| Steel and Stone Preserve |
| Summary: | The Ironborn are discussed in the hall and wounds are patched. |
| Date: | 31/12/2011 |
| Related Logs: | Beyond the Eagles Reach and other Ironborn invade logs. |
| Players: |
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| Tower Hall — Tordane Tower |
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| The entrance to the tower opens into a larger common room for receiving guests. Effort has been made to bring warmth and light to the interior, as well. Rugs have been hung from the stone walls as well as placed on the floor to bring at a welcoming ambiance. There is a large table with several chairs off to the left of the door, a cooking hearth against the back wall, and a wooden staircase that leads up. An antechamber behind the stairs is where the servants live and bed down. |
| Sat Dec 31, 288 |
The common hall, by far the largest chamber in Tordane Tower, has become the hub of activity within the household. Guardsmen coming and going, retainers carrying messages, and the occasional knight in armor come and go. Stepping down the stairs at a steady, deliberate pace, Rygar scans the chamber with a pass of his eyes that doesnt stir the stern knight's stiff neck.
Amid that hub of activity Danae looks more of a scullery maid and less of a lady, blonde hair bound roughly in a long tail and sleeves pinned to keep from hindering her work. Her bearing is betrays what she truly is, gracefully moving across the floor as she drags a damp rag over her stained hands. She is no surgeon, but pauses to offer what little aid where it is needed, taking a break from brewing in the stillroom. She meets Rygar's gaze with a short dip of her head in a nod. "My Lord."
"No! No! I'll do it myself, thank you very much!" Riordan practically snaps, waving off a maid as she passes him by, asking if she can help him. Wincing a little as he walks, his midsection still quite sore and hurting. He eyes the activity. "Couldn't have been happy staying on their Seven forsaken islands, could they? Oh no. They had to come and attack us." He murmurs, as he watches people scurry all over the place.
Jarod was rather tardy in having himself seen to when he returned to Tordane Tower after the fray with the Ironborn. He had to settle his squire with the Terrick's healing man. And just generally be stubborn. Eventually, however, he was herded here and is presently collapsed in a reasonably comfortable corner. He was sleeping, but he awakens with a pained grunt, blinking up at the ceiling.
Rygar doesn't incline his head at Danae's greeting, although he does make a token effort to give a short bow from the waist with the chilly word, "Lady," given in greeting. The stern knight's armor has visibly passed beneath a smith's hammer in places to repair creases and rent links of maile. "It is the way of men to reach for more, Ser Riordan," he comments evenly. "Surely such should not shock you, even if the.. scope of this ambition is greater than any had cause to suspect."
The lady sinks into a curtsey for the greater courtesy, chilly as Rygar's words are. "Can you do it yourself, my Lord?" Danae wonders of Riordan with a tip of her head, tucking her rag in her belt gently. She moves towards him, observing the winging with a skeptical eye.
"I hope you're not about to lecture me on our family motto, dear cousin." Riordan eyes Rygar and shakes his head. His attention turning to Danae, he says, "Maybe I can, maybe I can't. But people…" As he moves a little more, he winces again, hand flying to his midsection. "People keep asking. I'm tired of the constant inquiry. Always asking, always bothering. I'm a Nayland, not some squabbling common folk!"
Jarod's head turns at the sound of Riordan's twittering about being a Nayland. It's an easy way to identify a conversation that's probably worth listening to, at least. He sits up with another grunt, to better listen. It would be somewhat inaccurate to say he's eavesdropping, as that usually implies some modicum of stealth or sliver of shame about listening to other people's conversations. He just watches the three of them and quite openly tries to overhear whatever they're talking on. Rygar and Riordan mostly.
"Such ought not be needed," Rygar returns to Riordan's vocalized hope of avoiding a lecture. "Have you been told word of the ravens, Ser?" he wonders flatly, before going into what might be a waste of words. A word aside to a passing retainer summons, "Drink."
"Then you ought to be tended to, lest you rupture something beneath the surface unknowingly, " Danae replies with a pointed raise of her brows. Her hands curl at her sides before folding into a lady-like clasp. Then her attention turns to Rygar, "Has news come?"
