TheSearchDerronAndMerivelIndex | HomePage | GameLogs | MarshendGameLogs | The Search: Derron and Merivel (Derron's thread continued from The Return: Derron and Niko Once More and Merivel's thread continued from Merivel Making the Rounds in Marshend) It was not long after Derron sat down that the sound of footsteps down the stairs heralded the approach of the Maester. "Derron." he said, giving a dip of his head. "Its fortunate that I have run into you, here, unexpectedly. I need a little information that you might be able to provide, or perhaps you will refer me to Mariam." He sat down before continuing. "Aerin seems to have gone missing, and the Septa is worried about where she might be." Derron growned. "If it's not one thing, it's another," he mutterd and he stood up. "Let's find her." He paused and asked, "Where did she sleep last night?" Derron added, "Go get the blanket, or pillow she used. I'll get Lancer, in case we need him." He turned and opened the door. "She slept in the Septa's room." Merivel said. "I'll be right back." He proceeded quickly back up to the Septa's room to retrieve the blanket or pillow as the Steward requested. By the time he came down again, Lancer had padded into the room. Holding the blanket, Merivel knelt down to greet the hound. "Need you to find someone, boy." the Maester said gently. "I promise you a treat if you can manage it." He looked up to Derron, gave a nod, and extended the blanket slowly toward Lancer so that he could take in the scent. Derron crouched down as Lancer sniffed the blanket. The old hound looked at Derron and it was almost as if the dog expressed concern. Merivel watched the interaction curiously from his crouched position. "I know, boy, I know. The bloody cat also slept on the blanket, but they are together. And we have to find them." He stood and opened the door. He turned back to face the dog, who was now sitting, looking doleful. "Seek," Derron said calmly, but with some iron in his voice. Lancer remained seated. Derron rose to his full height and said more firmly, "Seek!" Lancer slowly got to his feet and trotted out the door. His nose up, he turned right, then left, then right again and began to trot in that direction. Derron called just loud enough for his dear friend to hear, "Good boy!" He then asked the Maester, "Coming?" Without waiting for an answer he trotted after the dog. "Of course I am coming." Merivel murmured. He picked up his paces so that he quickly drew alongside, and then walked beside Derron. Once outside, Lancer made several casts ... and then, clearly picking up a scent, he began to make his way steadily northwards, with confidence but clearly no enthusiasm, toward the north - and the dangerous marshes. "What is she doing out *here*?" Merivel wondered aloud to Derron, once Lancer's track had been established. His own reluctance was clear in his voice. "These marshes are dangerous. I should know." Derron sighed and replied, "That's probably why she's come this way. Because it IS dangerous. She's always wanting to prove herself, that one." He picked up the pace and nudged the dog. "On you go, boy." "She was just supposed to get some water from the river. Hardly a field of tourney in which to prove one's mettle." Merivel replied dryly. He picked up his own pace to match Derron and Lancer. It seemed clear that Aerin was heading for the marshes - Lancer paused on the edge and looked at his human companions plaintively. Derron looked down at Lancer and sighed. "That girl will be the death of us all. If we don't find her, her father will probably beat us to death. And trying to find her sounds a fool's errand." He sighed once more. "Very well. Merivel, take Lancer back and let the others know where I am headed. If I can't find her soon, I'll come back. After all, Ranulf is the more important charge. It won't be our fault if Aerin comes to a bad end. If I am not back by sundown, have Binnder light torches and send patrols short distances into the marches. Hopefully I'll see the light and find my way out. The girl may be a wild child, but she's not practiced at moving without leaving a trace. I hope I can follow her trail and catch up to her." He squatted and said, "Lancer, go with Maester Merivel. Go on." The dog looked confused as his master stood and began to enter the taller grass... "Derron!" Merivel called before Derron moved far. "Do you think this is entirely wise, to go off by yourself? And I did make a promise to the Septa to try and find her. I merely asked for your help, not to take the responsibility onto yourself." Derron paused long enough to reply, "Aye, but my duty to His Lordship and the girl's father is important as well. Besides, I should be safe enough. I don't intend to go far." "Good." Merivel said. "I'm going with you. I suspect that Lancer might not want to leave you in any event." Derron was about to argue, then realized that every moment wasted that way meant the girl could be further. He just shrugged and set off into the long grass, glad