| The Kindly Ones |
| Summary: | Maester Taleryth visits the captured Jocelyn Nayland at the Charlton camp. She turns out to have surprising protectors. Then the game changes once more… |
| Date: | 17/09/2012 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Charlton camp |
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| Around and then in the tent holding Jocelyn and Iulia |
| 17th September, 289 |
A flurry of activity filled the grounds of the Charlton campsite as they prepared for their march. Returning again Cherise was on the grounds and while Aleister was preoccupied otherwise she overheard a discussion taking place between the guards barring Taleryth's presence. He was denied access of course, even under a flag of parley. Once the lady of Highfield granted permission, under her watch the Maester of Stonebridge was allowed to proceed, escorted of course. Cherise waited just outside of the tent hosting the Lady Jocelyn and her maidservant for the Maester to arrive.
Maester Taleryth has many estimable qualities, but straightforward boldness is not among them; a few manifest weakness, but not insensate rashness. So he has ridden over to this tentative conversation, more than practiced and planned parley, far from ill attended, with a dozen men at arms about him, mounted for the most part on animals that look selected for speed, and including two standard-bearers with, between them, four banners; a white flag of truce each, and a Crane-and-Harpy and Heron. Presumably then the cautious little troop is made up of riders from both of the Houses engaged in Stonebridge's defence, in an attempt to double its diplomatic sanctity.
When the Charlton men are persuaded that their Lady desires the meeting, the Maester looks, if anything, more disturbed than pleased, as if he had half-hoped till the very last moment for a straightforward refusal. Now he must take his situation in his thin, soft hands. Accompanied now only by the two banner-bearers, all three men having dismounted, he treads with the firm deliberacy of one compelling himself not to retreat.
When they are shown into the feminine presences, Taleryth addresses the Lady of Highfield first, according to her rank. "Good day, my lady. Do you know, this is not the first time I have conferred with a lady espousing Gedeon Tordane's cause? Though when I spoke with his widow, less ceremony was required. Thank you for letting me speak with you and Lady Jocelyn; that displays…a certain good faith."
Cherise had taken to the shade beside the tent while waiting for the Maester. Standing primely with both hands folded before her she offered an extremely small smile to the male as his form drew closer in sight. "Good day Maester Taelryth." She returned over a casual glance to the pair of Charlton men accompanying him. "These are different times as you can see. My cousin's cause is ever closer to becoming a harsh reality to those you serve." The lady next addressed one of the guards by only a nod of her head. The signal given and the flap to the tent was soon opened. "Then I should hope my good faith is not misplaced." A delicate hand waved in gesture for the tent, a sign of 'let's proceed' before the lady of Highfield turned to enter the abode of their captured Nayland. "Lady Jocelyn, you have a visitor."
No one had told Jocelyn what was going on, but from inside her tent she could her murmurs from the gurds that passed. Something about someone from Stonebridge? Jumping up from her seat, she followed the voices she heard. That was, as much as the tent would allow her. First, it was the guards that were pausing the back of the tent, she walked the line of the tent with them, unknown to them so that she hear. Someone from Stonebridge was here and he was trying to gain entry by parlay. Just as she was about to hit the tents end, she stop and blinks at the departing ment. Another voice! She jumps another side of the tent and crouches to listen, Lady Charlton let the Stonebridge man in. Standing up straight, she blinks in surprise. But /then/ there are voices just outside the entry of her tent and its something of a familiar voice, unable to place it without sight and also Lady Charltons voice. A little out of breath from her jump here and there, she bites down on her bottom lip to keep from panting so that she might not be readily found out for ease dropping. Jocelyn makes a face at Cherise words about harsh reality, wanting desperately to scoff at her. But then the flap of the tent is moved and she rushes back to her chair, nearly fall off of it, as she sits down. Heart pounding, she sits there neatly and raises a hand to her hair to comb through the greasy knotting strands.
"Lady Cherise," Taleryth replies with an almost recriminatory dignity, "for me, I assure you, there has never been anything of fiction about Lady Danae." His heavy tone is balanced by a courteous smile, though, as the Stonebridge banner-bearers and the Charlton guards alike are shed outside the tent, and their betters prepare to slide within.
But at this point, the Maester’s audience is frustrated by a messenger, whose arrival calls the Lady of Highfield away, followed by an entourage around two noblemen whose heraldry is adorned with Quills – the young lord of House Fenster and his cousin. One of their brawnier retainers encourages Taleryth to delay his turn still further, if he knows what’s good for him; and that, Taleryth has always, indeed, known well.