Taking a seat in a chair, Riordan sighs. "Fine. I'll just sit here and watch what's going on, if that'll make you happy!" He murmurs softly, shaking his head and watching the area silently.
"Seagard, the Roost, and Tall Oaks are all besieged," the grim Nayland reports curtly to both his displeased cousin, and the inquiring Lady Westerling. Though he does not look to Jarod as he says so, the knight's voice is clearly audible to him. "A tithe of Mire men, with a number of men-at-arms march west to join us. Musters of Erenford, Charlton, Haigh, and Frey have been requested, and are expected within the week."
"You've news of the Roost, Ser?" At that, Jarod stops even pretending to want to be uninvolved in the conversation. He grunts, and stands, and make his way slowly to approach Rygar and company. "Do they speak of the condition of the town? Or of my lord father and family within it?"
Rygar turns to face Jarod, rather than turning his neck, to greet, "Ser Rivers." The inquiry is answered by a plain, "Four Eagles Tower is besieged. The Ironborn control the town. A number of your smallfolk have sought protection in Stonebridge, and bands of Ironborn roam the countryside between there and here."
"The Seven preserve us," Danae murmurs, expression growing grim at the news. Her hands are clasped tightly, knuckles white with tension. "That is no mean siege then. It sounds an invasion, ambitious indeed." She too shifts as Jarod rises to join them, frowning at the care with which he moves.
Jarod crosses his arms along his chest and takes a deep breath. One of these things, or both, prompts a wince. He swallows hard at Rygar's words, trying to keep his face from too much. And rather failing. He's an expressive sort, and word of his home and family being besieged is a punch in the gut. It's a long beat before he has any kind of response to that, just sort've mentally digesting it. Finally, he nods. "No mere raid, aye. They come to take what they can, all they can. You spoke of Seagard. If they are besieged as well, Lord Jason shall not come to the Terrick's aid. Nor will Riverrun. Seagard shall be his chief concern."
"They are not wrong, Ser," Rygar considers in answer to Jarod's words. "Seagard is beset by half a hundred longships, or more. The count of warriors may be in the thousands. Should Seagard fall, all the waters touched by the Trident would be laid bare." To Danae, he comments crisply, "The Seven will behold, Lady, but it is steel and stone which will preserve us, not they."
In contrast to Jarod's own expressiveness, Danae's features grow blander as the clasp of her hands grow tighter, freckles standing out against the pallor of her skin. "Aye. Steel and stone and blood shall preserve us in this. You are correct my Lord, but I shall still pray." There is little more she can do for their plight, beyond prayer and preparation.
"We are preserved by blood and honor, Ser, and the will to make them matter in this world." There's a note in Jarod's tone like he's disagreeing with Rygar's 'steel and stone' assessment. "Aye. Lord Tully is not wrong. Was that the sound of the Booming Tower we heard before the coming of the Ironmen, then? That sound, like a thundering heart." He lets out a long breath. He adds, for Danae's benefit, "In Seagard there is a great tower with a bell so huge and loud that its sound can be heard for ten miles. My half-brother and I used to listen to lectures on its history, when we were squires for the Mallisters as boys. It was built to sound when a particularly terrible threat of Ironborn reavers came to the Western shores. It hasn't been rung in three-hundred years."
"It seems so," Rygar returns to Jarod's query of the Booming Tower. Or perhaps to his prior words. "Blood, honor, and steel will come together soon enough, when Lord Frey's captains arrive. The course of our action shall be chosen, then.
"Then the reavers have come again, it seems. I saw the tower whence I came through Seagard, but…" Danae shakes her head with a frown. She had never thought to hear it rung.
"So it seems." Jarod echoes Danae grimly. Though his gaze remains on Rygar. "All the steel of the Riverlands shall go to aid the Mallisters, Ser, but what of the Roost? Seagard has a proper array of war ships, more men-at-arms, and is better equipped to withstand a siege. My father's Four Eagles can hold for a time but not so long as the Mallister fortress."
Rygar nods once to Danae, and regards Jarod a long moment in silence. "Strategically, your father's Four Eagles is of lesser import, Ser. If Seagard stands ready to fall, it must be there we march." The callous words are followed by a breath drawn in through the nose, before he adds, "Until the scouts return more detailed reports, I will not hazard a guess as to what Lord Frey's command shall require of us, but whatever the destination, we shall march to the defense of the Riverlands and Westeros."
