(121-03-15) In the Hightower
In the Hightower
Summary: Summoned by the Hightowers, Viggo, Kevyn, and Tyraxeus go to review the events of Wickham's nest.
Date: 15/03/2014
Related: Unrest at Court, Of Blood and Sand

One man stands with his back to the door, awaiting the first round of summons to arrive. Once the knights did arrive to the tower, they would be escorted up to the chambers and shown into the room, that had been prepared for this meeting. Arms classed behind his back, Ser Olyvar Hightower remains rigid, his eyes scanning down and over the city below.

A summons is something that one dresses for, even Viggo who has not forsaken simple leathers and shirts for the past few days. His blade on his hip, posture straight, and dark circles beneath his eyes, he dresses as if he were going to court. It is not an outfit that reflects his own taste, but for his ever unfashionable hat, however it does reflect noble dignity and is marked by the Cockshaw crest. He lifts his brows at Kevyn as they ascend. "We will need to tell the tale again," he notes.

Ormund sits by the fire in a high backed chair. Goblet of wine in hand settled on the arm of the chair. He is a touch paler than usual but he looks hale enough. He nods his head to those that enter. But it's quite clear that he is here mostly to just listen. This show is Olyvar's shindig, he's just here to listen and watch, perhaps contribute now and then, but for the most part just a presence.

Kevyn has dressed himself in his finest as well. His tunic black with the three Cockshaw feathers. It doubles as mourning colors. He nods at Viggo's words. "We've already told it. It won't change. But, aye. As needs be done."

Tyraxeus follows the Cockshaws, dressed in subtle finery, black and grey again. His presence is a politeness, and support to the Cockshaws' retelling if necessary. The Hightowers present will be greeting with polite nods when they enter, but he won't be the one to begin the story.

As names and announcements are given, Olyvar turns around slowly. There's a brief flick of eyes given over towards his nephew, before his grey gaze is focused entirely on the Stormlord, and the two Cockshaws. There's a brief glance given to the man at the door, a nod-and he is excused, thus leaving the tally for the room to five, plus two servants. But they don't really count, do they? Hands drop from his back, and with a careful stride the Hightower lord makes his way to stand closer to the party, and size them up in turn.


His voice holds a rasp to it's depth. Someone who is accustomed to shouting, over the years. "And My Lord." this to Kevyn, the squire not given the title of knight. A motion is made with one large hand with thick fingers towards the table where the wine is. "If you require something to drink, motion and Garth will pour you something." And there his hand drops to his side. "If not, let us conclude pleasantries. You know who I am-and I now have faces to go with your names-I'll grab your Tyrell friends later." And there he moves to a tall backed chair and takes a seat.

"Let's begin with this. I've heard your tale as was relayed to my kin-but I would hear it now again without the interruption of rabble and the call for burning" And there his gaze lands dead on Viggo. "Condolences, of course. But let's begin. I don't want to keep you all night." His tone lacks warmth.

"Well met, Ser," Viggo greets, his hands folded behind his back and shoulders marking a casual attention. He waves away the offer of a drink with unease, eying it a little too long and a little too longingly for those who know him well. Or too well know his reputation. He does not sit until Olyvar does, nodding politely to Lord Ormund in greeting as well, before taking his own place. Lacking warmth does not stir him for, "Thank you. There have been enough firsts on our land, I would not begin another with a woman inside." Bitterness touches his tone, "I will begin, but my comrades will recall if I forget a detail."

Kevyn stands behind Viggo's chair rather than sitting. Looking ready in case his knight requets…things. Who knows. He sketches a slight bow to the Hightowers, but it's a stiff thing. He's quiet for the moment, though there's a thoughtful look about him, as if he's getting things straightened out in his head.

"Sers," Ty responds before taking a seat of his own. He glances about the hall as he does so, and then men in it. "I am glad to meet you both, and to be a guest in your fine city." The offer of drink he accepts, motioning to the serving lad. He sips his wine as Viggo speaks, neither savoring nor guzzling the vintage, ready to chime in as needed.

