(121-03-19) Anointed
Anointed
Summary: Everett anoints Ser Tameron Sand, rather informally after his knighting, and concerns are shared
Date: Date of play (19/03/2014)
Related: Not posted yet.
Players:
Osric..Tameron..Everett..

This grand manse faces the prestigious Starry Street. The first story is protected by narrow high windows that stop people from seeing inside, but the big windows on the back wall and the four upper stories make the manse bright and airy over all.

Currently our scene is set within Osric's posh study.


Osric has called Tameron to the sitting room of his suite, where the knight stands staring into a low-burning fire. Dawn rests against a chair behind him. Osric's mien is thoughtful, but he is at peace.

It's not the most common thing, for Tameron to be called into Ser Osric's private quarters, if only because the squire seems to prefer not to intrude in such spaces. So, he steps into the room with a sort of wariness. Steeling himself for whatever his knight my have to say to him. "Ser?" he murmurs.

"Tameron. Good," Osric says, turning toward the door. There's a hint of what might be relief in his voice as he gestures his squire toward a chair. "Thank you. I'm sorry for the urgency, but times being what they are…" He trails off into a wry smile, stepping aroumd to stand behind a chair opposite the one he has offered Tameron, resting his hands on its high back.

"It is strange days, ser," Tameron agrees. He walks over to stand behind the chair Osric points him towards, his hands resting on the back and matching his knight's posture. "What do you need of me?"

Osric frowns thoughtfully at the question, but at first his answer is vague. "A great deal, I'm afraid. I've come to count on you, these past few years, haven't I?" His violet eyes hold a deep fondness as they appraise the squire. "You swore me an oath, when first we met, you remember. But in the time since, you…" He sighs, shaking his head. "You're more a brother to me now than a squire, in some ways, aren't you? Which suits, because I'm going to ask something of you that a man ought not ask of his squire. But there is no man alive I trust so much as you, save perhaps for Everett Crane."

"I hope I've come to be someone you can rely on, even if we may not always see eye to eye on matters," Tameron agrees. His expression becomes a little more wary as Osric goes on. The greater the heartfelt compliment, the more dire the situation, usually. "Ser… perhaps you had just better ask it, then. You know I will serve you in whatever manner is needed." Indeed, Tameron's ethics in such situations may be less than Ser Osric might wish.

Indeed, Osric is aware, and it brings a frown to his features. It's a momentary thing, though, and then he's stepping around the chair to take up the scabbarded greatsword with both hands, staring at it thoughtfully as he makes a quiet request. "I would ask another oath of you, Tameron Sand, but I would have it given freely. It is my hope that you will swear yourself to my service, or if I should die the Lady Ellia's, for a year and a day." He stands for a moment in thoughtful silence, then looks up at his squire again.

"I mean to stay here," he says flatly, "And I need you to protect my wife and children. You're a good hand with a sword, Tameron," he acknowledges, "But it is your keen eye foe the motives of men that recommends you for the duty. They're to go to the Hightower tonight, and I can not find it in myself to trust the situation completely."
Arros has connected.

"I… am already sworn into your service, ser," Tameron points out in mild confusion. "You wish me to swear to it again?" The boy frowns sharply at the idea of parting ways and leaving Ser Osric behind. "Your wife and children would be far safer if you were with them. Why do you stay in the manse? Do the princesses refuse to leave it?"
Arros has left.

"The princesses will accompany you to the Hightower," Osric admits. "I would ask that you look after my goodsister as well. I know you think me naive," he says with a smile, "And perhaps I am. But she is truly innocent." He shakes his head and, scabbarded sword in hand, moves to a window. "My remaining here sends an important message," he says, a jerk of his head inviting Tameron to join him. "That we are not guilty, we are not afraid, we will not be bullied. But it a message that I can not send while I fear for the safety of my family."

Tameron follows his knight, as ever, standing by the window and peering out at the town outside. "I do not think that to leave a knight behind while the princesses seek safety will send any message save that you wish the smallfolk here to try and burn down the manse," the squire opines. "Can we not all go to Hightower and speak of our innocence there? I think Lord Hightower will be more receptive than any of the rabble down below."

