Page 014: What Is Dead Cannot Die
What Is Dead Cannot Die
Summary: Ser Kevan duels Maron Greyjoy's champion.
Date: 26/07/288
Related Logs: Lots.
Eyrian Jaremy Jarod Josse Kevan Maron Rodrik 
Outskirts of Stonefield - Stonefield
Secluded glade, near the trees.
July 26, 288

At a clearing a good distance removed from the tourney grounds, a ring of torches can be glimpsed, the ruddy light flickering off of steel. Blades, axes, spearheads, armor and cloak broaches, the ring of Ironmen make for a dire and solemn sight as they stand waiting. Rods of cut hazel stand from the grass and earth in a broad circle, the scent of smoking green wood pricks at the nostrils as the procession of Rivermen approaches. Each of the dozen Ironmen who stand outside the hazeled ground are armed and armored: Rodrik Greyjoy is visible in glittering plate, Maron to his side in bright steel fishscale. With wrists bound in rope, along in being unarmoed is a black haired woman in a plain roughspun thrall's shift. Each of the others is clad in leather, furs and maile, round shields and weapons to hand as they witness an unfolding ceremony.

Outwardly, Kevan is the picture of composure, as he advances towards the staked out circle clad in his black armor, the greatsword Talon in hand and a grim expression on his face. Inwardly, though… he's not exactly quaking in fear, but the adrenaline is certainly pumping by now, and his fist is white from the death grip he has on the pommel of his sword. He stops at the edge of the circle, head held high as he stares silently at the Greyjoys.

Those ecclectic bright clothes that once had adorned Eyrian's form are in shreds, cast upon the ground behind her. Bare feet still hold rings and anklets of bells. But that rough spun thrall garmet is unflattering at best and at least keeps her from being wholly naked. Testament that at least the Greyjoys have some sort of kindness even if before she had been given it they had not. Her head hangs a moment, arms shifting as the rope rubs against her skin, raw marks showing as she winces. Slowly her head lifts and dark hair shifts away from her face. The minstrel is silent, even as she takes in the sight of Ser Kevan, brows furrowing. She leans over towards Malon, dipping her head again and whispers something.
Eyrian whispers, "My Lord, spare the Knight. It was my crimes. Not his, I beg of you show mercy."

Late to the circle, Jaremy arrives with a dark, sullen expression. He makes his way around the outside of the crowd, heading in the direction of the assembled men of Terrick and Mallister. His eyes lift to his father and to Lord Jason Mallister as he falls into place, turning to gaze over the Greyjoys. His stomach lurches at the sight of Eyrian, and his eyes narrow at the taste of bile in his mouth. He scowls, clenching his fist.

Jarod has made his way up to the circle among the Terrick men. He waves his brother over when he spots Jaremy. There's little of his usually jovial manner about him. Though, when he spots Kevan, he does place his fingers between his lips and whistle and the man. And flashes him a cheeky grin.

Jarod's cheeky whistle stands in a stark contrast to the overwhelming silence of the Ironborn around the hazeled ground. Maron Greyjoy does not look aside from the ongoing ritual to answer Eyrian's whispered words, "Be silent," he murmers to the woman..

A man clad in full maile- alone among the Ironmen in that he kneels within the circle of hazel- with back to the approaching Rivermen, looks up at Rodrik as the Prince of Pyke recites in his deep, deliberate cadence, "This is the night your fate shall be written in blood. This night your name is earned and your heritage is proven." A hand is held aside, though Rodrik's eyes remain fixed on the kneeling warrior before him. A waterskin is placed, uncorked in the Prince's gloved hand. The skin is slowly moved and upturned, to pour out the contents over the warrior's lowered head. Those nearest will smell the salty tang of seawater as Rodrik intones, "What is dead can never die…"

"But rises again, harder and stronger," the warrior voices in answer, rising to his feet, with long hair left lank by the saltwater libation.

Josse's presence at a display like this is likely much less personal preference than duty — at least, that's what he'll say to anyone who asks. His hood is up over his head, partly shadowing his eyes, which lets him look over the crowd with more freedom than usual. Particularly the Terrick bunch and Kevan, who he keeps well in his line of sight.

