InTheSolarIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | In the Solar Corryn headed toward the castle, cutting through the salon in hopes of finding Celia or her children. He did not, however, seek her with any particular vigorousness. In truth, he wanted to talk to Limosa before the night grew too late for him to ride to the Goose & Gander. There was no sign of Lady Celia, and a curtseying maid informed him she was with Lord Hardy. Corryn thanked the maid for her assistance, providing her with a charming smile as she returned to her duties. But there was someone in the solar, a boy, half lying on the table as he worked on a drawing. His face was hidden, but in the light of the candles his hair was dark. He was almost scrawny and oddly, heart-tearingly familiar. Just so had Gavrin leaned when he was drawing ... The resemblance struck Corryn deeply; the dark thoughts of the Godswood still lingering with him. During his long voyages to the Free Cities, he'd glanced up on occasion and imagined Gavrin adding notes to the ship's log or capturing some wondrous sight from that particular day. But the spectral image had always faded into cold reality. This boy, although obviously corporeal, left a similarly haunting impression. His troubled thought momentarily forgotten, he approached the boy and glanced over his lanky shoulder to the illustration. "Good evening, young one," he said in a gentle voice. "What are you drawing tonight?" The picture was sketched with a certain bold skill - the lean, angular face leapt from the parchment with life, and vigour. It didn't need the slightly lopsided stance occasioned by the crippled arm to show that this was Kenrith. "It's my brother," said the boy. "Kenrith. Ser Kenrith," he corrected himself immediately. He's a knight." He swivelled to look up at Corryn, and the resemblance to Gavrin faded somewhat. The candlelight had been deceptive; this boy's hair was not true Hardy dark, but more russet, and his eyes were Celia's, large and luminous. But his jawline was all Hardy, as was the directness of his gaze. "You're the Riverwolf, aren't you?" he asked. Corryn nodded with a wide, toothy grin. "That I am," he said, grabbing a chair in which to sit. He turned the chair around and straddled it, resting his arms upon the wooden back, then his chin upon his arms. "And you must be Jonas," he said, studying the boy with an almost fatherly gaze. He lifted his head to extend a hand in friendship. "A pleasure to meet you, finally." "Mother says you're a rogue," said Jonas, but he extended his hand nonetheless. Corryn's large hand swallowed up the boy's, shaking it firmly. "I am a rogue and a villain and many other things besides. Or so I'm told. I've thought of having my own mummer to collect all the tales." Jonas grinned at him - and, for a fraction of a second, the resemblance to Gavrin was there again. "I think I should like to be a rogue and have adventures," he added. "But then, you might get killed, like that man of yours did in the Woods." His breath hissed over his teeth at the mention of his man dying in the woods. He leaned forward, hazel eyes burning with questions. "What man, Jonas? What have you heard?" "My brother," said Jonas. "He took the men into the woods to look for the Maester who's gone missing. And they were attacked by Wildings, and one was hurt really badly and one of your men was killed. But there were dead people in the wood too. Jonkers was one of them. I like Jonkers and Dobbin - but what will Dobbin do now?" He looked at Corryn as though he expected him to have the answer. Corryn tried not to let his boiling rage surface. He'd told that damned boy not to go; Holdfast guest-right or no, the woods were too dangerous for small parties. He would have to find out who died and pay his respects soon enough. But for now, the boy's question still hung in the air, unanswered. He offered Jonas a wan smile, "He will mourn and he will live. That's all we can do when we lose someone we care about. No matter how painful, we must continue on. They are never far from us, after all. We keep them alive in here." Corryn touched the boy's heart and sighed. "We owe the dead respect, not empty tears." The boy nodded slowly - although he did not look convinced. "Anyway," he said, "they found another guard too - and he was horribly mutilated. My Septa says I can't go to the godswood now unless my brothers take me. But they won't. Godwyn takes me for walks with his dogs sometimes, but Kenrith hasn't spoken to me since he came back. Mother says he hates us all." Corryn let out a faint sigh at that. He ran his hand over his head, using the brief interlude to consider his next words. Then with a light nod, "Your mother is half right in her assumption, I fear. Kenrith hates the world, Jonas. Or rather the unfairness thereof. Unfortunately, that hate can blind him to those who care for him. Like you. Don't take it to heart. He loves you in his own way, even if he is too stubborn to see it sometimes." He ruffled the boy's hair. "And while I am here, I can escort you to the godswood. It is the least I can do in exchange for your hospitality. May I ask you a favor though?" He gestured to the stylus and inks. "Before I leave, can you draw me a picture of Syndra and my daughter? I would like that very much." "Very well," said Jonas. "I would like to do that, I think. But what does your daughter look like?" He tilted his head on one side. "Like you?" Corryn's smiled waned. "No, I fear," he said with unhidden sadness. "She is my adoptive daughter. She is like the night, dark and mysterious. Eyes like a storm hovering on the horizon, electric and wild. She is like no other I've met." He smiled faintly, "Come to our tent tomorrow. You can see her for yourself. And then, if you like, the three of us can go to the godswood. That is if your mother says it is acceptable. She can join us if she thinks me too much the scoundrel." "Very well, Ser," said the boy - and with a smile he went back to his drawing. Kenrith, Corryn might note, looked splendidly heroic despite the crippled arm, and the bodies of his enemies were generously piled around the young Hardy knight's feet. "Good night to you then, young Hardy," Corryn said. He gave Jonas a final pat on the back and left him to his art. He wandered through the halls, heading toward the courtyard and then his camp beyond that. His manner began to degrade as thoughts of burying another friend returned to his mind. They'd known the dangers when they'd answered Godfrey's call. But no one had mentioned chasing Wildlings in the dark. He clenched his fists, trying to keep the rage from boiling up. As heroic as Jonas had portrayed him, Kenrith had much to answer for now. |
