|Strong Arm of the King|
|Summary:||The Mallisters and their vassals speak with King Robert after the victory on Pyke.|
|Related Logs:||The invasion of the Iron Islands.|
|The Great Keep - Castle Pyke|
|The throne room of Balon Greyjoy, temporarily claimed by Robert Baratheon|
|13 April, 289 A.L.|
With the formality of the Royal Court finished, the throne room of the Great Keep has become a much more merry place. Despite the efforts of his brother and friend to turn the king's ear to matters of state, King Robert has dismissed his councilors, and summoned the musicians. Having ordered a long table drawn up before the throne, the black bearded monarch has just finished the important and regal business of ordering the table cleared. Across the table from him stands a face familiar to some of the Rivermen: Anton Valentin the Knight of Oldstones. "As one man of war to another-" the king is voicing past a broad smile. "You'll have that and more. IF your arm is stronger than mine." Shrugging off his coat and doublet, the brawny king seems intent on resolving this question of state with an arm wrestling match.
Anton Valentin, known more for his deadly focus on the battlefield than his humor, laughs. "Seems the only fitting way to settle a question like this," the knight agrees with the king. His coat and doublet, both black, are tossed onto the table, and he sets about rolling up his shirt sleeves. The riverlord is a tall man, broad of shoulder and thick-limbed, but he hardly looks it compared to Robert. Not that that seems to daunt him. He grins, and stretches once, then sets his elbow on the tabletop, wiggling his fingers.
"Maiden fuck me, ha!" Jarod whisper-exclaims with boyish glee at the sight of Robert Baratheon and Anton Valentin about to arm wrestle. He's stayed for the merriment, of course, drinking a mug of arbor wine and watching the show. The man he's whisper-exclaiming to is Gedeon Rivers, who he stands next to. "I'd never get against Good King Robert but…your Lord Ser may just get the Baratheons to pay for his timberhall."
If there's one thing about Robert Baratheon that Kamron Mallister remembers (besides the sheer chaos he and his charisma can cause on the battlefield), it's that he loves the stories of chaos on the battlefield. And so representatives of the Mallister-aligned houses, and one Ser Gedeon Rivers, have shown back up at the hall on Pyke a short while after the dismissal of court. He advances slowly down the hall, observing the 'affairs of state' about to take place. Chuckling softly, he looks over at the others, shaking his head to Jarod, "You want to put your money where your mouth is, Ser Jarod?"
Standing a little back, now that the arm wrestling's been announced, arms crossed loosely over his chest and a wide smile on his face, Gedeon glances over at his fellow Rivers. "I think he well may," he agrees before glancing at Kamron, brows lifted. "Are we putting coin on this my lord? You know where mine shall go." Though of course, just how much he'd have to bet quite depends on the outcome of the match.
Robert Baratheon, first of his name, sets his elbow to the table with a thud, smiling across the timber tabletop at Ser Anton. Course and calloused fingers wiggle in the air until clasping around Anton's own swordhand. In proper arm-wrestling form, he reaches his left hand beneath the bridged fists to clasp forearms with his opponent. "Call it, Oldstones," the king invites with a fierce smile, allowing Anton the right of calling a start. Whooping and cheering, the nobility who had been drinking at the King's table circle around to watch the contest.
Also having shown up with the others, Martyn pauses for a few moments at the sight of the upcoming match of arm wrestling. "Now this might get interesting," he offers, a bit quietly. Shaking his head a little bit as he watches, but he doesn't join in making bets at the moment.
"No money on this match from me," Jarod says firm to Kamron with a boyish grin. If his mood was somber after the court - and the calling for Balon Greyjoy's head - a cup of wine or two and the cheer in the hall has regained it for him. "Like I said, I don't bet against my king. But I fought Lord Ser Valentin in the Stonebridge tourney and…heh. You also don't get against a man who's broken your ribs. The other Ser Rivers sounds willing to sport on it, though. Watch close, mates, this'll be a hell of a story when we get back to the Riverlands."
