A Game of Thrones - Winter Chills | AGameOfThrones-WinterChills / A Mission In Riverrun browse

Three days into his stay with his companions in Riverrun, Evan received a message ... from Ser Desmond Grell, the Master of Arms. It invited Evan to attend him at his earliest convenience.

"That's all it says?" Ox sounded doubtful, but since he couldn't read, he had to take Evan's word for it.

Evan flipped the note over in one hand, tossing the errand boy a copper with the other. "That's all it says," he confirmed.

"Told you you offended Lord Lackshield the other night," Donnell said offhandedly from his seat by the fireplace, still picking at his grimy nails with a knife. "It's the cells for you." He didn't sound especially concerned.

"Knights are not in the habit of inviting their prisoners to turn themselves in," Evan noted dryly, tossing the paper in the fire and pulling his boots on.

"Can I come with you?" Garyn had avoided drink like the plague since that first night in Riverrun, but he still looked terrible, with bloodshot eyes and his mop of sandy hair even more ragged than usual.

"The invitation says nothing about bringing guests," Evan said, shrugging into a jerkin and heading for the door. "I'm sure you can all find a way to amuse yourselves for the day. You could find Stavro, for instance. I haven't seen him since last night." The bald Pentoshi mercenary was not one for much revelry, and spent his days and nights in Riverrun on his own recognisance. Evan suspected that he'd found his own lodgings, after a fashion, in one of the local whorehouses, but Stavro was not the kind of man to make a show of his wenching, and so he had no way of knowing. In any case, he trusted that Stavro would be back when he was needed - he always had before.

"Invite Ser Desmond down to have a cold one with us when you're done," Ox grinned, raising a mug to Evan as he walked out the door. Evan paused, looking back at Ox's beery smile and the thick white foam that adorned his beard. He squinted up at the sun, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Isn't it rather early for that?"

Ox shrugged. "No sense in putting things off, me da always used to say."

The castle of the Tullys towered over everything else in Riverrun, its pennoned turrets stark against the blue summer sky. Walled off from the rest of the city, the castle nonetheless did not keep a barren earth courtyard as most keeps were wont to do, and leafy trees crested the walls invitingly, shading the hawkers that plied their wares beneath the castle's shadow. The gates were open, and a steady stream of deliveries, petitioners, and servants passed in and out, with two bored looking guards watching them and clearly thinking about enjoying the sunshine anywhere else but here. Evan strolled in, smiling faintly to himself at the beauty of Riverrun, and he wandered through the castle's courtyard in the very casual manner of a tourist.

It wasn't till he passed the arms yard, full of stripling boys and men-at-arms hard at practice, that someone approached him with any sort of challenge. Two of the swordsmen at training stopped their bout and lifted their helms, pausing for a moment to catch their breath and wipe some of the heavy sweat away from their red faces before speaking.

"Looking for something, boy?"

Evan tugged at his curly beard absently - he rather liked the way it looked on him, and for the most part, it cut down on scornful references to his youth. Not all of them, apparently. "Ser Desmond sent for me this morning. I'm the sellsword, Evan Tamm."

"Sellsword?" One of the men looked askance at his rather ordinary clothing, and lack of any weapon or armour. "Already sell it this morning then?" They had a little chuckle at that, and Evan smiled thinly, feigning amusement.

"I'll just wait here, then, shall I, while you get him?"

They both looked at each other at that, as if suddenly unsure what to say. "Er," one began, eloquently. "Right. You - just wait there then. While I - go get him." There was another long pause, and Evan blinked at him expectantly. "Right. Just - wait here." The man-at-arms moved off.

The other one fidgeted a little with his spear, meeting Evan's bland gaze momentarily. "He's just going to go get him," he muttered with a nod.

If Kenrith was in the yard, he gave little sign of it. One of the men, however, glanced over his shoulder during a pause in his own bout. The armor he wore was as dented and well-worn as the others, but the left arm of his plate was missing below the elbow.

Evan raised an eyebrow, and gave a curt nod that way. In front of him, the remaining soldier fidgeted a little more, looking up at the sky and down at the trampled earth around them. "So... what brings you to the castle then, boy?" He grinned, his two missing front teeth a gaping hole in his smile.

"Ser Desmond's invitation."

"Right." The man-at-arms blinked a few times and rested on the butt of his spear. "S'pose you'll be wanting to see him then? Ser Desmond, I mean?"