that he was tall enough to see over most of it. His point made, Merivel saw no reason to anger the Steward any further. He hurried his steps to catch up with Derron, trusting that Lancer would follow the two of them of his own accord. The Maester remained quiet, wary and observant for signs of the girl. Lancer moved steadily - but for some time there was no sign of the girl ... ore anyone else. And then, unexpectedly, Derron heard a sound that he had learned long ago to associate with war as well as hunting ... the hissing thrum of an arrow, arcing close to him. Derron ducked, then waved to Merivel and pointed down towards the ground. He looked for the arrow, any arrow, to try to determine the direction fro which it came... It came, seemingly, from a clump of reeds a little way within the marsh. Lancer whined - the arrow had struck him, it seemed, for there was a bloody gash across his back, although the arrow itself was stuck quivering in the grass, a yard or two beyond. "I hate being hunted." growled Merivel from his position further off. He dropped to his hands and knees, and began moving forward, trying to present as small a target as possible as he approached the reeds. Derron saw his dearest friend wounded and began to see red. But he fought off the urge to charge the clump of reeds in fury and instead opted for the straightforward approach. Besides, they might not have seen Merivel. He called out, "Hallo! I am unarmed and looking for someone. My name is Derron Thorne. I'm going to stand up, unless you call for me to stay down." He waited, then began to slowly rise to his full height. Lancer whimpered, and once more suppressed a desire to hurt someone. Merivel remained low, and slowed his approach to a standstill at Derron's actions and words. He remained warily in a crouching position for the moment, alert for a change in the situation. Wryly, he thought that it would have been more likely for the smith to aggressively try and approach, and he try to speak plainly. Still, things were as they were. There was a pause and then a glint of light among the bushes. The glint of sun on an arrowhead - someone was carefully sighting an arrow on the target that Derron presented. Derron ducked his head below the tops of the reeds once more and muttered, "That tears it." He waved to get Merivel's attention, pointed at him, then gestured with an wave that he wanted Merivel to follow. Derron silently cursed himself for not having brought his sword and shield. But at least he had his hammer in his belt as usual. Derron then began moving as quickly as he could in a crouch in the direction of the bowman, ready to dive flat if he saw an arrow. But if he managed to stumble onto the man, he would simply slam into him, hoping his size, mass and momentum would give him an edge. Lancer whimpered once again as his master moved further away, providing just a tiny bit of distraction... Merivel moved his head an imperceptible fraction higher to better see and understand Derron's signal. On his hands and knees, as if he were a tot back in the vale, Merivel came forward, shuffling along so as to try and catch up with Derron. Reeds and the dirt dug into his palms as he hurried along. There was a startled rustle in the reeds, as though the bowman had not expected this aggressive action. An arrow was fired, but passed Derron to strike the ground between him and Merivel, quite harmless - and suggesting it had been fired in nervous haste. Then the rustling in the rushes intensified, as though the bowman was determined to escape. Derron grinned with satisfaction as he heard the hurried movement. He decided this meant he could risk running normally and rose to his full height, which also gave him a better view. He increased his pace and stormed down upon the bowman, again ready to slam his massive form into the attacker. For his part, Merivel was not as convinced of the wisdom of Derron's action. He remained low, on his hands and knees, crawling forward as quickly as possible. He intended to be as small a target as possible if the bowman should have allies as yet unannounced. The man was scrambling away, but was handicapped by his desire to keep his bow. As Derron fell on him, he turned and slashed at the smith with a short bladed knife, but this did no more than slash Derron's thick hide jacket. Merivel, however, could see a second man rising to his feet, and taking aiming at the smith with his own bow. Derron smacked into the bowman, chest to chest, and wrapped his brawny arms about the upper arms of his foe. He hardly slowed himself then lifted the fellow off his feet and promptly dove forward, slamming him to the ground, and taking the full weight of Derron onto his torso. Derron was rewarded with a satisfying "Ooooff!" from the man. Derron remained atop the fallen man and punched him in the face. Only then did he check to see if the man's knife had managed to inflict any serious damage. It had ripped his jerkin open but had missed his flesh entirely. But then