***
An interval has passed since the Maester's first attempt to meet, let alone comfort, the captive lady from the House he serves, after he was displaced back to his dozen Nayland and Erenford companions by the arrival of the lords of the Charltons' banner-house of Tavin's Rest, and advised in strong terms to wait with his escort. Tiring, however, eventually of this uncertain and undignified hiatus, Taleryth announces his return to the tent with a sharp, though definitively healthy sounding, cough, sweeping his clean pale-grey robes, his tendency to fear by now overwhelmed by the more pressing claims of indignant impatience.
"My lady Jocelyn," he begins again in his gentle, honeyed voice, then continues much more curtly after a quick look over the other two, "my lords of Fenster. I trust I might be permitted to join you in your entertainment of the Lady? I am a slightly older acquaintance," he half-jokes, "and her company has been much missed of late at the Tower I serve."
Trajan's words have the effect he disired, and Jocelyn had a feeling that Trajan never said anything unless he was sure of the outcome would be what he so desired. So, Jocelyn blushs a pretty color of crimson and continues to look down at the ground from when Cherise had talked to the guard outside. She clears her throat as Alric speaks, lifting her head she moves her hair to fall down the front of her body. Her fingers trails through the strands with one hand, loosing the knots there before she attempts to use the comb. "I'm still standing, as you can see." she tells him, glancing up at Trajan when the stories are mention. "The stories luckily have not caused an ill-effect on my person." she opens her mouth to say more, but she just closes it and leaves it at that.
Trajan pushes his luck speaking about poor Jocelyn as if she wasn't there, "See the shade she turns when complimented cousin. There no more marvellous a colour as that crimson on white," Trajan decides to stop torturing Jocelyn with compliments and turns to the issue of stories. "I've told our lady the worst one - the one about me and how - this happened. But she is brave." He turns to Jocelyn, "And it is good to have a dossier on your opponents sworn swords sometimes." he makes the point to her. The entry of the Maester brings twin black as coal eyes that adorn the torturemaster and enforcers disfigured face to assess the maester. "I do not believe we have been acquainted Maester?" His voice is just as creepily calm as it always is.
Alric nods to Jocelyn's words. "I'm glad for that." He doesn't speak more for the moment, just studying her. Hearing his cousin and it causes a small smile. "It is a color I've seen a few times on her. It's quite cute." Keeping his eyes on the lady though. Nodding about the story as well, knowing it. Though then Taleryth arrives and Alric looks over to the man. Offering a nod to him. "Feel free." He says but still keeping quite low compared to what he usually is. Glancing to his cousin as well. But his eyes soon go back to the lady yet again. A bit apologetic perhaps.
Again with the compliments! Jocelyn blushes more and suddenly finds the tips of her hair the most fascinating thing in the entire world. Oh look, split ends. At the mention of the story she was told, her eyes look up through thick lashes at Trajan as he makes his point. Lifting her head and chin up, nodding once to agree with him. Around the two Fensters, Jocelyn looks to Taleryth, "Maester Taleryth? You are my vistor?" The mention of home, of Stonebridge has the Nayland lifting her eyebrows in a hopeful manner. She'd been missed, so they know now that she'd been captured. She wondered about that… Shifting in her stance, with so many men around her, she becomes aware of her appearance again and her hands, including the one holding her new comb, runs over her thighs. Smoothing out the dirty materials there. With Taleryths appearance at the camp, she glances toward the two Fensters for their reaction.
Taleryth is not, as some Maesters are, high born, but all the same, sprung from a privileged mercantile family and well read in history, poetry and other pleasing arts of life, he possesses strict standards of courtesy, especially towards noblewomen; standards which are outraged by the bearing of the mutilated Fenster, and not particularly reassured by the half hearted flattery of the young lord, either.
So as he bows reverently in Jocelyn's direction, ignoring Ser Trajan's enquiry after his identity, now obvious anyway, he does not, unlike the Charlton enforcer, keep a calm voice, but one that, quiet and polite as it is, is clearly loaded with emotion. Her deshabillee has affected him almost as much as her captors' cavalier manners: as a devotee of cleanliness, to see a noble maiden perforce deprived of her right to it puts him instantly in a sober frame of mind.
"Good even at last, my lady. I fear I can do little to set you at liberty for now, but I thought to come and…ascertain your ladyship's state of mind. And yes, assure you at least that you are inordinately missed. But since I have happened to…overlap…with these famous…diplomats…I may as well try to convince them of what I tell you with a whole heart. You will be free soon, my lady, free and quite safe. Of that I am certain."
