|Summary:||In which Tyroan and Anathema find out from Renold that they've been fired from the Stewardship of Stonebridge, House Nayland of Stonebridge has been dissolved, Rickart has been removed from Lordship of the Naylands (or imprisoned or otherwise removed from power), but hey, they're getting a bunch of coin…|
|Map Room, Tordane Tower|
|This room used to be the smallest of the guest rooms in Tordane Tower, but all of the previous furniture has been removed save a small side-table that holds two or three tankards and a pitcher of bitter Mire beer. Several other small tables have been added around the walls, holding a selection of books and parchments brought in from the library. Additionally, a standing table is centered in the room, surrounded by tall stool-like chairs built to its height. Atop that table is a large map of Stonebridge and its surrounding area, with colored blocks placed across it in the troop positions from the last Battle of Stonebridge.|
|25 February, 290|
Orders get passed up the chain rather quickly, and so it is that a young squire of about age 14 comes to ask that the newly-arrived Lord come up to Tordane Tower to speak with the Steward of Stonebridge and his wife. Tyroan waits in the Map Room, rolling a pair of walnuts in his left hand. His lined face is set in an impassive mask, and for a wonder, there is no stein of beer at his elbow. In fact, there is no pitcher of beer in the room at all.
Lady Anathema Nayland, the Witch of Stonebridge herself, stands just off her husband's right shoulder with her hands clasped behind her back. She stares straight ahead with her dark eyes half-lidded and unfocused. She waits for the supposed Tully to arrive, looking about as stoic as her husband.
He'd been expecting this summons. In fact, Renold had planned for it and as such, when the squire finds him in the Inn, there's a simple nod of his head to the young man and a quiet conversation with those he was seated with. Then, he's rising and following the squire through the street, to the tower and then to the Map Room. And as he walks through door and into the room, he's offering, "Wondered how long it would take for you fine folk to catch notice of things."
Tyroan halts the roll of the walnuts in his palm, clacking them together between his fingers. "Usually, we'd just consider an idiot trying to give fucking orders to our men a madman, and just throw them the fuck out of town." Once more, the walnuts begin to circle around one another, their shells hissing over one another, "But when they're waving around a fucking Tully seal, we do a bit more. So if you're a real fucking fish," he smirks tightly, "sorry, a Tully, you've got a letter for us, I figure. From the Lady of Stonebridge, our Liege?"
Anathema remains quiet, but acutely observant. She glances beyond the man briefly before she returns her focus to the Tully himself.
Tyroan gestures to his squire, who ducks out of the room, closing it behind him.
Stepping further into the room, Renold lets his hands slip behind his back, clasping there for a moment as his eyes play about the room and it's only when Tyroan speaks that his gaze shifts to settle upon the elder man. There's a flash of a smirk to his lips, broken only as he offers, "Talk like that makes me think I'm not safe within these walls." But, his hands unclasp and as the smirk deepens, one lifts to give an idle, dismissive wave, only to descend to slip into a pocket on his tunic, to withdraw a folded, sealed parchment which is tossed in the direction of Tyroan; careless of whether it reaches the man or flutters to the floor, "I bare no such letter from the Lady of Stonebridge. But I do bare one from the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Her lieges, liege. Though .." A slight loft of his right brow comes, ".. I trust I don't need to remind you of that?"
You paged Renold and Anathema with 'And when Tyroan reads the letter…?'
Renold (R) pages Tyroan and Anathema: On, right. Sorry. Got distracted by daughter for a second — It essentially states that Renold is here on the authority of the Lord Paramount, with specific instructions for House Nayland. It's signed by Tully himself and witnessed by his Steward.
Tyroan leans forward to scoot the letter toward himself, breaking the seal with the blunt fingers of his left hand and flipping it open to scan over it. There's a moment of shifting his arm forward and back, and then he reads it. "Well then, Lord Renold. Welcome to fucking Stonebridge." Once more, that tight smirk twists his lips, "Usually, a Lordly guest actually stops by the fucking Tower he's visiting." As always, the cursing just filters into his words. "What orders… oh… sorry, 'instructions?' 'suggestions?' do you have for us?"