As Viggo waves off a drink there's a shrug from the Hightower. "Suit yourself." muttered before he is snapping in Garth's direction once. To which the slight man is quick to poor and bring over a cup. The contents are swirled as face remains neutral before he is taking a sip. There's a brief glance towards the Stormlord and a nod is given in return. "Were it a better time to be a guest, Ser. Sadly, whatever mirth was gathered during the Festival has been bled out rather recently." And not without good cause. Another sip is given, before Olyvar is glancing to the scribe. "Tommas, please stop whittling and ready." The rather large scribe does give a quick enough nod, and sets to readying for Viggo's report.

Swallowing thickly, the Cockshaw Knight settles his hand on the arm of his chair and takes a breath to calm his nerves. "When we arrived, the smell of sodden earth and ash and burned flesh coated the air more thickly than anything I had ever known…" He recounts things slowly, without overmuch florish or showman show, gazing not at Ser Olyvar but out the window unseeingly.

How they arrived to the half-burned sight with the silent sisters laying out the dead. How members of the hutnting party were slaughtered in their rooms without armor or jewellery, but the horses were left to burn. Untouched. How the men entered and road down any who left. Their numbers making 12 judged by those who examined it and how one died, found with an arrow in his eye and a Dornish blade at his hip. How they seemed to have headed South, an earring of the lost lady who's plate was set at dinner helped marked the way. They do not know what became of her. The death of the young Hightower is given as much care in explanation as Viggo's own brother. He speaks with little pause, lest the others break in. It is only once he has finished that he gestures for that drink.

Kevyn swallows with an audible gulp as Viggo describes the smell of the lodge, also averting his gaze from the Hightowers, and at the wall. He clears his throat, when his knight has finished. "The smallfolk outside had been ridden down with spears. While they were running away. Was black murder, it was. Didn't look like anyone had time to put up much of a fight, though we did find the body of one of the attackers. Took an arrow in the eye and fell down a well, guess his fellows didn't realize he wasn't with them until they were gone. Ser Tyraxeus found his body and looked over it." He nods to the long-limbed Dondarrion.

"He was a Blackmont man if I've ever seen one," Ty speaks up here, adding his piece, "He wore their arms, and bore their mark on his steel. We tracked them to the edge of the Red Mountains, where their tracks scattered. The ways there are little more than goat paths, sending more than a few riders down any of them is treacherous at best. The Dornishmen know their ways well."

As the passioned tale continues, Olyvar's face continues the way of neutral, whatever emotion rolls under his skin is easily kept back, save for once something seems to flash and his eyes narrow, but for a second. It's gone with a douse of wine down his gullet before, he is nodding to Garth. Already the man is there like a ghost or a sneeze. Suddenly and unexpectedly ready. Drink is passed to the night before he finishes. When it's done Olyvar looks down into his cup as he swirls it once more, before it's entire contents are downed in one rather large gulp. But given his stocky size, it is not too surprising. Cup is gestured out and Garth hovers to refill.

"Well." voice dry for a moment, before he is clearing his throat and a sip to whet. "All small folk ridden down-no sign of someone escaping. And they only leave one man. Down a well of all fucking things."

His laugh is dry and crackly like burnt paper. And as easily as flaked away with a brush of hand. There's a glance to Tommas, before he stares at Viggo and the rest of the assembled party. The Scritching of the quill stops and Olyvar shifts in his seat. "Our tracker, followed the signs to the Red mountains, a hunting path or somewhat took?" clarifying there, before he is nodding.

"Do you mind, if I ask a couple of questions? I know I've asked you much by having you retell it." And instead of waiting permission he continues. "This Dornishman, that was found? You say he was left down a well?" His hand is up and waves away something that might come up. "I don't care how he died-but he was left down a well-yet his sword was missing? He just had his armor and a dagger correct?" Eyes slide to Tyraxeus there. "Ser, were any weapons left, such as dropped by the victims, or perhaps spears left within corpses?"

