(121-02-14) A Knight Accused
A Knight Accused
Summary: A child accuses a Tarly knight of a heinous crime.
Date: 14/02/121
Related:
Players:
Bryn..Luckin..Garvin..

Garvin is alone at a table, enjoying a goblet of mead. He actually doesn't look drunk, for a change, just pleasantly buzzed. The remnants of a meal are still on the table, and six of his guards are split between two nearby tables. One set is playing dice while drinking ale, the other set is telling bawdy jokes to one another while drinking ale. Garvin's ignoring them all, intent upon reading from a small, leatherbound book of some sort, which he has open on the table near the candle.

Luckin comes in with Bryn, saying to the boy, "You are a clever lad, and learn fast. You should be proud of yourself. Choose a treat. Though I hope you will try to avoid getting drunk, no matter how much the acolytes like it." The old man is leaning on his staff as he walks, wearing his silver mask around his neck.

Bryn smiles brightly up to Luckin, and shakes his head. "I've tried being drunk, I don't like it. Especially the mornings." He glances around as he pauses to think of what treat to request… that slightly wary instinct to check for danger he hasn't quite lost from his time in the Undercity. It lets him spot Garvin, though, and he waves.

Garvin was just reaching for his goblet, looking up from the book, when Bryn waves. Smiling, he calls, "Bryn, join me! And Archmaester Luckin, what a pleasant surprise. Won't you join me as well? Barmaid, more mead over here, and some lemon cakes for Bryn." He tucks a tiny bit of parchment into the book to mark his place, then closes it, pushing it aside.

"It is not very good for you," says Luckin. "I prefer lemon-water, myself." He smiles his kindly smile. "But there are times when wine seems to be obligatory." He looks over at where Bryn is waving. "Ah. The young Lord Tyrell," he says. "You know him?" He smiles to Garvin. "Ah. My Lord. A pleasure, thank you."

Bryn nods quickly to Luckin's question and says, "I met him here. He's nice." He follows Luckin over to the table, smiling as he takes a seat, "Thank you." Meanwhile, through the open door to the terrace, there's the sound of a lot of horses coming across the bridge. Not a strange sound, small groups arrive at the tavern together frequently.

As the barmaid brings two more goblets and a flagon of Highgarden mead, along with a small plate of lemon cakes, Garvin takes a sip from his own goblet and says to Luckin, "I was sorry to hear about poor Jebediah. He was such an odd lad, but I was very fond of him. I know you did everything you could for him though." He looks over toward the doors to the terrace, but only briefly. "So how have Bryn's studies been coming along? Will I be able to make him the maester of Garden Isle soon?"

Luckin laughs kindly, warmly. "In six or seven years," he says, "I should think he will make a very fine one. But boys do not become Maesters while they are still boys, no matter how many links they forge, so you must wait a while."

Bryn smiles brightly as Luckin says he'll make a very fine maester, sitting up a little straighter as he reaches for a lemon cake. Meanwhile, the door opens and in walks a small group of knights and their squires. Likely they're in town for the upcoming Tourney. Garvin might recognize the leader of the group, Ser Jason Tarly, son and heir to Lord Alan Tarly of Horn Hill, one of the Tyrell's most important bannermen. Bryn doesn't notice the new arrivals yet, facing away from the entrance, paying more attention to his lemon cake.

Garvin reaches across the table to ruffle Bryn's hair, something he's become in the habit of doing frequently. "Six or seven years, I'll be an old man by then," he says, eyes alight with amusement. "Not sure I can wait that long." Before he can say anything more, however, the Tarly men come in, and Garvin looks up and squints in their direction. His brows furrow in concentration as he tries to place the arms, and he suddenly says, "Jason Tarly! How good to see you, Ser. Will you and your men have a drink on my coin? When Lord Pansy pays, everyone drinks!" This is met by a small cheer from his men, who lift their tankards to toast Lord Pansy.

"Six or seven years will fly by," says Luckin. Of course he would, he's an old man. But he takes a seat, and a lemon cake.

This is met with cheers from the Tarly men as well, and then Jason says, "My thanks, Lord Garvin! It is good to see you again as well!" Brym, lemon cake halfway to his mouth, freezes as he hears that voice. Blinking, he turns to look back at the source, who is now ordering drinks for his men. Then, Bryn shows another side of the Blood of the Dragon: The rage of a dragon. His violet eyes burn with more hate than most his age could possibly conceive of. In an instant, the small jewelled dagger Garvin gave him a few weeks ago is produced from somewhere in his robes and, if nobody stops him, it looks like he'll be launching himself right at the Tarly knight.

The Archmaester is old, but he's lively and alert. And, it turns out, quick. He puts out a hand to close it over Bryn's shoulder with unexpected speed. "Hold there, lad," he says.

Garvin is so focused on Jason Tarly, he doesn't even notice Bryn's reaction, at least not until he hears Luckin. Turning back, his grin fades to something of confusion. "Bryn, what is it?" he asks, glancing toward Jason again, as the barmaid starts taking his and his men's orders.