Evan's brow wrinkled, very faintly. He considered for a moment whether or not to respond. "Yes."

"Right - 'e shouldn't be long now. Corbett's just gone to get him." Again, the man grinned happily, the faintest hint of his breath coming through the gap in his teeth.

Evan nodded towards the practice yard. "Don't you have some training you should be doing?" The other man followed his gaze.

"Right you are - practice. I'll get right on that." He made to head off. "I'll just be over here then - training. You just - wait there."

The other guard returned soon enough, and he seemed a little cretfallen still. "I'm ... to take you to his office." He gestured awkwardly. "This way."

Ser Desmond's business room was located at the top of a flight of stone steps, the stairs angled so that the door was invisible form the tiltyard, but the window presenting an excellent view, where the Master of Arms could station himself so that he could watch the effort being put into the training below. He was standing by the window looking out as Evan entered, a small man with black hair and moustache, lean and resilient.

"So," he said. "You're the sellsword on his way to the North. To the Wall.

"And is your sword for sale as you journey northwards?"

"Mine and four others," Evan answered. "All good and honest men who I will vouch for." His thoughts went to Ox and Donnell, but he decided it was not totally untrue. They were mercenaries, after all, and in his experience, even Ox and Donnell had had the common decency to stay bought.

Ser Desmond nodded. "It's in my mind to hire you as escorts. My nephew has been summoned home to Holdfast, and I would prefer, in addition to a Riverrun escort, he travelled with someone who knows the Northern roads. It would mean two days or so turning aside from the Kingsroad, and gold in your pockets for the journey - with more to come when he arrives safely home."

Holdfast... Evan paused almost imperceptibly, but nodded. "We'll see him safely home." Absently, he chewed the inside of his cheek, lost in thought a second. "Just let us know when we're to leave, ser - we'll be ready."

"In a week," said Ser Desmond. "There are certain things that will need to be accomplished first. And your journey will be easier if you and my nephew know something of each other before then. The road can be a difficult place for stangers to ride together. You'll be paid three stags a day each - and an extra two for you as the leader of the group."

This was a fair if not overly generous rate of pay for a road they would have been travelling with no pay - and doubtless that had gone into Ser Desmond's calculation.

"I'm sure you'll have to consult with your ... men," Ser Desmond continued - his tone implying that he expected the others to foollow Evan's orders. "On your way, would you be so good as to ask my nephew to join me?"

Once outside in the practice yard, Evan stopped again to watch the bouts, his hands loosely held behind his back. For a while, he let his eyes drift over the interplay of steel and wood, until the two men who'd first noticed him caught sight of him watching them again. Their melee slowed, and then stopped, and with a certain reluctance, they approached him again. "I'm here to see someone else now," he said, matter-of-factly.

They looked very uncomfortable at that. "And who might that be?"

"Ser Kenrith Hardy." Evan pointed over their shoulders, at the warrior with the missing arm. "I expect that'll be him over there - go get him for me, would you?" There was a short pause, and one of them looked about to speak before Evan cut him off. "I'll wait here." He gave a pleasant little smile.

The soldier gazed at him for a moment, and then baffled, stomped off. The other became immensely interested in the state of of his toecaps.

Kenrith, exercising hard, was aware of one of the guards hovering, nervously.

"The ... er .... sellsword, Sir. He wants to talk to you," he said hoarsely when he had at last got Kenrith's attention.

Kenrith and his opponent had just finished their match, and Kenrith had to ask the guard to repeat what he'd said after he lifted his visor. Kenrith was indeed the one-armed knight who had glanced towards Evan earlier. He nodded to the guard, clinked gauntlets with his sparring partner, then clanked towards Evan.

As Kenrith approached, Evan could see that Kenrith's armor and mail was training armor, and it had clearly borne many hard lessons. There were dents which had been smoothed out, and countless scratches. There was no gilding, and only the most basic of blueing. Still, it protected all of his vitals and was fitted well enough to allow him a full range of motion.

"Good to see you again... what brings you to the training yard, Evan Tamm?" Kenrith asked. He had clearly had a hard workout, but was not gasping to regain his wind.

Evan's lips quirked in a half smile, one that was somehow more genuine than the one he normally had. "Just passing through, ser, but your uncle asked me to send you up to his office on my way out." He inclined his head, and turned to go, before stopping as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, and we'll be seeing more of each other, I suspect. I'm to escort you back to Holdfast. Good day to you, ser."

