Dawn JudgementIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | Dawn Judgement Herys was stumbling, vague and vacant. He seemed a shell of the man who had shouted for Evan Tamm to be killed only the day before. His arms hung slacky at his side and if his eyes were bright, it was with fever. Various Castle servants, busy in the yard, ceased their tasks to stare as Kenrith led him forth. Kenrith looked around at the faces which were regarding him in turn. He wore his lordface, though he didn't intend to cow those before him. He had already made his decision: a living, cripled, bitter Herys would be more dangerous to Holdfast than a dead one. "I was not present yesturday, but the facts have been related to me. I've been told Herys struck Celia, and called for the death of Evan Tamm after Tamm defeated Godfrey by less-than-honorable means. If any would dispute this, please speak now," Kenrith said loudly and clearly. There was silence from the gathered crowd. Sveral people exchanged glances ... a couple nodded sagely. One child started to cry noisily, and was hushed. There was an air of tense expectation. "I think it would be best if someone brought the children inside," Kenrith said mildly, but with a voice that carried. More quietly, he asked the guard beside him to fetch a whetstone. Some of the mothers hurried away. But other children stood watching - fascinated. Whether they were too young to understand what was about to happen, or whether their parents wished to accustom them to the harshness of life was unclear. The soldier returned with the whetstone held in shaking hands. Kenrith handed Herys to a pair of guards, then drew what ought to be a hand-in-a-half sword with one smooth motion of his only vital arm. He swung it with practiced skill, but not much speed or force, and it sank into the pine block, where it remained. He accepted the whetstone from the other man's shaking hands, and started to hone a portion of one edge. It was not long before Kenrith brushed his thumb gingerly across the blade, and judged his work done. "For the violation of guestright, interfering in a trial, and attempting to slay your own kin, I judge you thrice guilty, thrice worthy of only death. You are not fit for the Wall, but your death will be quick. If you wish, you may speak to the Septon... briefly... and he will maintain the sanctity of confession, although you will be chained to insure his safety. Otherwise, we shall proceed," Kenrith said grimly, with a voice which carried. "Septon?" The words seemed to penetrate Herys's fevered consciousness as nothing else had done. "Septon?" His voice was suddenly a bellow. "Why do you speak of the Seven? Have you no godswood at Holdfast?" "They will hear you as well in the next world as in this one, but very well..." Kenrith said before sheathing his sword. Kenrith motioned for some of the guards to precede him, while others would move alongside Herys and himself. It was clear these were guards, not an escort. Herys staggered along with them, feverish and strangely absent - not speaking at all, although several times he emitted a strange low groaning sound. All this change when they entered the godswood. The damage inflicted on the tree the previous day was still livid and raw. None of the guards had seen it before, it appeared, for they all stopped dead, staring at it in shock. Herys, perforce stopped too - gazing ahead at the tree. He suddenly let out a high, incoherent wail. Kenrith reached out and grabbed the shoulder of one of the guards. After he turned to look at Kenrith, he made sure to catch the other man's eyes and snap him out of his stupor. "Go back, and tell those who've heard him wail like a babe only this: There has been damage to the grove, the heart tree has already been tended to, and Ser Kenrith will address this after the execution. Others may see the grove, but not until after Herys has had a chance to pray, and die. This is all you are permitted to say, apart from repeating a request for them to remain there, and remain calm." Kenrith said. He had been expecting something like this-- and he suspected Herys was too clever by far, even for an idiot. Herys continued to wail as he appoached the tree with strange, jerky steps, his eyes fixed on the repaired gash - still all too apparent. Then he sank down to his knees, his cheek pressed against the bark, his useless hands dangling at his sides. His lips were moving - but what he was saying could not be heard. Kenrith imagined Herys was praying that the old gods would give him the strength to throttle Kenrith. Kenrith, for his own part, watched both tree and man, and searched within himself to know when the time had come to proceed. He was even open to the notion that the Old Gods wished him to show clemency, but he did not think it likely. Better the mercy of a quick, clean blow to the back of his neck than a life as... a cripple. All the moreso for the wars his tongue might instigate. Godwyn had forgotten that final weapon Herys might use against Holdfast-- the tongue. But all that Herys seemed to be saying was a single word ... over and over again. When Kenrith bent low, he could hear it. "Jonas." Kenrith simply frowned. He had no reason to listen to Herys, he shouldn't have stooped closer to evesdrop. There were any number of reasons Herys might be muttering that name... that the only ones to come to Kenrith's mind were horrible, however, was not reassuring. He simply waited for time to pass, for Herys to finish making his peace-- or ranting at the dirt, as was his want. His voice slowed ... and faded away into silence. Kenrith waited a few moments, schooled his emotions, and said "Stand." He was ready to lead the other man back to the block. Herys gave no sign of having heard him. "I think he's ... unconscious, Sir," said one of the guards uneasily. "Should we ... help him up?" Kenrith looked to see if Herys was still obviously breathing. He was. "Yes," Kenrith said The guards helped Herys to his feet. Once more the man seemed dazed and barely conscious of where he was. And back they went, to the foot of the block, where Kenrith motioned