he heard a sound behind him ... Merivel made a quick calculation, and then rose mostly to his feet. In the same manner that he had seen Derron do it, he charged the second bowman. His feet thudded on the ground as he ran toward the second bowman, trusting that the bowman would be focused on Derron enough not to see his own charge until he was upon the second foe. His eyes set on the attacker, judging his move as he had seen his father and brothers do in years past, aiming for his chest and waist to disrupt the second's attack and carry him to the ground. Merivel's attack sent the second man flying, landing on the ground with the thud that suggested that the wind, if not the life, had been forced out of him. Merivel scrambled so as to get to the man before he could recover and rise again. His intent was to use his weight and position to pin him to the ground. "Derron?" he called as soon as he had the man under his control. Derron whipped his head around and was relieved to see Merivel had saved him from being attacked from behind. He nodded and turned to face the man whom he had pinned. He looked first to see if he wore some recognizable emblem, or if he were simply a bandit. Then he said, "Who are you? And what business have you in these fens?" Merivel's voice was low as he spoke in turn. "You should answer his question." The archer simply glowered. Derron was angry. He wasn't sure about Lancer's condition, and decided that he had enough. He pulled his hammer from his belt and held out the archer's bow hand. He glared at the man, then drove the hammer into the palm of that hand. The man let out a howl and a curse. "Want me to take out your blade hand as well? Hell, I've a mind to break your feet as well and leave you in the marsh." The man was still groaning and cursing. Derron looked over to where Merivel had his man pinned. "First one to start talking gets to walk out of here on two good feet." Merivel bit his lip at Derron's thread. His anger was understandable. After all, Merivel had responded to a deadly situation in a manner far worse than simple crippling. "The Steward is not bluffing." Merivel said to the man he had pinned. "I've long since learned that the Steward stands by what he says." The man nodded. "Tom the Blade sent us," he said. "King of the Hills back there." He jerked his head to the hills that nestled between the lake and the mountains - the area that the hedgeknight and his squire had come from, with their tale of wild brigands. "And what were you seeking?" Derron asked. Merivel looked at his quarry intently as he awaited the answer to Derron's question. "The woman with the direwolf - that's what we've been set to look for," said the archer. "@tis said ... she had a parchment ... a secret ... that the powerful ones would pay good money ... golden dragons! Just to hold this parchment." Derron spoke through gritted teeth. "Which powerful ones?" Merivel frowned slightly as he listened to the man's answer. "Yes, who would pay the likes of you in gold?" Merivel added to Derron's query. "Not me," said the archer, sounding a little aggrieved. "But the Lord of the Hills - he'd get the gold. And his men - that's us - we'd see benefits too. We allus does." Derron frowned. These two would be of no use to him. He thought it over, then slammed his hammer into his captive's bow hand, then into his left foot. The man was practically howling and rolling in pain. Derron then went over to Merivel's captive and smacked both of his hands, plus one foot. Once they calmed a bit and were cursing softy he spoke again. Merivel winced at Derron's brutality, and then turned to a harder face. "You both can walk, but not well. You'll need each other to get out of these swamps. You tell your Lord of the Hills that the huntress has gone. If she ever had a map, we've no idea where it is. Tell him to stay in the hills, and if he leaves us be, we'll return the favor." He then collected their weapons and smashed them, keeping their blades. "And if I ever meet either of you again, I'll feed you to my dog. You'd best hope he survives his wound. Else I'll be able to catch two limping men in these swamps and take back the mercy I've shown." He turned and said to Merivel, "Let's go." With that he returned to Lancer to see how his dog was doing. Merivel gave a nod, glanced at the men once last time, and took the lead in returning where Lancer lay. "I hope that my skills will be of use in aiding him." Merivel said to Derron. "The healing of a hound, or a horse is similar to healing a man, although there are difficulties and differences." Derron nodded but tried to keep his face wooden. "Thank you," was all he could manage at this point. "We still have the matter of Aerin, too, to continue to unravel" Merivel reminded Derron quietly. Derron sighed aloud as he said, "No, we do not. She chose to run off, and we don't have enough men to spare that we can send some haring off after her. Her father will no doubt want me strung up or beaten within an inch of my