|Sleep With The Fishes|
|Summary:||Bryn has fishing troubles, and potential trips from Kingsgrove to Terrick's Roost are discussed.|
|Date:||January 16, 2012|
|Related Logs:||None too specifically. The whole invasion and liberation of Terrick's Roost.|
|Pond — Kingsgrove|
|It has fishies in it.|
|January 16, 289|
The sun reflects off the still water's surface this lazy afternoon, down at the pond in Kingsgrove. There's a line thrown in, and on the end of that a pole, and on the end of that a boy; scruffy hair, lean frame bent over as he taps his foot, he can't be anyone but Bryn. Especially not with that bright, strong voice ringing throughout the clearing: "I feel, tonight, like the stars are much brighter, my heart is much lighter than air! And suddenly, she was oh-so-near…"
It is easy to be quiet when Bryn is singing nearby, and the mood about the keep has certainly been a bit relieved since the Frey host broke the siege at Terrick's Roost. Thus it is not too terribly difficult for Rosanna to sidle up behind Bryn near the pond. "Who are you singing to?" she wonders with just a bite of teasing. In lieu of Septa Day, a handmaiden is nearby with a guard, as appropriate.
"And the fog of the day disappeared; her perfume was roses, we stood nose to—" Brynner is cut off abruptly by the young lady's question, losing his momentum in the song. A shame - he'd been building nicely toward the chorus! The lad almost drops his fishing pole, scrambling to keep a startled hold on it as he blinks up wide and surprised at Rosanna. Oh. Feet. He has those; he should use them. "M'lady," he manages, from behind an eager smile as he finds his full height, leaving the pole behind unmanned on the ground in favour of scratching under the scruff behind his neck. "Ahhh… the fishes?"
The departure of the Ironborn from the area does seem to have taken the edge off a bit, but it has also stirred the Groves house into action. Kittridge, along with his elder brother and father and various retainers, have spent much time in conference since, and the younger of them seems to have made a much-desired escape. He heads through the trees towards the pond, and then Brynner's singing catches his ear and he slows, slipping closer to lean discreetly against a tree and watch his squire and his little sister, smirking in amusement already.
"The fishes?" Rosanna echoes, wrinkling her nose with a crinkle of humor in her eyes. "Are they a very good audience?" She looks down at the pond dubiously. Her gown is well-made, if a bit simpler than she'd like, in rich, dark green.
Bryn scratches some more, one eye squinting shut as he tries to salvage this interaction. She thinks he's funny, right? "Ain't none of 'em jumpin' on the line, m'lady," he supposes, with a bit of a shrug as both arms return to his sides, slipping into the deep pockets of his loose pants. It's almost as if to spite him, the tug on the line on the unmanned pole… dear Bryn just stands, mesmerized by lovely Rosanna, as a fish drags his gear into the pond.
Kittridge continues lurking and watching, lifting a hand to cover his mouth and hold in a snicker as Brynner's fishing gear gets tugged slowly into the water from his feet.
Rosanna twines an auburn curl lightly about her finger, rather purposeful about the gesture in an carefully artless sort of way. She cants her head, the rest of her hair falling back behind her shoulder off the pale line of her neck. "Your fishing gear," she tells him casually.
Ohhh, is young Brynner distracted by the vision in front of him. He gulps, adam's apple bobbing in a sharp, distinct contrast to Rosanna's casual affectation, and forces his dull blue eyes to refrain from drinking in the sight of her sweet, pale skin. On her face, Bryn. Eyes on her face. "Huh? Oh, aye m'lady. S'my gear."
"It's going into the pond," Rosanna says more helpfully, her lips curving in a knowing smile as her head dips to look at him from beneath the shade of dark lashes.
"Huh?" The anti-eloquent, Bryn makes a bit of a face at Rosanna, as though she's talking crazy. His face whirls first, followed by the shift of his shoulders and then the rest of him, as he spins around to check on his… "Cheese and rice!" Quick as a flash, some ridiculous chicken-wing gait is carrying him into the shallows to chase after his rod, clothes and all, arms waving madly. "Aahhh!"
Kittridge continues to watch and snigger, but Brynner charging into the water sets him laughing outright, and he wanders up to the pond edge by Rosanna, shaking his head. "Good gods, man!" he calls after Bryn, "What are you doing?"
