|Whiskey, Women and Song|
|Summary:||Jarod Rivers and Rafferdy Nayland drink heavily and talk about girls. Advice of arguable quality is given.|
|Related Logs:||The Jarod/Rowan logs and Rafferdy/Lorna logs loosely relate|
|Jarod's Chamber — Four Eagles Tower|
|The bar…pretty much never closes.|
"Home sweet home, Fun Nayland," Jarod Rivers says as he leads Rafferdy up the stairs and into his chamber. It's not large, but noble chamber standards, but he lives comparably to the rooms his younger siblings are allotted. There are hunting trophies on the wall, a writing desk with something half-finished resting on it, and a table with a couple of flagons, along with what looks like a bottle of whiskey. The bar apparently never closes. "Figured it was time you got some proper Terrick hospitality. We never did get to have that drink after Alderbrook, may as well do it now."
Rafferdy follows him in, looking around the room a bit. He smirks, "You've been here a long time," he observes. He glances at the window, and then moves a bit to not have a view. He meanders to the hunting trophies, taking a look at them as he examines each one for a moment. "You should have invited my brother."
"One and twenty years. Was only gone during my squiring in Seagard," Jarod says, going to play bartender. A cup of whiskey for himself, and for the Nayland. He flops down on his bed before he gets into the proper drinking. "Aye, I maybe I should've. Well, we'll have time to drink all band-of-brothers like on the march south. Now we can talk about him. Share funny Rowan stories. Or…something." He seems to regret the suggestion after making it. "How're you finding Four Eagles? Hope my family's hospitality has been up to snuff."
Rafferdy picks up the glass of whiskey, taking a drink, and shrugging, "I don't actually have any funny Rowan stories…" He sighs, and then sits on the floor across from the bed so he can lean against the wall and see Jarod. "Four Eagles is fine, I suppose." He lifts his glass to his lips, "I was trying to avoid my father." He rolls his eyes, "He found me." Then he takes a long drink.
"That's always seemed funny to me, how apart all of you lot were raised," Jarod says, kicking off his boots and getting to sipping. "Only sibling Rowan seems to have spent much time around is that mad sister of his who…ran off with the mummer's troupe or whatever." Drink. "Was different here, of course. My brothers Jaremy and Jacsen were almost the same age as me, so we all did everything together as boys. Lord Rickart?" He winces. "Well. Drink more, then. At least you survived. Or he's killing you very slowly in ways that aren't visible."
Rafferdy sighs, "We aren't really that apart. I mean… We are, but we aren't." He rolls his eyes again, drinking more. "It's complicated." He sighs a second time. "I've spend my whole life trying to get the man to be proud of me…" A shake of his head tells that that's never happened. "I'm kind of a screw up. The problem is, we all are.
"You Naylands seem to thrive on complications," Jarod notes with a wry laugh as he sips. "All of you? How do you mean?" He sets the bottle on the floor between them, presuming they will both need refills frequently.
Rafferdy shrugs, nabbing the bottle and filling back up. "Well…" He nods a bit, "My oldest brother Ryker seems to have fumbled the Stonebridge affair. Rupert's dead. Rutger and I both left our squireships and were dismissed from our Frey knights. Rowenna…" He sighs, "Well, you know about her if you know Rowan. And then little Ro…" He takes another drink of the whiskey, swirling the glass a bit, watching the liquid. "The runt who is betrothed to a Frey and yet wants to be the third Nayland boy to piss the Frey off and do something else." He looks up at Jarod, "It's mostly an issue because his chances at making the kingsguard seem so slim to Father."
"I know a bit," Jarod says, as to Rowenna, smirking as he sips again. "That is a lot of pissing-off of your father's liege lord at the Twins, when you line it all up like that. If I were your father I'd resign myself to it happening again where Rowan's concerned. The boy is not the marrying kind, I don't figure. Sweet slip of a girl though Lady Igara might be. As for slim…" He shrugs. "They're less slim than they were a few months back, I figure. He took the field against the Ironborn and did not make a poor account of himself. Figured that'd get him more time to work for the Kingsguard, if anything."
Rafferdy nods, "I'm not saying he can't do it. Just that Father sees the chances as slim. It's not unfair to see it that way. Even if Ro were a big guy, they'd still be tough odds." He continues to swallow a bit more whiskey. "So… What do you think of Lorna Frey?"
