(121-03-03) The Problem With Ironmen
The Problem With Ironmen
Summary: A brawl ensues by the Honeywine after the Ironborn Captain Blaktyde offends the Mormonts (and vice versa) at Maera and Griffyth's betrothal party.
Date: 03/03/2014
Related: Follows Mormont-Wylde Betrothal Party.

Hightower and Citadel Streets

Here Hightower Street's course curves from its upper East-West run to follow the river. The narrower River Road continues North, past The Citadel and out the Honey Gates to follow the riverbanks all the way North to Brightwater Keep.

The northern course of the Honeywine is slender and deep. The banks of the river have been improved in a number of places, walling it in to keep it narrow enough to be easily spanned by narrow bridges of stone and timber. Small streams spill into it here and there, some from the surface and some from tunnels running under the streets.

Another cobblestone road leads Northwest to where the Citadel squats alongside the river forebodingly, all stony and thick-walled. Perhaps a quarter mile downriver from the Citadel's narrow Acolytes' Gate is the old Quill and Tankard, that famous inn that has never closed in six hundred years. It stands on a little island not far out into the Honeywine, accessible by a small foodbridge. Most the buildings further South of the inn are far newer, and sparkling clean. Large, expensive manses shrouded in gardens and shrubbery overlook the river.

Hightower Street is wide, clean, and lined on either side with apple trees and stone benches. The river-boats that travel this area are quite finely crafted, with luxurious furnishings, bright new paint, and sound timbers. Looking south, one can see the blazing beacon of the Hightower looming over the city.

The shops here cater to those with rich tastes. Baubles, jewelry, silks, satins, finely wrought armor and armaments, and varies other shiny things meant to catch the eye of well-to-do city-dwells with stags or dragons burning holes in their purses.

The first to arrive outside is Griffyth with his adolescent squire, who is rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Griffyth, on the other hand, is alert and only a little sauced. For the moment, dressed only in fine leather breeches, riding boots, and a dark blue doublet, he appears little more than a nobleman rather than a knight. With a brisk, certain stride, he clears the door, strikes out into an evening lit only by oil lanterns. At this hour, the streets are cleared but for guardsmen in the section of town, and thus discovering Riker is hardly any trouble. "Lord Blacktyde," Griffyth calls, calmly enough.

Riker is standing outside, a small flask in hand. The small bottle finished it is smashed against the ground and he sees Eoon. Griff's appearance does stop him though, never seen him before, that he remembers. Where are all his sailors now? Not here. Still, he pauses, "Make it quick." He shouts now to Griffyth. His eyes still linger on Eonn though.

Eonn comes out a little ahead of Maera, now.

Maera walks out following Eonn, side-by-side with Hellan. She glares at Peri suddenly, "Do you have any idea what they did to her?" She snaps suddenly, "What they've done to us? Let's not mention how he insulted me the other day." She casts Hellan a quick, protective look before saying to Peri, "Go stand near your man. Your attempts at peacekeeping never help. In fact, you say such foolish things sometimes that it makes it worse."

Peri is quiet "My Lady, He isn't the worst Iron Man out there. He isn't even the worst in this city." she offers towards Hellan, in a polite tone "I'm not allowed to fingerdance anymore." she mumbles at Eonn. She watches the group, letting out a sigh and rests her hands infront of her. The womans' hands pick at her bust line absently.

"There is no worse, there is no better: they are all the same in what little, metal heart they have." Stern, cold, and wolf-eyed, Lady Hellan is a stark-looking creature befitting of her married House name as she strides with Maera, but it's the Mormont blood in her that is currently rising. It's hard to say what puts the most quickness in her step: wine and cider or her hate of the Iron Islands.

Eonn stays silent. He doesn't touch his sword-hilt, just stands before the Mormont women, looking chilly and narrow-eyed.

Women. Stifling a groan, Griffyth regards Riker coolly, his expression a firm one. "Lord Blacktyde, you come where you're unwelcome, a fact that is well known to you. You dishonor yourself, and those who care about you, and insult the nobility of this city. Myself included, given that this engagement is my own. I consider myself an honorable man, so I will give you the opportunity to offer a sincere apology to the Lady Mormont for your actions," Griffyth tells the Captain in no uncertain terms, voice level rather than raised. "What do you say for yourself, Captain?"

"Unwelcome?!" He shouts at the man. "I walked into a tavern!" He is fuming now, "Well known? My coin spends in there well. Forgive me for not gettin' tha' missive." Any formal tone he may be able to hold up for a moment is surely gone. Now he crosses his arms, his expression stone. "Apology? For what? Your' 'Lady' Called me a twat. I'd not known ya' oned all the local inns." No apology is on the way.