Jaremy looks to Jarod as he whistles, not quite knowing how to respond to the man. "Jarod." Jaremy utters quietly, eyes forward on the display as he continues to stand amongst the Terrick retinue. Folding his arms across his chest, he alternates his view between Kevan and Eyrian, feeling a deep, frenzied need to want to protect the girl. That would be up to Kevan now. "Ser Kevan Tierney wears no badge to this fight." Jaremy mutters, opening the palm of his hand to show the badge, and that he's released Ser Kevan from his service.

Kevan looks over sharply at Jarod's loud greeting. He doesn't answer in kind, but he does offer the younger man a nod as he stands in place. He watches the Ironman ceremony unfolding across from him, focusing on the kneeling man in an attempt to get a better look at who he's about to face in the circle. He almost doesn't recognize Svarta — Maron's bodyguard, from the original confrontation in the tavern — but the man's identity as Maron's champion soon becomes evident. Slowly, Kevan shrugs the cloak off his shoulders, his fist continuing to flex around the handle of his blade.

"He's left of our service, then?" Jarod nods to Jaremy. "Well, that's as well done as we could like as hope for. At least whatever comes of this fight it'll end between these men, and not become a bigger slight on either our House or the Greyjoys." Or so he hopes. "Though Ser Kevan damn well better win. Man owes me a story about a Dornish girl.". Though the quip has an air of forced humor about it. He reaches out to put a hand on Jaremy's shoulder and clasp it, done joking. He remarks under his breath, "This is the choice he made, brother and, while I won't say much for the quarrel itself, man's got steel enough in him to finish a fight once he's started it. And honor enough not to have anyone but himself take the fall from it. There's honor in that. I'll remember him well for it one way or another."

Maron needs not say another thing to Eyrian ands he quiets, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looks towards the Svarta, looking to his hand to where she had bit him. She smirks some to herself and shifts. A breath is released though as her dark eyes rise up to watch him, but slowly she studies all those that have gathered. Rodrik's words are just lost, ignored as it is of no concern to her. Instead, the minstrel takes up silent prayer to the old gods, thumbs rubbing over eachother as she whispers to cut through whatever ritual is going on.

"Aye. I've released him." Jaremy replies grimly, torchlight reflected in his eyes as he waits for the duel to begin. "May the Warrior keep his sword sharp and the Smith hold his armor and the Mother take that girl into her arms. He's a good man. I've faith in him."

Josse drifts slowly around the throng of people towards Jarod, and by extension Jaremy. The quiet pre-battle muttering of a septon is nothing unusual, more humming under his breath than actual speaking. One of the Warrior's lesser well-known hymns, calling for victory for the one that truly deserves it. His feet are nearly silent and that hood keeps his face shielded, his path drawing him up next to Jarod. At a slight pause in the hymn his elbow thumps the young knight's side, though his eyes never leave the center of attention.

The most pre-battle ceremony anyone will see out of Kevan is a rushed, muttered prayer to the Warrior to guide his hand, and to the Stranger not to take Kev today if it please him very much, thanks. He directs a look back at the procession of Rivermen, where his animals — the hawk and the horse — are being tended to. Then, it's eyes front again, his cold and narrow gaze still focused on his opponent.

The Ironborn warrior in the hazel ring, dripping with saltwater, shrugs forward a round wooden shield, banded in iron. His right hand sets to the hilt of a broadsword, drawing it free and holding it aloft, "I am Svarta Pyke. Bound by oath sworn and blood tie to Prince Maron Greyjoy of Pyke. I his shield, I his sword. Who stands forth to name his cause false?"

"Seven help him," Jarod murmurs after Jaremy's words. His tone soft but fervent, and not at all jokey. It's an actual prayer. He turns to Josse, offering the septon a small nod of his head. Before his eyes fix back on the contest proper.