A sip of wine and he nods. "That they do. some say this disperse as roaches. Some" And there he looks over towards Viggo. "You spoke about how your brother was dressed. Clearly the dinner was for someone-do you think perhaps it was for someone besides the missing woman?"

Ormund perhaps looks as if he might interject a question or two himself, but Olyvar gets a respectful nod after he pretty much asks what the Lord of Oldtown was planning on, so the man continues to listen and absorb the information given."

Viggo nods towards Tyraxeus to answer the first question of the downed Dornishman. He accepts a drink from Garth's almost ghostly preparedness, taking a sip that becomes a gulp. His bleak, dark gaze flits towards Olyver only when he laughs. The Cockshaw man looking about as amused as a man about to hang. "I do not think the dinner was held in her honor, only that she had a place of it by his side. The table was not set to such a status. They were merely an intimate hunting party."

"Aye, he was without his sword," Ty confirms with a nod to Olyvar, "We discovered him only when we went to water the horses and found the water had fouled. We managed to hook the body and haul it up again, but did not dredge the bottom for his weapon. As for the victims there were no weapons left in their wounds that I saw. Any weapons of value they carried were taken, the rest scattered or still sheathed. They appeared to have been set upon too quickly to raise much alarm or resistance." He looks here to Viggo and Kevyn for their recollections, should they differ.

Kevyn nods along with Tyraxeus' words. His memory, at least, doesn't differ from that. He seems to have little else of his own to add than he's already told, and watches the Hightowers now. As if expecting…something. It's unclear what, perhaps even to him.

"Just so." Olyvar gives a small frown before he is nodding once and there eyes look back towards Tyraxeus, before he is draining down more wine. Likely, he is not on par with Viggo on a good day, but for the subject matter, the Hightower has his thirst. Clearly he is chewing on the answers in his own mind, before he is straightening in his seat. His cup is held aside, and wordlessly Garth is back to his side and taking the cup, allowing for the knight to tap his fingers on the armrests of his chair. His head tilts just so, before his left hand is up and fingers brushing over his short cropped hair, briefly. A grunt and he is standing.

Olyvar paces slightly in front of his chair before he is looking back to Tyraxeus. "I am not saying that the Dornish did not do this. I do find it very odd, that twelve men would ride down into the Nest-kill everyone there and make it so that they left very little trace to whom they were. To the point of grabbing a fallen comrade's sword-but not bothering to look for him if he was missing, or pulling him up from the well he was left in." And there he smoothes his hand over his head again before he wipes down his face, and over his beard. As the hand falls to his side he makes a fist before looking back. "Very odd." And there he slides hands behind his back. "But it could be as you say-his blade could be in the well." And there a shrug is given.

"Very well, gentlemen." this muttered softly. "I thank you for your time. Unless Lord Hightower has anything?" A glance is given to his nephew, before he is looking back to the others. "Or if you have anything else you want me to know, then you are free to go. My last request though, before you do. Please keep an eye open. The city's pulse feels as if it's ready to burst in violence. And I doubt they will care if you are Westerosi or not, should they riot in earnest. Right now we are keeping that match from being lit. I would advise you do the same." And with that a motion is made to the door.

"That said, Sers. It reads as a Dornish raid to me. The missing woman, and the mystery of the body are all that bother me." he says finally. And with a nod, they are free to go, at least by him. "Also-please do not raid back. Not right now." With his requests done, Olyvar glances back Ormund then. "And know, Ser Cockshaw. You have our support." A brow raised to see if he is out of line there.

The less than indirect suggestion causes Viggo's mouth to thin, although he does not speak his words aloud for the moment. Instead he takes a final draught of his wine. "House Cockshaw thanks you for your time…" He glances towards Ormund, awaiting his words before any thanks of support is given. "Who knows, Ser. Ser Abram Florent suggested th woman may be Dornish and the cause missed… Regardless, I hope for her sake we hear something of it. It would not do to see a woman harmed." The men however, can burn. It will stand in place of a direct promise to not incite riots for the time.