Peri winces. "No my lady. I don't." she offers, "No. I'd rather not be beatten tonight." her expression is blanked entirely. Her fingers go into her hair "I guess I'll go bake myself a cake. I was trying to beat him here to prevent your offense, mylady." she offers to Maera "But I can not stomach this." she mumbles, starting off quietly, distressed it seems.

"How many times have you called me a cunt, Blacktyde? Then what you did the other day. Am I supposed to just shrug and say, 'Ah, oh well' to that? I am not some common whore for you to abuse. I am a ruling Lady in my own right. Apparently, you do not understand that." She shrugs, "Beating you has not curved your words. So, I suppose I'll have to hope that a man putting his hands on you will teach you a lesson."

Eonn grimaces, looking disgusted. He stays where he is.

A small but undisguised scoff emits from Lady Hellan over the word 'Captain', unwilling to give this stranger even the honour of such a title. The words of Riker and Peri harden the woman's face, prompting a roll of her eyes so hard it transcends all pettiness; if it were wiser, and she armed, she looks as though she'd rush the man in violence herself. News of past disgraces, too, tense her jaw to the bone.

Peri eyes Hellan, giving a curtsy "I apologize for the wrongs that have been done to you, and apologize for your discomfort. I was only recently allowed unlimited time on dry land." she mumbles, turning to head off, tight in the shoulders.

Not the sort to shy away from confrontation, Griffyth waits until Riker falls quiet— and affords no apology to anyone present. There's no decrying commentary, no expletives, no snarls. Just Griffyth jerking the sleeves of his fine doublet up over his forearms to his elbows, partly revealing a fresh, still-pink scar upon one from the bite of some blade. With no affectation of making a show of things beyond simply bloodying his knuckles, the Wylde knight lunges at the Ironman rather zealously, fingers curling into a fist and throwing solid weight behind the blow aimed at center mass— Riker's abdomen.

Riker scoffs, "I've you called you no less names than ya' thrown at me. And don't speak o' beatin me. You and three others I fought in that shit hole. As ya' done again. You and yer' company." He points at Griff and Eonn. "And ya' spout off again." He shakes his head, his own disgust forming thick. He is however perceptive enough to see Griff lunging at him. Stepping to the side the blow glances off as he turns, contact but nothing to damaging. The blade at his side is unbuckled now and thrown at the ground. "Come then." He is giving him another free shot, or so it seems.

Eonn watches Riker's blade hit the road. He nods approval and stays where he is, still and alert.

"It must be unbearable. Being a liar and a damned moron." Maera comments with a disgusted snort, and a shake of her head. Her attention focuses on the brawl that is unfolding.

Hellan simply seems to solidify further for every word Maera speaks: clearly hard truths, in her book. She watches the newly unfolding fight with vested intensity.

"You misunderstand, Captain Blacktyde," Griffyth remarks, unperturbed by missing the Captain light on his feet. "You are responsible for your honor, and no other." There's a moment's pause for Riker to remove his buckler, and Griffyth affords him the time to do so before swinging again. So the knight is a little unsteady on his feet from drink, but it's hardly a poorly aimed swing, and Griffyth is not some light, young thing lacking for prowess. The blow is not so dissimilar to the one prior, rather intent on winding the Ironman, potentially silencing him.

Eonn watches, his face going expressionless. He doesn't seem so intently interested as the women.

Riker just snarls at the man, the sound coming out a bit like a rabid animals. Fortunately the second attack resembled the first and the same side step is used, this one faster. The strike wholly dodged before his own right hand is offered, the full of his weight behind it. For his part he is beyond talking and his weapon is gone, this is a fight, not a chance to talk to the man he still does not know is marrying his little Mormont buddy!

There's no effort to side step the jab, but rather Griffyth twists slightly aside as he rushes in to meet Riker; the Captain's knuckles graze his doublet, but leaves no real lasting harm. Ducking into the man's personal space with a forward step, and thus past Riker's defenses, the dodged blow is followed up with an under handed strike flung upward from the hip towards Riker's ribs. There's a certain finesse to it, but there's more raw force than delicate footwork at play here.

Maera crosses her arms over her chest, and purses her lips as she watches without comment.

Hellan doesn't wince nor cheer. Her stare only deepens on the brawl and she asides, quiet, to Maera, "It is fitting that your knight fights for you on the evening of your betrothal party." It may be praise for Griffyth, but it's spoken without emotion … they're just words, tumbling out. All she has is bound up in hate. She sounds increasingly distant. "Against such a vile enemy…"

Eonn sighs softly and looks down from the fight to the cat, which has managed to find its way out of the tavern to twine about his ankles again.