Recognizing the septon, Jaremy turns to look across Jarod's chest to the man in the hood. A deep, reverent bow is offered to the well known septon, only in slight acknowledgement of his presence and moreso in notice of his station. Prayers are being offered, and for the moment Josse is a voice to the Seven. Clasping his hand behind his back and the other to rest over the hilt of his sword, Jaremy completes his nod to Josse and turns back to the ring.

Kevan, enter stage left. "I do so stand," he calls out, his raspy but full voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing. "Ser Kevan Tierney, knight of the Riverlands." He doesn't mention his ties to House Terrick because, well, as of just before his arrival here, he has no ties to House Terrick. After he introduces himself, he goes quiet again — no insults, no embellishments, no threats — just the scraping, metallic sound of his sword clearing its scabbard.

There is a soft chant taken up enters. A gentle tune that is faint from the minstrel. A song of the old gods and the words are only understood by her. Eyrian lifts her gaze, haunted dark eyes resting on him as thumbs press over each other slowly. She continues that lament, faintly melodic and mournful, lips barely forming the words. She ignores the presence of Maron beside her as she weaves her song in a low personal way. Ser Kevan does not only fight for himself this day, but for her as well. The itch of the rough thrall vestment that was granted her by the ironmen is forgotten. Those two necklaces of rock and coral sway at her neck and against her breast as she cautions a louder turn of her voice so that the tune might give the Riverman heart.

Josse gives Jarod a thin-lipped half-smile that's not in the least amused. His blue eyes flicker past the Rivers knight to Jaremy and he returns the greeting. Not quite as deep a physical bow but his eyes lower as he does it, returned respect in a subtle way. The soft humming of that hymn goes uninterrupted, almost lost in all the voices around them but not quite. It's never quite lost.

The flat of Svarta's sword is rung against the rim of his shield twice, as Svarta- solemn as the grave- regards Ser Kevan. From behind, Rodrik Greyjoy voices, "Then ready yourself, Ser Kevan Tierney. Grasp your blade and stand into the hazelled ground. Where two stand, one shall fall."

Jarod copies Jaremy's gesture, one hand behind his back, the other on the hilt of the sword at his side. And, very softly, he picks up on Josse's humming. It's likely not audible beyond the little knot of the three men. Ser Rivers shall never be accused of being the most pious man, but the hymns of the Warrior are ones he's taken pains to know.

Tossing Talon's sheath aside, Kevan takes a long breath before stepping into the circle as he's bid. He raises the greatsword, now clutched in both hands as the black-armored knight approaches his opponent. Even now, he remains silent; the time for posturing is long over. Steel has been bared; things are now about as real as they could possibly get. Kevan salutes the Ironman in front of him with his blade before settling into a fighting position.

As the fight starts, Jaremy pulls his eyes from the combat to look at poor Eyrian. Just a few days prior she was giving him songs of the North and preparing his heart for the joust. She told him she was going to tell his tale, and now she stands, barely clad and clearly mishandled by Ironmen. Jaremy frowns once more, letting a sigh through his nose. The young lord has to close his eyes to keep from drawing his sword and saving the girl himself, though the swinging of swords forces his eyes open, and he holds his breath for the poor girl.

As the duelists step into the circle, Josse lifts his chin slightly. His eyes flicker to Eyrian and then back to Kevan and the Greyjoy, the quiet humming now moving his lips with the words to the imploring hymn as well. Still very quiet, but in hushed tone his sung prayer is somehow that more intense. As Jarod joins in his head absently nods approval, even if his blue eyes don't look at the young knight again.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Sword & Shield - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).

Despite the deadly nature of the moment- or perhaps because of it- as Svarta rushes Kevan, the Ironmen ringing the circle are silent. The ironman's broadsword strikes hard and loud, leaving a crease in Ser Kevan's breastplate, but leaving the knight himself unharmed. The return stroke leaves a visible crease in Svarta's conical cap, but the staggered Ironman does not fall, redoubling his assault.