Ormund clears his throat after taking a sip of his wine to moisten his throat. "With the lack of evidence we have very little grounds to retaliate. I've had enough rabble-rousing going on. I want everyone in this room to do their part in seeing that things calm down. For all we know some corpse of a Dornishman was tossed down the well to cover up the fact that he's been dead longer than the raid to implicate the Dorns. The lands of course will be seen to, we'll do what we can to provide defensive measures along the boarders. As well as search parties for the missing. But I do mean defensive. If one foot belonging to our men go over the boarder, I'll make sure it's hobbled. There will be no retaliation." He turns his head to clear his throat again and take another sip before adding, "I pray this is satisfactory?"

Kevyn's jaw sets at the 'lack of evidence' Ormund speaks of, but he says nothing. He does take care not to look at the Hightower men. That window is very interesting.

Tyraxeus gets to his feet with the others, broad shoulders inching towards his ears in a shrug. "The Reach's borders must have been quiet indeed these last few years, sers, if you find it so difficult to believe the Dornish would come a'raiding. In the Marches such incursions are all too common and if their ends are less uneven than this it's because we've grown used to sleeping with ours eyes open." As for the rest from Olyvar and Ormund, one brow ticks upwards slightly, but he smiles, resolutely polite just now as he sets his cup aside. "I thank you for your hospitality."

Olyvar raises a brow at Ormund, before he is looking back towards Kevyn and there with a clearing of his throat, the Master of Laws speaks up once more. "If you like, and your father likes, Ser Cockshaw, we can provide some men at the Nest to set up a defensive position." Likely this should help given the Cockshaws aren't vassals. "I'll be sure our men know, not to ride out, My lord." this said back to Ormund. And with that he crosses over and offers his hand back towards Viggo. "I will find you out. Hopefully before you plan to ride to Highgarden, Ser, and inform them. The hour is late, and I'd not keep you longer." And the hand remains out, if the other knight will take it or not. To Tyraxeus' words he coughs. "I do not find it difficult. Ser. Just two things nag at me. Nothing more." And there a nod is given to the door. Ya'll can leave.

Teeth gritting, Viggo rises with a bow of his head towards Ormund's judgement on the lengths their own house will go. "Of course, Lord Hightower. We will not seek them, then." Looking towards Olyvar he stares at him in flat surprise, "I will send your regards to my father, Ser. There is little to protect there now. It has all be razed." There is a burnt edge of humor in his voice. Bowing shortly, he sketches all the proper formalities before taking his leave.

Kevyn echoes Viggo's bow to the Hightowers, muttering a "Thank you, my lords." It's a touch stiff. He takes his leave as well.

Ormund, like a newborn deer he's a bit shaky standing up, but once he's up he's tall and strong. "Do not get me wrong Sers. The moment there is proof, something I hope the missing woman can provide when found… The culprits - whomever they might be will get what they are due. You have the promise of House Hightower on that." There is sympathy in his voice, but it is well tempered within the requirement for more proof, even if it's just a shred of evidence or an eye witness. But until he's sure who's to blame, the Lord of Oldtown obviously dislikes the fever that's infected his city. "Good night." He gives a bow of his head to the exiting parties before he'll raise his hand to rest on the mantle of his fireplace. Disguising a dashing lean over the need for the support to continue to stand properly.

Tyraxeus's politeness is tested still further at the rest of the conversation, but he manages to let it pass him by, exiting after the Cockshaws without another word.

His nephew is given a look before Garth is motioned over to help the Lord of Oldtown. "Sers." Olyvar says, before he will likely file out behind them. A sigh is given though once the others leave and he looks back to Ormund. "A dornishman's body is a big bit of Evidence, Nephew. I believe Dorne likely committed the act. I wish I knew more about the missing man's sword or the woman. But I do believe we should prepare to call our banners. Specially if Highgarden calls it." And there he looks down to his hand, and twists a ring. "I will prepare my report, and have my suggestions sent to your chambers." A bow is given Ormund, before he too is excusing himself, as well.

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