As Rygar speaks, Danae looks to Jarod with a somber expression tinged with empathy. That is not a pleasant truth to hear. "There is no choice but to stand and to march when so threatened," she murmurs, exhaling a breath she had forgotten to release. It is more to herself than to either of the men.
Jarod frowns as Rygar speaks, though he steels himself enough not to wince again. None of that surprised him. "If the Ironborn get a foothold on the Cape of Eagles, this town's own doorstep, they shall not be dislodged. And then their might will take the Stonebridge, and they will crush Seagard one way or another between the sea and these lands. But. I shall speak upon that with this house's lord and lady before the Late Lord Frey bothers to arrive. I learned my lesson in trying to bargain on your mercies the last time I stayed in this house, Ser. Though I figure you got the price you were looking for in the end from that, whatever it was."
"Does the good Ser wish me to be cruelly blunt?" Rygar wonders, evenly. "What good does it do us to relieve the Roost, if Seagard falls? None." He draws a steady breath. "I know that there are no number of souls in all the world more dear to you than your kin, Ser. But the burden of command is to choose the greater good, wherever it may lay." Exhaling sharply, he adds, "The Ser will doubtless be relieved to learn that this choice, when the scouts return and the Captains gather, is not mine to make."
"The Freys hold more bannermen than any the Riverlands. They need not all march to Seagard when all both our defense and the might of the Iron Islands shall be focused there. Even a single lords' levies and knights could dislodge the Ironmen at Four Eagles," Jarod replies to Rygar, tone heating while the Nayland knight's grows bland. He takes a deep breath. Wince. "But aye. I am relieved in that. I thank you for the news, m'lord." He half-turns to go, on that note, but before he does he turns back to Rygar and rather snaps, "I'm curious, Ser, was there ever a time in your life you loved anything, even in its smallest measure, or have you always been like this? Cold duty and grasping on the behalf of men you do not even terribly like, let alone anything else? Where does that get you, at the end of it?"
Rygar's chilly demeanor does not warm as Jarod's temper flares, and the half-eagle turns to leave. "I will answer no queries offered in so rude a manner, Ser. When the Captains are assembled, you shall be informed," he states curtly, before turning to take his own leave of the chamber, with only a brief word of "Lady," given to Danae in parting.
"My Lord," Danae replies gently as Rygar moves to depart, dipping her head in a nod. She watches him walk away for a long moment, before looking to Jarod with a silently appraising gaze. That earlier wince was noted and not forgotten in the heat of the men's argument. "Come, good Ser. Seat yourself and rest a moment. Your time is better spent in healing than in anger, should we march again so soon," she says soothingly, directing Jarod towards a seat with a flit of her fingers. "I might be able to save the Maester a little time, should it be minor."
Jerking awake from the sleep he apparently entered upon sitting at his chair, Riordan looks around, eyes groggy. "What's going on? Why am I in the…" He stops himself midsentance and grumbles at himself, cursing his moment of forgetfulness. He watches Rygar leave for a moment and turns to look around, as if trying to find an answer. "Ah. What's got him all angry, then? Ironborn send in another wave, did they?" He asks of anyone around who will hear him. Attempting to stretch, he winces and lets out a groan.
"Ser." Jarod snaps that to the departing Rygar. The title is used correctly enough, though the tone is a little rude. But as the chillier knight goes his shoulders sag, like he's deflating. "I'm sorry for that, my lady." To Danae's offer he just nods, rather shortly, but he's not angry at her. He strides over to take that seat, untucking his shirt. "That's kind of you. It's not enough to bother the Maester with. Just a cut into my side near the ribs, where the plates in the armor strap together." And then Riordan is talking. His head turns in that direction. "No other wave here. The Ironborn are occupied elsewhere. Seagard and Terrick's Roost chiefly, your ever-charming cousin Ser Rygar tells me. Tall Oaks as well, in the North, though they have so little for men-at-arms I can't hope it's still standing."