Kevan is clearly the more cautious of the two combatants, as he chooses to stand his ground and let the ironman bring the fight to him. Svarta doesn't disappoint; although the man's blade does ring against Kevan's armor, the black metal holds — and as the Ironman stumbles away, meeting more resistance to his strike than he'd expected, Kevan's greatsword catches him with a glancing blow across the head. First blood, Kev.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Sword & Shield - Light wound to Right Arm.
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

<COMBAT> Kevan has been KO'd!
<COMBAT> Kevan spends a luck point to keep fighting!

Though Kevan's first blow has left a slight trickle of blood dripping down Svarta's forehead, the Ironman's savage assault continues, whipping a slashing blow at the knight's arm before slamming into him, hard, with his shield. In an instant that sends a jab of dread through those favoring the knight, the blow sends Kevan crashing to the ground.

Kevan has the presence of mind to hit the ground on a roll, and manages to get out of Svarta's reach quickly enough before scurrying to his feet, sword still clutched in his hand. Spitting out a few wayward blades of grass, the knight's eyes narrow, but he still doesn't give in to the temptation to charge screaming at the ironborn. His stance is still a guarded one as he advances to meet the Ironman's blade once more.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Sword & Shield but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Right Arm (Reduced by Armor).

Breath catches as the first strike is given and the duel begins, Eyrian is hard pressed to keeps her murmured lament. Her voice claims strength in the midst of the raised steel. Her dark eyes look on and she swallows. Her hands squeeze together and where the humming song from the clot of Terrick men come, she searches them. One is recognized, but otherwise the minstrel of the North stays to the prayers of the Old Gods. Her warm voice lifts further, a faint smile touching her lips as Ser Tierney lands his first blow. Yet that is short lived as he falls back to the ground, her heart hammering heavily in her chest and stealing her song for a second. But as he rises to go for another blow, she hesitates a step forward, her song renews, seeing the Riverman strike true once more.

Josse almost forgets to breathe when Kevan goes down, his shoulders rising slightly as the knight gets back to his feet. "Forward…" the septon mutters. "Forward…so shall he be guided forward." These are lyrics to the steady hymn he's been braiding into the cacophony around him, though they in particular are delivered as spoken word rather than sung.

While Svarta is again staggered by the knight's greatsword, the Ironborn warrior continues on, blood now mingling with the saltwater that drips down his hair and armor. A ferocious swing slices the air as Kevan dodges back out of reach, the Ironborn absorbing another bruising blow in the exchange.

Jarod's soft hum-chanting stops, in a sharp hissed breath, when Kevan stumbles. He exhales, long and soft, as the knight rolls up. "…shall be guided forward…" he manages to pick up the chant with Josse again. Stifling any curses he might be tempted toward.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Sword & Shield but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Left Hand (Reduced by Armor).

As long as Kevan keeps his feet, the knight is pressing his advantage, dodging out of reach of Svarta's broadsword, and landing his own blows on the Ironman. Yet still the warrior charges on, running down the Riverman.

The greatsword is a slow and ponderous weapon, but it's also been Kevan's weapon of choice ever since he was strong enough to lift one, so he's learned a few tricks. He dodges another of the Ironman's wild hacks, and this time uses his momentum to carry himself through and bring the sword around, striking a swift blow on the Ironborn's exposed hand.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Sword & Shield but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword but Svarta DODGES!

This time, the knight's sword bites into the warrior's shield, leaving a gash in the paint and timber of the iron-rimmed round. Again, the Ironman's blade hisses past Kevan's face, but cuts only air.

Kevan grunts as his sword bounces off his enemy's shield. He continues to press the attack, however; Svarta's exerted himself more than Kevan has to this point, and between the exertion and that head wound, the Ironman's got to be losing steam. Right?

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Sword & Shield - Moderate wound to Left Leg.
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Serious wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).

If Svarta is tiring, the big warrior is not showing it, remaining ominously silent as Kevan and the Ironman cease their dodges and maneuvers and lay into each other as heavily as they may. Svarta's sword strikes just below the edge of Kevan's steel armor, while Kevan's heavy overhanded blow breaks the rim of the Ironman's shield, leaving a visible deformity in the conical helm. Blood flows freely now, washing out the seawater.