"Quite so, especially for a Tully," Anathema says, her contralto not disgusing her obvious disappointment with a House that has a long reputation of maintaining etiquette and protocol. She glances toward her husband as he looks over the letter, but she needn't read it. She instead waits to hear what the Paramount's instructions, suggestions might be.
"Yes. Yes. My brother is always reminding me about etiquette and protocol and how it has it's places." That seems to be offered to Anathema and when Renold's gaze shifts between the two, it's so that he can follow with, "Though, it's not as if House Nayland has a flawless record with such things." Now, that smirk returns to his lips and he's turning a bit, so that his gaze can settle upon one of the tables, "House Nayland is to be thanked for overseeing Stonebridge during its … troubled times. But the time has come that your services are no longer required." Turning his gaze back in the direction of the two, he then offers, quite simply, "So get the fuck out." Pause. "I kid, of course. We're not simply throwing you out on your asses. After all, my brother would never dream of such a thing."
Tyroan tosses the letter back on the table as Renold continues, so that Anathema can take it up if she wants. Not that she needs to. "Yes, because you've heard so much about my Stewardship, Lord Renold. Besides the fact that we've fucking made Stonebridge solvent again." He doesn't respond immediately to the joking words, waiting until the Tully is finished. Only then does he squeeze his fingers tight, pressing the seam of one walnut against the side of the other until there is a crack and one of them shatters. "Ser Brynden wouldn't. Not to a man he fought beside in the fucking Stepstones." There's a moment's pause, "Lord Hoster… after The Bells?" One shoulder rises and falls in a shrug.
"Lord Nayland's sons may not have a flawless record, but this side of the family does," Anathema says with that Northern coldness. Then as Renold begins to describe exactly what is happening, that chill continues to permeate from the woman. "House Tully is removing the Nayland's hold of Stonebridge," she clarifies.
Lifting a hand, Renold is giving an idle wave to the pair, even as he offers, "I don't really give a fuck about your Stewardship, Ser. Nor do I overly care about your House." The hand lowers so that it can slip behind his back, along with the other, "But your wife is right. House Tully is removing Stonebridge from the Nayland's control." Oh, how there's a touch of delight within those green eyes of his, though it fades a touch as he offers, "And apparently my brother /does/ care about your Stewardship, Ser. Because your family is to take over Stewardship of your families holdings at Hag's Mire. Your brother, I fear, will not be returning for some time." A sniff follows that and a quick flash of a smirk, "My brother has also seen fit to provide House Nayland coin equal to six months of revenue from Stonebridge. To ensure that your brother's mistakes do not have lasting effect upon your family holdings."
Tyroan nods to Anathema, "Can't resist getting the coin straight into their fucking purse. Like the fucking Charltons." This time, his smirk shows teeth, "Not that I give two fucks, but does this mean Lady Nayland's claim on Stonebridge is being dismissed too?" Shaking his head, he tosses the still-shelled walnut into a bowl with another pair of them, then plucks the meat of the broken one out of his palm, chewing on it slowly, "And if Rickart wants me to be Steward of Hag's Mire, he can fucking tell me himself. Because if he doesn't tell me and my fucking brothers, your Lordly fucking brother has just made the Mire a fucking snake's pit. If Rickart's dead, Tobias is Lord, and he doesn't need a fucking Steward."
There is a moment of silence from the Witch as Renold continues to reveal the Tully's plans for Stonebridge. "The Mire is in worse condition than Stonebridge. If Lord Tully wishes to provide it with support, it will take more than six month's of Stonebridge's revenue. Young Lord Nayland and his brothers drained both Stonebridge and the Mire dry when defending the township against the Charltons, and it has taken these five months just to stabilize Stonebridge once more. And we have worked tirelessly here, and we have ensured that the coin continues to flow toward the Twins while also rebuilding." Anathema tightens her jaw, though she does straighten up her shoulders a bit.