Bryn struggles a little against the Archmaester's grip, though he's in control enough not to want to hurt the old man in trying to get free. He answers Garvin's question by yelling loudly, too angry for 'indoor voice', "He's a murderer! He killed my mother!" This draws attention from around the room, including Ser Jason, who pales just the tiniest bit on seeing Bryn, or perhaps it's his accusation.

Garvin frowns deeply, turning toward the man. "Ser Jason, is this true? Do you know this boy?" He slowly gets to his feet, tossing back unruly locks from his forehead.

The Archmaester tightens his grip on Bryn's shoulder. "Quiet, lad," he says, firmly. "We shall see what can be done. But you are not to go jumping on knights with that little knife. Put it away."

For a moment, Bryn stands tense, but reluctantly he puts the knife away. Tears roll down his face, though, as he glares at the knight still. Jason takes a moment, composing himself as he looks over Bryn, and says, "I've never seen the boy before in my life." Bryn immediately responds with, "You're a liar!"

Garvin holds up his hands. "Calm down, Bryn. Look at me, not Ser Tarly." He leans a little over the table, looking at the young boy. "What was your mother's name?"

Luckin slowly gets to his feet, using his staff, and keeping his hand on Bryn's shoulder. He stands behind the boy, near.

Bryn turns obediently to look towards Garvin, and without the source of his rage in his vision it seems all the boy can do to hold it together. "Rose," he answers, voice shaky now. He keeps looking at Garvin now, though, obediently.

Garvin continues leaning on the table, but his head turns toward Jason. "Ser Tarly, did you know this woman, Rose? Tell me true, as you are a true knight."

Luckin rubs Bryn's shoulder a bit with his old clever hand, and looks at Tarly with assessing eyes.

The knight starts to say something, but then stops to think a moment. Finally he says, "Wait, you don't mean Rose of Rose's Thorn Tavern? Yes, I knew her. I went there regularly when I was a squire. I didn't even know she was dead." Bryn tenses again, but manages not to say anything this time.

Garvin nods then, turning back to Bryn once more, trying to keep his voice calm. "Was this Rose of Rose's Thorn Tavern your mother, Bryn? And why do you believe Ser Jason Tarly had a hand in her death?"

Bryn nods a little, and sniffles. "Because I saw him do it. He was drunk, she wanted to close. He grabbed her and she slapped him, and then he… he cut her across the neck. I saw it and… and I never forget anything I see."

"When was this, lad?" asks Luckin, looking down at the top of the boy's head. His tone is serious, but quite calm.

Garvin presses his lips in a thin line, straightening again and turning to Jason. "I've never known this lad to lie, Ser. Did it happen as he says?"

Bryn answers Luckin, "Three years ago." He gives the exact date. The night the Rose's Thorn Tavern burnt down. Jason, meanwhile, is looking a little more sure of himself now. "Of course not, Lord Garvin. Do you take this bastard's word over mine?"

Garvin's left eyebrow slowly arches, and he crosses his arms over his chest, fixing Jason with a hard look. "And how exactly do you know he is a bastard, Ser Jason?"

Luckin nods down to Bryn. He says, "The lad's birth does not change the fact that he neither lies nor forgets." He's got the manner of a man who expects to be listened to.

Jason laughs and says, "One does not get the look of a Dragon from a tavern wench mother, my Lord Garvin. Especially one who had dark hair." He grows more serious as Luckin speaks up, and says, "Perhaps, in this case, he is mistaken." The other knights are looking tense, watching Bryn, or Garvin, or the watchmen at the door.

Garvin frowns, looking back and forth between Jason and Bryn a few times. "This is not a matter to be settled in a tavern. I shall be sitting in the Hightower Monday next, and I shall hear evidence then. Ser Jason, I trust it will not be necessary to cause you to be taken into custody, and that you will present yourself at court, as a true knight."

Luckin gives Jason a skeptical, chilly look. His ordinarily kindly blue eyes are surprisingly good at that, really.

One of the other knights opens his mouth to say something, angered that Garvin is even listening to these accusations, but Jason puts a hand up to stop him. He nods to Garvin then, "Of course. And be sure, my father will hear of this also." This is said almost as a threat, but then he turns and walks out, and his friends follow him.

Garvin's lips curl slowly into a smile, though his eyes remain cold. "Be assured, my lord father shall as well," he says to the back of Ser Jason, as he and his men storm out. Shaking his head, he resumes his seat and looks at Bryn. "Please, tell me no more now, Bryn. I will have to judge this matter fairly, and I cannot allow myself to be biased. Archmaester Luckin, I hope I can depend upon you to help Bryn prepare what evidence he may and also be there at his side when the case is presented. He is a bit too young to make his case alone."

"If not I," says Luckin, "Then someone better suited to the task. Come, Bryn, perhaps we'd best go back. It might be that even a boy's appetite for cakes can be spoiled by this sort of thing. You'd best take a bath and some milk, instead."

Bryn nods a little to Garvin, wiping his eyes. And then he nods again to Luckin's words, not looking up now and not saying anything as he turns to walk out with the Archmaester.

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