|The One With the Bow Shoots…|
|Summary:||Ser Jarod 'equips' his 'army,' such as it is, with a little help from his friends. Lord Ser Flint arrives to find Stonebridge not quite so safe as perhaps he imagined. Brief Nayland brother bonding ensues. Gedeon and Lorna briefly discuss favors.|
|Related Logs:||Council of Captains|
|Stone Walk — Tordane Tower|
|Set at a slight incline, the stone pathway leads up a slight rise northeast out of the town square towards the single tower of House Tordane. Grass grows thick and plush along the side though it is well maintained. Private shops and stables are located up closer to the manor with the family's private stables attached directly to the exterior wall of the small castle.|
|Wed Jan 04, 289|
Jarod did not spend the previous night in the tower, following the meeting of the Frey captains. Rather he headed over to the refugee camp where those smallfolk who fled the Roost are bedded. At dawn he returned to the Tower with twenty men. Ranging in ages from fifteen to fifty, though most are at least able-bodied and clustered in their twenties and thirties. They look fairly ragged, some plainly not having fled with much more than the clothes on their backs. They all wear a quiver of arrows over their shoulders, and there's a pile of longbows next to Ser Rivers himself. He's got them broken into little groups of five now. They appear to be drawing straws. Jarod is overseeing this whole process, arms crossed and slim frown on his face.
Rowan comes from the tower at a slow but deliberate pace, a bit pale and clammy for struggling with the pain of his wound. He's been determined to spend the day out of bed, even is his duties are light to nil as he recovers. By now, the place where the Ironborn sword pierced his breast is throbbing so that the squire's movements are visibly stiff. Still, he's dressed and upright, sword girded to his side, when he joins Jarod in the courtyard. "What's being decided?" he wonders aloud, in lieu of hello.
"Good morning, Rowan." Jarod eyes his squire gravely. "Sit down, check the strings on those things." He gestures to his longbow pile. "Don't want them given to breaking, atop anything else." To the question itself he replies, "Meet my army." He tries not to say it too loud. His tone is more grimly resolved than confident. "Volunteers from among those who fled the Roost. As we've no supplies, Ser Rygar was willing to lend us ten longbows, to fill out the archery line. I've got twenty men. They're deciding who gets the bow."
The lad sits and obediently begins pulling bows, giving the strings a good eye, feeling for any stress in the wood. "And what are the others supposed to use?" he asks beneath his breath. "Harsh language?"
"The one with the bow shoots," Jarod says. "The one without the bow…is going to be doing something else for now. Help with fletching or in the smithy, or work the supply wagons or…something. They all need to practice, though. Ser Rygar said he'd try and find us better supplies after our first engagement. How're you mending?" The straw-drawing isn't taking long. In one of the little groups, a pair of boys who can't be more than fifteen whoop loudly and clap arms in a sort of congratulation to each other. They both get a bow, apparently.
Rowan pauses in his inspection a moment, watching the boys celebrate their good fortune, such as it is. He takes a breath and returns his attention to the task at hand, finishing just as the first of the ragtag militia steps up to claim a weapon. He's taken note of the pull on each and arranged them just so, suiting the bow to the man who comes before him, handing the less taxing bows to the oldest and youngest, the ones that require especial strength to the more hale. "I'm up," he says of his healing. "That's an improvement."
"Is at that," Jarod says, though he still eyes his squire with evident concern. "Save your strength. Things went better than I figured they would with the Frey captains the other night. Well. In some respect. Your father Lord Rickart is the only bannerman who's properly called his levies. The rest sent only a pittance of knights and men at arms. But, it's something. And they've agreed to put some of their forces against those Ironborn raiding Terrick lands. Anyhow. I'd hope you're ready when we're to ride with them."
The two boys are some of the first to come up to get their bows. The nominal 'leader' of the pair is a lanky youth with dark hair and dark eyes that Rowan may recognize as Landril Carrity. Miss Lyla's younger brother. His companion is ginger-haired and a little shorter, and /slightly/ less eager to put himself forward. Slightly. They're both quite eager to get their arms. "Hullo, Ser Jarod. Hullo, Rowan," the young Carrity pipes.
