|The Fun Nayland|
|Summary:||Lord Rafferdy has a proposition. Ser Jarod has a dream.|
|Related Logs:||None directly. The Struggle for Stonebridge stuff indirectly.|
|Rockcliff Inn — Terrick's Roost|
|The Rockcliff Inn is one of the better inns within the town and it shows with the well-lit interior and the relative cleanliness to the other locations in Terrick's Roost. The tables are polished with oils and the floor regularly swept. A set of booths towards a darker rear of the Inn's bottom floor, just beneath the staircase, are where whores generally socialize and eye prospects from when not waiting tables. Signs over the undersized bar area advertise prices for ales and wines as well as several different choices of food to be served at the small eating area by the bar or in the main open area in its comfortable seating. A door behind the bar leads to the kitchen and cellar while another near the staircase leads to a private room that would appear to be off-limits to the 'wait staff' except for food and drink service.|
|Sun Dec 04, 288|
Night in Terrick's Roost, and Ser Jarod is apparently not spending his Remembrance Day at Four Eagles Tower. He's at the bar at the moment, making quick work of a large cup of wine and chattering with some of the local town men. And eyeing the 'working' girls circulating none-too-subtly through the crowd. A lithe dark-haired girl seems to have caught his eye in particular, though at present he's still observing the wares rather than buying. Otherwise, the crowd is sparse, as the day for most is a time for reflection rather than revelry. Still, many tables are occupied with diners and there's a minstrel girl playing a lute in the center of the room, even if it is a more somber song.
Rafferdy wanders into the tavern. He's in enemy territory, but thankfully, his clothing, demeanor and history make being in a place like this much less worrisome than it would be for his Nayland brothers. Dressed like a commoner, he makes his way to the bar, ordering, "The largest container of ale you got." As he waits, he takes a moment to check out the girl playing the loot. He's taking a good look at her instrument, but not the one making music.
The girl's a mediocre lute player at best, but she's got a slightly better voice, long strawberry-blonde hair and enough curves to make up for any lack of musical aplomb her act might offer. The men watching her are tipping handsomely. Ser Jarod himself flicks three copper pennies into her hat as she ends her latest ballad. Once he's done tipping, however, the newcomer at the bar draws his attention. "Fuck me to seven hells, Naylands everywhere," he says rather tiredly. It serves as his 'greeting' to Rafferdy. He pushes his half-drunk wine cup across the bar. "I'm going to need this topped off, I think."
Rafferdy looks over at Jarod. He sighs, and slides enough coin to pay for Jarod's wine as well as his own ale. "Play nice, Jarod. As much as you're the 'nice' Terrick, I'm the best of my family, too." He rolls his eyes a little, playfully, and then takes a long drink of his ale.
"I'm not that nice, gods dammit!" Jarod retorts, somewhat peevishly. That struck a random nerve. Not that he's about to reject the man's offer to pay for his drink. He adds a "Thanks" in a tone that isn't too grumbly. "Guess I should be grateful you're wandering about where I can see you. What brings you to the Roost? Apart from our impeccable musical talents, that is?" The lute girl is doing her next song from atop an unoccupied table. "For Seven's sake, sweetling, give us something upbeat!" Jarod calls at her. "Feels like a damn funeral in here tonight."
Rafferdy smirks, "You aren't that nice." He shrugs, "It's all relative." He smiles fully, "Musical talent?" He looks back at the lute player, "Is that what we call that here?" He chuckles, "Maybe I should go out to my horse and get my veille. Show you real music." He takes another long drink, sitting the mug down. "And if you really want to know?" He lifts his mug, "I'm here avoiding my father." And a long drink.
"What a coincidence. So am I. For the night, anyhow," Jarod replies to Rafferdy, taking a quick gulp of his wine. "No offense, but however good you are with the instrument I prefer to watch her. Perhaps you could try for a duet. She looks an amiable girl to share her musicianship with. How is the Lord Rickart Nayland these days, anyhow?"
Rafferdy laughs, "No duet." He looks back at the girl again, "If I play with her, she'll be fingering MY instrument." He sighs, and returns his gaze to his mug. "Honestly?" He shrugs, "I dunnow. I haven't seen him in nine years." He swirls his mug, "Not my idea of a good time."
"Doubt that, my Nayland friend, because by the time this evening's order she's going to be far too busy fingering mine," Jarod says with a smirk. The singer is at least playing something more up-tempo now, a merry nonsense song about bears and maidens. "What've you been doing with yourself for nine years, to keep you away from the Mire? I thought the whole vagabond minstrel business was covered by some other members of your family." Drink.
