|Squires and Stewards|
|Summary:||Hoekenn has a concern for Tyroan. Tyroan has questions for Hoekenn.|
|Related Logs:||Letter of Resignation|
|Map Room, Tordane Tower|
|23 October, 289|
Tyroan spends most of his days in what used to be the smallest guest room in Tordane Tower, but has been converted into something between a study and a command tent. A tall table, meant to be stood around, holds sway in the center of the room, with a collection of high chairs around it. Books, maps, and sheets and rolls of paper and parchment are piled onto the table, and the few side-tables remaining in the room. One side-table, however, has been cleared to make room for a pitcher of Mire beer and several tankards. Tyroan has taken a rare seat in one of those tall stool-like chairs, rubbing at the small of his back as he glares at the ledger before him.
There is a nod to the door to the small, newly changed, map room. Once allowed he shows his head inside and will moce in if he is allowed. "My lord." He says as he bows. Standing at the door and smiling will be the squire, Hoekenn. Looking between the things in the room before settling on the old man. Something about him perhaps having Hoekenn always on his toes. Ready to move perhaps. Not so much scared as alert.
Tyroan looks up at the voice, straightening in his seat and squaring off his shoulders, "What is it, lad?" He slides off the chair, pushing it aside. Leaning over the table, he toys idly with one of the colored blocks representing Charlton troops, the marker still in place outside Stonebridge even if the troops themselves are long gone. "Message for me?"
Hoekenn studies the steward before looking to the block representing Charlton troops. Shaking his head, "No, my lord. I just wish to ask something. I offended lady Firth. Could you send my apologies and that if she would be able to consider taking me in again." He offers. Wanting to learn more from her. She has been good at teaching him until now after all. "Also, is there anything you might need me to do?" Lookking at where he has the block positioned. He might not be good at planning and so on. But he has learned a bit about the maps, if only their surroundings.
Tyroan frowns at the request, setting down the block of mock Charlton troops and moving over to the pitcher and tankards. He pours himself a drink, knocking down a swallow, then sets the pitcher back and returns to the table. "Right then. Now that I'm ready, how the fuck did you offend the Lady Ambassador, lad?" Despite the profanity, there's no anger in the question, just a sort of weary resignation.
Hoekenn keeps his eyes low. "I asked about the chaparone situation for people. She got upset, since she has only a guard." He explains. Glancing up to the man. "I'm trying to make right, my lord." He assures the man. Perhaps just thinking that doing all he can would be wise. Including asking the steward himself.
Tyroan grunts softly, "You're fucking right to wonder, lad." Shaking his bald head, he continues, "Woman," noble woman, of course, "shouldn't be wandering around without a maid, a ladyfriend, or something like that." He takes another drink, and offers up a dry smirk, "Where you went wrong was pointing it out. Women don't like to be told they're doing something wrong, even when they damned well are." He studies the squire for a long moment, "Why don't you write out an apology? You can write, can't you?"
Hoekenn nods to the words. Tilting his head as he continues to nod. A soft ah leaving his mouth, "I understand." Taking in the advice from the much older lord. "I did, my lord. Though I thought I would try all options." He explains.
Tyroan nods his head, gesturing toward one of the chairs opposite him and leaning his forearms against the edge of the table, "Well, if she brings it up, I'll tell her you're all sorry for what you said, and you didn't mean to fucking offend her. How's that sound?" Shifting his weight to just one forearm, he points across the table, "But I won't bring it up unless she does. Take it from me, lad, don't go looking for trouble where you don't need it. Especially where women are concerned."
Hoekenn nods. Taking all advices he can get. He's not really the best with social interactions as is after all. "Sounds good. Except perhaps not fucking." He suggests. A shy smile at that. Studying the man while he himself sits in an opposite chair. "Is all well, my lord?" Looking between steward and table.
Tyroan snorts softly at the counter-advice, "The Lady Ambassador will have to get used to my damned cursing sooner or later. I'm not going to scrub my mouth out with fucking soap every time she's around." Still, he nods a little wryly, "But yeah, maybe without the fucking." Catching the glance to the table, he shrugs, "Just too much to do, lad." He pushes one of the blocks representing Nayland levies back a hair into place, "The map's just for fun though. Got to do something to take my mind off all the godsdamned numbers." He straightens up, studying the young man for a long moment, "Ser Bruce suggested your father for Captain of the Guard. What do you think about that?"
Hoekenn gives another nod about having to get used to the cursing. Studying the table. "Would we have been able to hold out if they continued?" He asks. Even though they managed well it seemed as they were lucky. Studying the man at that. AS for his father, he nods. "He knows how to survive and teach others to survive. We lived on the road. He thought me to fight. Perhaps needing training in leading and heraldry." Both things seeming to be skills both himself and his father lack. "But he is skilled enough. He just needs to grow. He is good at many things." Which might be a good thing for such position.
Tyroan shrugs a shoulder at the question, "With the Birds? Probably. We got fucking lucky, though. And without the Erenfords, they would've just thrown in their reserves, broken our lines. Once they got inside the ditches, we would have had the Stranger to pay. They could have sent forces through the roads and flanked us. Even with their losses they outnumbered us." He then subsides, listening to the youth talk about his father. He nods slowly, "As much as it tugs on my short-and-curlies, we need someone who likes to fucking fight on food. Between the Guards and the levies, they need someone who can shoot, fight, and push a pike to lead them."
Hoekenn nods, having thought as much perhaps. AS for his father he nods slowly as well. "He can teach them about all weapons. He tought me. He also knows how to protect things." He explains. Shrugging his shoulders a bit. Leaving it to the lord though. "Let him show you his skills. Perhaps he will show where he might serve best." He suggests. Wanting the best for his father though. Shown on his proud smile.
Tyroan nods slowly, "That last point's the important one, I suppose. If need be, I'll run the levy myself until he's up to speed." There's a weariness to the statement, the Nayland showing at least his age there just for a bit, and then he takes a swig of his Mire beer and looks vibrant again, nodding sharply, "Been meaning to talk to him. Don't need him to teach them anything but sword and crossbow for the Guard, and pike for the levy. Mostly it's drills. Discipline's the thing for pike. Without it, you're fucking cavalry-chow."
Hoekenn listens and nods, "I am sure that you will choose wisely." He offers. Trying not to space out. Getting better at it. Perhaps it is the training or just that he is starting to learn such as he is getting older. Nodding as Tyroan goes on. "I understand. If there is anything else you would need me for do ask, my lord. I run around here a lot."
Tyroan smirks at that, "I never would have noticed, lad." He shakes his head, "That's it. You did right bringing the…" he gestures idly with the hand not grasping his tankard, "…thing with Lady Firth to me. Better to talk about it before than fucking trip over it in the middle of some talk with her." Draining off some more of his beer, he waves the squire off, "Go on. Back to your duties. We'll get you assigned to another knight soon."
Hoekenn smiles and nods. Continuing to listen until he is dismissed. "Be well, my lord. I will see you later." He offers before moving away. Leaving the lord to his own thoughts for now.