"If nothing else, he learned to use his size to some advantage while he was studying swordsmanship with Ser Gedeon Rivers," Jarod says. "Ser Gedeon was knighted during his lord's time as a mercenary in Braavos, so he practices a sort of modified form of what they call water dancing. Suits Rowan better than typical broadsword work. It's about speed more than brute strength, reading your opponent, looking for quick-and-deadly openings. For my part, I am but a simple broadsword. But, I've always been big, so never been an issue." Mention of Lorna Frey makes him grin. "That one's a pretty piece, isn't she? Though there is a strain in that family that seems to breed fairer than the larger lot of them. Just look at Lady Isolde's mother, Lady Valda nee Frey. I mean, don't get me wrong, the woman's evil. Damn fine-looking for an older woman, though."
Rafferdy smirks, "Yeah…" He studies the liquid in his glass for a moment. "I have nothing to offer her…"
Jarod stops his random tangent about Lady Valda's MILF-like qualities, to blink at Rafferdy. "Sweet Seven, Nayland, I didn't think we'd gotten to the weepy part of the drinking yet. What? You interested in her? She's a fine bit of girl. Pleasing to look at, bit sporty - that makes them more fun - and she might even please your lord father. Frey daughter and all. What's the problem?"
Rafferdy laughs a bit, "The problem is yeah… I think I do like her." He smiles, "She's difficult. I find that… entrancing." He shrugs a bit, "But I have nothing to offer. It's not weepy. It's just how it is," he corrects, not really at all whining, just sharing. "Father was quick to point out, I have no inheritance or land to offer. I'm not a war hero. Not a knight. Just…" He smirks, "Just what I am." He takes another drink of that quickly disappearing glass of whiskey.
"Men want what they can't have, Fun Nayland," Jarod says expansively. Like he's imparting some great bit of wisdom. Before downing more whiskey. He then reaches for the bottle to refill his cup. "And you've hardly nothing to offer. You're a lord's son. And she's a lady. That puts you even, so far as courting and the like goes. Knight or no you've stood in your father's army, led some of his troops, served his house in your own fashion. And Lord Frey's got…what…a hundred daughters?" He's estimating. "Rowan's got even less chance of inheriting something than you do. If the Late Lord Frey's willing to give one to an even lower-born Nayland, I figure you've got as good a shot as anyone."
Again, the Nayland rolls his eyes, "Maybe. I dunnow…" He takes the last wash of whiskey from his glass. "You know, you could always knight me." He smiles, as if kidding, but then his brow furrows a little, and he tilts his head, as if suddenly, that seems like a good idea. His brow lifts a bit, and he looks at Jarod.
Jarod snorts a laugh at that, taking it as a joke, and taking another drink. "You'd have to do a stint squiring for me first, and I think I'll need a break from Nayland squires once I'm done with your little brother. " Though he sips more, falling thoughtful. "It's all sort've bosh, really, when you get to thinking about it. Just like any other title. There are some of the finest cavaliers in Westeros in the Northlands, and finest swordsman in the world in Braavos, and they'll never be knights. You've command archers in an army, more than many Sers have done. Wouldn't make you any different. Makes you wonder why it matters so much to some people, y'know? Not like it'd make you any different."
Rafferdy furrows his brow a bit, "It DOES make it different." He sighs, "And anyway, who says I have to squire. Guys get knighted in the field of battle for valor all the time."
"Well, you can save my life at Seagard, then," Jarod says wryly. "Or your lord father's. But…I mean, I know there are men it matters to, I've just got to thinking lately and I'm not sure why. Most don't get knighted on the field. They get handed it because they were a highlord's son. I'd have never gotten a chance at it otherwise myself, bastard son or no. It just seems like…one of those things in this world people tie themselves up in knots for, when it's just another title. In an of itself. It's what you do with it that matters, and most knights don't do so much more than take the vows and then go do whatever the fuck they want."
Rafferdy shakes his head, "Easy for you to say. You have it. Me?" He rolls his eyes, "I got nothin'. Father? He pretty much thinks I'm worthless. You know what he said? He actually said to me, I had nothing to offer Lorna."