Trajan regards the Maester evenly and flashes a smile that could break a mirror at the man. "Another Maester - Stonbridges though. Neutrality is such a marvellous thing. It opens so many doors. I have never tasted it of course I can never stand fence sitting." Turning to Jocelyn, "Yes it is probably best that you are on your way home soon my Lady. Some of these 'plans' for you that are floating around are not of the savory kind. And whilst you have nothing to fear from me there are very many lesser sharks in these waters. If we keep getting our arses kicked the Naylands will have a valuable hostage or two to trade for you. I'd march over there and play hostage myself. But as you may remember I seem to have some trouble getting ransomed. Even when bits of me show up at the family estate via courier." That is unless Trajan was not executed outright him being far too dangerous an opponent to leave alive. But he left that unsaid.
Alric smiles softly as Jocelyn blushes. Refraining from speaking. As for the story, he just nods as well. Leaving it unspoken for the time being. As for Taleryth, Alric isn't saying much. Studying the man a moment. Though there might be a hint of relief in his appearance at the words from the maester. About getting Jocelyn home that is. Though his eyes doesn't stay on the man long before he looks to Jocelyn again as she smoothes out her clothes.
The maester's words about not taking her home right away makes him slightly disappointed, but he doesn't give away too much. Just small details. Nodding as he agrees with Trajan. About most of what he says. "I will make sure that she is safe, as long as I am around. No matter what might be around. And when I am not I will trust that my cousin does." He keeps his eyes on the lady though, even if his words were to Taleryth. Though perhaps it was just a statement to all of them. "You should be free soon, lady Jocelyn." He tells her, looking between them all a moment before looking to her again.
Looking rather confused and touched by Trajans offer to play hostage for her release, Jocelyn stares at him for a long moment, eyebrows knit together as she thinks something privately. "Thank you, My Lord Fenster. However, if I've any say of the matter you'd not be hostage held by Naylands." With that said she looks to Taleryth, as if to communicate that to him on how she feels. The fact that she's being missed is nice, but she tilts her asking Taleryth, "Tell me, do you happen to know how mad my Lord Brother Rygar is?" The idea makes her wrinkle her nose at the coming answer, it may very well be one that she does not want to hear. The bottom half of her hair is lifted as it lays on the palm of her hand and held in place by her thumb. Using the comb that was given to her she starts to comb out the bottom knots. From her hair to Alric her eyes shift, a small flat lined some touches her lips at his words. "A generous offer, Lord Alric." The rumors that had been going on around camp, as Trajan had suggested, were talked about by the guards when they passed by her tent> Some even peering into her tent to have a look in the hopes of finding her changing, or cleaning herself. A frown sets on her lips, "If I'm here much long, I doubt there will be much anyone can do to ensure that happens to me." she looks at all three men in glances. "Not I do not have belief in your abilities. Its just, you cant be here all the time."
The maester is clearly predisposed, on principle, to loathe the torturer, and though his youthful face, such an educative contrast to the Fenster knight's mangled one, keeps its composure, Taleryth's thin mouth practically vanishes with tension before it darts open is reply. "*Service* is not *sitting*, ser," he ripostes with a certain hauteur hardly diminished by alliterative enthusiasm, "nor need the neutral be nonentities."
But while his hazel eyes become, predictably, bright with angry flashing when it seems to him Lady Jocelyn is being threatened, his expression changes to astonishment as the knight's pessimistic assessment of the Charlton chances shows that the torturer is apparently serious about letting her go. It is a surprise that only finds its parallel when the young lord - not joking either, apparently - suggests Ser Trajan can be trusted as a fit guardian for the maiden, and that he, too, is manifestly in favour of her release.
Tearing himself back to attend the lady's anxious enquiry, Taleryth speaks in a timbre more consoling than factual, "Your brother would not let himself be distracted by petty anger at a time such as this, m'lady. He is preoccupied solely with the effort of keeping Stonebridge and his House - including you - secure. But tell me, my lords," he asks more critically, staring down Alric in particular, "are you not high in Charlton counsels? Do you genuinely favour my lady's release? Have you spoken for it in council of war, or are your comforts…but as false as your cause?"
