Tending to More WoundedIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | Tending to More Wounded Rhys left Edlyn in the stableyard with Syndra and Kenrith. He wanted to stay and watch Syndra off, but they'd already said their goodbyes with as much privacy as they were going to get--to stay longer would only prolong the inevitable and pull at his emotions. It was better this way. Gods, who was he fooling? It was easier this way. Besides, Lady Celia was awake and needed attending to, since his uncle was currently incapacitated. Yes. He broke into a run and jogged the rest of the way to her rooms. Lady Celia was unconscious still when he entered the room, and made no sign of rousing as he approached the bed. Rhys turned to the servant attending her. He thought he remembered that her name was Maery. "Lady Edlyn said that Lady Celia was awake?" Maery nodded. "For a moment. She opened her eyes but didn't speak. Then she fell back asleep." He pulled up a stool and sat down beside Celia's head. The Lady of Holdfast was beautiful even in sleep, and Rhys found himself gazing at her flawless skin and long lashes in stark contrast next to the ugly bruise disfiguring her temple. It was a sin, he decided, to defile such handiwork of the gods, like smashing a delicate vase or breaking a glass window. Rhys reached forward and probed the bruise gingerly, opening himself up to whatever the gods would tell him of her condition. He felt her skull give slightly and Celia moaned in her sleep. Rhys pulled back, not wanting to cause her any more pain. He brought the candle burning at the head of her bed near her face and thumbed up her eyelids. Both her pupils reacted equally to the sudden light and he sighed in relief--that was a good sign. He felt for her pulse at her neck. It was steady and the rate didn't alarm him--not too slow and not too fast. As Rhys listened, he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and then the door was pushed open to reveal Ser Anders, looking more than several degrees tireder than Edlyn, and considerably more disheveled. He nodded at Rhys with something like relief. "How is she?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "The signs are good that she'll recover," Rhys told him. "We'll know more when she wakes. Are you all right? You look like you didn't sleep last night." "I didn't," admitted Anders. "And if you have anything in your bag that would keep me awake for another day or so, I'd be eternally in your debt, Maester." He moved to look down at his sleeping sister. "But she'll recover?" "The signs are good she will," he repeated. "When she wakes I'll be able to evaluate things further and give you more information." Rhys stood and looked at Maery. "Send for me the minute the Lady wakes, or if there's a change in her condition." Maery nodded. "Yes, Maester." He put a hand on Ander's shoulder and led him toward the door. "Come, there's nothing you can do for her now. Let her rest and heal. "I have some tea that can help keep you alert--I think we can both use a mug or two--and then there's a matter I wanted to discuss with you, if you have time." Anders went with him - perhaps because he was too tired to argue. But he look back at his sister several times - to where she lay, still silent and oddly small in the great bed. Rhys walked with Anders to the castle proper where they could obtain hot water and mugs--and breakfast. The tea he pulled from a fold of his robes, explaining to Anders that he'd planned to have the tea with his meal, and assured him he had enough for two. Not bothering with protocol this early in the morning, Rhys chose seats below the salt and away from other ears. The serving boy brought them breakfast as soon as they sat down and Rhys requested hot water from him. The boy scampered off and as Rhys waited for him to return he uncomfortably avoided Ander's searching eyes, busying himself with the very mundane tasks of adding honey to his porridge and buttering his bread. Ser Anders nodded. The boy returned presently with two full mugs. Rhys split the contents of a paper packet into them both and the faint smell of country mallow rose in the steam. "Let it steep until it's cool," he advised. "I was looking through the far-eyes yesterday evening," Rhys began without anymore preamble, "and I saw what looked like rope bridges in the trees around Holdfast. I would like to investigate this phenomena, but I am rather tied here for awhile, whatwith all the casualties from yesterday to look after. So I'm mentioning it to you in case you have the time and inclination to investigate it yourself. I thought it perhaps pertinent to the discoveries made in the search for Maester Merivel t'other day." Ser Anders released his breath in a long hiss. "And you believe this is how the Wildings have come so close to us, undetected?" he said. "Yes, of course it is!" He fell silent, brooding, his left hand cradling the cooling brew. "I cannot spare men," he said at last, bitterly. "What with the events of yesterday, I can spare no more and keep Holdfast safe." Rhys nodded. "I understand. Provoking them may not be the best course of action right now, anyway. They don't know that we know, so unless they're planning to overtake Holdfast while we're weak--which I find unlikely--it's probably best to let sleeping dogs lie. "However, the bridges may prove useful as a ways to track down Merivel, assuming he hasn't shown up at Clearwater by now." He scowled suddenly, realizing he had no means to check on this with the ravens gone. "Nothing to be done about it right now. Best to let sleeping dogs lie," Rhys repeated, still scowling, and turned his attention to his porridge. "That's all I wanted to discuss with you," Rhys said presently, though he still seemed preoccupied. "All you wanted to discuss with me," agreed Anders, taking a long draw on his tea. "But not all you wanted to say." He set the mug down, his gaze steady on Rhys. "What is it?" Rhys picked at his porridge for a moment more, then set the spoon down and looked up. "Something strange happened in the Godswood last night. The heart tree was vandalized and my uncle implicated. It's so bizarre... I don't know what to think." Anders' eyebrows, oddly dark on his fair face, lifted a fraction. A follower of the Seven, he did not have the same reverence for the Old Gods as the Hardies, but he clearly understood the seriousness of the crime. "Well, there's the bare bones of it. How was your uncle implicated? And what does he say to the charge?" Rhys lowered his voice until it was barely above a whisper. "He was struck on the side of the head and has not yet woken, so I don't know what he'll say to the charge. I found him unconscious in front of the heart tree. There was some substance in his mouth, a poison of some sort, for he was foaming..." He paused and ran a hand over his face. A lot had happened to Rhys in his young lifetime, but Anders had never seen him so distraught as he was right then. "Ser Kenrith thinks Sewell believes there is some power, some healing quality in the sap of the heart tree, and that Sewell slashed the tree and drank of the sap. He seems to think this has been going on for some time." "If it had been going on for some time," said Ser Anders, "it would have been noticed. Enough of the people respect the old gods to pay homage to them regularly. A slash would most certainly have been seen well before now." Rhys nodded unhappily. He didn't bother to say to Anders that if his uncle _was_ doing such a thing, Sewell was perfectly capable of hiding any evidence of it. "I'm sorry--I shouldn't be talking about this without speaking to my uncle first," he told Anders, "and besides, you have plenty already to occupy you." Rhys pushed away his bowl and stood up, intending to leave. "I hope the tea helps. If you want more, just come see me. And I'll send word to you as soon as I know anything more about your sister." "Thank you," said Ser Anders. He was watching Rhys, still troubled. "Maester," he said slowly, "if this continues to be ... a difficulty ... come to me. I have respect for the Old Gods, but it is not to me the sacrilege that it might appear to others. To Kenrith, for example." Rhys wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. The last thing he wanted for Holdfast was an issue that had people taking sides, especially one that involved religion, and especially one that had the two active people in charge potentially on opposite sides of it. "I will...keep that under advisement. Thank you, Ser Anders," he managed to choke out before practically running from the hall. His breakfast and tea remained untouched, still gently steaming. Ser Anders watched him go, without making move to follow him. |