Osric chuckles at his squire's frank reply, looking out onto the street. "They may try," he allows. "They may succeed. But the gesture is important. Lord Ormund will listen to my wife, I think, and Princess Ashara. They are shrewd women, and he is no fool." Glancing sidelong at Tam, he adds, "Or so we hope. But I need you there, Tameron Sand. Do this thing for me. They are innocent in this, and must be guarded. And there is a message I would send by remaining here, but I need your help in its sending. "

Tameron breathes out softly, his head bowing. "A squire belongs with his knight, ser," he points out quietly, "but if you would prefer to have me guarding your family, then of course I will do so, even at the cost of my life. You have my word."

"You're right," Osric says, "Of course. A squire belongs with his knight, and this is no duty to ask of a squire. I would ask you as a brother, and as a knight."

Dawn seems to shine with a light of its own as Ser Osric pulls it slowly free of the scabbard, lending the study a golden glow. "Kneel," he says, his voice grave.

Tameron looks sharply over at Osric, and his mouth opens in clear surprise. Then it closes again and he carefully settles onto his knees.

"Tameron Sand," Osric says, holding Dawn by the hilt with his right hand, supporting the blade with his left, "I charge you in the name of the Father to be just." The greatsword's weight settles on Tameron's right shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior, courageous," and the blade moves slowly to his left shoulder. "In the name of the Smith, diligent," right shoulder. "In the name of the Mother, merciful," left shoulder, "In the name of the Crone, wise," right. "In the Maiden's name I charge you to defend women and the innocent." Left shoulder, and right again as he finishes, "I charge you to face the Stranger boldly, and with a clear conscience."

"This is your oath," Osric says solemnly. "And your life, should you swear to it."

Tameron keeps his head bowed and his back straight as the charge is spoken, and he draws in a soft breath. "I do so accept it, ser, the oath and the life, that I might serve Westeros and the seven as a knight in their stead."

"Then rise, Ser Tameron Sand," Osric says, letting the blade's tip drop to the floor. He offers Tameron his hand, but if the younger man takes it, he will pull him to his feet and into a rough, one-armed embrace.

Silently from over the Knight's shoulder at the door to the study is another man, when Tameron looks up-he may spy him. Arms folded over his chest, clad in the dark grey robes of the Septon, but the looks is of any other knight watching a solemn event. There's a pause as he is reaching for something at his belt. "Do not rise yet, boy." His words soft and kind, given in his typical Reachman's accent. "You need to be annointed." And there his boots padding softly over, Everett comes to stop beside the lad as a small flask is opened. "Sweep back the hair from your brow, kneel and try to look contrite." A grin given before he looks over towards Osric. "If you don't mind me doing this outside of a sept? I don't believe the Seven are just confined there." There is a quirked smile on his scarred face, but it is clear that he approves.

"You know I was knighted after defending land-not before."

The newly dubbed Ser Tameron moves to stands, though he pauses as he hears Everett's words. He smirks faintly and his lifts his head and pushes his dark curls back. "I could try, but perhaps it is better to go into this thing with honesty than false contrition, septon?"

"By all means, Septon," Osric says with a gesture toward Ser Tameron. He steps back and takes up Dawn's scabbard, to sheathe the sword. "Ser Tameron has served well as a squire, no less so than either of us, old friend." Osric chuckles, but there is pride in his voice, even as he hears Tameron's response. "I have asked a favor of Ser Tameron. I would ask that you help him, Septon. He'll make it clear. If you'll both excuse me?" He steps toward the door, but pauses to say, "I should tell the household of this."

There's a glance given back towards Osric before he simply nods. There's a motion then for Tameron to slide to his knees as he holds the flask up in one hand. Once the boy is down he would seek to pour the bit of oil on his forehead, before his right thumb is placed over said oil and a seven pointed star drawn in. Words in High Valayrian ring out in some hurried solemnity before he would be seeking to close the flask

"There you are an annointed knight. Bloody well, how old are you?" Everett asks, before he is turning to look towards where Osric has scuttled off to. "So I assume all this is in preperation for some violence?"

Tameron holds still for the process, pushing to his feet once it's done and watching where Ser Osric went a moment. "I'm eighteen," he replies, "How long do I have to leave the oil on." He sighs softly and shakes his head, arms crossing. "We are all to go to Hightower for the princesses' safety. Ser Osric has charged me… us, it seems… to go with his family and protect them there, that he might stay behind as a statement towards Dornish innocence." His crossed arms tighten against his chest. "He will get himself lynched."