"…that shall bring him forth from his enemies," Josse says under his breath, eyes pinned on the fight. "…and they shall fade away…" The septon's quiet voice is tense, less uninvolved than his posture would suggest.

Kevan's been watching his opponent constantly since the beginning of the fight, and his observation now pays off. He's got a sense of the man's movement and timing; when he sees the strike coming in, he suddenly knows where it's going and knows it won't be enough to cut him down. Somehow, he knows — and that's why he doesn't do a damn thing to stop it, taking the hit with a pained grunt as he brings his own weapon down hard in an overhanded chop while the Ironborn is still in the middle of his follow-through. Triumph mixes with pain as Talon cuts once more into flesh.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Broadsword but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

A sharp breath releases past her lips as the knight takes a heavy blow but gives one even harder to the head of Svarta. Her smile grows and the song pauses, now watching. She murmurs something and grabs her hands together before her. Again, a blow is trike, but the bastard son of a noble ironman continues to dance. She narrows her gaze and that spirit in her starts to grow with each blow that lands and moment that Ser Kevan stands.

Throwing off the broken shield, Svarta takes a desperate swing with his broadsword, missing the hedge knight and staggering again with a grunt as the greatsword strikes his maile- but the ironborn crafted hauberk holds. Gripping the sword in both hands.. the one bloodied by Kevan's blade, the other bitten by the thief, the previously silent warrior sucks in a breath and shouts, "What is dead can never die!"

Jarod's chanting along with the septon has fallen to low breathing of the words. Like he's on point of holding his breath as the hedge knight exchanges blows against the Ironman. He's following the strokes of the swords with keen attention, nodding a little to himself as Kevan takes that hit only to bring his weapon to bear. "…and they shall fade away…" he murmurs in unison with Josse.

Kevan's blood is up, but his wits haven't completely left him. The Ironman may not be tired, but he is grievously wounded, and his time is running out. Kevan goes back on the defensive, swinging his sword before him tauntingly a couple times before settling back into a guard position. "No. But what is dead… is dead," Kevan replies, his eyes wide and his lips split in a horrific grin.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

Although the Ironman has taken a half dozen blows and bleeds freely from three, the staggering warrior staggers from another, shoulders heaving with drawn breaths, drawn and spent through clenched teeth, as he lurches after the knight with another cut.

Kevan stays on the defensive, circling the wounded Ironman with his blade extended towards the foe. He's still wary about charging in and trying to finish the job too hastily… after all, an animal is at its most dangerous when wounded.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword but Svarta DODGES!

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword - ARMOR on Chest stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Abdomen (Reduced by Armor).

If the wounded animal is dangerous, Svarta grows ever more dangerous, as another blow across his torso bashes into the maile. Still the bloodied beheamoth cuts after the knight.

Kev's hobbling a little at this point, thanks to that slash he'd taken on the leg from Svarta. It's still better than the Ironborn is doing, though. However, his defensive approach doesn't seem to be working, as his enemy doesn't seem to be paying any mind to the defensively-minded attacks slowly slicing his chest to ribbons. It's time to go back to a more direct approach; Kev narrows his eyes and lifts his blade as he charges in with an audible growl.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword but Svarta DODGES!

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).

Beside the Greyjoy princes, Eyrian might note two things: one, that none among the ironmen are looking away from the ritual duel playing out before them, and two, that Maron Greyjoy is holding his breath.

Within the hazeled ground, Svarta's ruines helm still manages to deflect a blow, taking a bruise in place of a gash. Perhaps the Ironborn is already dead and simply hasnt noticed.

By this point, Kevan is amazed that the Ironman is still standing, much less swinging a sword. It's neither the time nor place for admiration, however; Kevan simply wants to see it ended. Once again, Talon leads the way as Kevan throws himself at Svarta, ire flashing in the Riverman's eyes. "You… are… DEAD!" Kevan howls in fury his his blood-stained blade comes down.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Head (Reduced by Armor).

