TheStartOfTheTrialIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | The Start of the Trial The hall was beginning to fill with those attending the trial. Those who would give witness were filling the seats to the side. Behind the nobles, the more important of the smallfolk were filling up the benches while, behind them, the more humble smallfolk were standing, watching eagerly. Other than standing up and offering his warm, but brief, regards to Lady Celia, Corryn sat down to watch the subtle human tapestry of court. 'It is the quiet moments before the storm that should be observed the closest,' Maester Theomore had once told him. 'People can speak volumes without uttering a single word.' As a young boy, he'd never truly understood the meaning of his mentor's lesson. But now, a man grown, he could see the veiled whispers and concealed gestures that drifted between those gathered. What surprised him more was the extent to which it fascinated him. His maester would be proud. Having accepted Kenrith's assistance in finding her seat, Syndra watched the preparations with interest. She sought out Rhys again, there by the wall, and gave him a glimmer of a smile from across the room. He nodded encouragingly back, then resumed his scan of the room, watching faces, reactions, and body language. Ser Godfrey moved closer to Godwyn and Ser Corryn. "Volf must take his place with the accused," he said. "Until he's officially cleared." Kenrith, behind him, indicated the place where the accused must stand and Volf took up his place, looking wretched. The doors opened and Ser Herys entered, Eryk Bolton at his shoulder. Ser Godfrey greeted him with a bow, and Ser Herys responded, then allowed Kenrith to indicate his place. Eryk shot a slightly shy smile at Syndra before moving to follow his father. Syndra returned an obligatory smile to Eryk, then seemed suddenly interested in something Edlyn had said. She turned around in her seat to speak to Edlyn, who sat sideways on a bench in the next row with her ankle propped up. Syndra also cast a friendly smile toward Limosa, on the bench beside, but at some distance from, her. For Wolf's sake, she was willing to try to be friends if the girl would. Snydra, in particular, caught Corryn's attention. He noted the restrained smile passing between her and Rhys. There had always been some connection between the two, he recalled. Little wonder that she may have sought him out in a time of need. Dangerous that now, as they'd undoubtedly discovered. He followed her gaze to the foppish creature shadowing Ser Herys. The Bolton boy and her husband to be, he realized. He gazed at the boy for a moment, his eyes narrowing. Something desperate lurked beneath that boy's all too-friendly face. And there was little wonder, considering the foul creature that had spawned him. Corryn scratched his beard and sighed. It might actually grieve him to drown the child if it came to it. But he'd get over it in time. Limosa was watching Corryn - how he moved, how he sat. She was clearly trying to imitate him - perhaps not the best of ideas when he crossed her legs, resting one leg on the other thigh. Limosa frowned but did likewise. Then she turned her head, looking over and through the people gathering behind. She was looking for someone ... Then her gaze stopped - at Godwyn. She was looking a little puzzled, as though she was not sure why she had looked at him after all. [Corryn regarded] his daughter. He smiled at her, nodding in approval at her good behavior. However, his cheeks colored and he had to stifle a laugh when she crossed her legs. He quickly motioned for her to put her leg down; indicating how Syndra was sitting. But it didn't truly matter to him. She was doing so well and his pride was distinctive. When she turned her attention elsewhere, he was pleased by where it fell. Godwyn was ignoring Rhys and Garyn, who stood beside him, and instead simply staring over the heads of the seated people between where he stood and where Limosa sat, watching her face as she settled and then began looking around the hall. When she looked at him he flushed and looked away, then glanced back towards her. She was staring at him as though no-one had ever told her that it was rude for a young lady to stare (which was very probably the case). She was looking puzzled still ... and then her attention was diostracted by the entrance of the prisoners. Corryn spoke to Godfrey without turning his head, lest Celia overhear them as easily. "The Bolton boy looks more like his uncle than his father. He's positively cadaverous." After helping Syndra to her seat and making sure that those witnesses which had arrived were in order, Kenrith sat and faced the stage. Rather than looking at those on the stage, he seemed to be gazing past it. Without moving his eyes, he considered those around him. There were the dual stewards on the stage, who must reach a common verdict in this case. One his stepmother, the other his uncle, both would one day judge his own fitness as surely as they would that of Evan... and there would be two sets of standards to meet for him as well. Then there was Evan, his man Donnell, and Volf as well. Victor hoped that his plan would help them, at least enough to spare them the axe. It relied on Herys Bolton doing something rude and stupid, so he had some measure of faith in his plan. Still, it required many things to go a certain way, and involved an almost-foolhardy degree of personal risk. The advantage of his plan, however, sat right next to him. While he would have liked to sit next to his cousin during the trial, surrounding himself with the septon and steward helped to protect them. Godwyn was safely on the other side of the room, beyond Herys and Bors and Herys' thin little son. To risk one's life to protect one's family, to stand fixed between them and harm... was to Hold Fast. It also honored other words he had learned. 'Family, Duty, Honor' were Tully words, but they were good words. He had learned much in the south, and he hoped Ser Grell's lessons and those of Lord Tully would serve him well on this day. And then there were all the people who would one day be shielded within these walls, when the worst of winter came upon the land and bands of savage, desperate men who hadn't laid in enough food sought to take it from those who had. Truely, Kenrith mused, it had been winter for him for many years now. His face was the mask of winter, grim and hard, and with little expression. His left arm felt cold, numb, and nothing else... but he would Hold Fast. |