"Well then you are one of the youngest knights I've-" but the words leave him. A blink before he is looking back towards Tameron. 'Why is he bloody well staying? Dornish Innocence?" And there the Septon's voice wavers- as emotion is tried to be reigned in upon. Clearing his throat he places the flask away. "All day.." he states before staring hard at the door.

"He does realize that right now-there is no such thing as Dornish innocence, right? That they do not care if it was a Dayne or some other fuck all person, right?" And there he is quiet. "Are you going?"

"Of course he does," Tameron replies with a shake of his head and a look heavenwards, "but you know Ser Osric. He's gallant enough to risk his life on a point of principle." He frowns even as he nods. "I am. I have sworn it and his family means more to him than his breath."

"Well of course it does, but that does not inherently mean that his breath is not better suited for living than for dying over a piece of stone." And there Everett frowns. "Then you will ride with them to the Hightower-alright then. His wife and children should be fine. That leaves how many here? Him, a few men at arms? He'll never hold the manse." stated as bloody fact. And there he looks back over. "Look, the Hightowers are cautious people-that is what they are known for. Certainly, he can see this, and come with? I just-with this right now? There is no fucking principle. Only madness."

"I tried to talk him around, if you think you'll have better luck, Septon, by all means," Tameron replies. "I'm with you, there' no sense to it. No one will see the gesture for what it is but him, but he will not hear it."

"This is not Dorne. Nor is this the tourney field." And there he falls silent for a moment. "If he won't seek reason I could drug him and place him under sleep. We could get him there. But, by the seven he'd hate me for it." And there Everett looks down for a second to his hands. "Were I still a knight…" he murmurs before looking back at Tameron. "Whom all from the Household is coming?"

The princesses, Ser Osric's children, some of the men at arms, I presume. Ser Arros Sand, most likely, I expect Ser Osric would not ask anyone to stay behind for him." Tameron shakes his head in frustration.

"Any else of the house hold. Such as ladies in waiting or what not?" Clearly he is probing for someone. But no names come further. And as Tameron shakes his head, there's a laugh. "No-no. He won't ask anyone to stay. That is why we force someone to stay or not go. I could use my status as a Septon to claim my own separateness of his orders-though likely that will piss him off." And there he brings a hand up to his chin and scratches. "Fuck all, there's no easy way to handle this."

"Ser Arros Sand is contrary enough, he might be willing to stay behind," Tameron offers. "And I think… I may be able to press the Maiden's Knight into fighting beside him, if it comes to it. He is a champion for hopeless causes, isn't he?"

"Somehow I doubt he will." Everett says as his hands slide within his robes. "I believe he will stick to the Princess' side, as he should." And there the septon scwols a bit before he is moving to go and stare from one of the windows, down into the street, where crowds mass. Already they've had a few stones thrown, but nothing terrible. Yet.

"If we can get a missive to him. That would work. And like the crowds won't attack a bloody dragon."

"I still go out daily to fetch supplies from the market. I will send word to him then, or speak to him in person if it can be done," Tameron agrees with a nod. "Let them try and strike a Targaryen. Perhaps that will bring them to their senses."

And there he nods. "Please do?" And hands drop from the Septon's side. "I'd ask you if you wouldn't mind helping me with my armor." And there he quiets for a moment. "I'm not supposed to have it, give it up and all for the faith. But I still have my blade and my armor..And I've recently squirreled a spear from our small armory." A glance back towards Tameron. "I used a spear when I was a knight. Though I can hack with the best-I thought if I was going to fight the dornish I should learn how to fight as they do." And there is an almost whistful smile there. "Did Osric ever tell you how we met?"

"Of course septon," Tameron agrees, without batting an eyelash. Warrior priest? Why not! For the second question, he considers. "I had something to do with… you kept meeting on the battlefield, didn't you?"

Everett lets out a sigh as he looks back to the window. "We did, several times. To the fact he respected me on the field. We'd salute and what not before fighting to get to one another..Often times we'd be in a draw or our side would have to pull out." Everett says, before coughing. "I don't know how well my name was known in Dorne. But here I was known in a lifetime as Lucky Everett Crane…" And there he turns facing Tameron full on. "He rescued me." And there he gives a motion allowing the boy to go. "Please contact Ser Daevon.." And with that he turns back to look through the window. "I don't wish to lose the lives, I owe.."

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