The small blonde shakes her head with a soft sigh, looking towards Riordan with a soft smile as he speaks. "From the sounds of it, they have little but waves to send in from the seas. And how fare you, my Lord?" Jarod's curtness does not seem to bother her, hands rising to shortly twine her hair up in a loose knot as she sinks to the floor in front of Jarod's seat to take a look at the wound. It distracts her from the conversation at hand for the moment, frown short. She excuses herself for a moment, moving across the room to collect a few supplies before returning.
"Well, makes me glad that we're here, safe for now. Though I am…sorry, honestly, to hear that they are focusing more primarily on your home, Ser Rivers." Riordan nods to the other man. "If it were not for the Ironmen on our own front stoop, I'd ride to Terrick's Roost this very moment…" He pauses, "Well, perhaps not quite this moment." He feels his abdomen. "But in the early hours of the morning, I would ride off with some of our men and go help defend your home." Glancing at Danae, he lowers his gaze slightly. "I am doing fine, m'Lady Danae. No worse than when I've been in tournaments." That may or may not be true. "I shall survive, I think."
Jarod removes his shirt compliantly so Danae can get a look at his injury. It's down his right side, a shallow vertical gash down the line of his ribs, so he doesn't need to disrobe entirely. It's an rather ugly scar and likely quite painful at the moment, but it's not deep, and it's been bandaged enough that the bleeding was stopped. Though it'll need cleaning and attention if he doesn't want it getting infected. Which, presumably, he does not. As Riordan talks, there's a note of surprise that flickers across his expression. But some of his anger fades. "Your words are kind, Ser, I thank you for them. I am told some of the Roost's townspeople managed to escape down here. There is room in Four Eagles Tower to shelter a good many others. For a time." He swallows. "I get the feeling at present you and I would be riding off for that task alone. But I appreciate the thought of it, just the same."
Tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, Danae kneels at Jarod's, comfortably with the revealed flesh. She is silent with concentration, setting to cleaning the gash with a warning of, "This may hurt," as she removes the bandage. Then she begins cleaning in earnest and dabbing away dried blood from the wound, attention only half on the conversation until Riordan speaks to her. "All the same, m'Lord Riordan, I would appreciate if you at least let me take a look at it, if only for my peace of mind," Danae requests. Looking up from her task to Riordan,there is a quiet plea in her blue-eyed gaze.
Giving Jarod a tiny smile, Riordan nods. "From what I understand, you protected me out there during the fighting. That is a sign of a friendship between our two houses and something that is not easily forgotten. And it may not be wise just the two of us, no. But if there were a way, I would be more than willing." He murmurs, his gaze slowly turning to Danae. After a moment, he sighs. Who can say no to those eyes? "Fine. You may check my wound if you wish."
Jarod hisses an "Argh!" when his bandage is removed. That stings, yes. Though it seems to bother him more coming off than anything else. He manages a "Thanks, m'Lady" that actually quite grateful. To Riordan, he shrugs. "Your brother Rowan took far graver hurt than I holding the flank as I did it. But, you're welcome all the same. As to that…" He sighs. "…no, I don't figure two knights against a siege of Ironborn would be a terribly intelligent plan of attack." He snorts. "The Naylands and the rest of the Frey bannermen march toward here, I'm told, to head south and give aid to Seagard. I will beg your brother Lord Ryker and Lady Isolde for a small portion of whatever they can offer for the Roost. What good that'll do…" He shrugs. "…we'll see how it plays, I guess." He is not ringing with confidence.
Danae's smile is a slight thing, but it is genuine and warm as Riordan accedes to her small request. "My thanks. I shall see to you once I have seen to the brave Ser Rivers," she says, giving Jarod's knee a pat before she goes back to her work. The rag she is working with is dipped into the bowl, wrung tightly to clean it of blood before she attends further to the wound. "Two against a horde is not good odds. Even should you make it safely to the Roost, there is no guarantee they could let you within should the siege be thick with so many Ironmen," she offers, a considering frown twisting her mouth as the rag is dabbed against the cut. Heroics are not so sensible in the circumstance.