The dead silence from the Greyjoys about her makes her shiver and the minstrel watches the rather bold move of the Riverman drives him to a heavy blow again against Svarta. She catches her own breath, her hands lifting, still bound together as she strains to take a step froward. Svarta yet does not fall and part of her wants to rush in to bite him again, his strong hand part of the reason her clothes lay in ribbons on the ground behind her. The minstrel strays forward, pulling on the bindngs of her hands.

Once again, the knight smashes his blade into the Ironman, who staggers to the side, falling to one knee, as the battered ruin of his helmet is torn free from his head, the maile coif beneath thick with blood. Surging back to his feet in another desperate slash, the duel grinds on.

Kevan knows an endgame when he sees one. Seeing no point in conserving his strength now, or even keeping up all that much of a defense, Kevan continues to press in on the Ironman, hacking and slashing in a fury of heavy but controlled blows.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword but Svarta DODGES!

Somehow, the gore dripping warrior manages the strength to knock Kevan's blade aside, landing a staggering blow of his own to the knight's breastplate. The oft-mute warrior grinds out the next line of his interrupted prayer, "But rises again-"

Kevan grunts in surprise as the wounded fighter lays down a blow that actually gets through Kevan's black armor. Hissing in fury, he steps aside to renew the attack from another direction. Talon flashes, its blade once more sweeping down in search of blood.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword - ARMOR on Abdomen stops the attack!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

The two warriors trade blows, their swords clutched in both hands, and striking for all their might. The knight's armor absorbs the blow across his torso better than the maile of his foeman, and again Svarta staggers back a step, balance faltering. For the second time, driven by bloodied will, he rises again, slashing at the Riverman.

Kevan's furious attack halts briefly, and he again circles Svarta for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he tries to figure out just what it is keeping the man on his feet. Leveling his weapon, Kevan rushes back in, point aimed squarely for the Ironman. There's only so much punishment a man can take, and Kevan is determined to find out just how much it is.

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword and MISSES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Light wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).

<COMBAT> Svarta attacks Kevan with Greatsword but Kevan DODGES!
<COMBAT> Kevan attacks Svarta with Greatsword - Moderate wound to Chest (Reduced by Armor).
<COMBAT> Knight3 has been KO'd!

The Ironman grunts under another blow, and then another, sucking in a breath and swining at Kevan, increasingly slowed by blows taken and blood lost. At last it is a blow to the chest, the last of a dozen blows which sends the silent Svarta Pyke falling to to the grass, the sword slipping from one hand, but still clutched in the death grip in his right, the last breath slipping out, unspent.

It is the deep, deliberate voice of Rodrik Greyjoy which completes the unfinished prayer roared by the dead man. "But rises again. Harder and stronger." Maron releases the rope, without looking aside from Svarta, as the Prince of Pyke steps toward the dead ironman, regarding Kevan as he does so. Rodrik bends at the waist to pick up the dead man's sword, and looks from Kevan to Jason Mallister and the Terricks with whom he stands. The bloodied blade is raised in salute. "Harder and stronger." The still-silent Ironmen ringing the circle step forward to take up the body of the dead man.

The tension in the rope fades and Eyrian watches the dead. She shivers, taking a step away. Free. The leering faces still linger in her head but they are not watching her now. No. Those of the ironborn are looking to their fallen. Stepping to the side, barefeet take to the earth like it were life itself. The minstrel is still bound together but that doesn't matter as she leaves the remnants of her clothing behind. She doesn't turn for fear of Maron taking that rope and again and shedding all hope, but those dark eyes look to Kevan, smiling faintly as he has taken for himself something today.

Having remained silent with his prayers throughout the combat, Jaremy nods as Svarta's body falls to the grass. Death has been done, and his prayers have been answered. The girl is freed and Kevan has kept his life. Jaremy's eyes tilt to Rodrick Greyjoy, watching him closely as he turns to Jarod and his father. "Hopefully…they'll leave it at this." Jaremy says quietly, letting out a cleansing breath. "Kevan fought well."

