| What's in a Name? |
| Summary: | Rafferdy returns from the Roost with an offer from the Mire in regards to Ser Jarod's wife, and her name. |
| Date: | 24/04/289 |
| Related Logs: | Jarod/Rowan logs; and What Will You Do? |
| Players: |
  |
| Rockcliff Inn — Terrick's Roost |
|---|
| Semi-restored, semi-ruined bar. |
| Tue Apr 24, 289 |
Rafferdy is seated at a table at the inn. He's wearing his burgundy colored noble clothing, his doublet still sleeveless however, as is his style due to his archery. He has three empty mugs in front of him, and a fourth is being delivered as he sits, looking tired and annoyed.
Jarod has been out in town today. Talking up the (few) merchants and traders who still frequent the Roost in search of work of the hedge knight variety. Whether he's been successful or not is unclear as he enters the Rockcliff again. He offers a quick greeting to the 'tender at the bar and is about to just pass straight upstairs. Until he spots the Fun Nayland, in full noble garb. That gives him pause, and makes him detour to Rafferdy's table. "M'lord Nayland."
Rafferdy looks up, and he smirks, "Yippee. Go fun." He shakes his head, and takes a drink. "Sit. I've been to the Mire."
"Yippee…" To Jarod the smirk and greeting seem ominous. He takes a deep breath and eases himself down to sit. "So…is Lord Rickart going to put my head somewhere special, or just kind of let the children in the Mire kick it around the square as a toy for a bit after it's off?"
Rafferdy sighs, "Depends on how you look at it. I stuck my neck out, nearly got disowned, I think." He shakes his head, "If my sister will go to my father at the Mire and apologize to him for her lies, and asks he pardon her… If she does so as a disobedient daughter should formally, I've convinced him to forgive her." He lifts his mug, "He'll give her back her name, Jarod." He takes a large drink.
"Rowenna's very poor at contrition," Jarod says wryly. "But I think I could convince her to do it, if I asked for my own sake. We'll have to face up to Lord Rickart sooner or later anyhow, and I don't want her to be enemies with her kin. I've never wanted that." He eyes the Nayland and his many empty tankards. "Was there anything more your lord father wanted?"
Rafferdy shakes his head, "That's all," he says, but the rapidity with which he takes another drink might indicate to an empathetic person that the sacrifice was his and not Rowenna's. He sits the mug down. "You understand that if she gets it back, that you'll likely really be Ser Nayland." He looks at Jarod, rather seriously. "It could cause strife for your own kin."
Jarod blinks at Rafferdy. "He'd let me have the name? To let Lord Jerold's pet bastard wear the Nayland name?" For a second, he just stares at the lordling. As if his brain can't quite process this idea. His face turns red, and he snorts, like trying to contain a coughing fit. And then…he just starts laughing. So loud he has to fold his arms on the table and put his face down in them to try and stifle it, but he can't seem contain it.
Rafferdy nods, "I am the fun one." He finishes the mug, and pushes it away, belching, and waving to the barkeep for yet another. "A bastard marries a Lady, it's proper you would take the name if he reinstated her to our house."
Jarod just keeps chortling for a few minutes, though he finally manages to stop. At least enough to raise his head back up and stop braying like a mule. "Oh, sweet Seven, fuck my life…" he mutters. He clears his throat. "And what else would be the price of that, for Rowenna and myself? Would we have to return to the Mire? Live as he dictated we live?"
Rafferdy shrugs, "I don't believe so. To be fair, it IS my Father, it's difficult to guess his expectations. But I don't believe so." He leans back in the chair. "I'm sorry. It's the best I could do."
"If it allows her to mend things with her family, a little, I would take it," Jarod says. "If it would not mean dwelling in his house. I will never betray my lord father, and swearing or any other sort of service to the Mire would be that. The way he grasps for all that is Lord Jerold's. But…fuck." He snorts another laugh. "I love her, Nayland though she is, and I don't think I could cut my lord father any deeper than I already did." He shrugs and says, rather helplessly, "It's just a name, after all. And some of you aren't so bad as all that."
Rafferdy nods, "It'll mend more than you think with her and father." He shakes his head, looking away, "I shouldn't tell you this, but," he looks back, "he said that when we were on the Isles, and he thought that she was Rowan, he was extremely proud of her." He shrugs a little, "He still is. If she handles this right, she'll be restored. And you?" He smirks a bit, "Maybe when our fathers are dead, you and my sister could be the bridge that begins to make our families less hateful."
Jarod snorts. "I wonder why in seven hells they hate eachother so much, anyhow. When I was a boy I used to think the feud'd been as it is forever. That we were like the Blackwoods and the Brackens. Hating each other for no reason anyone could remember, just because our borders were close and we squabbled over trade and territory and petty slights. It seems to run deeper than that, though. For Lord Jerold, at least, I've come to realize of late."
"Same with Lord Rickart." Rafferdy sighs, and then shakes his head, "Rickart's already sent word for her to come to the Mire. If you'd let her know what I've told you, maybe help convince her?" He pushes his chair back and stands. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Jarod." And he extends his hand.
"You did a great deal, clearly, and for that I'm grateful. Particularly because it plainly cost you very dear." Jarod regards the Nayland lordling. "What was the price you paid for the pair of us? I think I've a right to know that." He smirks. "I could use a few more reasons to be contrite. It'll be good practice for facing your lord father."
Rafferdy exhales, and he rubs the back of his neck. He purses his lips, considering if he should tell for a moment, and then looks back at Jarod, answering very solemnly. "Betrothal." He nods, and then turns to go.
Jarod winces. "Who's the lucky girl?" He sets his jaw, again, like he's bracing himself for whatever terrible news is to come.
Rafferdy shrugs as he walks away, tossing his hands in the air. "I don't know who he'll pick." And he strolls out.
"Well…I'll say a prayer to the Maiden for you that she's a looker, my lordling. And one to the Mother that she's decent fun between the sheets." Jarod lets out a long breath. "Thank you. I owe you a debt I'll like as never be able to repay, but if you terribly want to call in a favor sometime, I'm officially placing myself at your disposal as unable to refuse."
Rafferdy reaches the door, looking back at Jarod, "Don't worry about it." He gives a goofy smirk, "You're family." And he leaves.