As Riordan leans back in his chair, he looks up at the ceiling. "What a time to be living. I can't believe that this is happening to us. I'd almost prefer the rebellion compared to this!" He mutters, though he doesn't sound too serious. "No, it most certainly is not wise for two to go up against those odds. We are better off attempting to fight those we have before us than attempting anything else more foolish." He sighs and shakes his head. "My brother and goodsister may approve of that. Though it may depend on how needed those men are in Seagard. We shall see." He chuckles and glances at Danae. "I don't think I've heard a person be thankful for being able to check over a person's wounds."
"They'd write seven hells of a song about our glorious deaths, though, if we did it," Jarod replies to Riordan, with a grin that verges on boyish. Though his manner isn't anything resembling merry, so it doesn't get that far. He holds as still as he can while Danae attends to his wound. He's used enough to this part, at least, that he gets through her doing it without yelping or wincing too much. "Aye. We shall see. Did you serve in the Rebellion, Ser Riordan? I've met a few Naylands who did, though the Freys did not march until the end. Ser Rygar for the Royalists, Lord Rafferdy for King Robert's Men."
Jarod is a most excellent patient. Unfortunately, Danae doesn't so much warn him about the oncoming salve which unfortunately stings, distracted as she is by rolling her eyes as the 'song of their glorious deaths.' /Boys/. "This will sting," she warns sweetly, after the fact. "It is better to see before you what you can accomplish, pretty as songs may be. Others may come to their aide, mayhaps the Tall Oaks has not suffered the same infringment as far to the North as it lays." She frowns at a deeper edge of the wound, applying a little more salve there. Looking over her shoulder, she arches a brow at Riordan and smiles at his comment. "Tis just concern, my Lord."
A chuckle emits from Riordan, though it turns into a light cough, though he's still grinning. "Oh, a most glorious song for a glorious death, no doubt!" He smirks. Watching as Danae works on Jarod, he shakes his head lightly. "I did not fight in the Rebellion, though I did join the Rebel army after the Battle of Trident." He sighs, nodding slightly to Danae. Although, a sly grin does cross his face. "Ah, yes. Just concern. For you are a most curteous and caring woman, m'lady. Perhaps there shall be songs sung of your kindness in this difficult time?" He gives her a little, playful wink.
"I fought for the Rebels." Jarod says it with a half-smile that holds no acrimony for Royalist men. "For the Mallisters, come to it. When I was a squire under one of his common knights. Fellow called Ser Vernon Mullard. He did the tourney circuit himself for a bit after the war. Said he needed to fight and f…" Whatever other 'f' work Ser Vernon needed to do is tabled after a look at Danae. "…revel a bit to get the Rebellion out of his head…seven hells!" That last barked, rather high-pitched, as Danae salves him. He got caught up in chattering and wasn't prepared for it. Deep breath. "Umm. Thanks, m'lady." He's seated, with his shirt off, having a shallow gash in his side tended by Danae. Riordan is resting not faraway.
Danae looks up at the seated knight with those same large, blue eyes that regarded Riordan earlier, looking concerned for his well-being. Yes? Hello. "Shall I continue, Ser?" She wonders gently, fingers still pressed to the edge of the wound. At Riordan's flattery, she shakes her head with her mouth curved in quiet amusement. "I should doubt that there shall. I would prefer to remain away from the daring predicaments that are the fodder for such songs, they usually end tragically for we maids."
Down the stairs comes Lucienne, no doubt returning from some errand or another. She darts a look about the hall, and passes something off to a servant before making her way over toward Jarod et al, the smallest of smiles curved upon her lips. "My lady, Sers," is how she announces herself, the greeting given with a short, crisp curtsy.
"Ah, you fought for the rebellion?" It's more of a curious thought for Riordan than anything. "I was a squire for Ser Andrey of House Charlton. He and his house are vassals to House Frey." He nods curtly. There's a tilt of his head toward Danae. "You do not wish to have songs sung about you? Oh, my dear lady! It is your decision, of course. I'll ensure that the minstrels know not to sing of your concern for others." He grins. Standing up at the entrance of Lucienne, he offers her the a small little bow. "Good day, m'Lady." And with that, he seats himself once more.
