridge is worth a marriage alliance, I'd think," Senna murmurs, carefully smoothing the ointment over his skin. "It looks hideous, but that's what these sorts of bruises do." Her fingers press a little more firmly into his side, tracing his ribs to make sure they're where they ought to be. "Have you had any sharp pains?" she asks, dodging the question of where she gets her ideas for the moment.
"Fuck me." hissed out as he jerks to the touch and then eases , before he is looking back to Senna. "None that I can remember." he admits before he is chuckling out a hissed breath. "I am not saying that I do not disagree. I am merely curious, Senna. You of all people should know that you are safe with me." Though as long as you're loyal is kept from his lips. Rutger peers down towards where the discolouration can be seen.
Senna looks up through her lashes at the first, the faintest arch to her brow. "I'm not sure you're in any condition for that, my lord," she murmurs, fingers lingering at that painful spot to make sure it doesn't need more attention. "I watch and I listen, my lord," she sighs after a moment. "Playing the emotions and thoughts of powerful men and women is a game to the nobility, and one with profits. For those of us at the margins, it's that much more dangerous. You learn to see the currents or you find yourself a victim very quickly."
Rutger allows that amused look to show through again. "Perhaps later then, Senna. When you are sure of my ribs.." he murmurs back before his hand is reaching back for her hair. A simple tender gesture again given, but like anyone it could turn violent quick. "Indeed it is a game. The greatest one ever invented- and did you know Senna, that the game is not over until everyone is dead?" he lets that hold before he tests a breath. "If your father was noble, you'd make some lord a fine wife- as smart as you are."
"But my father wasn't," Senna replies evenly, almost numb to that. "And my grandfather never did forgive him for that." Once the ointment is in place, she draws out clean bandages to bind his ribs once more. "Just as well, really. Noblewomen don't get to be very useful, when all's said and done. And my father wouldn't have been any different with my mother's name than he was with his own." She looks up, turning her head to let her lips brush his wrist, a silent promise. "So squeamish, noblewomen."
A grip of loose hair, before he is nodding the promise taken, before he is rising up from his seat slowly. "That is why I am glad, that I have you." Rutger says before offering his other hand to help her up, once she is done bandaging. After all him sitting there slouched, doesn't bloody well help that. "When you need to head back, Lucamore will escort you." protection offered for her trip back to the Riverland camp. " I don't trust some of these Westermen. Eyes like wolves."
"And pockets full of gold," Senna points out with a faint smile, cleaning off her hands on her skirts once the bandages are finished. "The trick is parting them from it." She cleans up her supplies with her usual efficiency, packing them back into the satchel. "Your ribs are healing well, my lord. You should be fine for full duty by the day after tomorrow, but if you feel anything unusual, please send your man for me. I'll be here as quickly as I can."
"Well feel free to cheat them from that." Rutger offers with a grin. "There's a nod back to Senna as he turns to pull his shirt back on over his head. "Of course. The Armor has been cinched tight, so I do believe that has helped some." he replies before adding a nod. "Thank you again Senna." a beat and Rutger turns back to the healer, cup in hand. "For Everything."
"I live to serve, my lord," Senna murmurs, dropping into a polished curtsey. "You know you have only to ask, and I will be at your side." There's another promise in the curve of her lips, one that doesn't exactly speak of fealty, as she lets her eyes run over the tent. "When we find our way back to civilization, the first thing I'll seek out with my ill-gotten gains is a real bath. Until then…" She trails off, backing toward the tent flap. "Be well, my lord."