"I'll be ready," says Rowan, simply enough, adding sotto voce, "if they have to tie me to the fucking saddle." He stands when the boys approach, picking a bow with a middling pull for young Carrity, a slightly easier one for his ginger friend. "'Lo, Landy," he manages a smile for the familiar face. "Here you are. Try this one, see how it feels for you."
"I'd do better with you in the cavalry, Ser," Landril Carrity says, earnestly, to Jarod. Though he does check his bow gamely enough. "I'm a better hunter with a spear than with a bow. 'Sides which, I am going to be a knight someday. Which seemed easy enough when we figured you'd marry my sister. But now that she's dropped you, I'm going to have to earn a squirehood in battle, I guess. Sorry about that, by the by. I hear it was pretty brutal." The ginger boy stares, clearing his throat in what seems an attempt not to laugh.
Jarod pointedly does not look at Rowan and frowns a lot. "You're an archer, Landril. Grab a quiver of those practice arrows and get over the targets, the pair of you. Pass your bows along once you've gone through five shots, so the others can have a turn. They won't fly as accurate as the ones that've been properly fletched, but you'll get a feel, at least."
Rowan glances at Jarod, a long, wry look with one eyebrow cocked. "Yeah, he's been crying on my shoulder about it ever since I got back from Oldstones," he tells Landy. "She must have completely ripped his heart out." He pats the boy's shoulder, turns him toward the targets, and gives him a friendly shove. "You're more likely to impress a knight if you're well-rounded. So learn what you can, where you can, and excel at it."
"Shut up, Rowan," is Jarod's response to his squire. The pair of them are overseeing a kind of makeshift equipment distribution involving what appears to be a motley collection of twenty peasants. Rowan is seated by a pile of ten longbows, which he's handing out to the men as they come up to receive them. The rest are milling about on a small patch of grassy field not far away, where three archery targets have been erected.
They're presently equipping a pair of boys who can't be more than fifteen or sixteen. The taller, lankier one - who's rather animated and appears to know the knight and squire - shrugs to Jarod. "If it's any consolation, Ser, Tym Rivers seems like a bit of an ass." That said, the boys jog over to join the men preparing to shoot at the targets.
Rafferdy is walking towards the tower, carrying a large bag. He's wearing a burgundy doublet with gold trimmings, with similar trappings on his legs, actually looking like a noble. His arms are bare, showing his muscular biceps, but it somehow also looks appropriately fancy. His sword hangs at his side, his crossbow on his other and a quiver of bolts slung over his shoulder. He looks to be weary from travel as he heads along the path, before noticing the peasants being armed. He pauses, tilting his head a bit, and then smirks, walking towards Rowan and Jarod. He gestures towards the boy that just took the bow, "That string tension is too tight. He'll pull his elbow out before he hits anything," he says, just passing his observation.
It's the path towards the keep, and now that he's in Stonebridge, civilization, Anders Flint doesn't have the retinue around him. He is dressed, however, in such a way that would suggest that he's more than capable of defending himself. He's dressed in his blacks and greys, a more than servicable sword hanging off his hip. His steps start out as rapid, coming from the direction of the newest levy, but as he notices the preparations around him, his pace slows. If noticed, his first greeting is one of a nod..
"Also, he's shit in bed," Rowan mutters, pitched so only Jarod can hear, patting the Terrick knight's shoulder. He smirks, then lifts his head to eye Rafferdy and the stroll-by commentary. "Right, well, Lord Prettypants," he can't resist getting a dig in on his normally earthy brother's new look, "you convince our cousin to give us more than ten bows, and we'll be better able to suit the bow to the man. As it is, that one's best-suited for him out of what we've got."