Trajan's cold voice fills the room. First to Lady Jocelyn. "I cannot arm you but I can give you something that may act as a talisman of sorts against any violation of your person. Call it a keepsake. Even if I am not here I represent the distinct possibility of the severest of retributions." He hands Jocelyn a bit of paper with a charcoal sketch on it of the vision of his alternate self that Trajan had when he was in Hell. It is recognisably his - if Jocelyn possessed it it would be a goodly chance that she had it as a gift from the Dark Jester himself and protestations of incurring the wrath of the horrible man would carry weight. In reply to the Maester, "I am capable of evils that few men would ever contemplate but I find rape and hurting innocent women and children to be gauch. I may not have a morality but I have a narrative I like to subscribe to and in it I do not do anything that is in bad taste." Or of that order of bad taste. "Nor can I stand to let these things happen. As I cannot garauntee Lady Jocelyn's safety here it is best that she be elsewhere no? And even better that she be back with her own people - a quick end having been made of this war." He adds with a small laugh, "Not that I am not enjoying the slaughter. It's just that I have only two friends in the world. Alric and the Lady here. And I would trade a good war for their lives anyday."
Alric listens and nods, a bit worried still. He knows well enough about the guards and such as well. Looking at Taleryth at the question. "I am not that high at the moment. I just recently made my way to camp. I have had little time to speak of such. Besides, I would suggest it if there was an oppurtunity to actually do so. I could not offer her release without reason." He explains.
As for Jocelyn's words he grins, "I am a diplomat. Seeing to the prisoner would be one of my main duties for now I would think. I would also be able to bring in Corrin or Talbot. Among us four I am sure we could see to you as long as possible. Until a deal for your release can be struck." He studies her another moment, still keeping some things to himself.
His cousin's words and gesture with the paper does make him nod a bit. Listening and glancing to him. "That is all well, Trajan." He offers. Sighing a bit at the slaughtering part.
Jocelyn doesnt look exactly pleased when her pointed words toward Taleryth are either not taken not aborbed. However, she says nothing about it. The information of her brother and how upset he is just makes her lips go in a straight line and whatever she is thinking is cast out and sheilded so that she might not be readable by the others present. The only indicating that she thought anything at all to them was the quick twitch in her eyebrows. With her head up and watching the men, the bottom of her hair continues to be combed out.
Trajans words stop her short, comb still in mid stride down the half length of her hair. A talisman? A Keepsake? He's drawing something and she moves forward without fear of the man. After a long look at the charcoal sketch, Jocelyn has a fairly good idea of what it is. Instantly, she wants it. She knows the protection that it would hold and she nods her head. "I think that would work actually."
Looking up, Jocelyn glances from Trajan to Taleryth as they speak to one another. Another small blush touches her cheeks when she is outright called Trajan's friend and the protection that that holds for her. She smiles just a little bit with the side of her mouth, making a dimple show. Then to Alric she turns her attention and she nods slowly. "You'll just need to be careful. If they know we are friends, there is dair chance they'll not allow you anywhere near me. Just in case."
And so this unlikely bond is confirmed, as the maester gawps, out of Lady Jocelyn's own mouth - the Fensters, for all their exteriors, respectively horrendous and insincere, seem genuinely to have her best interests fairly close at heart. And unsavoury as Trajan's aspect is, the advantage of his protection…whatever…implicit threat…that parchment carries…is obvious, and extracts just the barest phantom of a grateful nod from Taleryth.
Nevertheless, the young scholar does make a valiant effort to prolong his prejudice, by trying to call Trajan's bluff. "You could very well preserve these lives you profess to care for and the cost of fighting this war, ser, if your House claimed my lady's custody and then withdrew from the conflict! And as for you, Lord Alric," he adds, though he had nodded sympathetically enough at the young lord's more practical words, which effectively came down to the principle of denying 'something for nothing', "your cousin seems disenchanted enough with this foolish internecine struggle, and the incompetence of your forces's performance…and you are supposed to be a man of peace. Put your voice where your heart is - the quickest way to release the lady you both call friend would be to advocate the end of the war itself…"
The maester in service to House Nayland has been talking more and more passionately, without a thought for who might enter the tent next, or what might be overheard…
Jocelyn face falls at Taleryth words, she turns to stare at him in disbelief. Her features slowly becoming like ice and her eyes narrow to slits when she looks at him. "Might I remind you, Maester Taleryth that you are surrounded by men that not only hate me and wish to do harm to me, but that they also hate all that are sworn to house Nayland. Yes. Thank means you too. Neurtal stand or not, you are belonging to house Nayland or you would not be here. I advise that you watch your words very carefully if you value your life and my own." she pause. "Or perhaps you'd like to be the one to explain to my Lord Brother of how I was injured and ruined for any other man under the seven?" She quirks her eyebrows upward with her question. "I had believed that your sole purpose here was to put me at ease, and you've done nothing but put me in a disarry." she walks away from where she was standing and moves to put the comb roughly on her small table and fold her arms over her chest, her back to the men.