for him to be lowered and held. He drew his sword in one smooth motion, and in another brought it down, around, up, and back down... a full circle which parted Herys' head from his shoulders. A little sighing gasp went up from the assembled crowd. No triumphalism - there had been too much death for that. But ... a line had been crossed. As the people moved away, they failed to meet Kenrith's eyes. The boy who threw a bucket of sawdust over the blood hurried away too, and the sergeant of the guard could not quite look at Kenrith as he asked, "What do you want us to do with ... that?" From Kenrith's sullen expression, there was no sign he had taken pleasure in what he had done. He wiped his sword clean of blood, then cast it beside the body before returning it to the scheith. He had detected a nick in the blade, made when it had struck the bones of Herys' thick neck, and it would have to be seen to later. "Find Rhys for me, he is probably with his patients," Kenrith said as he motioned to the Maester's tower. "I need to speak to him for a minute about that, and will wait for him here. The rest of you can wash up and get something to eat-- but see that the other Boltons are fed. I'll speak with them later," he added. The guards moved away with alacrity - it was clear that they were more than happy to be spared a watch over Herys's gruesome remians. Rhys appeared striding across the grass a few minutes later. He stopped near Kenrith, eyeing the remains of Herys with a somber expression. "You wished to speak with me?" he said after a brief moment, turning his attention to Kenrith. Kenrith nodded, and unfolded his hand from where he had it folded across his chest. He had been brooding as Rhys approached, staring at not the body, but the v-shaped pattern Herys' arterial blood had made on the stump and surrounding ground "I would like you to prepare Herys' body for return to the Dreadfort. My... Rhys, I am acting head of house. This is my responsibility. Herys..." Kenrith said, pausing to collect himself twice. It seemed he was having trouble continuing, and he was speaking quietly. Rhys stepped closer, concerned. "Are you all right?" "I need all his injuries to look like the results of battle, or his execution. The tendons of his arms have been cut... it must not look like torture, to forstall war. Can... will you do this, or do I need to come up with some reason to return a barrel of ashes?" Kenrith asked, his voice grave. The young maester studied Kenrith's face, noting his hesitancy and agitation. "You didn't do the torture. Then who...?" He suddenly swallowed on his words, having answered his own question. Either it was Anders or Godwyn--they were the only ones who would dare. "I...um... Let me look at the body first." Bemused at the sudden turn of events, Rhys nonetheless walked over to Herys's remains and rolled the body over with the toe of his boot. He stepped around the corpse, noting the signs of torture, then looked up at Kenrith. "Well, there's the problem that Herys would've been wearing his armor, isn't there?" Rhys asked. "On the other hand, if you wait a few days before sending he'll be putrid enough that they may not want to deal with unwrapping him to take a closer look." "Armor -is- rather thin at the joints... but I take your meaning. How do you advise we store him... bury him for a few days, then dig him up to be returned with Herys' men?" Kenrith asked with the same uncharacteristic reserve, but with less difficulty in speaking. Rhys nodded and stood back, stroking his chin in scholarly thought--but no matter how much he wished to have a full beard, the hair on his chin remained sparse. Perhaps Kenrith was a bit surprised at Rhys's lack of horror or outrage--but on the other hand, Herys lied about Rhys accosting Syndra and tried to have Rhys punished for it. Doubtless the young man didn't savor the thought of being emasculated, and doubtless the young man held no love for the evil Ser. "That would work--maybe three or four days. If you let him sit out in the open air for part of the day before wrapping and burying him, the resulting maggots should help with the 'not wanting to take a closer look' part," Rhys said, his tone academic. "I should also be able to come up with something that can be spread on him to, well, hasten things along. Hmmm. "When he's dug back up, I would advise not handling the body at all. Put him on a sheet in the hole so the men can move him that way, without touching him. And then have them go wash well. There are strange diseases and foul vapors that come from a decomposing corpse." Kenrith nodded. "It isn't the death which bothers me... well, just a bit... it is what may bloom of it," he remarked, as much to the back of Herys' head as to Rhys. "Different responsibilities, " Rhys replied, smiling wryly. "You're concerned with the politics and I'm concerned with the health aspects." Kenrith nodded. "Folk have seen the tree. I agree with your general point, that Sewell is far from that stupid... is he well enough to give his version of events?" Kenrith asked. A sudden cloud passed over Rhys's face. "I don't believe so--the poison is still in his system. However, Ser Godfrey would like to talk to you and you're welcome to try to talk to my uncle while you're there. I know you're upset by the tree--and rightly so--but I will request that you not get angry or threaten or yell at him while he's recovering. It could make his condition worse." When Kenrith and Rhys reached the infirmary, however, they found that Sewell was too feverish to be spoken with and Ser Godfrey had fallen into a deep sleep. It seemed best to leave them as they were. Ser Anders, it appeared, had organised the men - setting up shifts and stretching the small numbers that remained into the best protection possible. He had then sought his bed and had left strict orders (the guard nervously informed Kenrith an/or Rhys) that he was not to be disturbed until he had slept his fill. No-one seemed able to find the Steward. It seemed he had disappeared from the guardhouse during all the confusion after the duel, and no-one had seen him since. |