"Fear not, M'Lady Westerling, I've made a promise or two not to die," Jarod replies to Danae. "I intend to endeavor to keep it. Just hope I can do some good for family as well. Doesn't sit right, not being with them during all this. Aye. Please." That to her salving. Which, now that he's braced for it, he doesn't yelp about anymore. "I'm much appreciative. Aye, I did." That to Riordan. "I was knighted after the Trident, though the same can be said of most Rebel squires who had four limbs still attached after that battle. I've met Ser Andrey. Damn fine jouster, and struck me as a fine knight. Knocked me flat at my half-brother's wedding tourney, and then was a gentleman about the ransom price of my armor." His head turns as someone new comes down the stairs. He smiles slight back at Lucienne, though the expression doesn't quite reach his green eyes. Ser Jarod is somber today. And kind of pained, due to the shallow gash in his right side which Danae's working on. "Hello, Little Luci."
Lucienne's arrival garners a look over Danae's shoulder, accompanied by a small smile in greeting, "My Lady Terrick." She frowns at Jarod's wound for another moment, before noting, "You may be in luck, Ser. I believe that is the worst of my ministrations you shall have to suffer. If you'll please sit up a little," there is a pause as she gently grips his side, away from wound to urge him forward, "I'll just wrap it in bandages. You'll then have to keep it clean." Riordan's comment is met with a dry, "My thanks."
Lucienne acknowledge's Riordan's greeting with a dip of her chin, her hands joining primly in front of her stomach. She's more interested in gawping at Jarod's injury, truth be told, and her smile disappears as she does. "That looks sore," she observes, followed by a quick, "Thankyou, my Lady Westerling, for seeing to…" There's a pause, and her dark eyes flicker up to catch her brother's green, a glint in them. Will she share his nickname? "Ser Jarod." Not today.
"Ser Andrey is a fine man, and quite the jouster, yes. I am certainly honoured to have been his squire." While Riordan speaks of his mentor, he gets a far away look on his face, thinking of days long gone. "You'd better stay alive, Ser Rivers. We've got songs that need writing about our future fights to save the Roost." He says with a little twinkle in his eye, though he doesn't respond to Danae with words, but just gives her a little wink and leaves it at that.
"I was totally in the right, Luci, and you should see the other guy." It's a half-quip from Jarod to his sister. It has the sound of a familiar Ser Jarod Rivers refrain. He extends one hand a little toward her, palm open so she can clasp it. Meanwhile he sits up straighter, so Danae can wrap him as she will. Riordan earns a chuckle. "Aye, that we do, Ser. That, I pray we do."
"This will not be the one that gets him. Although I may get to him, should he not keep it cleaner than his blade," Danae warns Jarod easily, flashing him a short half-smile. There is medicine available so he has no excuse to let it fester. She is all business and propriety in wrapping the wound, setting down a cushion for blood before wrapping his bare torso with gentle care. There.
Lucienne… can't help but to smile at that familiar turn of phrase from her brother, reaching out to take his hand. "Jarod Rivers, Steel of House Terrick, Ironsbane. Has a certain ring to it, doesn't it? Though I suppose you ought to share that last title with your comrades, dear brother mine."
Leaning back, Riordan stares at the ceiling once more. He listens to the conversation, though for now stays out of it. His mind is on other matters. Matters that extend beyond these walls. Like, how are they going to get out of their predicament. That's not to say that these thoughts aren't on the minds of the others, but they seem to be overwhelming him for the time being.
Jarod snorts to that. "Far more for my comrades than I. I doubt I will be the bane of any Ironers who retreated. Glad to be alive. Gladder those I fought next to are." To Danae, he inclines his head. "My great thanks again, m'lady. I shall endeavor not to muss your good works."
"Mhm. He does sound fearsome. Perhaps give yourself the time you can before you go off, shedding the blood of Floaters in your wake, though," Dane agrees, tying off the bandage with a light pat to Jarod's chest. She gathers her supplies into her arms and rises slowly — stone is not a comfortable thing to kneel upon — before looking to Riordan and clearing her throat.
Lucienne gives Jarod's hand a comforting squeeze. "As am I, so very glad to see you returned. Have you had something to drink? Eat? I could fetch some. Or find someone to fetch some." She offers Danae a grateful smile for her work, and darts a look over to the distracted Riordan. Something of sympathy twinges in her expression; she knows that feeling.