"It's no consolation at all, but thanks for trying," Jarod calls after the lad he was talking to. Rowan is just grunted at, and his frown deepens. That didn't help, either. For his part, he's actually dressed like a knight today. Breastplate and spurred boots on, though he's minus helm and gauntlets at the moment. Over the plate he's wearing a surcoat of black fabric, with a gold eagle's wing symbol upon it. His bastard 'half-eagle' heraldry. The observation makes him frown and turn his head to offer to a quick defense. Though the sight of Rafferdy makes him break into a grin. Albeit a crooked one. "The Fun Nayland." He extends a hand, in offer to clasp Rafferdy's. "Heard tell you'd escaped to King's Landing. Wasn't sure you'd be back in time for…whatever in seven hells this is shaping up into." Anders is spotted, and offered a nod in return, though the main of Jarod's focus is on the Nayland lordling and Nayland squire, both.
King's Landing? It's been some time since Anders has been there, and with everything going on, he's up here? That means that area hasn't been hit? Anders shifts his direction, and rather than continuing into the keep, he moves towards the gathered. "Pardon the interruption," first to all, and now to Rafferdy, "King's Landing? You're up from there? What news of your departure? How long has it been since you've been?" Any news is good. He takes a moment, and looks fleetingly apologetic. "I forget myself.. Anders Flint."
Rafferdy rolls his eyes at Rowan, "Be nice. I'm still bigger than you." He smiles, "We can adjust the strings…" He looks at Jarod, "He gave you ten of my bows, huh?" He sighs, and looks at the peasants. "You're gonna have your hands full." Turning back to Jarod, he shakes his hand. "I was in King's Landing. This rebellion put my work there on hold, so I'm back." Glancing at the peasants once more, he smirks, "Figured a REAL archer should help you train these guys." Looking at Flint, he nods, "Just came from there. Things are panicked, but okay. The Golden Fleet has been destroyed, but I should think by now the Royal Fleet would have met with Admiral Redwyne and be readying to hit them back in a week or so."
Rowan vigorously musses Rafferdy's hair and gives him a shove — a bit of rough-housing he's given cause to immediately regret. He sucks in a breath and presses a hand to his chest, just above his heart, and sits carefully as the dizzying wave of pain leaves him pale and sweating. "Right," he agrees about needing a real archer. "Good you came along then, Raff. Maybe you can run find us one."
"If you could check over the equipment, and any help with the men, I'd be most appreciative, come to it," Jarod says to Rafferdy, serious for his part. Looking for a moment like he might hug 'the Fun Nayland.' But he doesn't. "I'm a serviceable hand with a bow but the blade is where I earn my keep, as it were. I tried to comb for volunteers who were decent hunters, at least. I once saw the Carrity boy hit a deer through a near-solid treeline. Though they've all only ever hunted for food. As for Ser Rygar, he's given what he could, and more than I'd counted on. He's got his hands full enough supplying Stonebridge's own populace. No one expected this." When Anders properly approaches him, he inclines his head respectfully to the man. "Ser Jarod Rivers, for my part. Knight sworn to Lord Jerold Terrick. I was in Stonebridge on Lord Jerold's business when the Ironmen attacked, else I'd be trapped in the siege along with the rest of Terrick's Roost. Seagard is under siege as well, I hear. Flint? Have you any news from the North, then? We've heard little here, save that Tall Oaks was also attacked. How they fared, or if the Ironborn fuckers spread north of there, we know not."
"Golden Fleet.. destroyed," Anders repeats. His expression turns pensive in the news and he nods. He grimaces, his lips in a tight line. "No offense, but anyone who could truly teach archery is now dead, if you wanted the best, or so the stories said." He nods at Jarod, "We came down with no issue, though we did meet up with a Lord Mallister. He had command of a galley, and has asked how he can be of service. Beyond that?" He shrugs, but the gesture is anything but offhand. "We have one survivor from Tall Oaks. The woods are in flames, and from the wounds of Lady Tiaryn Flint," born a Camden. He shakes his head slowly, "There is no way I would have committed my men to discover more.. not without information." Beyond that? "I was called because of Lannisport, but my instructions were to come here. We did hear of the Roost's attack, but haven't heard else." He smiles tightly, just a little better than the grimace, "News travels slowly from the south, so I was hoping I'd hear more."