Ser Kittridge Groves is one the crowd drawn by the contest, and he drifts over towards Jarod, Gedeon and the others, cup of wine in hand. "That's a tough one to call," he says, "But my money's on the king, for sure. You lot wagering? I've got a silver on the king if anyone'll take it."
Anton's hand clasps around the king's, fingers lifting and resettling twice before closing. He reaches through to clasp the king's forearm with the other hand, and then stills. For a moment he just stands there, crouched over, staring at Robert, gaze locked on his, lips curled in a half-smile. "Go," he says abruptly. Nothing much happens at first, but that's how these things go when the opponents are a reasonably equal match.
"I'll take it," Gedeon agrees, with a glance to Kittridge. Eyes dancing he adds, with a rather boyish grin, "and I'll take it."
Kamron waves off Gedeon's question and nods at Jarod's words, "Figure of speech in this case. We all need the coin." He shakes his head at Kittridge, smiling just a bit, but then Gedeon takes up the bet, and he shrugs, "This'll be a story, but we've plenty of our own to tell and share as well." He glances about the little group, then beckons them on as he advances himself, "Why don't we see if His Grace might like to hear about the work we've done here on Pyke?" He grins a little crookedly, "After he's done crushing Lord Valentin, of course."
King Robert's forearm muscles stand out starkly under his skin as the match begins. Even through the fabric of his shirt, shoulder muscles can be seen to bolt. Even as the fists begin to shake with exertion the contest remains close, neither man quickly able to push their foe's fist past the center of the table. Despite the bets which had been place by most- not on who would win, but how long it would take the king to win- the match remains very. very close.
Martyn keeps quiet for now, moving along with Kamron, while just watching the happenings at the moment as well. Pausing for a few moments as he looks around for a few moments, and getting hold of some of that wine. Because things like this needs wine, right?
"Underestimation is a dangerous thing…" Gedeon murmurs for Kamron's words, though his own are said around a laugh. He falls quiet as the contest really begins, whistling softly as King Robert strains and all those mounds of muscles start puffing and shaking.
"A chance to trade war stories with Robert Baratheon, First of his name?" Jarod says low to Kamron, still grinning. "Seven hells yes. Particularly if I take you right, M'Lord Mallister. Wouldn't be amiss if the king knew better the worth of some of our fellows." He glances over his shoulder at Gedeon. Only briefly. The match is too interesting to really take your eyes off for long.
It's a shame there aren't any ladies about, what with the spectacle of manliness taking place in front of the throne right now. It's all furrowed brows and bulging muscles as the king and the Knight of Oldstones compete, and for now, Valentin holds his own. For a while, in fact, long enough that a few coins begin to change hands. Eventually, though, there is some movement. The angle gradually shifts in the king's favor, and though Anton manages with grit teeth to fight back that lost ground, it does not stay won as long the second time.
Kamron watches the contest as they approach the table, grinning over at Jarod, "We've all done things to be proud of here on Pyke, Ser Jarod. It would be a shame if they weren't known." Still, he nods archly at the Terrick bastard. Grinning crookedly, he beckons to Martyn, "There enough of that to share around, coz?" He gestures up to the contest of the titans taking place at the throne, "The Good King Robert is going to have a mighty thirst after this."
"Ah, fuck," Gedeon Rivers murmurs under his breath as his lord begins to flag. Tipping his chin up, he calls, "Come on, Oldstones! Show his Highness what you're made of!"
Shrugging a bit as he hears Kamron's words, Martyn takes a solid sip from his wine now. "Should be, yes," he offers, looking around for some more of the substance now.