Kenrith nodded and smiled as he tossed his practice sword atop a pile of similar wooden weapons until Evan mentioned returning to Holdfast. At that, his expression showed great concern which was quickly hidden behind a face well suited for card games and unpleasant chores.

"You'll have to excuse me, then," he said as he turned and headed towards the tower at a brisk pace. Once he was within, he took the stairs two at a time... creating a great deal of noise, dressed as he was in fighting plate and mail.

And Evan was able to return to his companions, who were more than curious as to why he had been summoned.

Clearly his Uncle hearde him before he so much as knocked, for Ser Desmind's voice called out, "Come in, Kenrith!"

Dressed as he was, his uncle did not tell him to take a seat. Instead he nodded at him gravely.

Kenrith folded one arm across his chest. If he had two arms, likely he would have folded them together. He seemed to have little trouble standing, as it was certainly less strenuous than the fighting he had been doing, but he was somewhat winded from his race up the stairs.

"There's been a raven from Maester Sewell," he said without preamble. "Your father is weaker - and he's begin to ask for you. I think it best you travel home, Kenrith. Your training here is complete, at any event - we both know that , with your weakness, you are as good a warrior as you will ever be - and better than many with two good arms."

Ser Desmind was known for his plain speaking - this, from him, was a compliment.

"I thought that was what it might be," Kenrith said with some sadness. "But I thank you for your praise. It means all the more, that I know from experience you would tell me if I was still lacking, ser," he said with some respect.

"You can choose two men here to act as your escorts," Ser Desmond went on. "And I've arranged that company of sellswords should also ride with you. Their leader's young - but he has a good reputation.

Kenrith nodded crisply, but didn't knock his visor down over his face. "Mal and Jayne, if you can spare them," Kenrith said. Both men were competent warriors, but somewhat headstrong. Jayne was the better forager, and Mal could perhaps have become a knight if he had been born into some money.

"Indeed," said Ser Desmond. "If Jayne's enthusiasm for slaughter can be curbed. Mal should hold him in check... "

Kenrith nodded, and looked pleased. He got along tolerably well with them, even if they did poke fun at him for his noble blood.

"But before you go - there is one last step you should undertake.

"Are you ready, Kenrith Hardy, to take your knightly vows?"

"I wish to swear them first in Riverrun's weirwood. It was the old gods, and Rhys, who spared me from death in the fever. I intend no disrespect to the Septons and southron lords and knights who follow them, but my oath alone in the grove will mean more to me than the official oath in the Sept," Kenrith said. His naive, youthful words to Syndra came back to him now... that one went to the weir not so the old gods could see and hear, but so that he could see them. In the south, he questioned the literal truth of that statement... it seemed to Kenrith that the Septs crowded out the old gods, and while he had seen the power of the old gods... he had never seen sick men walk after walking into a Sept. He -had- seen flashes of light and chanting at ceremonies... but he recalled quiet experiments far in the north under the Hardy Maester with curious pieces of glass as well.

Ser Desmond nodded, as though he had expected this.

"But afterwards you will keep your vigil in the Sept," he added, as though he expected no less. "And you will have two sponsors for the knighthood, Kenrith. I shall be one, and Lord Tully himself has agreed to stand as proxy for your father."

"I should be honored to have you both stand with me as sponsors. I am glad to have had this time with you, uncle," Kenrith said with sentiment apparent in his voice. "Before I leave... if you please, I would like you to tell me what you remember of my mother," he said as the sentiment progressed to near melancholy.

"Very well," said Ser Desmond.

He gestured to a seat on one side of his desk.

"She was not a beauty," he said, "even when she was young. And she was stubborn - determined. Not one of your quick-witted ones, but steadfast and reliable. She could keep secrets too. I remember once I was wounded in a fight and she dressed my wounds and said nought about it, even though she might have spared herself a scolding for dirtying her new dress. She said the blood was from a wounded dog that had died in her lap, with never so much as a look at me that might have betrayed me.

"When your father came - he was a brave bonny man. He took her eye at once, I think, but she was too shy to push herself forward. As was he ... I believe they might have been staring at each other yeat and blushing when the other caught them so so, had it not been for me. I prevailed on him to speak, and on her to listen ... and I was rewarded for me pains with her smile as she rode away into the North with him. I miss her still, Kenrith - she was a good woman, steady, loyal and true."

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