Rosanna laughs aloud as Bryn goes chasing after the gear, her face crinkling in delight that she makes no attempt to hide. It only gets worse when Kittridge makes his presence known. Poor Bryn.
"My pole, my pole! Oi! Git back 'ere with it, you little stinker!" With a roughspun vest shrugged lazily on over his loose shirt, disrobing appears to be out of the question for young Bryn: he dives under the fast-muddying surface to reach for his rod. The one with he fish attached. His first attempt at securing the thing fails, and he comes up gasping for air, slicking soppin-wet hair back from his eyes with the brush of a hand. "Crackers! Where'd it go? Ser! Ack!" The squire's cheeks and neck flush a bright shade of red.
Kittridge just watches and laughs, shaking his head some more. "Off to your right there, Bryn," he calls helpfully, grinning, "Better be quick, it's getting away!"
"I can't believe he didn't even /notice/," Rosanna says through her giggling, covering her mouth in a pretty sort of way, and looking rather smug of all things, despite her words.
"Cripes!" Bryn dives again, hands patting around in a wide arc about him as he searches for the errant rod. This time, he's victorious! Callooh! Callay! And so he staggers upright again, breaching the surface with a whoop as he holds the twigging rod up and shakes free a barrage of droplets from his hair with a violent wag of his chin.
Kit snorts at his sister and says nothing, just watching his squire make a fool of himself. "There we go," he claps as Brynner emerges victorious, "Well done, lad. Good save, I suppose."
"Very gallant," Rosanna calls out to him, untucking a handkerchief to wave prettily at him.
Water sloshes off him as Brynner clomps back through the bestirred shallows, sending little waves rippling all around him. "Aye, Ser! Aye, m'lady! Ain't no little fishie gonna steal my rod," he says, grinning triumphantly. The little fishie is still tug-tug-tugging frantically on the line, no doubt confused as it now resists her efforts. "I prolly stink like pond scum now, though," admits the squire, sheepishly. "Shall I reel 'er in?"
"You had better after all that," Kittridge advises, before turning to roll his eyes at his sister. "You're so mean to him," he chides dryly before looking back to Brynner to nod, "Might just. That's why we don't go swimming in our clothes in the shallow scummy bit," he says, "I could've sworn we'd been over that lesson. Ah, well," he claps him briefly on the back, "So much to learn! So little time."
Rosanna's cheeks color with a touch of pink as Brynner makes his wet way back to the surface, highlighting the faint darkness of freckles on her fair skin. She sniffs at Kittridge's comment. "I am not," she says tartly. As if to prove her point, she says, "I'm sure you smell fine, Brynner," in as lady-like a voice she can manage.
Young Bryn's heart sings, evident in the smile he beams at Rosanna for her compliment. He smells fine! Fine! Did his knight say something? Never the matter, his lady, oh, his lady has saved his day. The sodden squire begins to reel his fish in, turning side-on to the shore that he might keep both his line and his lady in his sights. "I don't reckon she's more'n a baby one," he guesses, of the fish.
"Are so," Kittridge replies to his sister, elbowing her lightly, "And you know it. Luckily, it's funny." He tilts his head to eye the fish and nod, "It does seem to be a baby one. Hardly worth all the fuss, but at least you got your rod. Now if only we could do something about your balls," he sighs, before moving on as if he hasn't said anything out of the ordinary, "So, father's going to send a couple of us to the Roost to see how things look, see how things stand. And then probably back to collect whoever else is coming and head on to the Roost to meet the army, I imagine."
"Kit," Rosanna squeaks, slapping his arm at his wildly uncouth joke. She goes a bit darker at the mention of meeting the army, swallowing as he looks up at her. "So you're joining them?" she asks quietly.
Bryn reels in his little fishie, doing his best to ignore that blatant dig from his knight. If he flushes again, it's hopefully hidden by the turn of his head. His catch is dismal, a runt of a little silver fish, long and thin, and he works to unhook the poor thing quickly. His ears perk at the mention of armies, but he stays quiet as he squats to swim the little fish back into the pond.
Kittridge laughs as he's slapped, snickering a bit longer before it trails off and then he sobers a bit, sharing a brief look with his sister before looking away again as he nods. "Aye, sounds like we must. Seagard's still besieged. King's army's coming to meet up with the Freys' army to relieve it. We must go with them."
