Looking In on DaIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | Looking In on Da Godwyn wolfed down his food quickly, then rose. He looked from Kenrith, in conversation with the men from Riverrun, to Godfrey, speaking with his daughter, and shifted from foot to foot for a moment. Then he appeared to make up his mind, and turned with a determined look and strode from the hall, followed by Volf and the hounds. Once out of the hall Godwyn shooed the dogs outside, then headed upstairs, toward his father's room. He might have shaken off the dogs, but Volf was still trotting at his heels. There was a guard on duty at his father's door. When he saw Godwyn, he gave a nod of acknowledgement, but looked a little askance at Volf (the guard had clearly heard what had happened the night before, even if he had not been in the patrol). Nevertheless, he stepped aside a little to allow Godwyn to knock. Godwyn knocked quietly, while asking the guard, "Who's in there with him?" "Bessica's there, Master Godwyn," said the guard. "And Maester Sewell has sent word he'll be here shortly." The door opened, and old Bessica's face appeared. Old now and wrinkled like a walnut, she was still the nurse most older people in Holdfast would choose to sit by their bedsde when they were ailing. "Your father's sleeping, Master Godwyn," she said in a low voice. "But you're welcome to see him if you wish." "Thank you, Bessica," Godwyn replied in an equally low voice. "I would like to, just for a bit." He turned back to the guard. "Volf is on his parole," he said. "He'll stay out here with you while I see my father." Godwyn gave Volf a hard stare. "Stay right here," he told him. "Remember, it's not just your honour, but my own as well, which is at stake. I expect to be able to tell Ser Corryn how well you behaved yourself." Godwyn took a deep breath then, and composing his face walked into his father's room. The room was much as he had left it on the previous day - still, dark, quiet. Only this time his father was not groaning and mumbling. He was asleep, and his breathing was a little heavy, but surely not so very much worse than a normal night? And yet ... there seemed to be a subtle change in his sleeping face. Godwyn had rarely observed his father asleep, but on the occasions when he had, his father had somehow seemed to remain Lord Hardy - doughty warrior, proud master of Holdfast, lord of the forest lands. Now there was a vulnerability about him as he slept, as though the sharp vividness of his personality had been smoothed and somehow softened. But it took Godwyn a few minutes to realise what the essential change in his father was ... Lord Hardy looked old. Godwyn stood by the bed for several minutes, just looking down at his father. His eyes glistened, but he did not cry. Finally he reached out and touched his father's hand gently with his fingertips. Then he closed his eyes, and in a whisper that was barely more than a breath he said, "Be with him, my Gods. Be with him." He stepped back, took a last look, then turned and left the room. Once in the hallway he closed the door behind him, stood silently for a moment, then told Volf brusquely, "Come, let us find my Uncle." "Yes, Sir," said Volf dolefully - but before Godwyn could move, there was a sudden sound from outside, blown by the morning breeze through the windows. A horn - a war horn - blaring out. Stark ... and Manderly. Volf's face blazed with hope. "He's come! Ser Corryn's come!" A smile crossed Godwyn's face as well, and he began to speak... And then, from the room behind them, a tremendous heavy crash - and a woman's scream of terror. Without an instant's hesitation Gowyn whirled, pulled open the door, and raced inside. His father was awake ... and on the floor. For one moment it looked as if he had fallen out of bed, but then Godwyn realised ... The sound of the horn, the martial call to arms had roused him, and he had struggled out of bed, his memory driving him where his body failed. But he had fallen, and was now attempting to haul himself up, although his face was bright red with fruitless effort. One side of his face was still; the other half twitched and writhed with the effort he was investing. One arm half lifted him from the floor; the other hung useless, and his legs were stretched out behind him. "Arms!" he roared at Godwyn - but it was more a groan. "War!" He glowered at Godwyn with baffled fury. Godwyn fell to his knees, gathering his father to him in his arms. "Allies, Father," he said, trying