TheLongDarkTalkIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | The Long Dark Talk Ser Anders gave a final nod as Rhys approached. Mal gave a brief nod in response, then another to Mal, and then he turned and sauntered off towards the gatehouse where Jayne was being tended. Anders looked steadily at Rhys for a moment and then said, "A drink? Not in the guardhouse though, I think. Is your tower occupied?" "Not at the moment," Rhys replied. "We can talk there." Once in the tower, Rhys avoided the sitting room on the ground floor where they'd had their last conversation and instead took Anders up to the room he shared with his great-uncle. He spent a moment stoking the fire. Once he had a suitable blaze going, he gestured to the chairs in front of the hearth and poured spiced wine into two mugs. Rhys handed a mug to Anders and sat in the chair beside him. He was silent during this, preferring to let Anders start. "So," said Ser Anders, after his first sip of spiced wine, "what have I done that you believe me capoable of dishonour and the murder of my own men?" Rhys stared into the depths of his own cup. It looked black in the dim light. "I promised to answer you honestly, so I will." He looked up. "I believe you capable of doing most anything you wish to do, Ser. In this matter I'm less inclined to believe you culpable. "I'm honoured," said Ser Anders dryly. "I think." "You had a conversation with Lady Celia late last night concerning guest-right and how far it extended. Lady Celia wanted you to breach it and suggested something about the escort. You were angry with her. "The next morning Merivel was given a rather paltry escort home--even he thought so. That's when I decided to give him the raven to take with him. I do note, however, that there were two very good men sent with him--Dobbin and Jonkers. "You might wish to take note," said Ser Anders, "that Maester Merivel walked into the Castle with no escort from Clearwater at all. His complaints about the inadequacy of his escort would ring a little hollow - save that they were so clearly needed." "There was an interesting exchange with you later in the day during the trial's recess. You expressed a wish that you'd taken vows to forswear women, looked in your sister's direction, then asked if I happened to have any poison on my person. Then you steered Lady Celia out of the room, presumably to discuss something of import with her, as the trial was due to restart at any moment. "When news of the raven's return became public, you were adamant in wanting to lead the search party while your sister tried to downplay the event. Ser Anders face was calm, slightly pensive, but he said nothing. "Do I believe you dishonorable and guilty of murdering your own men? No." Rhys paused and studied Ander's face. "Do I believe Lady Celia would do most anything to secure her place here after Lord Hardy passes because she believes she will be expellled? Yes. "Do I believe Lady Celia took matters into her own hands concerning guest-right and Merivel's escort. I'm not sure. I have no direct evidence but motive and opportunity are there. "Am I your enemy? No. You are an excellent Captain and the men respect you. "Do I have my own agenda? No, except to serve Holdfast to the best of my ability, and I believe Holdfast is best served by not having internal power struggles. I will point out that I said I serve Holdfast. Lady Celia and you are Holdfast, as are all the Hardys. "And that is my honest answer to your question." Rhys sat back and downed his mug. "Thank you for the fullness of your answer," said Ser Anders. "And thank you too for your trust." Rhys wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he studied Anders, then nodded acknowledgment. He set the empty mug on the floor. He was silent for a moment, and then said slowly, "I did indeed suspect my sister. I believed she had corrupted two of my guards, and that they would kill the Maester. But now I know ... I was wrong. There was some darker plot afoot - whether it involved the Wildings or not. If my sister had laid plans - they were irrelevant. It was not Cleeve or Trowen who responsible for what happened out there in the forest, no matter what their original intentions were." "Would it be possible that your sister would've had them killed because they knew too much? They were pawns from the beginning?" Rhys asked. "I hardly think Celia is foolish enough to have Hardy guards killed," said Ser Anders. "And by Wildings? Do you honestly imagine my sister would make common cause with Wildings?" Rhys shook his head. "No, I don't. But if I was trying to cover up a murder, what better way than to make it look like Wildings? They become a convenient scapegoat. "I think Ser Kenrith's party _was_ attacked by Wildings--they shot with bow and arrow and stayed hidden in the trees. The old couple and the guards, though--they were killed by sword. Perhaps the difference is not significant, but it was a difference that struck me, so do with it what you will. Ser Anders was frowning, but he said nothing. "And, as I said earlier," Rhys continued, "if I was a Wilding this far south I wouldn't want to