The Trouble With TolletsIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | HoldfastGameLogs | The Trouble with Tollets Corryn noticed that the battle had begun to lull around them. Even so, dangers remained and he could risk leaving Edlyn and her mother alone. He couldn't trust that someone would listen to his instructions and carry them out properly. Nor could he leave Celia's injury untreated for long. The grimness on his face finally betrayed his deep concern. As much as it pained him to do so, he needed to get her off this hard wood and into a bed. "Edlyn," he said; seriousness in his voice. "I know this is going to be painful for you, but you must help me no matter what. We need to get your mother to maester Sewell. I need to support her, so you will have to walk on your own strength. I know you can do it, my dear. You have your father's strength in you and your mother needs you now, more than ever." Edlyn nodded, her blues eyes wide and very solemn. Gingerly, he slipped his arms around Celia, lifting her so that her head would be supported by his chest as he walked. He whispered to her softly, almost tenderly. "Hold on, Celia. Do you hear me? Life will be so dull without you in it." There was no response - she was totally inert in his arms. He began the treacherous trip towards Sewell's tower. With luck, the remaining Knives would hear and answer the call to arms. But right now, his only concern was the woman in his arms. He was conscious of Edlyn movong beside him - and that she suddenly stopped, retching. It was no wonder. The tournament field no resembled the carnage one might find after a battle. But she swiftly caught up with him, muttering, "I'm all right ... I'll ... I'll just not ... look." "You're doing wonderfully, Edlyn," Corryn said. "I had the same reaction when I was your age. Fear not. We're almost there." But two others were approaching now - Phelan and Ser Anders. It was Ser Anders who spoke first. "What happened?" His voice was harsh - and his colour fading to a shade very near to his sister's. Corryn continued to make his way towards the tower; they could walk and listen just as easily as he could carry and talk. "Herys tried to use her for a hostage," he explained. "When the melee began, he struck her and she fell badly. She hasn't woken up since." His hazel eyes locked on Anders. "It appears worse than it is." But his eyes said the exact opposite; not that he would say that aloud with Edlyn present. "Would you kindly carry your niece?" he added. "She's suffered enough on that ankle of hers." Ser Anders had reached out for his sister but now he hesitated, and then nodded. "I'll join you as soon as I can." he said, beckoning one of his soldiers to carry Edlyn. "In the mean-time, I need to impose some sort of order here." Godwyn came walking from around the stands, bloody and dirt-stained, dragging Herys Bolton by one foot. Bolton's face was a bloody ruin, and he made whistling, gurgling noises as he attempted to breathe. Godwyn stared at the carnage, his face blank, and then he called out, "Ser Anders! What do you need me to do?" Corryn blanched when he saw the crumpled form of Herys. His eyes burned with a boiling rage, "What have you done? I needed him to find my daughter! She could be anywhere and he's the only one that knew. Gods save us, Godwyn! Did you think?" (Godwyn continues in The Trouble with Tournaments ) He shook his head, remembering his duty to his current charge; Celia. "Anders," he said, his voice cracking with stress. "I'll get your sister to safety. But I beg you. Find my daughter before they kill her in retribution. Whatever I have will be yours. Just bring her back to me safe. If anyone can do this, it is you." Corryn nodded to the man carrying Edlyn and continued on his path to Sewell's. He dared not look back at Herys; dared not think of what might happen to Limosa. He had to get Celia aid. This he knew in his heart, but it did not lighten each step he took away from saving his daughter. Sewell met him in the courtyard, His long robs flying with the speed with which he had arrived. "What happened to her?" he asked. "And by all the gods, Ser Corryn - what happened out there on the field?" "Herys threw here and she struck her head," Corryn. "I don't think she can go much farther. Lay my cloak on that soft patch of ground would you?" After untying and laying the cloak out like a blanket, Sewell helped with Celia's inert form. Corryn knelt down and used his knees as a makeshift pillow to support her head and neck. With a gentle affection, he stroked her hair and cheek. "Godfrey lost the contest," he explained. "Badly. Herys ordered his men into the field to kill that maggot-son of his. He used Celia as a shield, but knocked her down when things turned ugly. I think she must have struck her head on the bench." Corryn glanced back toward the tournament grounds, "Rhys is taking care of Godfrey. But..." He shook his head; the wounds he'd seen extensive. Godfrey probably would not survive. He couldn't think about that now and to verbalize it might make it come true. Better to focus on the task at hand. "Can you help her?" He said to Sewell, narrowing his eyes. Sewell stooped beside the unconscious Lady Hardy with an agility that many a lesser man might envy. He ran gentle, careful hands over her skull. "I can help her," he say solemnly. "But how valuable my help proves remains to be seen. Ser Godfrey is badly injured, you say?" His face was looking sharp etched with concern. "Where is Kenrith?" "Off chasing his damned wildlings," Corryn snapped; although the anger wasn't directed at Sewell. "With luck, he won't have many casualties when he finally returns." He watched Sewell go about his business. "And Godfrey. Well, from the glimpse I got of him, he's probably bleeding in his chest. I've heard men at tourney make that sound and die shortly thereafter. And I didn't even see him with his armor removed. The Warrior only knows what else he injured when that horse fell on him. "Knowing my friend, he'd prefer to die than live a cripple." Corryn's voice darkened slightly, "So, worry about the task at hand, maester. And I doubt Ser Anders will forgive you for letting his good sister slip away." If Sewell was going to answer, it was lost in the distraction of Evan Tamm riding up. Continued in Loose Ends |