There is a hint of a smile between the blushing from Jocelyn and the given and taken keepsake. As for her words to him he just nods, "Of course. As long as I am around I should have reason to be here. It is only right for me to see to the prisoners." He explains. As for speaking for peace to have Jocelyn released, he shrugs. "I am still loyal to the Charltons, maester. I just think it unnecessary for lady Jocelyn to be hurt." Not speaking as loud as the maester, keeping his normal tone. As for the man's words, he shrugs. "It will all be fine soon enough." Though perhaps agreeing with Jocelyn that he is speaking without thinking. But he won't mention it.
"Maester Taleryth." Ser Harold's voice was a harsh bark of stern authority as he stepped into the tent that held their noble captive. He was a tall man, and at six feet four he had to bow his head low to clear into the 'prison' of cloth of genteel camp-luxury. His features - worn down ahead of their time by a life of conflict - bore a blank expression. Closed off from what ever thoughts churned beneath the surface of his calm and steady gaze. Eyes that gave the impression of picking up more than their share of his surroundings. Never really resting too long anywhere, always aware. "I see you are making the rounds." Exactly how much he had overheard before stepping inside, was left for each to judge themselves. He let nothing on.
His gaze shifted to the Fensters, each of which recieved a minor nod in greeting, each recieving only the bare minimum of respect that their station and blood deserved he offer them. Lady Jocelyn on the other hand got the full knightly routine, a deep courtly bow, his head dipped low, his expression showing a hint of a smile that for all it appeared earnest, really did little to take away the sense that Harold was a grim bastard of a man these days.
"I hope your conditions remain not too onerous?"
They all hear an increase in activity in the camp. Men running, orders barked. The sound of an army about to strike off.
Trajan laughs, "It's too early in the day to be talking of treason - I prefer my honor besmirched by the cold dark of night. The Fensters were raised to nobility by the Charlton's maester. Think of that nexus as unbreakable. And my opinion counts for nought in the halls of the powerful." Then the Commander enters and a peal of laughter comes from Trajan's mouth - though he returns the course chivalry with a bow of his own. Harold was fast becoming his favorite of all the Charltons for all the wrong reasons. "It's good to see you Ser Harold. I have been drafting an inspirational speech for you to deliver to the men before the next battle. Alric or the maester can read it outloud for the rest of us if you wish." He rustles some papers out of his belt.
The poor Maester is wilting under the double assault of his own sworn House's kinswoman and the suddenly materialised Charlton Master-at-Arms - indeed, in a supreme paradox, he sidles closer to Ser Trajan's relative comfort. But he has always treasured dignity and endeavours to curtail his discomposure, bowing to Ser Harold as smoothly as he might.
"My lord of Charlton. I was hoping to encounter you, in default of your nephew himself. I could not help but notice that Lady Jocelyn and her handmaid are hardly lodged here as becomes gentlewomen. Is fresh water so scarce in your camp, or Lady Charlton so chary of sweet perfumes, that such amenities are not regularly accorded to hostage noblewomen…?"
For Maester Taleryth is, when pushed, not without a certain effrontery.
Alric looks to his cousin, nodding to the man's words. Though as Harold comes inside then he just offers a bow to the man. "Ser. I see you are still keeping up and about." His tone soft and he doesn't seem bothered or care too much of what Harold might have heard. Not showing much of anything other than showing the man respect. Keeping silent.
The sounds from outside making him listen a bit, but not too focused on it. Then he looks to Trajan again as he takes out some papers. Though it doesn't stay there long as he looks back to the maester.
There is a raised brow at Taleryth's words. "It is of course not quite well that she is treated that way. We will do what can be done to see to it that she stays healthy while here. Has she not been allowed enough water then it could probably be seen to."
With Jocelyn's back to the tent flap, she had no warning for Harolds booming voice. Her whole body jerks at the greeting to Taleryth and knowing instantly the man it came from. "For fuck sake…" she whispers/mouths to herself, rolling her eyes upward, never would she speak such words loud enough for those around her to hear. At least not purposely.