Steadily, the hand of the Crowned Stag begins to force back that of the Rising Phoenix. Arms straining and fists shaking, as the clasped fists begin to near the tabletop, a deep chuckle begins to stir in Robert's throat, rolling past smiling teeth clenched in exertion. Noise of mixed acclaim and lament rise from the onlookers along with the laughter as at last- after a tense and hotly contested match- King Robert touches Ser Anton's fist to the table, raising a wordless booming shout to punctuate the close-won victory.
"The hammer of the Seven Kingdoms!" Jarod cheers as Robert emerges victorious from the arm-wrestling 'battle.' Adding a high-pitched whistle after his cheering. He can't help himself.
"Fuck!" Gedeon mutters again, though this time it's for the whistle in his ear. He wriggles a finger around in it while eying Jarod a moment. Then he glances at Kamron before flicking his gaze towards Anton and the king. "Did you find that bottle yet, my lord?"
Lord Ser Anton fights until the very last second, jaw tensed in a silent grin, tendons jumping his neck and a vein thumping in his temple. When at last the back of his hand meets wood, he lets out a breath, and then laughs as he king shouts, straightening up. He shakes out his arm, and smiles widely, reaching for his wine. He drinks deeply, and then says, in good-natured resignation, "A solid victory, Your Grace. Well fought."
Kamron keeps his left arm clasped close to his stomach, but he claps his right hand onto his thigh, "Baratheon!" The call is a bit pained, but loud enough. Collecting a goblet of wine, he hefts it up, stepping forward to the edge of the table to offer it out to the King. "Another victory to add to your tally, although perhaps a bit closer-fought than some of your others." He bows his head just a bit to Lord Ser Anton, although he keeps most of his attention on the King.
Martyn was looking for some more of the wine, but stops as he sees Kamron getting hold of one. Keeping silent, and a bit to the back at the moment, letting his cousin do the talking for now.
"Damned good match!" King Robert laughs aloud, clapping Anton on the shoulder in good nature before calling for a drink, and quickly finding one supplied to him. Prompting another, he passes the first to Anton, and clashes the vessels together before draining his cup in a single length gulp. "Alright," he pronounces aloud. "I'll see the timber floated down the Tumblestone for you. But the men and the transport is on you, Ser," he laughs to Anton. Only afterward does he turn a broad smile upon Kamron.
Jarod grins at Gedeon's finger-wriggling. He may, just may, have done that on purpose. "Was it your father's great arm that won him his lordship after the Trident, Lord Ser Valentin?" he asks the Oldstones lord merrily, keeping pace with Kamron as the wine is offered to the king.
Gedeon follows Kamron and Jarod after collecting a goblet for himself. Still laughing, he approaches King Robert and Lord Valentin, offering a grin from the monarch and then his lord. "Well-fought," he says around his smile. "There was an instant, in the beginning, my lord, where I thought you might have had our Good King."
Anton claps the king in return, and drains his goblet alike after that appropriately-aggressive toast. "Done," he agrees, with a grin and a nod, joking, "I'll drag the logs myself so I'll be better prepared for a rematch when next we meet." As the sers of the Cape approach, he drinks again, and then smiles crookedly to Jarod, tapping the side of his nose. "Maybe so, Ser Rivers," he says, "I've heard stranger stories." Gedeon gets a slap on the back from his lord and a laugh, "I did for a moment, but… next time!"
Ser Kittridge cheers loudly as the bout finishes, and lifts his wine into the air, laughing and whistling. "Pay up, Ser Gedeon," he grins, "Though your lord gave quite a showing, I'll grant you. I thought he might be the Greatjon in a Valentin-hide suit for a minute there."
Kamron bows his head to the King, grimacing a little as he straightens up again, "I thought you might like to hear a bit of the story behind your new sword, Your Grace." He gestures around him at the other Cape-lords and bastards, "And that you might like to meet a few of the men who helped bring it to you." He glances over to Martyn, "And my cousin here didn't believe that you crushed two skulls with one swing of your hammer coming over the breach." It's one of the more common rumors going around camp, whether or not it's true.