Rafferdy shrugs, "I squired for a while. Got dismissed in favor of joining the Rebellion." He shakes his head, "That would be the last time Lord Rickart and I spoke." He takes another drink, "Now I just do what I can to be me. I don't fit with nobles. Which is fine. I'm what? A dozen kids too late to inherit shit anyway." He rolls his eyes, "And yet fuckin' Gedeon just rolls up and gets to take Nayland land because they think a King will call him noble." He sighs, "No offense, but it's bullshit." He takes another drink.
"Gedeon Rivers rolls back from Braavos and gets his pick at a lot of things," Jarod says. Finishing his drink in one motion and pushing his cup across the bar for a refill in the next. "It's all a damn game. Isolde Nayland nee Tordane's your piece, to try and move and keep Lord Geoffrey Tordane's daughter, even though she might well be as bastard-born as me, to try and hold onto lands you married into all of an hour ago. Maybe Gedeon Rivers is my family's piece, to try and get them back, if we can get the King to give him his father's name. Who in seven hells knows who's got the right to it? Maybe neither of them. Truth of it died with Lord Geoffrey at the Trident, and we're all fighting over his scraps five years later. Save you and me, my drinking companion for the night, because we'll get none of it ever whatever happens!" He raises his new wine cup. "Here's to us. Lucky bastards and last-born lordlings, who can do what we please, and fuck Stonebridge. May it rot in all seven hells."
Rafferdy rolls his eyes again at the mention of Geoffrey, "Rumor is Gedeon killed him in the thick of battle. Reason enough to get him to run away after his death. Puts him in prime position to take Stonebridge and become a noble…" He lifts his glass, clanking it against Jarod's, and then takes a long drink. As he sits the drink down, his brow furrows a little, in thought, but he doesn't speak his mind.
Jarod meets Rafferdy's glass and knocks back some of his new drink. "Cheers." Though the first of that makes him frown. "I've heard that rumor. Look. I've known Gedeon Rivers since I was a boy. Can't say the years have made us precisely friends. But I'll call no man a kinslayer without proof, and thus far I've seen no one who can prove a damn thing against him. Just a lot of whispers, half because he's a bastard and we're untrustworthy, jealous sorts, don't you know." He snorts. "Lots of good men died on the field at the Trident. Lots of men lived who maybe didn't deserve to. No reason it's more than that."
Rafferdy nods, "No reason it isn't more, either. Coincidence is often guilt." He shrugs, "No matter." He smiles, and looks at Jarod then, considering something. "Are you married?" he asks, but his tone clearly tells he's going somewhere with this.
"What?" Jarod snorts. "Fuck no. I have come to some recent decisions on the matter of women, my fine young lordling, and let me tell you what they are. They are insane. Each and every one of them. Entirely barking mad. No. Not me. Lesson learned. I will have girls for fun and for a night and in the morning I will walk away with my sanity intact. Why?" Pause and he asks, "You?"
Rafferdy tilts his head a bit, "I feel the same way…" He smiles, and leans closer, "Jarod. How would you like to fuck them all? My family. Yours. Gedeon. Everyone that's arguing over Stonebridge."
Jarod blinks. Then his green eyes narrow. That certainly got his attention, though his precise reaction to it is unclear. He takes a smaller mouthful of wine before asking, "I enjoy a good fuck now and then. What've you got in mind?"
Rafferdy smiles, "The Terrick's lost Stonebridge to the Naylands. Now, we're both looking at maybe losing it to Gedeon." He shrugs, "So, what if you and I go to the King. Suggest instead of legitimizing Gedeon, that he instead, give Stonebridge to you and I, to rule equally. As a team. First of us that marries and has an heir, the heir inherits when we're both dead."
Jarod listens close, perhaps expecting some grand conspiracy to come out of that. What does makes him laugh. Not unkindly, but he's plainly not taking the matter seriously. "Aye, let's us do that. You and me, Rafferdy Nayland. Let's hit the road to King's Landing tonight, present ourselves to Good King Robert - for we were his loyal men-at-arms once upon a time - and ask for our due as former warriors in his host. Stonebridge to rule together as bastard and lordling born so low he might as well be, along with a couple of large-breasted Dornish girls to serve as our consorts and make our heirs with. Best plan I've heard for the place yet." He raises his cup again in another 'toast'.
Rafferdy laughs, once more clanking his mug with Jarod's, taking another drink. He looks a bit more seriously at Jarod, though, and just notes, "It's not as crazy or unlikely as you think. Two warring families, coming together to rule one place that's in contest. Both of us fought for Robert." He shakes his head, "It's not as crazy as you make it sound.:
"Perhaps not, but it's not the life for me, alas," Jarod says. "I am to rule nothing, m'Lord Nayland. And that suits me just fine. I've decided I have a dream." He sounds quite enthusiastic about it, despite also sounding like he came to a conclusion about this dream approximately a half hour ago. "A year from now, maybe two if my lance work is particularly shit, I am going to be the toast of the tourney circuit. Ser Jarod Half-Eagle shall be known from here to the Reach for my prowess at fake war, and I shall see the world and make the eight before I'm five-and-twenty."