life, and His Lordship might do so. But Ranulf and his safety are our paramount concern. And now that we know there are so many sellswords and bandits in these parts we need to keep the cottage safe, as that is where the boy is." He paused as he finally spotted the black fur of Lancer through the reeds and added, "It's my responsibility. I'll shoulder it." Merivel sighed. "The Septa will be unhappy as well." Derron stepped forward and called softly, "Lancer, hey boy. You know I always come back for you." Lancer's tailed thumped on the ground in greeting, but he didn't get up. The arrow, it appeared, had gashed along his side without penetrating - a bloody and painful wound for the old dog, but treatable. However, he was sapient enough to realise that his injuries would lead to a little spoiling - there seemed almost a grin on his old face. Merivel relaxed at the sight of the dog's condition. Derron smiled with relief seeing his close friend of more than a decade was alive. He knew that Lancer was aware he'd be more spoiled than normal until he was healed, but he didn't care. He crouched down close, whispering,"Good boy. I'm here." He was rewarded with a lick to his face, which made him smile more broadly. As gently as possible he cradled the large hound in his arms and slowly stood. The whimpering from Lancer was genuine, but not as bad as he had feared. He turned to Merivel and said with sincerity, "We're going to move as fast as I dare with him, both to get him safe quickly, but also to get away from any friends of those two. If anything goes wrong, just run for it. Trust me, I'll be hot on your heels." "Do you want me to lead the way, then?" Merivel asked, taking one last cursory look at Lancer. "Or would you rather set the pace?" Derron gestured with his forearms that Merivel should lead...unless he could not retrace their steps. Merivel nodded, and started to head back the way the two men had come, adjusting his pace now and again to find one that Derron could keep up with, and still both could make good progress back to Marshend. It took a while, for Lancer was no lightweight, but eventually they crested a little ridge and could look down on the cottage. All seemed calm and peaceful, and smoke was rising from the chimney. "All quiet in the North." Merivel murmured to Derron. "Shall I go ahead and make sure?" Derron shook his head. "Nay. My head rises higher above the reeds in any case. Let me lead from here. If there's trouble, better it come at me. After all, if you get hurt, that's one less healer about to help." He strode forward, not making any effort to be stealthy. But he did scan the area for those he could easily recognize, such as the stout form of Binnder. "True" Merivel mumured. He slipped behind Derron and let the Steward, carrying the wounded Lancer, lead the way. Like Derron, he kept his eyes ahead and focused on what was happening. As they drew closer they heard the sound of hammering and sawing coming from the stable, and Binnder's gruff voice lifted, apparently calling instructions. Someone was whistling - it seemed a relaxed and peaceful scene - but up on the hill above the cottage, they could see two guards rise suddenly at the sight of them - clearly the perimeter guard was in place still. Derron nodded at the guards when they revealed themselves. He kept walking and said, "Carry on." As they neared the cottage he said to Merivel, "Where should I put him? Inside or out here?" He was obviously very earnest in his question. "If the Septa will permit it, inside on a pallet would be the best place for me to look him over. Keeping him comfortable is the first and best medicine that can be practiced for any man or creature, from the Wall to Sunspear." Derron gestured with his arms full for Merivel to enter first. But he was right on the Maester's heels. Merivel rapped on the door twice and then opened it. "Septa?" he called out for Mariam as he moved forward to allow Derron (carrying Lancer) room to enter The door was opened and Mariam stood there, her face full of life and animation - which faded as she saw them. "Lancer!" she said with horror. "Bring him in, Maester. Derron- take that rug from the settle and spread it in front of the fire so we can examine him properly." Derron frowned slightly. Surely she meant for Merivel to fetch the rug, as Derron had Lancer in his arms. Derron moved in the direction of the fireplace and waited for Merivel to place the rug down. Once that was accomplished he gingerly set Lancer down, stroked the back of his head twice and said, "Good boy. You'll be right as rain soon enough, boy," in a soft voice. He then stepped back and let the professionals begin their examination. He didn't even notice the smears of Lancer's blood on his sleeves. Mariam knelt down and examined him with gentle, steady hands. Once the dog whined, but almost immediately he licked the Septa's hand, as though he understood what she was doing and was grateful. Merivel followed along, letting Mariam take the lead, but