Rafferdy furrows his brow a bit at Rowan's grimace, and is clearly about to question it when Jarod and Anders speak, pulling his attention away. To Jarod, he nods, and then looks at Anders, furrowing his brow a bit. He then casually pulls his crossbow off his waist, knocks the bolt, and with one hand, quickly aims and fires at the farthest target. The three peasants standing in front of it go wide-eyed, and quickly leap out of the way as the bolt collides with the center of the target. Clasping the crossbow back onto his waist, he looks at Anders, "No offense taken." He looks at Jarod again, "I was in charge of two dozen peasant archers at the Rebel Center. They can be trained, if you'll have my help, Ser."
"Ser Aeric is with you?" Jarod grins broad at this news. "Thank the gods. I'd heard his ship escaped, but knew not where it'd gone, and I'd feared the worst when word of the attacks on Seagard and Lannisport reached here." Though that grin fades at the rest of what Anders has to tell. "One woman…Seven hells…" He lets out a long breath. "We saw the glow of a fire that looked large enough to consume the whole wood, even down here. I'd hoped to hear better but…" He just nods when Anders said he didn't search for more. "Anymore men-at-arms will be welcome. There are supposedly four hundred Ironmen dug in at the Roost, and another four hundred razing the countryside, though they all seem scattered. They aren't used to fighting in proper units. Down in Seagard, reports put their numbers at near to a thousand. They come to conquer, not to raid." The rough-housing between the Nayland brothers seems to make him rather glad, though Rowan's limping draws a concerned look, and he too seems about to voice some concern. Though Rafferdy's archery demonstration takes his attention off his limpy squire. He lets out a low whistle. "Need all the help I can get at the moment. Thank you, m'lord. I fear I've got but days until they'll need to be tested, and most know nothing of war save…well. Save what they saw the Ironmen do to their homes and families."
Rowan slowly pushes to his feet. "Well. It looks like you've got things well in hand," he grunts. "I think I should probably lie down for a bit, Jare. Sorry." He claps Rafferdy on the shoulder, vaguely salutes at what's-his-name (the boy's not doing well, at the moment, he might not even retain having seen Anders at all), and turns to go do that.
Anders actually barks out a laugh at the demonstration but he doesn't say anything to it. Instead, he looks to Jarod, "No, he's not. He asked from us provisions and we gave it.. so my men will be hunting, with the Lord's permission. He's picked up some Lannisters at the 'port. He's asked that when the attack to the Roost comes to tell him and he'll fight from the sea. As of right now, he's hitting and running, and hiding in coves waiting. So, when the decision comes.." Rowan's departure gains the unnamed squire a nod, acknowledgment, before he goes back to the news of his trip. "He's asked for a sign, a raven to fly with black in his beak. I've informed the Lord of the request, and the backup of lighting signal fires, which was also discussed." And there it all is.
Anders shakes his head slowly, "But don't misunderstand me, my lord Ser. I don't know if we are here simply as a staging further south where my Lord Stark marches, or if he wishes that I accompany you. My orders were to come here.. and here I stand." Not a Tully or a Mallister vassal, he. "I will tell you what I told the Lord, 'I will do what I can when I can, so long as it doesn't interfere with what it is I am bid to do. You can understand that. But, until I have my command, please seek me and ask."
Rafferdy smiles at Rowan, "Night, Brother." He returns his attention to Jarod, "Just days will be enough. We'll make them ready." He looks back at Anders, "Thanks." Back to Jarod, he looks off after his departing sibling. "What's wrong with him?" he asks flatly.