make my presence known in such a dramatic manner. I'm actually surprised they attacked Ser Kenrith's party and only killed one man. They had opportunity to take the party out, but held back. Why? This doesn't fit the description of Wildings that you gave me earlier." "I think." said Ser Ander slowly, "they were a small band. I think their primary aim was to get the Maester away and discourage pursuit. Which they did. And now ... they will be either calling up re-enforcements ... or fading into the Forest like the Children." He sighed. "Doubtless we will learn which tomorrow." Rhys was silent a moment, looking into the flames. "If they went to the trouble to kidnap Merivel, then it's likely they wanted him for a reason and he's still alive, right? Do you think he's still alive?" "If they wanted him dead," said Ser Anders, "we would have found his corpse. They had no compunction about showing us others. No, your Maester friend is alive, all right. Although why ... and what condition he's in ... " He shook his head. "Tomorrow," he said, and it sounded like an oath of vengeance. Ander's assurance that Merivel was still alive was hope for Rhys to hold onto. He considered the possibility, though, that once they had a maester in their midst, they wouldn't let him return. A log in the fire collapsed, sending up a small shower of sparks. "It's not the Hardy's intent to boot you and your sister out the door when Lord Hardy passes," Rhys commented, not looking at Anders but into the fire. He turned the empty mug idly in his hands. Ser Anders glanced at him. "Are you so very sure of that?" he asked drily. Rhys shrugged marginally. "Call it an assessment of character." "Thank you," said Anders ironically. "But great as the respect I have for you is, I prefer to trust the security of the roof over my head to something more durable. An oath witnessed by the gods, dor example. And I doubt even that would be strong enough for my sister." Rhys had no answer for that. He sighed and was silent for a moment, then said, "I don't know if you have plans for me, but rather than go out with you I'd like to request to be here tomorrow instead for the fighting between Ser Godfrey and Tamm." Ser Anders looked at him questioningly. "I don't make plans for you, give you orders, Rhys - unless we are out in the woods and your safety depends on it. You were welcome with us today - and would be tomorrow ... But I can understand your desire to be here. This could be ugly ... and brutal." He sighed. "It could be ugly and brutal here as well. And the Boltons will be here. And the Manderley sellswords. Taking my best troops off to comb the forest for Wildings is not what I should be doing. "One might almost suspect a plot." "An opportunistic one, then," Rhys replied. "Who could've forseen someone dying at Clearwater and them sending for Merivel? On the other hand, it would fit with my it-wasn't-Wildings-that-killed-the-guards theory." Ser Anders stood up suddenly and walked across to the decanter to pour himself more brandy. "Lord Draupaud served as Squire at the Dreadfort," he said - and drank. "So he did." Rhys watched Anders drink, but didn't refill his own empty mug. "If I was trying to take over Holdfast, I wouldn't do it by direct attack--there would be repercussions with the Starks and I don't think the Boltons want to take on them. I would do it slowly through less dramatic means, like marriage or through political maneuvering." "So I would too," said Ser Anders. "But the Boltons might have decided that if presented with a fait accompli, the Starks would accept it." He slammed his free fist suddenly against the table. "I don't like this! And yet I can see no way out." "Don't go tomorrow," Rhys said simply. "Or pretend to go, but don't." "And send who instead?" asked Ser Anders, his eyebrows lifting. "Kenrith? Godwyn? Both looking for any excuse to have me turned off. And failing to obey orders to clear the wildings from the forest would be a prime one. No ... we will be weakened tomorrow. I'm left to choose whether it's in the castle or in the forest." "Take your concerns to Ser Godfrey and ask to have you and your men stay tomorrow," Rhys said. "I'm sure he'll agree that the Wildings can wait one more day compared to the safety of Holdfast." Rhys continued to turn the mug in his hands. "What I meant by pretending to go, is to--if you have permission to stay--pretend to go out to lure the Boltons, who you suspect of malicious intent, into a false sense of security so they will go ahead and carry out their plan and you can catch them in the act." Ser Anders nodded thoughtfully. "It wouldn't be popular with the people of Hodlfast, who will look to us to clear the forests as soon as we can - but I'll warrant they'd be a lot less happy with the Boltons or the Manderleys claiming the lands as their own." He looked at Rhys. "I need to speak to Ser Godfrey, I think. Will you accompany me? He may suspect me of motives of my own - but your testimony will be disinterested." Rhys nodded. "Of course." Anders downed the pungent liquid. "Now then. If he has objections, we need to argue our case convincingly. Shall we go?" |
