Raven PostThough she left Lord Stark's office with all the decorum of her station, once out of the room, Syndra fairly bolted to the first door outside with nary a glance in Corryn's direction. From the window, he and Limosa saw her trot across the courtyard to the Winterfell maester's tower. She charged up the stairs, slowing as she neared the maester's rooms. Pausing a moment to smooth her skirts and slow her breath, she knocked at the door. "Come in! Come in!" called a old but still powerful voice. "Mistress Hardy, I do believe." "Yes, Maester Luwin," she said, her polite smile turning to a grin when she saw him. She remembered Maester Luwin from her one visit to Winterfell as a child. He was old, but not as venerable as Maester Sewell and Syndra remembered him being far more approachable that her own maester. Where Sewell was the perfect maester for crotchedy Uncle Oswain, Luwin was just right for a large family of Starks. Syndra liked him. "It is good to see you again, sir," she said sincerely, then got right to business. "Maester, I have a letter I'd like to send to Father at Holdfast to tell him I've arrived safely. Could you send it for me? Please?" She dug the sealed note out of her pouch, then as an afterthought, asked, "Oh! Do you have a quill I could use? I need to write one more thing." "Certainly," said the old Maester. "Will you trim a goose quill yourself? Or do you want to try the latest toy from Braavos - a quill whose tip is metal?" "Oh!" Syndra exclaimed, taking the quill he indicated and examining the newfangled invention with the curiosity of a rambunctious kitten. She poked at the tip with a finger. "It's sharp! Does it always stay that way?" she asked as she dipped the tip in the inkwell and began to write on the outside of the letter. "It wears away," said Maester Luwin, "as all things do with time. But it will last my lifetime out - and maybe yours too." And as she continued to write, he explained what he had learned of the manufacture of the wondrous nib. Syndra did not write much, but because of the new medium, she tried to write carefully. Even so, her words on the outside of the thick missive - "I'll be coming home soon!" - looked scrawled and rushed. When she finished, she gave the quill and the note to the maester. "Thank you, sir," she smiled, both for sending the letter and explaining about the quill. "Oh, and Lord Stark wishes to see you before he leaves. We're going north to meet with Lord Bolton." A flash of apprehension crossed her face, but she brushed it away and continued, "I should be leaving as well. I have some things to do before we depart." Maester Luwin nodded. "I shall see your letters travel safely," he said. When she made her way down from the tower, she found Ser Deryll Ryswell waiting at the foot of the Tower. He looked up and smiled at her, somewhat abashed. "I wondered if I might escort you back to Lady Stark," he said. "Certainly, ser," Syndra smiled demurely. He didn't seem inclined to talk, but paced quietly by her side as they walked across the courtyard, seemingly content for her to initiate conversation. His silence was a little unnerving for Syndra. She was used to chattering on with Rhys or Edlyn or Corryn, though now that she thought about it, Godwyn didn't talk much, either. Thinking on it that way made things a little easier. A little. "So...um... are you riding north with us, Ser? Lord Stark seemed to indicate that," she ventured. "Yes," he said. "Such is my honour." There was another long silence - they were halfway across the courtyard when he suddenly said, "Lady Syndra - might I speak to you openly? And yet ... this is hard ... I don't know how much you have been told ... what your father has said ... " "He said a little," she replied encouragingly, but perhaps a bit too quickly in her eagerness to learn more about the plans than her father had had time to tell. She blushed and smiled shyly as she went on. "I mean, he started to tell me of some plans he had made, but we did not get a chance to speak at length. Please do speak openly. It's all right." "Your father and I are friends," said Ser Deryll, staring straight ahead and frowning a little. "And we have been since the time of ... well, we shared some common feeling - perhaps you remember that I spoke of it then." He shot a quick glance at her. She nodded, encouraging him to continue. "At all events, it is of great benefit for someone like me to find a ... a mentor amongst Lord Stark's most trusted bannerknights. Thanks to your father's kindness, I have advanced within my lord's favour. And ... " He broke off, biting his lower lip. Then suddenly he went on with a rush, "In some ways, he has stood in place of a father too me, my own being concerned with his lands. And in return ... I think ... " He shot her a swift look. "I think he has come to feel a ... a father-like affection for me