<OOC> Tyroan says, "Actually that should be Rutger as Lord, of course, but apparently Tyroan is making the assumption that Rickart was -removed-, and his sons would be skipped."
That smirk returns to Renold's lips in full force, "Or perhaps Lord Tully finally decided to grant the Mallister's claim to Stonebridge. Just not in the fashion that was anticipated. Or, perhaps, the Charlton's waggled coin and sword around, to get my brother to do something. Whatever transpired, the Lady Tordane or Nayland or whatever the fuck she's called, no long has claim to the lands of Stonebridge." His gaze does flit to Anathema, though, so that he can offer, "Not my problem, nor that of my brother. Perhaps, you should petition your liege for assistance. I'm sure Lord Walder will be happy to help." That said, he looks back to Tyroan, "Your brother no longer has a say in how things are being run for your House. Nor do I know why he's charged you with taking over the Mire, but such is the case."
Tyroan rises slowly from his chair, tossing the remains of his walnut into the corner. Oddly enough, there were no shells there previously. "Get the fuck out." He waves one gnarled hand, "We can't hold Stonebridge against a fucking school of fishes, and I'm not going to bleed the town over that, but if Fish-dick Tully thinks he can cut off the heads of houses willy-fucking-nilly, he can go shove a pike up his ass. The contract of fucking fealty goes two fucking way, you big-fucking-girl's-blouse. The Targaeryens fucking forgot that. I thought Tully had gotten that through his thick skull when he got his ass stabbed at The Bells." He crosses his arm's over his chest, "We'll be moved out and on our way back to the Fucking Mire by tomorrow evening. And you can tell your fucking Crone's-cunt brother that he's no fucking Tywin Lannister, and without Tywin Lannister, the Reynes and the fucking Tarbecks would have turned out a whole fucking lot differently."
"I will inform the rest of the House," Anathema says to her husband as she starts to move out from behind the desk. "I will have Morgan fetch the wagons, and Ser Karel to inform the rest of those sworn to House Nayland." She drops into a light curtsey before the Tully. "Lord Renold, welcome to Stonebridge."
All pretense of civility eases from Renold's face as he leans forward enough to settle his hands upon the surface of the table, "You fucking fool." Then, he's simply straightening, "The men that come aren't here to force you from these lands. They are bringing the chests of coin that my brother grants to you and they are to ensure that the lands of Stonebridge remain neutral, so that trade is never disrupted through this point again." An almost quiet chuckle begins to sound in the back of his throat, "Your family was to have a seat on the council that will help manage Stonebridge, Ser. But clearly, you are no better then the rest of your family. I will see you notified when your coin arrives and I will expect your wagons and guards to arrive shortly thereafter, to see if delivered to the Mire. Otherwise, I will consider it a donation and see it distrubuted to those who help in overseeing things." Then, with a simple incline of his head, he's turning on heel and toe so that he can begin to make his exit.
"When some overweening trout decides to do his best Targaryen impression and fuck around with the internal fucking affairs of banner houses who are still fulfilling their side of the contract, I get a might fucking… tetchy." But Tyroan leaves it at that, settling back into his high seat behind the table, letting the Tully make his exit without further interference.
"Perhaps, Lord Renold, if you intended to name our family as one of the council seats, you should have led with that instead of insult," Anathema says without hesitation. "The coin will be delivered safely to the Mire." She crosses her fingers together before her, giving the departing man a dip of her chin.
Renold pauses in his exit, long enough to cast a look over his shoulder, his eyes settling upon Tyroan, first, and then shifting over to Anathema, "And your family should learn to think before they open their mouths or act. Perhaps then, we would not be having this conversation, at all." There's a touch of a pause and a flash of a smirk, "And I believe I gave what was given. But you lot decided to make assumptions and we all know that those tend to make fools of us." With nothing further to be said, he simply turns back and resumes his course out the door.