to get through to the man. "Ser Corryn Manderly has come. There is no battle." Lord Hardy tried to twist in his arms, and a line of drool fell across Godwyn's sleeve. "Useless," growled the Lord - although whether the remark was directed at Ser Corryn, Godwyn, or his own failing body was hard to tell. "Arms!" he growled again. "Arms!" And with his own still mobile arm he beat at Godwyn furiously. Weakened as he was, there was still power behind the blows. The door opened and Sewell stood there, looking at the scene before him with horror. Lord Hardy peered up at him. "War!" he roared. Godwyn held him tightly, ignoring the pain of the blows from his father. He looked up at the maester, desperation on his face. "He thinks there's war," he explained unnecessarily. "He wants to be at the foe." "No wonder," said Sewell drily, "with some idiot blowing a clarion call outside his window." He moved forward to kneel beside the Lord of Holdfast, observing him for a moment. Then he spoke. "My Lord, they are getting your armour ready. But first you must drink your spiced yppocras ... for it will be a long, cold ride to battle." Lord Hardy slowed in Godwyn's arms, turning to look into Sewell's calm face. Finally he nodded, and gave a grunt of assent. Sewell rose and walked over to the table where he prepared his drugs, speaking quietly to Bessica. She looked startled, but finally went to the fire where a great kettle was kept boiling. She lifted it off and carried it carefully across to where Sewell was working. Lord Hardy, meanwhile, had turned again in Godwyn's arms and was peering up at him. "God ... God ... " he began, his voice so thickened as to be almost unitelligible. Godwyn stared down at his father, hope on his face. He struggled and tried again. "God-frey?" Godwyn's expression froze. He opened his mouth, paused, and then finally spoke. "He is preparing the men," he said finally. "He will be at your side." Lord Hardy's expression, despite the paralysis that twisted one-half his face, showed honest confusion. "God-frey?" "You have a look of your uncle when he was young," said Sewell. "It may be that he has slipped in his mind to earlier days in his confusion at hearing the clarion call. Or it could be that he is confusing names in his mind - that is very common with those afflicted as he has been." He knelt down again, and now he held a goblet that gently steamed. "Do you think you can pull him a little more upright, Godwyn, so that he might drink this?" "Godfrey!" said Lord Hardy irritably. "Yes," Godwyn said. "Godfrey." He gently eased his father into a sitting position. "Godfrey," he repeated. The old man gave a grunt and a nod, as though to say he knew it full well. Then Sewell was holding the spiced yppocras forward to his lips. Lord Hardy raised his own good arm, shaking, to hold the goblet too - and Sewell let him have this concession to dignity. Swallowing was clearly hard though - rather a lot of the red wine ran into the white whiskers around his mouth, and once he made choking noises ... But eventually he pushed the goblet away with a heavy gesture, and Sewell removed it. For a long minute, the three of them sat in a huddle on the floor, and then Godwyn realised his father's body was growing heavy - an inert weight. "He'll sleep now," said Sewell, getting to his feet with some stiffness. "Natutral sleep is better - but he must not be disturbed like this. You've seen the effects." He looked at Godwyn almost sternly, as though giving instructions. With a grunt Godwyn rose to his feet in a single smooth movement, still holding his father gently in his arms. "Aye," he said, as he lowered the sleeping man back onto his bed. He stared down at him for a moment, then said gruffly, "I must go now, there's the trial, and Ser Corryn to greet..." he frowned. "And Lord Stark, it appears. I wonder what he wants?" "Ser Corryn," said Sewell slowly. "Godwyn ... did you *know* he was coming?" Godwyn stepped away from his father's bed before answering. "Anders arrested his man Volf last night," he said quietly. "You remember Volf? That's him outside in the hall. He told me Corryn was on his way." Sewell nodded. "I wish I had ... " he began - and then he shook his head. "You'll want to find him, I daresay. He'll probably be with your uncle. Your father should sleep now for some hours and - when he awakens - he will probably have forgotten all that passed." Godwyn looked back at his father, then nodded his head. "Yes, Maester," he said. He hesitated