"I am a Ser, but no lord," Jarod says to Anders. "And the Fun Nayland archer here a lord, but no ser. Seriously, I quite understand, as to your orders. I pray the North can muster as quickly as your men have. I pray all of Westeros can. As for Ser Aeric, it does my heart good to know he's hitting the coast thus. He is more practiced than most at facing Ironmen at sea, if only brigands. Hope he makes kindling of many longships while he's waiting for a sign." He watches his squire depart with no small amount of concern, though he nods some when the lad seems apt to make it without collapsing. A breath and he replies to Rafferdy, "He took a hurt when we joined in the repelling of the Ironborn from Stonebridge. Was a serious one on the field. Our healer has seen to him, and he recovers his strength quicker than I figured he would, truth be told. I'll look in on him later. He'll do himself no good if he pushes too hard." His tone is very fond, for all that. "Ever was a stubborn little sod. Brave, though. Was the first time he'd seen battle, and he didn't break for it." Both proud and perhaps a little sad, for all that.
Anders listens first to the explanation and inclines his head, a smile ghosting for both men, "And I, ser," Beat. "and lord, am both.. something one doesn't see often from the North. For.. more than a few reasons." Just so that's out on the table as well. He nods his head slowly, and twists to glance towards the north. "My Lord Stark is quick. We made the march here in three days, provisioning the Lord Mallister on the first day, so were on abbreviated rations." And if he did it? "I may have preceeded them by a day." Tops. Of that he sounds assured, anyway. Young lord has some faith in his liege.
The news that the Ironborn tried Stonebridge actually does honestly surprise the Young Lord. "They actually tried?" He pauses and shakes his head, his expression turning back to pensive. If he'd known that.. "And they were repelled." Obviously. "How likely is there another attack, do you think?"
Rafferdy nods at Jarod, "If you say so," he responds concerning Rowan. He looks down range at the peasants, "Well, I'll leave you two Sers to your speculating. It seems there's a lot of work to be done." He then walks over to the peasants, and begins moving from one to the next, checking each bow and asking a few beginning questions of each as he makes his way through them all.
"We are certain of one," comes a new voice to the group in aswer to the Stonebridge attack. It belongs to Gedeon Rivers who is making his way from the town square and, beyond, where the armies of those called forth have been gathered. "A column one hundred strong is marching towards Stonebridge to try and take it again." My lord," Rafferdy and Anders are offered a nod. Jarod gets a bit of a smile. "I hear you've recruited some men of your own, Ser."
"They meant to take the river bridge itself," Jarod says to Anders with a nod. "To take control of all passage between Seagard and the Roost, take the whole area in a blow, or I doubt we'd have seen them this far inland. The knights and levies here drove them off. In truth we faced just a token force. They dedicated most of their strength to Seagard first, the taking of the Roost second." To Rafferdy, he nods and adds another simple, grateful, "Thank you, m'lord." Jarod stands near the edge of a small bit of grassy field, talking with Anders. Not far from him, a motley arrangement of about twenty men, peasants ranging from as young as fifteen to as old as fifty, shoot practice arrows at makeshift archery targets. Rafferdy is just on his way to assist them. Gedeon earns a nod from the other Rivers. It's polite, perhaps a little awkward, though still not exactly friendly. "Some, aye. Should we make ready to ride and fight?"
The news isn't welcome by any stretch of the imagination. Anders exhales, nodding, "Lord Nayland." And it's back to the conversation at hand once again. "When are they due to arrive?" This could be a problem. "Because Lord Mallister is expecting us at the Roost within days. If that's not to pass.." then he's stuck at sea, as it were. He won't be able to hold out against their entire fleet, as far as Anders is concerned. How much longer can the man hide with a galley?
"I brought my lady here, and as you have, we have the one wounded cousin." It's his own fault, of course. Anders looks as if he wants to begin to pace, but holds off. Instead, he pulls at the back of his neck with a hand. "Still, it's good to know positions, even if they're not ideal to us. Moreso, even."
Rafferdy remains downrange for now. He has taken one of the long bows, and is demonstrating where the nocking point lays, and a proper form for nocking the arrow and pulling the string. He does this several times, talking and instructing the men as he does, and pointing at their equipment, explaining different things of note.
"They are still a couple days out, and we still intend to march towards the Roost," Gedeon answers. "We will meet them with our numbers and thrash them before they reach the city. They must have been marching before the banners came, or they never would have sent so few."