Martyn pauses a bit at Kamron's words, stepping forward a little as he offers a half-smile in the King's direction. "I fear that certain events in the past has made me a bit cautious about stories of such great things, Your Grace," he offers, after a few moments of pause.
"You know, I had just told Ser Anton the same thing, when he claimed I never cut a man wholly in half, as he did at the walls," Robert laughs to Kamron, turning back to the thronw and kicking his boots up as he gestures for Kamron to speak on. "Aye! Let's hear of the Greyjoy's end."
Jarod is armed with a goblet of his own, of course. He's partaken in a glass or two already, starting when the drink began flowing, though likely not of the best quality in the hall. "You honor us, your grace. My own sword was not one of those that stood against him, but I saw it done. Was seven hells of a good little fight. The Pretender Prince was a strong arm with a sword, whatever else he was."
Gedeon smirks over at Anton before peering over at Kittridge. His smile turning wry, he fishes out a silver, his last, and hands it over. "I'll get it won back next time," he teases before having a swallow of wine. For Jarod's words he laughs. "It's true, your highness," the one Rivers agrees of the other. "Ser Jarod was too busy sitting on Harras Harlaw at the time."
"Still tackling knights, Rivers?" Lord Anton says as he leans against the table's edge, "That's becoming your signature."
Kamron whistles soft and low at Robert's description of Anton's actions, and he nods as well, "Remind me not to get near -your- blade, Lord Valentin." He grimaces and rubs at his injured abdomen, "I had more than my share of trouble with the Rusted Prince." Shaking his head at Jarod and Gedeon's words, however, he adds in, "Don't let them understate their own efforts. While I was keeping the Rusted Prince busy, these four, and a few others, were dealing with Ser Harras and the reavers supporting Greyjoy." Laughing a bit, he adds, "And they couldn't get done soon enough. Not with Greyjoy trying to decide if he wanted to ring me like a bell or bleed me like a steer." Gesturing around the little group, he introduces the knights with him, "Ser Martyn Mallister and Ser Kittridge Groves, who you no doubt know, Your Grace, Ser Jarod Rivers, son of Jerold Terrick, and Ser Gedeon Rivers, son of Geoffrey Tordane."
Martyn keeps silent for now, just listening to the others. Nodding a little bit as he's introduced, but otherwise just listening to what's being said.
Jarod laughs at Gedeon's description of his bout with Ser Harras. "My own blade's not exactly Valyrian steel. Seemed the best way to deal with a man in a superior kit. Also must say, I'm not sorry I didn't have to kill him. If there were more men of the Harlaw knight's like on these Seven-forsaken islands, might never have come to this." He gets some wine, and raises his goblet toward Anton. "Did a bit better for me this time, Lord Ser." He offers a half-bow, when Kamron says his name. "Lord Jerold is sorrowed he couldn't lead our host himself, your grace, but he couldn't leave the Roost without a firm hand with the coasts still threatened, particularly after the loss of his lady wife. He sends his high regard and fealty, always, as does my half-brother, the Young Lord Jacsen."
"Let's hope you never need reminding," Lord Anton replies to Kamron with a smile.
Ser Kittridge bows to the king, saying, "Your Grace," and adding to the talk of tackling, "It's surprisingly effective. I may have to steal it from you, Ser Jarod, now that I've seen how well it works."
Either it's divine timing, or just poor manners-either way another is soon coming into the Throne room of the Great Keep. Dressed in the simple homespun brown robes, save for a slash of red at his arm, the bald begging brother perhaps looks a bit out of place coming in here. And indeed there is a momentary pause as eyes look to the lords and knights in attendance. Oh yeah, the fucking king is here too, so there is that. Hands fidget at the odd prayer chord that dangles from the thick belt, before they are sliding into his large sleeves. A tilt of his head and it appears that Marsden will try to take the long way around to where Ser Gedeon has put himself.
