|Worthy of a Knight?|
|Summary:||Einar seeks out Anders to make a serious request.|
|Date:||17 February 2012|
|Related Logs:||Pretty much all Seagard/Flint stuff.. and war.. and..|
|Flint's bit of home in Seagard - Seagard|
|A large cabin-style tent stands in the center of the small area granted, the light and dark device declaring it to be House Flint of Flint's Finger hangs just outside on a make-shift armour stand. Dotted around the main camp are smaller tents for the cavalry (who have to share tents), and for the foot soldier (they are stuffed into tents like sardines). There is a small but adequate holding area for their horses with a tent for the tack. In the center of their small area is a cooking fire, with appropriate cooking supplies.|
|17 February 289|
One would imagine that now that time and date has been set, there'd be more of a mood of assurance and confidence moving forward; but in the Young Lord, there really is anything but. He keeps a good enough face for the troops, certainly, but he's growing fatigued— much like he'd felt during the War, but even moreso. Then, he had people he could look to, look up to, but here? When all is said and done, it's on him; no word from his father, either, and that is beginning to wear at him. Easy enough to explain away, certainly, but it's making him a little restless now; and with the added responsibility of his sister?
Anders stalks the camp, moving from area to area; to the horses, to the practice pells, to the makeshift entrance of their encampment and beyond. Now, Anders is back to the area beside his pavillion, and with a hand up to open the flaps, he holds it for a long moment before he drops it once again. He's stared at maps long enough, too.
Einar has been out and about in Seagard for the past hour or so, having found a brief break in his duties. Truth be told, he's been at the Sept, again, but then that's posibly only to be expected right now. As he passes throuh the enterence to the camp he starts to check his stride to enquire if Anders' is about, but he spots the Young Lord before he can actually draw to a holt so just mvoes off towards the pavillion instead. "Anders," he offers in greeting as he draws near, his voice not quite carrying his normal light tone. Maybe it's the atmosphere, more likely though, he too has things praying on his mind.
Catching the not-quite-a-hail that isn't preceded by 'Excuse me, my lord', Anders turns around to see the approach of his cousin and squire— in that order at the moment. "Einar." A statement, and it very much echoes the tone of his kinsman. There's something of a fatigue that is held within, but to see the other man, he does offer a partial smile in an attempt to alleviate some of the somber, sober feeling. If it doesn't work, there is ale. "The ladies didn't have you part with too much coin, please tell me they haven't?"
Einar raises an eyebrow slightly at the question, he evidently hadn't been expecting it. "The ladies?" he asks, taking a moment to glance around camp to see if any of them are visable. "No, I haven't actually seen them since we broke our fast." Then faintly confused look fades back into the faintly tired one before he speaks again, "Can I ask something of you?"
"Ah.. I thought…" Anders shakes his head, clearing it from the cobwebs that threaten to take over the space, and he gestures towards the pavillion, "Come inside." The time is growing closer, and the last thing the Young Lord wants is to be overheard by anyone— just in case, anyway. He steps across the threshold, waiting for his cousin before he invites, "You may ask anything, cousin, and if it is within my ability to do so, I will do what I can to give it to you."
Einar follows Anders into the pavillion, equaly happy with the prospect of privacy that lurks within. When Anders speaks he nods slowly, that being about what he had expected, before turning to look at the Young Lord for a moment. "It's only a promise I ask for cousin, your word in case of a hypothetical situation." Although one that Tia at least has already alluded to. "I ask simply this, that if we both survive this coming campaign, -and- should the circumstances be such that yourself, or others, deem that it would be otherwise appropriate to do so, please don't Knight me for what we are about to do."
Anders' brows rise high upon his brow; obviously not something he expects, and as quickly as they rose, they fall again into an expression of.. confusion. With the flaps down, he's free to pace, and pace he does, hands going behind his back. "It's not something I'd considered?" He looks to his cousin, a quirk of a smile coming. "Actually, I have been remiss in asking what sort of ceremony you would wish— one like mine," where they all got pissed and memories are still hazy, "or something that would befit an actual knight." Of which he honestly has no real, firsthand knowledge. "But why would you not wish a battlefield knighthood?"
"I hadn't either," Einar admits quietly, "but my goodsister mentioned the idea in passing during a conversation and it's been stuck in the back of my mind ever since." He's half tempted to push for an answer stright off, to save having to explain his thoughts, which he's fairly certain now differ to his cousin's. The inital surprise on Anders' face though pushes him the other way. "It's not that I have anything against a battlefield knighthood cousin, it's just I don't want it to be /this/ battlefield. Had it been here at Seagard, the Roost or any such equivalent then I wouldn't have the quandery I do now. As soon as we step onto those boats though we're an invading force. We aren't just fighting those who would kill and carry of the innocents, the women, ravage the land and take every thing of value. We'll be fighting despirate men defending their homes. They'll be some reavers, but they're probably closely surrounding their lords. First we have to get through those fighting to save their wives and their children, everything they've ever had. Thats the knighthood I don't want." While his voice had started quiet and maybe even slightly withdrawn, by the end it;s far more assertive and steady. He drops it down again though to add, "If I am to take a holy vow then I want it to e one I can be proud of, to have been deemed worthy of it for something I can be proud of, even if it's not the vow I wish I could take."
Anders listens, nodding as the words come, first quietly, and then with more strength and resolve behind them. "I understand, cousin.. I do. Remember, though, those wives and children would take up a sword and sail the ships to steal and burn the land behind them as quickly as their men. I have no taste, that said, to do harm to them myself, even if they cannot truly be counted as innocents." He grimaces, his lips thin, and he begins to pace once again, his fingers entwined behind his back, "I will do as you ask, and honestly, I prefer that you receive a knighting as befits your place in my estimation and beliefs, and not one that you would share with a common man who happened to swing a sword with accuracy." There is a pause in his step, and he turns about, the grimace turning to something more of a smile, "Think about what you do wish, and tell me after the battles, when our eyes turn northward." Even if it may only be to Tall Oaks, which is his desire. "And when the final tests are passed— because I do try to remind all that squires are not just for polishing armour." And to a good deal of the martial training and tactics, the Young Lord relies heavily upon his Master at Arms. "Does this answer suit you?"
Einar will agree to disagree on the distinctions between reavers and simple ironborn peasants, although he does take some heart in the fact that there appears to be less disagreement then he had thought. It's not the time now for such discussions, even if either of them were particularly in the mood for it. He remains silent until he's sure Anders has finished and then answers by the age old medium of nodding. "It does," a pause to let out the breath he hadn;t conciously been holding, "thank you." He will think on it, but possibly not right now, not until they're heading home again. For now it's simply a weight off his mind, for which he is greatful.
It is true; neither of them seem to feel up to a spirited debate right about now. Instead, Anders exhales in a sigh and inclines his head. "I think we both need a moment to take a cup of ale and simply sit. I'm concerned about the coming attack. It simply doesn't sit right, though I do know that our kinsmen will be part of the landings on the other Isles. That, at least, keeps my spirit. I just really wish…" that he'd heard from his Lord Father. About anything. Hell, he'd like something from his Lady Mother, complaining about the weather, or how his mare likes to thrash about in her stall, kicking her feed bucket so it sounds like she casts and is unable to free herself. Anything. He takes a deep breath and gestures towards a cask that he keeps within his tent.. Rank does have its priviledges, after all. "If you have the time, sit with me. If you do not, take a cup and attend what needs your attention."