Jarod nods to Gedeon. "They underestimate the strength that has marshaled in this town, I figure. That's as much to our advantage as anything else. Ser Gedeon, listen…" He clears his throat, still awkward. "I wish to thank you for taking the part of arguing to support the Roost at the Captain's Council. I am unsure your lordship would've done the same. I pray it is truly the better course, as I don't think I can much see past my heart in this matter." Eyes are half on Rafferdy's work with the archers, though Anders earns a slight wince. "There are, at least, many good healers here who can see to the Camden daughter. Casualties have become less heavy in the last days as men recover, I think they will have time to tend her. Though…aye. It is not the safest spot at the moment. If anywhere can be called safe now."
Rafferdy finishes the short lesson, and gestures them all up range to fire a few arrows off. He gives some encouragement, and then makes his way back to Jarod and Gedeon. "Start with form, we'll worry about hitting targets tomorrow." He smiles, and nods at Gedeon, "We've not met. I'm Rafferdy."
Brushing some dust from his sleeve, Anders looks as if he's definitely been given more to consider, particularly if his men are going to be involved. He's not been directed to give his command over and come under another's banner, thankfully, and so, anything that happens, he's got something of a say. In theory. "I see." And he does. Smiling tightly, he inclines his head, "If you will excuse me.. I think my lady wife came through on a mission, and before I turn in, I would like to check on her and get her report on our cousin." Beat. "I hope your .. " Rowan was never identified to him as a squire, so he does the best he can, "… man … heals and is hale and hearty for the next battle." In fact, only Jarod actually officially introduced himself. "The Lady has my Lady wife to attend, who has some skill with herbs, though we are grateful for the attention of your maester." He takes his first step away and catches the comment regarding whom to support, and he adds, "If the Roost falls, it'll be more difficult to dislodge them as they'll have free sail. Tall Oaks was sad, and they are my southernmost neighbor. If they give too much issue, I'm sure one day we'll rid them of that land and replant their grove." Just in case the argument of the heart didn't equal logic. "Sometimes the heart is correct.." Now, he inclines his head to the men again, muttering, "Pardons," and excuses himself fully from their company to continue on to the keep.
"It was the right thing," Gedeon says to Jarod, "The Roost needs our help more pressingly than Lord Mallister, and we've a chance, a good chance, against a dispersed army of a thousand strong. But with that many collected in a single place…" he shakes his head, "we might as well dash against the wall for the good it would likely do. Stonebridge will be safe enough. The Naylands have called for a further two hundred men to remain here and defend her when the armies march." Looking over to Rafferdy he nods. "Well met, my lord. I'm Gedeon." The departing Anders is given a bow and a polite, "My lord."
Jarod smirks some and crosses his arms along his chest as Rafferdy and Gedeon exchange introductions. Dividing a look between the pair of them. "If you'll pardon me m'lord. Ser. M'Lord Ser. I should go see to my men." He smirks his way over nearer to where the practice is occurring, on that note. Not so faraway that he can't eavesdrop on whatever is exchanged between the Nayland and other Rivers, of course. The first thing he does is break up a fencing match with sticks that's broken out between a pair of fifteen-year-old boys, since they've traded off their bows. There are ten bows among the twenty men, so sharing is going on when it comes to practice. The boys are laughing as it's done, so the fencing appears to have been in good fun.
Rafferdy stares for just a moment at Gedeon, perhaps a little surprised he's meeting the man. He slowly nods, "My lord." He watches Jarod head back to his men, telling him, "I'll be back out here at daybreak. Make sure all of them are here to begin lessons." He looks back at Gedeon, "Well, if you'll excuse me." He gives a slight bow, and then begins picking up his traveling bags to head into the tower.
Except coming from the Tower is one of the presumably more pleasant Freys. And that might be a stretch. But in her cloak of woodsman green and with wolfhound at her side, Lorna emerges, blinking at the sky and looking somehow relieved for it.