taking full participation in the examination. Finally she sat back on her haunches and looked at the Maester and then at Derron. "I would say a clear, shallow wound," she said. "I know a way of clearing and bathing wound in animals - some of the preparations good for us sit not so well with those that go on four feet. Then let him lie by my fire for a few days and he will be as well as ever." She smiled suddenly. "I thought to bring the Septa down later - if you tell Lancer to guard her, then he will not fret if you leave him." She looked at Merivel. "Do you agree, Maester?" "As I told Derron, keeping Lancer comfortable is a goodly portion of his treatment. You are right about animal treatment, too Mariam. Its not quite the same as for us, in terms of preparations." Merivel agreed. Derron sighed aloud. "Thank you, Septa. It means a great deal to me." He slumped down in a chair. "At least that's one less to worry about," he muttered. Merivel gave a nod at Derron's words, as if it were a cue. He gave a bow of the head and a dark tone entered his voice. "Unfortunately, Mariam, the opposition we encountered, and the injury to Lancer, prevented us from continuing our search for the girl. I am sorry." Mariam's face clouded briefly. "I hope that she is safe. But if the Hun ... if my sister finds them, she will look after them." She gave Lantern a final pat and then rose to her feet. "I need to go to Marshend for some supplies. And I admit, I'd like to learn the latest news there too. Would either of you care to ride with me?" Merivel hesitated to speak, waiting for Derron to answer first. Derron shook his head. "As much as a ride might clear my head, I think I'd best stay. There's a small chance more news of Aerin will turn up, and I'll need to be here. Maester, if Lancer's wound is set, then let's bring our Septa down so he can sit with her, and I'll go back outside to see how many backsides Binnder has kicked. And if you wish to escort out hostess, I'm sure it would be a boon for her." "The wound is set." Merivel agreed. "And I do think it would be best if Mariam were escorted. Since you have elected to remain here, Derron, I will travel with the Septa to Marshend and back. After bringing down the Septa if she is willing. Let me go and see to her now." Merivel walked toward the staircase. Derron said, "I'l make sure Binnder details a man at arms to go with you both. And ride quickly. A shorter trip should be less dangerous. And we've lost enough as it is." The Septa was willing and agreeable to being brought downstairs. Indeed her wound was healing so well that she was beginning to fret at confinement to the upper room. Binnder declared two of the men willing to travel to the village if required; he felt it would probably be safe to arrange that, but left the final decision to Derron. Derron agreed, then tried to finally rest his legs a bit. And his stomach was beginning to rumble. "Thank you, Binnder." Merivel said with a nod. "With things as they are, it would be a relief to Mariam and I both." (Merivel's thread continues in Merivel a Quick Pop into Town) The wagon was soon loaded and left on its way, Mariam looking worriedly over her shoulder as they set off - soon to be dust in the distance. "She's left food," said the Septa, now resting by the fire. "And scraps for Lancer. For once I think it will fall on you or your men to prepare food for me." She seemed quietly amused at the prospect. Derron raised an eyebrow and replied, "You won't find it so amusing once you try eating Binnder's cooking." He paused and thought about it. "I'll get him started." He glanced at his dog and crouched down to run his hand through Lancer's ruff. "Good boy. You stay here and guard Septa. Hear me? Guard." Lancer licked Derron's hand then turned and lay his head across the Septa's feet. Derron once more went outside and hailed Binnder. "Our hostess has left food. It might even be partially prepared. You're the closest we have to a cook. But I am sure our Septa can give you more advice and guidance on the cooking." Binnder looked skeptical, but made no comment and headed for the cottage door. Derron was confident that Lancer would give Binnder no trouble if he kept pestering the Septa. After all, Binnder and Lancer were fellow trenchermen. Derron once more made a round of the men, making sure all was as expected. Minus the missing girl and shadowcat, of course. All was as expected. Everything seemed calm and orderly. The morning was well advanced when he heard the sound of a rider on the road that led past the cottage. Derron rose from where he had bene examining the shoes on some of the horses. He thought, {Well, as a rider, it won't be Aeryn and her cat.