Riker with all his weight behind his throw and the Knights smooth steps is right inside. When his fist connects the loud audible cough of the captain is heard. He winces with his arm still shot out of range and will turn on his hip, swallowing the pain and offering his own hook.

That 'hook' doesn't knock Griffyth senseless, but it does force him to adjust his stance, settling back on his heels while his ears ring. The ache radiating from his jaw isn't enough to take the wind from the Wylde's sails, nor to put him off. There's a musing grin in response, one quickly followed by a wince at the gesture, and Griffyth starts forward. More bull-like than cat-like for the moment (you'd think he'd been taking lessons from the Thorn), the knight thrusts a fist outward—nominally at Riker's chin in response to the rattling of his head.

"I wish I were the one doing the fighting." Maera mutters to Hellan, "But that one won't hardly fight me back. None of these men will fight with me. Except for Ser Griffyth." She is speaking quietly so as not to interrupt the two men, but she does wince when Griffyth takes a pop to the jaw.

Eonn glances back at Maera, an expression of reproach.

Riker is usually more 'head' on as well. As is proven when he sees the fist shooting out. He pops his head down in time and the strike misses his jaw and lands head on his fore-fucking-head. He screams, complete glee and bloodthirst as he grins evilly. "AHHHH!!!" The forehead seems to have some momentum so he lets a nasty whip of his head fly at the knight in all his recklessness.

On a delay, Hellan replies with a tight shake of her head, agreeing, understanding, and condemning of such men all at once. Her eyes spark on the fight. One of her hands clutches the skirt of her gown at her hip, though it's not a nervous gesture, nor even anticipatory, exactly, yet her knuckles whiten.

Riker, as it turns out, has a hard head. Despite meeting Griffyth's knuckles with his bared brow, the Ironman is unharmed—which does require some manner of admiration for his sheer stubbornness. However, Riker's reckless glee and the swing of his head forward to no doubt meet the knight's nose is instead met with Griffyth jerking aside and twisting at the waist, raising an arm, but instead of a fist, Riker's face meets the hard angle of an elbow thrust upward.

Maera's lips form into a thin line as she watches.

Eonn watches Maera's face now, ignoring the little brawl.

As his head wildly whips at Griffyth his elbow is appearing from nowhere, most likely the result of the ironborn closing his eyes in ignorance and rushing into things. The sick crunch when it curls into the side of his head is loud and indicating a good crack of his neck or back while he spins. Seems he still has one in him though as he hurls a last ditch effort to tackle the man.

Riker crashes into Griffyth, but lacking for the outcome that he might have expected. Griffyth doesn't go bowling over from the man's weight, having dug in his heels to keep his feet. Instead, Griffyth meets him and absorbs some of that impact readily in a quick tangle of limbs, grunts, and a scrabbling to earn the upper hand. There's no such luck for the moment, as Griffyth's seizure of Riker's shoulders isn't enough to sweep Riker from his feet, but Riker's momentum isn't sufficient to take Griffyth from his own either.

Eonn looks away from Maera and back to the fight, in response to all the grunting, probably.

Near that small footbridge now to the two men linger, locked in a fierce shoving match of force against force, the Honeywine nearing them as they struggle for footing. "AHHHHH!" The Blaktyde man begins huffing and puffing at the Wylde. Still locked they struggle now with the ironborn seething and drunk, apparently he has ruined a party!

"Come on, Wylde." Maera calls out as the two men struggle. Her tone conveys worry more than eagerness for the fight.

Again, Eonn looks back to Maera. Now it's questioning.

Silent, Hellan's both locked into the brawl and far away from it in memory, caught tensely somewhere between past and present.

"Nay, my Lady, just a— " The scuffle tips with neither man given the advantage in the mad tangle of arms, bodies, and in the darkness— both men go over from stone cobbles into the cold depths of the Honeywine river.

Maera actually gasps. She runs towards the edge of the river as the two men go into the drink.

Eonn sighs, heavily, as if this is just a dreary night's work. He strides over to the side of the river, a little downstream of where they fell in, and lies on the bank to reach out into the water to fish for combatants with his long arms.

Hellan's head turns snap-fast, but she can't see where the men collide with the cold water, and rather than rush to the edge, she remains utterly still, staring.

The splash is loud and from the ruckus in the water that follows it can be assumed the struggle is still going on. The Honeywine laps against the rocks and a slight fog that is there makes it quite difficult to ascertain anything with the grunts that are heard in the distance….

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