King Robert looks over the men as Kamron names them, raising his cup to each in turn, and taking a deep pull afterward. "So tell me, Sers: which among this bold company struck down the would-be Prince?" Jarod's demi-apologies are met with a distracted nod. He is clearly more interested in talk of the battle than of those who did not attend.
Kamron gives another pained laugh at the King's question, "Only the Father above knows, Your Grace. He knocked me down, bent in my spaulder," he gestures up to his left shoulder with his right hand, "and Ser Martyn, Ser Kittridge, and Ser Keelin Dorsey, kept him off me while Brother Marsden helped me back into the fight. He was hit by just about all of us, and by the time Ser Kittridge checked him, he was dead." He gestures to the others, "They did a grand job keeping him off of me while I got my armor sorted out, and Ser Kittridge took a page from Ser Jarod's book." Teeth flash in a grin, "You might say, Your Grace, that the Cape killed the Rusted Prince."
Jarod settles in to hear the tale of the fall of the Rusted Prince proper, as he wasn't among those who struck at him, sipping deep from his winecup.
Martyn keeps silent as he listens to what's being said now, draining the last of his own wine while keeping most of his attention on the King at the moment.
Gedeon is with the little group speaking with the king, so there's not much hope of circumventing, but as the bald-headed not-quite-septon appears, about in time to be mentioned, the blond Rivers raises a hand to gesture him over. "It was a thing to see, especially from so very close."
Although Robert doesn't lose his smile, after a pass of one hand clears the ale foam from his beard, his black brows do draw together a bit at Kamron's answer. "Pity, that. Rodrik was one of a handful I'd hoped to test by my own hand." He chuckles and relates further, "It's said there's an Old Wycker named Andrik the Unsmiling, in the retinue of House Drumm. Said to be the strongest man in the Iron Isles. Had a wish to see how strong that was."
Marsden glances up as he looks over towards Kamron, and then the king. A scarred smile is passed to his grace, before bowing his head at his mention. Chewing the inside of his cheek for a moment, Marsden, merely reaches out to tug at Gedeon's arm. "Ser." a bit softer lest he interrupts-yet. "Wine me, if you will be so kind.." Or someone who doesn't mind getting the half septon a glass? It would be most appreciated. With that request done Streem is quick to pop a glance back towards Kamron. "Technically, Ser-The Stranger would know what made him shift his hand. The Father just judges.." Semantics. After all theology is exactly what folks want to talk about over awesome feats of strength, right?
"Hard to say, Your Grace," Ser Kittridge agrees, "He took more of Ser Kamron's blows than any many should be able to stand, plus a few more from Ser Dorsey and myself. I doubt he was even feeling the blades any longer, at that point, so aye, like he said, I stole a trick from Ser Jarod and tackled him. He never got up." He shrugs, and drinks, and says, "But the duel before his end was the thing to watch, like Ser Gedeon says. It's a shame you couldn't have fought him yourself, I'd have liked to've seen that. Or the Grimbrother," he suggests to the king, at the mention of Andrik, "With his Valyrian axe. Does he still live, have we heard?"
"I figure it was the Father's own justice that led the Mallister men to slay Rodrik Greyjoy, to pay for what was done to Lord Jason at Seagard," Jarod says. "Warrior keep his soul, and all the victorious dead who were lucky enough to go down brave with blade in hand."
King Robert nods along with the comments of the knights around him, leaning back in Balon Greyjoy's throne, and resting a hand on the pommel of Rodrik Greyjoy's sword. "Ah, the Grimbrother. Should make him fight for the title with Stannis," he barks in a sharp chuckle and wry shake of the head at his own jest. To Kittridge's words the king adds, "He hasn't been taken. Word is that he slipped off of Old Wycke ahead of his House's bending the knee." A long breath is drawn to savor the taste of drink lingering on his tongue. "If Balon's head doesnt stamp the fight out of them, mayhap I'll have a go at the Grimbrother or this Andrik yet, eh?" Talk of the dead Lord Jason prompts him to raise his cup anew, and declare aloud, "To Lord Jason Mallister: he lived and died with honor."