"Well, fuck him!" Jarod says firmly, with the conviction only alcohol can give a man. "He's wrong. Look at you. You're Rafferdy Nayland. You're…" Jarod squints at the other man, hunting for a suitably bolstering adjective. "…fun?" He shrugs. "Anyway. Never mind. This isn't about your father, aye? This is about a girl. And you do not need a Ser to win over Lady Lorna Frey. You just need….you need…" His brow furrows. Think, think, think. "…you need…to do something really stupid and embarrassing. Girls like that." Pause. "Girls're sort've mean, when you get right down to it."
Rafferdy laughs, again, shaking his head, "No wonder you aren't betrothed."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jarod says, honestly confused about why it's so obvious he's not wed at present. But he presses on with this grand idea he's apparently had. "No, no, no, but I'm serious, though. You should do something…dramatic. Girls like dramatic. It shows them, I think, that you're interested in them enough to lose your dignity a bit, which they seem to like. You play that musical instrument thing, don't you?"
"It means girls don't like stupid." Rafferdy laughs, and he nods, "I play that instrument thing, yeah." He finishes his drink, and begins pouring another glass. "So?"
"Oh, girls like stupid," Jarod argues firmly. Like this is a point he is absolutely convinced of. "They dislike sensible and they dislike practical, but they're just fine with stupid. A little bit's even fun now and then. In small doses." Back to music. "You should play her a song. Something…not too mushy. That'd be a bit over-top for where you two are. But…I don't know. Stirring. Maybe some song of adventure glory and lovers being valiant or something. She's a sporty girl, seems like she'd like that."
Rafferdy furrows his brow, "You know I asked Father to talk to Lord Frey about maybe arranging a betrothal. I was laughed at." He hands the bottle to Jarod to refill. "Yet Rowan gets a betrothal he doesn't even want."
"Your father seems to delight in making the lives of you lot difficult," Jarod says. "He probably won't give you this Frey girl just because you want her. But!" He suddenly stands up on his bed, all inspired. He's had an idea. He raises his glass, brandishing it, to add some dramatic flair to his idea'ing. "If you win over this Frey girl, and get her to want your hand as you want hers, the Lord of the Twins can hardly say no, if she's not other prospect presently. And then your lord father'd have to agree, or it'd offend his liege. And then Rowan can perhaps have an easier time of getting off his own little Frey and riding off to be a Kingsguard or…whatever the fuck it is he's going to be."
Rafferdy shrugs, "I have nothing to offer her. No land. No inheritance. No knight." he says again. "And what is it with you Rowan, anyway?"
"I don't have anything to offer girls," Jarod says with a shrug, finishing his drink and flopping back down on his bed. He bounces some before settling again. "You've still got to give it a go. If you want her, and you don't go for it, or you go for it all half-assed, she'll just take up with some assholes who looks like a bugger. And then where will you be? Nowhere, m'lordling, that's where. Show some initiative!" He pours himself another drink, blinking at Rafferdy. "What do you mean 'with' me and Rowan? There's nothing 'with' us? What're you on about, 'with'?"
Rafferdy shrugs, "I dunnow. There's just somethin' funny about you two. Breakin' it off and then getting back together." He shakes his head, "Just trying to figure him out is all."
"We're knight and squire. We didn't 'break it off'," Jarod says, holding up his fingers to do little quotes around that part. "Rowan and I figured Ser Gedeon would be better suited for his knightly development, because they were built similar and could swordfight using the same techniques. It turned out, after Rowan had been with him awhile, that Ser Gedeon was kind of asshole and not really good at…other knightly things." He shrugs. "Rowan didn't go into much detail about what those were, but I gather he didn't care for how things were conducted in the Oldstones house. He needed some place to finish up, I was willing to have him again. Simple as that." Drink. "Let's get back to your Frey girl. We were talking about your Frey girl. What song are you doing to sing her?"
Rafferdy smirks, "Wow. Defensive. I was simply asking." He sighs, rolling his eyes, "Wait… Sing?" He shakes his head, "I don't sing."