As he is studied, Gedeon Rivers peers calmly back at the younger Nayland son. "Good day, my lord," he replies before drifting towards Jarod and the twenty mean he's meant to make into soldiers. Lorna's arrival isn't yet noted.
Rafferdy is walking towards the tower, carrying a large bag. He's wearing a burgundy doublet with gold trimmings, with similar trappings on his legs, actually looking like a noble. His arms are bare, showing his muscular biceps, but it somehow also looks appropriately fancy. His sword hangs at his side, his crossbow on his other and a quiver of bolts slung over his shoulder. His walk slows as he sees Lorna, and he just nods, "My Lady," and tries to keep walking, in hopes maybe she won't notice he's dressed proper.
"My deep thanks again, Lord Rafferdy," Jarod calls simply to the Nayland lordling. Who even looks like a lordling today. He glances between Rafferdy and Gedeon again, looking almost disappointed that exchange didn't last longer. Shrug. He doesn't notice Lorna right off, either, trying to get the ten men who aren't presently shooting to line up properly. "This won't be like an afternoon hunt. You've got to work together, all one. March together, fire together, hold together when you're told to hold. Just remember, for every Ironman you put down with one of those arrows, that's one less that can trouble the Roost, and your neighbors and families still there.":
Lorna casts an amused look Rafferdy - oh, she noticed. "So I see it's the King who merits you shining your boots and wearing a shirt that doesn't require mending, my lord?" she calls out in amused teasing toward Raff, "Not so raggedy, then." She then flashes a smile at the two knights. "Sers. I hope you remain in good health. You are recovering well, Ser Gedeon?"
Glancing over his shoulder when he hears a new voice, Gedeon offers a bow and a warm smile to the Lady Lorna and her shaggy companion. "My Lady Frey, I hope the day finds you well. I am indeed, thank you. Much of my range of movement has already been restored, thanks to your stitches."
Rafferdy pauses, looking at Lorna with a smirk, and a little roll of his eyes. "You're just happy to see your suitor dressed to your liking." He laughs a bit, and then heads to the Tower, calling back to Lorna without looking, "Don't think this invasion gets you out of that hunt!" And he opens the doors to the tower to enter.
Lorna looks askance in Rafferdy's direction. "You're not my suitor." she says, evidently somewhat beruffled by the claim. She turns her attention instead to the other men, a look of relief on her face as she returns her attention two. "I'm glad to hear it, Ser Gedeon. You are both likely to see action, then?"
The men eventually do form a line, though it's not the straightest regiment one might imagine. Jarod spends some time sorting that out. He briefly looks over his shoulder at Lorna and Gedeon, smirking some more, but mostly he's intent on his peasant force. Such as it is.
"I expect so, my lady. We shall march with the called armies in the next few days to give the ironmen a taste of riverland steel." He glances towards the departing Rafferdy and back to Lorna, a corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, one brow hitched high as well. "Are you certain I was the one you'd like to carry your favor, my lady. It strikes me the Lord Nayland there might consider himself slighted."'
"Lord Nayland thinks that the mark of a great man is to do little or nothing." And Lorna doesn't seem to have much respect for that. Her gaze darts sidelong to the blond man as she too begins to watch the troops. "I don't have much respect for that. I hate seeing potential wasted." Her brows lift. "Do you wish to return it, Ser Rivers?" Would she be offended if he did? It's hard to tell.
"I think you slight Lord Rafferdy a bit, my lady, if I might say," Jarod says, leaving it to the his men to properly line themselves up for a moment. "While his manner may seem glib, he strikes me as a man quite capable of acting on his convictions when they go to something he deems important."
"Then I will do well to pay attention when he proves as you say, Ser." Lorna replies solemnly and then notes, "I should go. I'm on an errand for my lady. Good evening, Sers."
"Keep in mind, m'lady. Women tend to think men obvious creatures. But they are rarely what they appear to be. For better and worse. A good day to you. And you, Ser Gedeon." Jarod offers the blonde Rivers knight a faint grin. Though he's not grinning when he looks back at his collection of peasants. Deep breath. "All right. I think it's time for some marching."