Gedeon glances over for that little tug on his arm, and though he can't quite step away from the conversation, he can nod for a drink to be brought to Marsden. There is a bemused snort for the 'septon's' correction. "Details, details." He nods for Jarod's words, before lifting his glass when the king toasts. "To Jason Mallister," he agrees, "One of the bravest warriors in the Riverlands."
Kamron grins at Robert, gesturing down to the table that was just the site of an arm-wrestling contest. He's about to respond, when Marsden pipes in with theology. Blinking a moment, he responds, "The Stranger it is, then, Brother Marsden." He nods to Kittridge's words, then focuses on the King as he speaks up again. He doesn't laugh at the comment on Stannis, but the talk of further fighting does bring a grin to his lips again, only to be swept away by the talk of Jason Mallister. He raises his own glass, "To Lord Jason Mallister." Taking a drink, he gestures to Martyn, Jarod, Gedeon, and himself, "The charge alongside Lord Jason and yourself at the Trident is one that those of us who were with you will never forget, Your Grace. It was a thing of beauty."
Having gotten his own glass filled again, Martyn nods a bit at the mention of Lord Jason. "To Lord Jason Mallister," he echoes the others, going silent again as he takes a long sip from his glass. Nodding a bit at Kamron's words. "One of the finest moments I've ever seen on a battlefield," he offers.
"To the Iron Eagle!" Jarod raises his glass, and drinks deep. Nodding as Kamron speaks. "Aye, your grace. My half-brother was squire to Lord Mallister at the Trident. Lost the use of a leg in the cutting through Prince Rhaegar's body guards, but I figure his spine is stronger for having stood the field that day nonetheless." He takes another drink and looks to the king a moment before asking, with an almost boyish curiosity, "What is the best fight you've ever been in, your grace? Ser Harras is easily it for me, but I've not stood the likes of Rodrik Greyjoy or the Grimbrother. I'd hoped to get my chance against the Pretender Prince Maron when we stormed the Pyke but…" He shrugs, and lets out a half-chuckle. "Didn't even see him on the field."
"To Lord Jason," Kittridge echoes, and drinks, and then drinks again as Kamron brings up the Trident. He says to the king, "I think that'd be a thing to see, Your Grace, if you fought the Grimbrother or Andrik the Unsmiling. They've much better names for ballad-writing, too," he points out.
"Lord Mallister" Marsden echos without a drink in hand, but soon enough there is one. A hasty raise and sip before he is calming down for a moment. Licking the wine from his lips there's a small look of appreciation. "Nice.." murmured mainly to himself before he is looking over towards King Robert and Kamron. An easy grin rides on his lips, as he quips back. "Only trying to keep you ever honest an humble, Ser Kamron." the chuckle following should prove that he is indeed jesting. A sniff there over the rim of his cup as the septon is soon agreeing as well. "Cleanest bloody charge I've ever seen, You Grace." which may surprise some in the room to hear that assertion. Or it may not. "And a good hold when the counter attack came. Most woulda broke there, But when you swing the hammer to the anvil. Only the cheap metal cracks. Like we saw with the royalists. All to pieces.." Ok, he's done.
The king considers Jarod's question a long moment. "The best? Crossed paths with some hulking Westerland knight in a melee seven years past. The Clegane heir. Bigger even than me, but fuck me sideways if I didnt knock the big lad sprawling," he recalls proudly. "I know you lot would expect me to say Rhaegar, but it wasn't. Isn't it funny, my lords-" Robert muses aloud, settling back in his conquered throne, "How there are some men you would do all you could to bring back from death.." he glances to the MAllisters with that, "And there are others you want nothing more than to kill all over again."