Looking back down, Riordan blinks at Danae. "Hmm? Oh…yes. Right." Slowly he lifts his shirt off, exposing his chest and arms. His chest is quite bruised, but the damage doesn't seem terribly bad. Only a bit of moderate damage was done, overall, it would appear, though it's still enough to hurt.
Jarod lets go of Lucienne's hand to put his shirt back on, considering her offer. "Something to eat'd be good. A couple plates, if you can. I should go look in on Rowan, bring him something if it's not been brought already. Luci…" He takes a deep breath. There's more troubling him than just concern for his squire, though that plainly troubles him much. "…has anyone spoken to you? About…about the Roost?"
Lucienne's smile is returned with a warm one; Danae pauses to scrub her hands clean of any lingering blood from Jarod. Riordan's shirtlessness, however requested, catches her unexpectedly and a sudden flush of colour rises to her cheeks. Oh. She swallows, wide-eyed for a moment and focuses her attention on the bruise itself. "I think I have something that will help that…I'll return shortly," she says quickly, slipping off from those assembled to go and find it. The salve or her composure, whichever comes first.
"Where is he? Is he alright?" Asks Luci, regarding Jarod's squire. She makes a point of keeping her eyes locked on her brother as Riordan disrobes, not that it's at all difficult, considering the way the conversation turns. Lucienne frowns. "I heard, yes," she admits solemnly. "And Seagard. Ser Rygar mentioned sending riders for the Terrick vassals stranded east of the Roost, and I - well, before I knew you were wounded, I pledged them our help. However we can assist."
A curious look is given to Danae as she starts to blush. Riordan holds back a little smile, acting as if he didn't notice that colour in the cheeks. "I'll be here waiting." He responds to her instead. He speaks now to Lucienne. "As I am permitted, I would like to help with Terrick's Roost as well." He glances at Jarod. "I owe Ser Rivers, as well as my brother who has been in his service. It is the least I could do to help in any way I can."
"Our healer's seeing to him here, aye. He's with the more serious cases, bit more quiet than stowing in the halls. He'll be all right in time, I'm told. Got taken pretty badly by the Ironborn trying to hold the cavalry line when I broke to fetch Ser Riordan but…he'll be all right." Jarod sounds like he's repeating to himself to emphasize it, tone a little rough. The bit about riders picking up stranded vassals earns a nod. "This'll not keep me from the saddle for more than a day or two, Luci. I'll do all I can for Lord Jerold's people, of course. I heard several of the townsfolk from the Roost had managed to flee here as well. We should…I don't know. Go to them. See to them somehow. Maybe you could help Lady Isolde make sure they've food and beds."
Riordan draws a look with his offer of help, and his naked torso prompts another maid to blush; Lucienne's cheeks raise a hot pink flush. "Thankyou, Ser," she manages to say, dark eyes lingering no longer on the Nayland knight's chest than they need to - she quickly switches her attention back to Jarod, and nods. "I could, I can. I'll find the Lady Nayland as soon as I've found you some refreshments. By your leave?"
It takes a little while for Danae to find the salve, finally returning with a small bowl of something strongly scented of herbs. When she does, she is tidier with her hair bound back more neatly than it had been previously and a persistant touch of colour stubbornly lingers in her cheeks. Ahem. "Try this?" She suggests, offering the it to Riordan as she stands beside his chair.
"Of course, Lady Terrick. Just inform me if there is anything I can do." Riordan might have continued, but the good medicine woman returned before too long, and he gives her a little nod. "Right…" He takes the little bowl and takes some of what is in it into his free hand. "And I just…put it on the whole…chest area?" He asks slowly. "I just rub it on?"
"My thanks to you, Ser. It would be much appreciated," Jarod says simply to Riordan. Tone somber. Very grateful, and still a touch surprised, at the offer of assistance. Albeit it pleasantly so. He gets up. With a grunt, but it's less pained than before. He'll wait for his food to arrive before wandering off.
Given leave, Lucienne dips a deep curtsy and glides off in the direction of the kitchens, to fetch the sustenance promised.