Rafferdy studies Jarod a long moment, before slowly nodding, a slight look of disappointment washing over his face. With a disappointed tone, he offers simply, "I understand." He takes a drink of his ale, and then changes the subject. "Have you heard from Rowan lately?"
"Fuck Rowan, we're discussing my dream," Jarod says, flinging an arm out to clap around Rafferdy's shoulders. He's a little drunk. "And you know what? You should come with me, Rafferdy Nayland. When I set out to see the world. We should do it together. Not-quite-Terrick and Nayland. They'll write a song about us. You can make money at the archery contests and play your veille if I lose at the lance. It'll be grand. You seem fun. You're the fun Nayland. What do you say?"
"Fuck Rowan?" Rafferdy laughs, "I thought you two were friends?" He shakes his head, "You know, I did that for a while. With a knight named Ser Andrey Charlton." He smiles, "While I certainly had my fair share of maidens, the tourney life just wasn't for me." He takes another drink, and shrugs, "I'm honored you'd ask me, though, all things considers, Ser Jarod."
"Well, I'll save a place for you in my entourage of boon companions if you have a want to change your mind in the next year or so," Jarod says, releasing Rafferdy so he can drink with both hands again. "Ser Andrey Charlton? Met him briefly. He knocked me off my horse during my brother's wedding tourney. Bet he did fair well for himself." As for Rowan. "Aye. We're friends." Drink. "And aye. I heard from him today, in fact. He was in Stonebridge for some of the Stranger celebrations, I think. You? Heard from him or late, that is."
Rafferdy shakes his head, "I haven't." He sighs, "There's so much politics going on with Stonebridge right now, from my family, to yours, to Gedeon's." He shakes his head, "I'm afraid to talk to him until it blows over. Regardless of how I feel about my family, or how much I don't really care about Stonebridge, I also don't want to say anything that might sway the balance out of Nayland favor. I'm sorry to admit, but honestly?" He looks at Jarod, a little touch of sadness to his eyes, "Rowan squired with you, now with Gedeon. I don't know where his loyalties truly lie."
"I don't figure it'll blow over anytime too soon, truth be told," Jarod says. "Part of the reason I'm waiting a year to get the fuck out of this place is the threat of imminent violence between our families. No offense meant. I rather hope we don't end up in a position where we might kill each other. I have a general affection for men who pay for my drinks." As for Rowan. "A squire's loyalty is to the knight they serve. For better or worse. I doubt he'd deny it. Doesn't make him less your blood. If you and me can drink together and not get too political, no reason you and your brother can't, either."
Rafferdy furrows his brow, "You really think violence between our families is that close upon us?"
Jarod frowns, shrugging. "I'm not sure. I don't think either of our lord fathers are keen to break the peace, though there's a good deal of posturing on either end. Real question is. Say King Robert makes Ser Gedeon a Tordane and gives him Stonebridge. Will the Naylands hand it back to him, or will it come to blows?"
Rafferdy shakes his head, "I don't think my Father will fight for it. I think we'll leave, but I imagine it's likely Stonebridge will be scuttled on the way out so there's nothing for Gedeon to rule." He shakes his head again, "Sure you don't wanna go with me to see Robert?" He smirks a little.
"I'll keep the option in mind," Jarod says. "Anyway. Here's to us again, Raff. Can I call you Raff? I'm going to call you that, I think." He toasts the Nayland in peasant garb without waiting for a reply one way or another. "Now. If you'll pardon me, fine company as you are, I did not come here tonight to talk with another man at the bar all night." He's eyeing the mediocre bardess again. She's just finished another number and is stepping off the table.
Rafferdy nods, "Raff is fine." He smiles, "Just so we're clear, though?" He lifts his mug, "I don't want to see Stonebridge scuttled, regardless of who rules." He takes a drink, "Good luck with her," he offers then, with a wink, before sitting his mug down, and making his way to leave.
"I've a hunch Ser Gedeon Rivers won't be going to bed alone tonight. And by the Seven, neither will I!" Ser Jarod is determined. He hops off his barstool and swaggers toward the center table where the musican girl was performing. Boyish grin is flashed at her. "Say, sweetling, you happen to know the chords to Lord Jerold's Lament? It's a favorite of mine." That serves as his opening pick-up line. It may take a few more to wear her down.