When she turns though she is all politeness and she aims her small at Harold. She's not had a bath in several days, her hair is greasy and her dress has a nice film of dirt covering the entire thing. It might be noted that only the bottom half of her hair has begun to be combed out. But all that aside, she lowers herself into a formal curtsey to the Charlton and she bows her head along with it. "My Lord Charlton." she greets. "The only thing I desire at this time, is a bath." she tells him honestly. Before she starts to smell. Oh. That might be a good repellent for raping. Shaking that thought away, that was no guarantee with that.
Keeping an eye on Taleryth, she says nothing else. Biting her tongue and glancing from him to Harold.
"She looks hale and hearthy to me," Ser Harold said calmly in regards to the state of the Nayland prisoner. "Supplied food and drink, and the privacy of her own tent. I'm afraid that there will be little time for a bath, however. We are marching on Stonebridge within the next couple of hours." Which accounted for the rucuss outside as the camp went through the motions of preparing for the move. His eyes slid towards Jocelyn. "You'll be coming with us, my Lady Jocelyn. Hopefully for the very last time. Though a bath is out of the question, I'll have some water delivered non the less, and some towels. It may not be a bloody bath, but we wouldn't want you to feel completely filthy."
He flicked a glance towards Alric. "I will need to speak to you, Lord Alric. Meet me in the commant tent in half an hour? I have some other business I need to take care of."
Ignored. Time out for Trajan. Well there was always the dungeon and his guests. They could never ignore him. "Can I come along?" Trajan asks evenly already aware of the likely reply. "To insure the safe exchange or what the hell ever is going on…" You could rarely count on Trajan unless as the battle the other day demonstrated you were banking on his sword rather than his personality.
The Citadel teaches, perhaps above all else, a sense of timing, and it's obvious that Maester Taleryth has a certain respect for the dramatic precision of Ser Harold's, but he tries not to let it show too much, and even to recover with a little witticism.
"I see. Then I had best make headway for my own Tower and Rookery. There are certain messages waiting for me there that only I am empowered to dispatch, and that rather depend on…what happens outside. Perhaps, Ser Trajan, if Ser Harold has no need of your oration, you will lend it to me?" he snipes quietly. "I'm sure it would do for my lady here's noble brother Ser Rygar with the merest of adjustments. My lady, I shall tell our gallant commander that you are quite safe, and, one way or another, coming home imminently." These last words are quicker and more mumbled; obviously the Maester is still rather ashamed of himself, and certainly he is quickest to spin about and with eager resolution quit the increasingly crowded and sour 'prison-tent', soon to be a prison no more.
Alric looks between Jocelyn and Harold. Listening to the both of them. As for Harold wanting to speak with him, he nods. "Of course, ser Harold. I will be there." He offers and then offers an incline of his head. Though he does study Jocelyn for a moment before he glances to the other men as well. Shrugging to his cousin's words though he does look to Jocelyn as well, when she replies to Harold. But replies to Trajan first, "If ser Harold thinks it to be wise for you to come along, then I see no harm. Though I would suggest you staying with the lady perhaps." He suggests. Then looks to Jocelyn, studying her a bit. Not saying anything though.
Harold blew out a quietly bemused snort as he watched Jocelyn's reaction, his grey eyes briefly twinkling. "It's not so sour a grape, my Lady Jocelyn, as you seem to think. I have not forgotten about you. I'm certain you'll have a proper bath soon enough. My wife would not forgive me if you didn't, or if anything happened to you. And I was always rather fond of you, myself, from our times together."
He started to withdraw when Taleryth spoke, and his mouth thinning considerably in disapproval. "In the future, I would suggest you consider whether a man beneath a parley flag is truly fucking served playing the agitator." He made a dismissive motion of his hand, to send the man on his way if he chose.
"No." To Trajan. Harold didn't need the headache of having to deal with the twisted sociopath. "But I am sure you'll have preperations of your own to make before we ride."
Lucky, perhaps, to escape so lightly, but in truth much more concerned about Lady Jocelyn's ire than any Charlton's censure, the maester has soon rejoined his escort and is back on his way to his holding, no doubt to anticipate by some space in distance and time the arrival there of the enemy…
"Ahhh!" Trajan breathes out his affirmation of Harold's direction as a hiss. There was a certain autonomy in being overlooked when it came to these things anyway. "Then I shall be around - somewhere I suppose. In the dark. Keep well Lady Jocelyn - I'll have my eye on you till you are home and safe." Then with the same ghoulish grin Trajan disappears from the pavillion. To well whereever the hell he went when he wasnt present. Very few people seemed to know.