} He moved around the wagon for a better view. The man currently posted near the road also was on his feet, hand close to his hilt, but no weapons drawn yet. The rider coming along the road wore Bolton livery - a messenger, it appeared, and armed rather than escorted. When he saw the guard at the gate in the insignia of Clearwater, he lifted a hand in greeting. Derron returned the wave while trying to suppress the frown he instinctively felt. "Come ahead," he called. The man cantered forward and pulled up by Derron. Before he could say anything, Derron spoke. "I apologize for the suspicions. We've had numerous encounters with sellswords lately. What business brings a Bolton man this way?" He hoped the sudden change of topic might catch the man offguard. In a way, his manner of question could be a mistake, making his general suspicion of Boltons obvious. But no doubt his men were used to such treatment when appearing unexpectedly. The Bolton nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm travelling with a message to Lord Stark," he said. "There's troubling brewing between my Lord and the Hardies of Holdfast, who've wronged him grieviously. I need to ride quickly - but both my horse and I would be much obliged for water and mayhap a bite to eat. And I'd be more grateful than that for any news of danger you've heard hereabouts." Derron would have preferred to send the man on his way. But antagonizing the Boltons unnecessarily would not be condoned by Lord Draupaud. He nodded. "Aye, the well is there. One of my men is trying to cook some food as we speak, though I will not swear by his talent. You care for your horse, and I will make sure you get a bowl of whatever he makes. While you eat, I will tell you what little I know of bandits and sellswords." He told one of the men who was not at a post to let Binnder know there was one more eating with them, then he followed the man and his horse towards the well. The man showed himself more than willing to acede to this arrangement - and also, as they sat down together, willing to talk. "You might find your bandits clear out sooner than you expected," he said. "Lord Bolton is bringing a small force through, on his way to Winterfell." Derron sat up straighter, his face clouding slightly. "The smaller the better if he knows what's best, I'd wager. The Hardies and Draupauds have quarrelled a bit over these lands in the past. But unless I miss my mark, they'd sooner unite to prevent any others from even appearing to be making inroads." Then he chuckled and said, "But if it clears out the sellswords, I'd welcome the respite." "He has a grievance with the Hardies," said the messenger sombrely. "They have attacked his brother who had travelled to Holdfast in good faith, for a wedding." Derron expressed surprise. "Let us hope that Lord Draupaud is inclined to overlook troop movements in such a cause." "Lord Bolton has sent messages to Clearwater, ebokling old friendships," said the messenger. "He was, after all, a boy at the Dreadfort." A time that Lord Draupaud had never spoke of, to Derron's recollection, save for a force determination not to subject his own son to the same fate. Derron did not reply what he was thinking which was that might make Lord Draupaud even less inclined to look favorably upon the Bolton request. As they spoke, a man appeared with two bowls and spoons for them. Derron tried not to appear dubious. After all, their Septa had supervised. With that knowledge, Binnder would know he would take all the blame if it was not edible. He would have followed her instructions scrupulously. He took a mouthful. It was, actually, surprisingly edible. Clearly either the Septa or Mariam (or perhaps both) had been advising Binnder. Derron once more showed surprise on his face. He would thank Septa later for saving them from Binnder's cooking. After swallowing, he said, "There have been a few groups hunting for some so-called 'wolf-woman.' Apparently there is quite a bounty upon her." That much was information the man probably had heard already. "And we even ran into a man named Thelbane who is, or was, a Bloody Mummer. He's currently hiding in the marshes." He kept an eye to see if the man reacted noticeably to Thelbane's name. The man looked shocked. "Bloody Mummers? This far North? Surely the times are not so lawless!" Derron nodded. "He and his men were looking to collect the bounty on the wolf-woman. But they were causing mayhem as they went. Forcing some of the crannogs and a Dornish merchant to serve their needs. We had him captured, but like a marsh eel he slipped away, into the reeds. I fear Lord Draupaud will be unhappy with me." For a moment he grinned. "Maybe remove me as Steward, if I could only be so lucky." The messenger looked surprised. "Indeed? You mislike your position?" He seemed surprised that anyone could dislike the post of Steward, with its responsibilities and potential for rewards, both honestly come by and dishonestly gained. Derron shrugged. "I'd much prefer to be back at my forge. Being steward is too much bookkeeping, too much overseeing the rest of the house and having them all resent you for it. No, give me a hot fire, a piece of steel and my hammer and anvil any day." He paused before adding, "And swinging a hammer is a great way to work out frustration." |