too." Syndra smiled at him with genuine warmth. In truth, she was a bit surprised that his revelation brought none of the jealousy or protectiveness she might have expected. She gazed around the keep as they continued to walk together. Men talked best when no one was looking at them, she'd always found. "I think it's been good for Father too," she said, her affection for Godfrey evident in her voice. "You were a friend to talk to at a time when he must have felt very much alone. I'm glad you were there for him." It was her turn to go silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and shrouded with memory. "He had so looked forward to training Gavrin to knighthood. I'm sure training you helped to fulfill that desire. To teach someone. To pass his skills along." She ventured a smile at him, then looked away again so as not to make him uncomfortable. He nodded, clearly grateful for her quick understanding. "In truth," he said. "In truth, Lady Syndra, your father expressed the hope that I might ... that you and I ... " He drew a deep breath. "That we might become ... " He broke off and suddenly, unexpectedly, began to laugh, a low, wry chuckle. "In truth, my lady, I'm a poor hand at this. Where I to wear your favour, you might see me dare all comes at the tourney for you. I can comfort a sad child, or roar a challenge, or give my oath with all my honour behind it ... but I have never learned the skill to say sweet words such as will please a lady, nor how to praise the beauty of her eyes so that she can scarce raise them to me for blushing. I have only a plain honest heart, a love of your lord father and the willingness to learn to please his daughter if that will gain her love." Syndra giggled. She couldn't help herself. Realizing she might hurt his feelings, she stopped and touched his wrist to stop him as well. "Forgive me, Ser Deryll," she said, looking up at him now with a shy smile. "I've never seen myself as the kind of girl who would be swayed by flowery words. That notion just struck me as amusing. I really am very much my father's daughter. And a Hardy above all, so a plain honest heart is a virtue in my eyes." She hesitated for a moment, remembering how she nearly fell for Eryk Bolton's kind words. There was another thought too. A guilty one. Of comfrey and promises. But a force in her mind, strong as Hardy granite, held those thoughts at bay. ~Papa chose this one.~ She brushed the feelings aside to be dealt with later and smiled up at him. "Father did tell me that he had considered a... a marriage between us. His approval means much to me. And I can see how deeply you care about him. That is all that is needed to please his daughter." Her smile turned playful. "Well, that and a good hunt once in a while," she added. His face cleared a little. "You like to hunt? Your father told me you were no simpering maid and that raised my hopes a little. I half feared to find a sweet lady devoted to her sampler and her gowns ... Not that yours isn't very pretty," he added hastily. "Do you have a horse of your own here?" "Aye. She's in the stables," she answered eagerly. Then, thinking she might have been too eager, Syndra said more demurely, "I'll admit, Ser, that I'm relieved that this pleases you. Many knights would prefer a frail sweet maid who did nothing but stitch, or so I'm told. While I do find it relaxing to work a sampler in front of a fire on a winter's night, it grows quite dull if you do it all the time." "I remember my mother sitting and sewing, when I was a boy," he said. "There was something peaceful about it - as though nothing could really be wrong in the world while she minded her stitches on the long winter evenings." He smiled suddenly. "And I'll tell you something that may surprise you - she taught me the skill of it too. In the barracks, I keep my own gear mended, though I'll admit I'm more what you might term a practical sewer." "No! Truly?!" Syndra grinned, genuinely impressed. He grinned back at her. "I can darn a stocking too at need - although not fine enough for lady's wear, I reckon." As they approached the stables, Syndra looked up with surprise, not realizing she had gotten so wrapped up in their conversation. She turned and nodded to the young knight. "Thank you, Ser Deryll. I have some things to take care of before we depart, but I'm looking forward to our journey." Her gaze lingered on his face a beat longer than necessary, making it unclear which journey she might be referring to. As if realizing this, she turned with a start and trotted away toward the stables. "And I am too," he said, so softly that she might not have heard him. He watched her going, even longer than was needed to make sure she reached her destination safely ... Then he turned and went away on his own affairs. And if, to his fellows, he seemed unusually abstracted, he received their teasing in good part. |