a moment longer, then just shook his head and opened the door. As he walked away down the corridor towards the stairs that would take him towards the courtyard, he saw someone kneeling upon a window seat, looking down into the courtyard. It was Edlyn, and something in the set of her shoulders suggested she was either crying, or trying very hard not to. Godwyn paused, then gestured for Volf to wait where he was. He walked towards Edlyn, and cleared his throat loudly. "Edlyn," he asked. "Is anything wrong?" He tried to look past her and down into the courtyard to see what was happening. From this angle he could see Syndra and Kenrith talking ... Ser Corryn, looking oddly different - more martial - with his long hair cropped. Four of the Laughing Knives with him; Godwyn recognised the grizzled countenance of Phalan. Ser Godfrey - his pleasure in seeing Ser Corryn was obvious. There was another girl there too - dark haired and pretty - Ser Corryn seemed oddly propriertorial. From this distance their voices could not be heard. Edlyn turned on the window seat and looked at him. "I'm unhappy because trouble has come and all you Hardys have bunched together, and I'm shut out," she said bluntly - but then Edlyn had learned that subtlety and nuance were not tactics to employ with Godwyn. "Syndra won't tell me anything. Ser Kenrith made it perfectly clear that he thinks I have no business in this family at all. And you're behaving as though you think I'm going to go running to Them and tell them everything." Godwyn stared down at her, and then knelt by her side. "Right," he said. "Here's how it is. The head of the sellswords, Evan Tamm, his real name is Stann Snow." Edlyn's eyes widened. He frowned. "Or something like that, anyway. He's Hairy Bolton's bastard son, and Eryk's half-brother. This time Edlyn let out a gasp. Volf back there," he gestured over his shoulder, "Just told me last night that Corryn was on his way, I haven't even seen you since then, so I couldn't hardly tell you that, could I? And Kenrith just doesn't know you, yet. I'll tell him that I think you have every right to stay here just as long as you want." She managed a watery smile. He thought about that, and then said, "Or, though I still don't understand it, that since you don't like it in the North we should try to make a marriage for you with some Southerner who can make you a Lady down there." He looked at her earnestly, "All right now?" he asked. Edlyn nodded. "Yes," she said. "Much better, thank you. And it was silly of me to get upset ... " She managed a watery smile. "You know, Godwyn, I wish you were my brother really, because you are so sensible. I wouldn't even mind having to be a Northerner then. Well, probably I wouldn't." She looked back out of the window to where Evan Tamm was standing, with his armed escort. "You know, I still think it's very odd. I went to the godswood yesterday ... the first time, you know. I wanted to pray to the old gods - I thought they would listen more if I asked for Syndra not to have to marry Eryk Bolton. I was praying for a miracle. And then Evan T ... no, Stann Snow walked into a tree." Godwyn laughed aloud. "The Old Gods have an odd sense of humour," he said. He pulled Edlyn to her feet and offered his arm. "Allow me to escort you," he said. "Let's allow everyone to see the high regard in which you are held by the Hardys." She smiled up at him as she slipped her arm through his. Her hair smelled of jasmine and summer flowers - some special preparation that she had coaxed out of Maester Sewell (or rather, which Maester Sewell, with his recognition that his pupils learned best what interested them most, had taught her to prepare). "Very well then," she said. "Let's meet these visitors! Who do you think the girl is that Ser Corryn's brought? His new mistress, do you think? How cross Odette will be!" "It's not like him to bring one to the castle," he said. "Perhaps she's nobly born. That would explain it." He whistled and gestured as he led Edlyn towards the stairs, "Volf, come!" Volf trotted along after them as they went down the great steps. Edlyn shot a glance at him and then back at Godwyn. "I'm not sure you should should treat your prisoner as one of your hounds," she whispered to Godwyn. "Ser Corryn might not like it." Godwyn looked at her with surprise in his eyes. "What?" he asked. He turned and looked back at Volf, "Volf, have I been anything other than fair and polite to you?" he demanded. "You don't have any complaints, do you?" |
