AfterTheTrialTheMaestersTowerIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | After the Trial: The Maesters' Tower Anders, walking beside him back to the Tower, was uncharactristically silent - although, as usual, he was checking the courtyard and the placement of his men with a measured eye. Rhys didn't break the silence, but watched Anders out of the corner of his eye. He stood back to allow Rhys to enter the Tower first, but was still silent until furnished with a glass of wine. "Lentrian Fire," Rhys explained as he handed Anders the mug. "Insidious vintage. I recommend small sips." Rhys poured a very small amount for himself. Then [Anders] said, "This is probably a conversation I should be having with a Septon. But then, Maesters are famously discreet too, aren't they?" Rhys eyed Anders over the rim of his mug, then swallowed the contents. The wine burned its way down his throat, leaving a warm glow behind. "Famously discreet," he replied, then risked a slight smile. "Is there something I can help you with?" "I'm not sure," said Anders slowly. "When your friend Maester Merivel left, you sent a raven with him, didn't you? To take to Clearwater?" Rhys narrowed his eyes. "That's correct." Anders hesitated before he spoke again. "Will you let me know when the raven returns?" "You say 'when' and not 'if,' I notice," Rhys commented cautiously. Anders looked slightly surprised. "I assumed that was why he was taking it - to notify you when he reached Clearwater." "Of course," Rhys replied neutrally. "I will let you know." He put his mug down on the table and changed the subject. "Tamm wants to fight his way to freedom. Who do you think will challenge him? Do you suppose there's a way to get Ser Herys to fight Tamm instead of one of our own?" "It will be Ser Godfrey, as representative of Hardy, upholding the honour of the House," said Ser Anders. "It was, after all, our guest right that was infringed. Ser Herys has the right to demand justice - but we must be the ones to accomplish it." He smiled ruefully. "If Ser Godfrey and Ser Kenrith were not here, I'd probably be facing Evan Tamm myself. As it is, doubtless any man with the Hardy name are clamouring for their chance to have at the villain, and I can sit back and watch." Rhys frowned vehemently. "Damn the man, anyway. I can't blame him for wanting to fight, but I'd just congratulated us on avoiding any Hardy bloodshed over the whole Syndra incident and now we're to have Hardy bloodshed over this incident instead." Anders leaned back in his chair, his eyes half closing as he comtemplated his wine. "Ah yes," he said slowly. "Syndra. Tell me ... how like you her Uncle's marriage plans for her?" "It's not my place to voice an opinion," Rhys replied, perhaps a bit sharply. "Well," drawled Anders, "I was under the impression that Maesters are generally retained both for their knowledge and for their opinions. But if you prefer to concentrate on one rather than the other ... " Rhys's frown returned. It wasn't that he didn't have an opinion to offer. It was that he wasn't sure he could be subjective. But that wasn't something he was going to admit to to Anders. He looked at Rhys, his eyes still half-closed. "I have no intention of discussing this with my dear sister, if that is what concerns you." "You don't have the authority to change the situation," Rhys pointed out flatly, "so it's _my opinion_ that voicing my opinion to you is a waste of our time. Would you like more wine?" Ser Anders chuckled and shook his head. "No - I need to keep my wits about me for this afternoon. But don't let me stiop you." He rose to his feet. "And you'll let me know when the raven returns?" Rhys recapped the bottle and returned it to its shelf. "Certainly. Go on back without me. There's something I want to check on here and then I'll be along." "I need to check on the guardhouse," said Ser Anders. "But I'll see you back at the Hall. I don't imagine the deliberations will keep them long." And with that he took himself off, leaving Rhys alone. Through the window Rhys watched Anders walk across the yard toward the gatehouse and he wondered about the man. He did't appear to be completely Lady Celia's creature, and yet there was a reserve about him with the other Hardys as well. Perhaps he was afraid to cross his sister. Perhaps he was playing his own game. Perhaps both. Rhys turned from the window and climbed the stairs with alacrity to the rookery above. Based on Ser Ander's behavior, he fully expected to find Basil back today or tomorrow, before Merivel had the chance to reach Clearwater. The burning question in his mind was, if he was correct, what should he do then? It was perhaps worse than he thought. Basil was already in the loft, complacently pecking at grain. Rhys cursed vehemently and fervently. He left the ravenloftl, his thoughts spinning. Merivel had been attacked or run into trouble of some sort on the road. He could be wounded, he could be dead, he could be kidnapped, he could have escaped and be running... too many things, all bad. He needed to inform Ser Godfrey and Lady Celia, though he would rather just inform Godfrey. He also promised to inform Ser Anders, though he didn't completely trust Anders in this present situation, as he was the one that had arranged for the paltry guard to accompany Merival to Clearwater. Rhys decided to inform them all at the same time; Anders had not specified when and how. He would wait a few minutes for the trial to resume and inform the Hall--everyone would know then and this would be the best way to ensure Ander's accountability in the matter. Perhaps he could even convince Godfrey to let him accompany the party sent to investigate, so he could keep an eye on the situation. Decision made, Rhys quickened his pace and strode decidedly to the Great Hall. Guest right indeed! Why attack Merivel? What purpose did it serve? People were still milling about outside. Smallfolk ... there was no sign that the trial was resuming yet. Two of the prisoners had disappeared; Evan Tamm was still there - and he was talking with Sewell. Edlyn was sitting with her leg propped up on the bench; she and Syndra were deep in conversation. There was no sign of anyone else except smallfolk - and the two men at arms from Riverrun who had accompanied Kenith to Holdfast. Godfrey and the other Hardys must still be deliberating. Only a few minutes to wait for them to return, Rhys told himself, and if still not back after that he'd have to change his plan. If Merivel was wounded, every lost minute would count. Rhys glanced at Edlyn and Syndra, remembered his promise to Ser Godfrey, and reluctantly looked away. He watched his uncle talk with the sellsword for a moment, wondering what they had to talk about, but not brazen enough to barge in on the conversation. He retook his former seat and faced the doorway that the Hardys would come back through, the corner of his eye still protectively on his uncle. |