Kevan's face is frozen in a snarl as he drives Talon home, again and again. Finally, the Pyke's guard fails, and as he slumps lifeless to the earth, Kevan rips his sword free of the man's chest. He takes a few limping steps away from the body, breathing heavily as he thrusts the blade into the ground, point-first, and falls to one knee while leaning against the weapon. His eyes, still wide and blazing bright, come up to regard first the dead man and then the honor guard of Greyjoys that come in to surround him. As the body of Svarta is lifted into the air, the black-armored knight pushes himself to his feet, yanks free his unbloodied shortsword from his belt and uses it to offer a gesture of salute to the fallen warrior of the Ironborn.

As the gathering of the ironman's body is made, Eyrian takes a hesitant step towards the brave Ser who fought for her. But mostly for himself. Yet, she is free because of him and that long trail of rope follows as she settles her bound hands against her stomach. The minstrel pauses, giving him room yet as she looks over his wounds and worn armor. "Ser…" She starts, letting her dark eyes narrow on him before she offers him a faint smile. "Thank you…" She intones. Fingers flex in their bindings ands he shifts in that rough spun vestment. Her gaze moves to that of the other he fought. "I don't want to ruin the…moment. But you have what is left of my things…" Her clothes ruined by Maron's blade the night before. "Could you take me to them?"

"That Ironman was made of sodding…iron," Jarod says, no longer muttering to the Warrior now that the fight's done. "Seven hells take him. That was a fair piece of sword-work, that was. Man won his life in right fine manner." His shoulders sag, releasing knots of tension he only just seemed to remember he'd been holding. "Aye. We can hope, brother." Not that he *sounds* particularly hopeful, but they *can.*

The procession of Ironborn bears off their fallen, Prince Rodrik being the last to turn his back on the assembled Riverlords. The circle of hazel rods and flickering torches is left to stand, and the sons of the drowned God depart.

"Yeah…as I'm sure the rest of them are." Jaremy replies quietly, watching Eyrian move to Kevan from his vantage point. No doubt that Ser Kevan is currently no longer a man of the Terricks, but he feels pride for the knight nonetheless. As the Pyke bastard's body is carried off, Jaremy watches the Ironmen fade off into the distance. "I wonder if that's the last of them we'll see…" He says to his family, running a tired hand through his long, dark hair, brushing it aside. "Seven, that poor girl, thief or not. I can hardly bear to look at her. I saw her when she had light." He lowers his gaze, shaking his head.

"She spent one night with her wrists tied, brother, and if she is truly a thief it's lighter punishment than the sheriff should've given her," Jarod says. "Anyhow. I hope the Tordane's sheriff *is* left to settle the matter, as that's where it should've gone from the beginning. At least Ser Kevan didn't spill his lifeblood over his nonsense." For the Ironmen, he shrugs, though he doesn't make any predications as to seeing the last of them. He'll blend off with the crowd on that note.

Kevan looks crookedly at Eyrian, resting again on the hilt of his sword. "Innkeeper at the Crane's Crossing. I left your things in his care," he croaks, his voice hoarse from exertion and adrenaline. As she steps toward him, he motions for her to come closer, wordlessly motioning to the ropes around her wrists; his arm reaches out, the shortsword slowly cutting through the bonds. "I didn't do it for you," he says. He's consistant, at least. After a momentary pause, though, his face softens. "But you're welcome, anyway."

Jaremy watches Eyrian from across the dissipating crowd and nods his head with Jarod's words. "You're probably right, brother, though I fear the tourney is far from over. If the Grayjoys don't leave, they're likely to take an aim for Ser Kevan in the melee." He frowns, stepping away with his brother.

At his motion, her arms lift and releases a sigh as her arms are freed, rope loosening it's grip. Eyrian rubs at her wrists, nodding her head. "Of course not. I know your hate of the ironborn." She avoids his gaze and dips her head to him. Fingers work at the raw skin a momemt before she lifts her head to look after the retreating ironmen, shivering some. "I will pray for your wounds to heal swift and fast. But I am not certain I will see you as the Lady Blackmane claim may chase me from Stonebridge. It is better that way." She dips her head to him, shifting on barefeet and return to the pile of her blade cut clothing, shreds, torn cloth as she folds it carefully in her arms, holding it to her chest before she makes haste herself, looking to watn to be free of the open air.