"Well you've got to sing." Jarod's emphatic about this. "Won't be nearly as effective otherwise. I mean, I don't think you have to be very good. So long as you aren't awful she'll be charmed like…that!" He snaps his fingers. Though he kind of messes up the snapping the first time. He has to do it again before he gets it. He's sort of drunk. "How about…that one about girls and gold?" And he does actually start singing then. His baritone probably isn't bad when he's sober, but it's warbling some now. "He rode through the streets of the city, down from his hill of high, Oer the wynds and the steps and the cobbles, he rode to a womans sigh." Pause. "I mean…it'll sound better when you do it.
Rafferdy laughs, rolling onto his side, "Uh… No. No it won't." He laughs a bit more, looking up at the ceiling. "I imagine if I sing to her, it's likely she'll NEVER agree to see me. Besides, she gave her favor to Gedeon Rivers. He's likely set to get Stonebridge. I got nothing."
"You cannot let Gedeon Rivers win!" Jarod says, practically shouting that. This is a point he's extremely firm on. "He's an asshole. Haven't you been listening to me? And I can so beat him in a fistfight. I can. I have." He shrugs. "So…you probably can, too, is what I'm saying." He seems to tack that on to make it seem like he had a point. "He'll make her miserable. She wants you/ Rafferdy Nayland! Really. Even if she doesn't know it yet. " He frowns thoughtfully. "Well, I've given you my best advice but, fine. If you don't like the song idea maybe you should…write her a love letter? Girls really like that. She'll practically open up her skirt and invite you in, mark my words."
Rafferdy sighs once more, "Funny, I thought you and Rowan were Gedeon fans. He certainly spoke awfully fond of the man last time we talked. Practically fawned over him. I figured he must be some kind of hero to the kid." He looks over towards Jarod, "And of course she wants me!" He's serious. "But that's just it. I don't know why I want her, but damned if I do."
"Yeah, bet he did," Jarod says shortly, finishing his drink on that note. "I am much less a Gedeon fan than Rowan is a Gedeon fan, I'll tell you what. Asshole! And I can beat him in a fistfight. Did I mention that?" He shrugs. "Anyway. What's to know? She's got a pretty face, well set-up figure, and she's…well, presently you can't have her. Maybe if you got her, you wouldn't want her so bad."
Rafferdy lifts his brow, "You know how many ladies I've bed?" He waves his hand in the air, "Well, more well than you can count, I tell you. It's not something I have trouble with. Granted, most are peasants, but a woman is a woman. I have a way. But…" He shakes his hand, "But her? No way. Not even close to charming her. In fact, she spent most of her time with me telling me why she'd never go for a guy like me. She thinks I'm some kind of waste of a good noble."
"Bet it's less than me. There's a song about me, you know," Jarod says with a smirk. "All I'm saying is, they don't call me the Sword of the Tower because of my blade-handling, is what I'm saying." He seems to realize he's getting off track. "There you go. She's a challenge. And that's bosh. She'd not go for a guy like you, but she'd give favors to Gedeon Rivers? Trust me, I've known that bloke since he was thirteen years old. I would not be fawning over him if I were a girl, I tell you what. You've just got to show her you're not what she thinks you are. I still favor a song, myself, but you've had the benefit of my wisdom, Rafferdy Nayland. It is no fault of mine if you choose not to benefit. From my wisdom."
"Wisdom," Rafferdy repeats, laughing once more. "Is that what we call it?" He smiles, and takes another drink of the whiskey. "Well, Ser Jarod. I suppose if you're teaching me, then I just served beneath you as squire." He waves his glass around, definitely no longer sober, "Boom. Knight me." He laughs. Then he looks at Jarod, suddenly, drunkenly serious, "No really. Knight me."
"I tell you what. After I knight Rowan, get him to knight you. And then we can all say we've…knighted each other." Jarod laughs. "But not in any of kind of bugger way. I mean, we're all men. Who've bedded lots of girls. There's a song, I tell you!" Jarod yawns, doing more flopping on his head. "Whatever. I'm tired. I'll knight you in the morning if I remember." He will not remember in the morning.
Rafferdy laughs, sitting his empty glass down and just drinking straight from the bottle now. "Maybe I'll sing that one to Lorna." He laughs, and just lays there. "I'm sleeping here," he just states, flatly. After a moment, he then says quietly, "Ser Rafferdy." He chuckles, and sighs.
"Not the first Nayland I've had in my room. Third, actually," Jarod mutters as he rolls over on his bed. And starts snoring promptly.