Danae's brows rise slightly at Riordan's cautioned questions and she barks out a short breath of laughter, before covering her mouth with a hand. It's not poison. "Aye, my good Ser. It will work best on the more brusied areas to ease the soreness." She dips a finger into the small pot, gently spreading it along the center of a bruise in demonstration, gaze flitting up to his. See?
"Ah…yes. Like that. I see." Riordan starts to slowly rub some of it on himself, glancing between his hand and Danae. "Thank you, m'lady. You've been kind. I daren't think of what we'd do without such a wonderful person such as yourself here at a time such as this." He gives her the tiniest smile. "I only regret that this will have to put on hold my taming of your horse. I know how much you wanted that horse of yours to be calmer."
"I believe that you'd still be walking around with a painful bruise," Danae replies lightly, fingers curling back against her palm and away from his skin as he takes up the task. She lingers near, standing to the side of his chair, opposite hand brushing lightly at her skirts. Her smile warms, broader in response to his tiniest one, as she shakes her head. "I do believe my feet will serve me well in the meantime, m'Lord. Unlike yours, that will sadly lacking in any lessons at any time in the near future."
"Yes, I do believe you're correct. And the Seven know that I'm not much use unless I can go at something full force." Riordan bows his head, taking some more of the medicine and rubbing it in lightly. Looking back up at Danae, he smiles. "You mean we can't sneak in a dancing lesson or two? Shame. I'd very much like to be able to still get them in. I'm sure we can find somewhere to do so."
Danae watches Riordan as he continues to apply the salve, blonde lashes ineffectually shielding her gaze. "It would be my hope that you shall go at it tactically, however you might choose to do so. Two versus hundreds is odds for a story and not for one's life." At his smile and his question, she raises her brows in surprise, anoter curving her features. "That you might know better than I, m'Lord. I think it is likely that you will be too busy for dancing, also it'd have to be somewhere…" Somewhere quieter.
Looking down at the salve he has on his chest so far, Riordan turns his gaze back to Danae and asks, "Do you think that that is enough, or shall I put on some more? I am really unsure of the amounts and everything. You are much more knowledgable in this area than I am." Which really is obvious, to be honest. "Do not worry, m'lady, we won't be charging head first into a crowd of Ironmen without a horde behind us to protect us. After all, I've made a promise to you that I most certainly intend to keep!" He smiles and nods. "Yes. I shall be busy, but I'm sure we can find time. We'll get it figured out."
"Ah…" Danae pauses, looking down at his chest a long moment before dipping her fingers into the pot of salve. Frowning slightly, she runs her fingers along a portion of bruise that he — to her eyes — has missed and dabs a bit more to a few other spots. She pulls away with a lopsided smile and a bit of blush, "There. You did quite well." There were only a few touch-ups. "Well, promises are ever meant to be kept, m'Lord. If it makes you think twice about diving into hordes of Ironmen, I am doubly so thankful," she says softly, reaching to take the pot of salve from him with a brush of fingers.
A glance is given to where she dabs the last little bit and Riordan nods and smiles. "Well, I'm glad. I did better than I thought I would do." He tilts his head, slowly passing the pot of salve from himself to her. "Well, I knight is many things, including his word, and if I were to break my word, I'd make for quite the poor knight."
Her fingers brush against his as the pot is exchanged, smile slight as she ducks her chin. "It is not a bad skill to have, it just needs to be covered evenly — that's all," Danae offers. "It is to my luck then, that I believe you are a very good knight. May the Seven keep your swordarm strong as your words."
Whiping his hand against his pants, Riordan picks up his shirt and slowly puts it back on, making sure it doesn't wipe off any of the salve. "We are both very lucky, I believe. Me to have such a wonderful young lady to help here, and you to have a knight who honours his word." He chuckles. "And I wish that the Seven keep you steady on your feet and keep your healing hands working."
Danae takes a light step back as Riordan moves to put his shirt back on, feet stuttering across the stone in a careful motion. Tipping her head to one side, she flashes him a smile, "Indeed. I ought to see if Lady Isolde has any need of my working hands. You should find yourself food and further rest, m'Lord." She dips in a graceful curtsey and takes a step away, before turning back. "Find me, if you want that dance," she offers, smile shading bittersweet.