The corners of Rosanna's mouth twitch and pull downwards with a particular weight about her as he talks of armies and sieges. She looks close to argument, one that is likely rather familiar, but instead asks, "And what of me?"
Bryn's little fish darts away from her captor in a flash, and the squire rights himself and splishes the rest of the way out of the water, gathering up bits of his shirt to wring out as he goes. He's silent, while the siblings share their little conversation, out of respect.
"And what of you, Rosie my love?" Kit asks, finding a smile for his sister, "You won't be joining the army, fearsome as you are. I think father is wondering whether you ought to still go to Stonebridge or not. What do you think?" he asks, glancing back at Brynner and shifting a bit to tacitly include the squire, "I suppose you'd be able to see us off from there," he says.
"But he promised," Rosanna says, clearly heartbroken at the idea of not going. "He promised I would go, and it's just as safe as here. It's probably safer." Where Bryn and Kit both try to remove the former from the conversation, she enlists him for her side: "Bryn, don't you think I should still go?"
Oh. Oh, crackers. Oh, seven holy crackers with cheese and olives. Bryn shifts uncomfortably, wide eyes twitching between Rosie and Kittridge. "Um," he says, trying to dig his hands back into pockets that are plastered wet to his thighs and failing, so he scuffs his feet instead. "Sh-uh, sh-um…" The quire ducks his head and mumbles, "Should be as my lady wishes."
"Don't pitch a fit, Rosanna," Kit soothes, "It's just being talked over. It's not like he's going to bar you from going to Stonebridge forever, we're just trying to sort out when makes the most sense. You know father's putting your safety first." He glances at Brynner, and shrugs, "It may be your right," he says to his sister instead, "And Stonebridge is safer anyway. But we'd like to get a look at the Roost first and have a chat and see, you know? It'll only be a day or so."
Rosanna offers quite the dramatic huff, as only a sixteen-year-old truly can. "It's not fair," she says. "You're going to go off to war and never come back, and I'm going to be stuck here forever never seeing anything."
Brynner mumbles something that sounds distinctly like 'sorry ser', and reaches up to scratch the wet nape of his neck. He declines to add anything further to the conversation, but does peek up at Rosie shyly.
Kittridge pats Brynner absently on the shoulder, and rolls his eyes at Rosanna. "I am not," he replies, "Going to do that." His tone has a bit of an edge, briefly, and he gives her a look, and then adds, "And you sound more upset about the second bit. You should work on that, Rosie. And I never said you shouldn't go, or weren't going to."
"That's what Nico said," Rosanna whispers, her gaze growing watery. Then, in the true manner of a teen throwing a tantrum, she turns to flounce off back towards the keep.
Bryn's mouth drops open, clearly in sympathy for his lady. She's upset! And he's… helpless. The squire lifts his chin and snaps his jaw shut, switching a look to Kittridge as though to beg permission to go after her, or maybe to urge the knight on to do it. What he says, though, is: "Are we really going to war, Ser?"
Kit's jaw tightens slightly, and he doesn't say anything more, turning away as his sister flounces away. He looks to Brynner after a moment more and then nods, "Probably. Battle, anyway. Lift the siege, and that's it. Just the one battle, not a whole war."
Brynner's feet twitch, as he struggles not to go after Rosie. "Aye ser," he says meekly, for he correction, adding a quiet, "Sorry boutcher - about ch'lady sister, Ser." He stands his fishing pole on the ground next to him, holding it steady with one hand as he looks at the free line. "Should prob'ly secure this, and then go see to your armor, Ser?"
"We'll see how it goes," Kittridge finishes, more or himself, because after a moment he shakes his head and blinks and turns to look at Brynner. "What?" he replies to the apology, and then shrugs, and nods, "I guess you'd better," he agrees about the armor, "Good thinking. And don't forget your own. We'll have to check over the horses, too." He scratches at the back of his head and nods, "Alright. I'll check in with you after dinner, we'll make sure things're ready to go. Go get dry." He smiles a bit, and then wanders off.
"Aye, Ser." Dismissed, Brynner's smile returns, and he starts off at a jog with his fishing pole to see if he can't catch up with Rosie on his way to getting dry. His tongue does not loll out of his mouth, but he might be panting a bit by the time he reaches the keep.