"I suppose we all have somebody we would bring back from death were it in our power," Ser Gedeon agrees, his fingers slowly turning his cup in a slow circle, "and some we might wish alive only to end them again. A man hasn't fully lived, if he can't claim such deep friends or such great enemies."
Kamron bows his head to Marsden, "That and keep my ass going in a fight, Brother Marsden." And then he quiets to hear the King's response to Jarod's question. The answer causes him to frown slightly in surprise. Still, he nods his head sharply at the words that follow. "Very wise, Ser Gedeon."
Martyn pauses a little as he listens to what's being said now, taking another sip from his wine, before he nods, both at the King's words, and then at Gedeon's words. "Quite true," he offers.
"Isn't he called the Mountain, your grace?" Jarod asks, of the Westerlands knight he muses on. "Sounds like he lives up to it." The last of what the king says, though, is considered with more seriousness. A nod to Gedeon. "Wise indeed, Ser. Release of death seems too good for some men, and yet they gain it. We're still here, at least." He summons up a grin. "To drink and live well."
Marsden scratches his chin for a moment. "That is the problem with death, I suppose. It's blind to the hearts of men. No, Death has it's own list an we're all on it." he adds before looking back towards Gedeon with a nod. "And sometimes, those are all one in the same." A dry laugh there into his cup. And more wine is drained down.
"It does at that," Robert agrees to Jarod's 'too good for some men' comment, before huffing a short chuckle and echoing the last, "We're still here. Damned right, but here we are. A toast!" he prompts aloud, to the whole of the hall. "A toast! The lives we've lived, and the lives we've lost. To what endures, and to the battles yet to come!"
Kittridge listens and drinks, and then lifts his cup as the king toasts, adding a "Hear, hear!" in support before he drains the rest of his wine.
Gedeon is quiet this time, as he lifts his glass in a toast and has another swallow of wine. "Battles yet to come," he repeats. "There always are, aren't there. Battles encroaching."
"To what endures." Jarod raises his cup, looking between the Mallisters and Kittridge, then to Gedeon. "The battles yet to come, and those we shall fight them with." He drinks deep.
Martyn lifts his glass in the toast as well, nodding a bit in the process. "Battles yet to come. Since they will always come, one way or the other…"
"To what endures." Marsden pipes back up, as more wine is swallowed back down. The rest is not spoken, as he looks over towards Jarod, and then to the Mallisters. There's a scant glance back to the blonde knight close by, and a brow raised.
Kamron drains off his own cup, "To the battles yet to come." Blinking once at the wine he's already ingested, and looking over to Gedeon, he nods his head, "Hopefully no physical battles, Ser Gedeon." He grimaces a bit, "But undoubtedly, there will be political battles to come. In the Riverlands and throughout the lands."
Glancing at Marsden, Gedeon returns that slight lift of the septon's brow with a slight lift of his own. He takes another swallow of wine as he looks back to the others. "Inevitably," Gedeon agrees for Kamron's words. "Politics are tedious, but more persistent than fog on these damned islands. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm eager to see home, again."
Marsden lowers his brow right there before a nod is given. And there's a faint stretch in the Half Septon's arm before he is clearing his throat softly. "I will agree to that, Ser Rivers. There's nothing like bein' on your own turf, that doesn't bring life to your blood. To be amongst your right people an all." Another sip of wine, before his cup is empty. Only there does he look up and signal for another on his own, this time.
"Sure we're all eager to see how again," Kittridge echoes, "And see things sorted out once we're there. A lot to be done to set the Riverlands straight once again. I try not to think too hard on it, spoils the anticipation a bit pondering all that work."
"Less rocks, more comfortable," Martyn comments to the part about home. "Not to mention that not everyone is trying to kill you…" Draining the last of his glass now.
"Much to rebuild. Still. It'll be good to be home," Jarod says simply. Though he does take a moment more to bask in the merriment of King Robert's conquered court, and the wine, before letting himself dwell on more serious tasks ahead.