(121-04-01) The Rookery and the Earring
The Rookery and the Earring
Summary: Viggo and Kevyn Cockshaw speak of raid-y things. It does not sit easy with the squire.
Date: 01/04/2014 (DD/MM/YYYY)
Related: Inquiry and various other Wickham's Nest logs.

Kevyn has been a quiet presence since their return from the Red Rookery. Moreso than usual, and he's not the most boisterous lad to begin with. He's finished his chores for the day - which most recently included checking over the shoes of Viggo's horse - and has returned to their rooms at the Quill and Tankard to clean himself up. He tosses his things - including his dagger - onto a chair with an audible thump.

A turn of a corner and a set of stairs behind, Viggo enters the room in Kevyn's wake with a whistle perched on his lips. The door swings open with a distant sort of bravado, his dark brows rising as his cousin and squire tosses things about. "That's no way to treat a blade, lad. Even a dagger," he notes, slapping the door shut behind him and dropping onto the bed.

"It's sheathed. Take more to damage it than that," Kevyn mutters. He's usually a bit sharper to respond to such corrections, but this time he just leaves his pile of things where it is. He watches his knight for a beat as Viggo enters, thoughtful. "Have you heard anything about…I mean…they're talking of what happened at the Red Rookery in the markets and such. Are they…speaking of us?"

"That isn't the point," Viggo corrects more sharply, nodding his chin at the dagger. Pick it up. Set it right. His hands tug perfunctorarly at his boots, pulling one off and then the other. He inclines his head at the question, mouth twisting at the corners. "They speak of the victory, but not of who prepetrated it. They know only Westerosi."

Kevyn goes to sit, ignoring the dagger. He says nothing more of it, simply quietly declines to follow the knight's instruction. Instead, he sinks into a chair, and regards Viggo some more. "Are you sure?" A pause and he adds, "The Targaryens haven't been to speak with you?" He asks like he expects they have, for some reason.

His teacher is not the best of knights, rather than discipline the lad Viggo rolls his eyes with exasperation. Well, then. "Not with me. Not yet. If they do…then they do. Like as not they'll not believe the word of a drunk," he says, tuggng off his second boot. The pair are left to slump on the ground as he leans forward in his stockings. Dark eyes are sharp, penetrating beneath his equally dark brow, and he asks, "Why? What have you heard?"

Kevyn gives Viggo an almost hard look - hard as Kevyn can manage - when he calls himself a drunk. Not that it's a description he argues. But he has more serious things on his mind than sniping at his knight. "Ser Aevander came to speak with me. As I was leaving the Sept. But I think he'd been looking for me. He asked me a lot of questions. About the raid on Wickam's Nest, and about where I'd been - where we'd been - when the Rookery was raided."

"We were hunting," Viggo says blandly, mouth turning in a cordial if mildly cheerful line. "What did you tell him, then?" He scratches a blunted finger against the side of his nose, stroking his moustache. "It isn't a surprise there would be suspicion, really. Little care as they gave when it was our men's blood on the earth."

"I told him the story we'd all agreed to," Kevyn replies with a frown at the question. "That we were hunting at Ser Quillian's lodge. I couldn't tell how much he believed me, though. I figure he might come to you about it, sooner or later." He pauses a moment, looking down at his hands rather than at Viggo now. "He had me tell the story of what we found at the Nest again…he thinks…he doesn't seem to think the Blackmonts were involved in it. He said…he said he thinks the sword and dagger we found were planted on the body of that fellow, for us to find."

"Do you think he's right?" Viggo wonders, leaning a palm back on the bed as he raises his brows a his squire. "How was it said? That prood of placement wasn't enough to place a man at the scene?" It is somewhat of an honest question.

"He seemed to think…he seemed to think that it'd been a trick of some sort. That whoever'd done it…the one's he thought'd done it…had put the helm and dagger on the dead man, and left him there, for us to find, so we'd figure it was the Blackmonts." As for what Kevyn thinks, he looks at his hands a moment longer, shrugging. "I think the Targaryens want to believe anything that'll make the Dornish pure and innocent and…but there was something in what he said that…that I've been thinking on…" He trails off, like he's not sure quite how to put what he wants to say.

"Well, they're too busy saving their own skin to notice a few bordermen bleeding for the priveledge," Viggo opines sharply. His voice mellows as he encourages his squire gently. "And what's that?"

"We've had raids on the Cockshaw lands before…" Kevyn takes a deep breath, letting it out slow. "But Ser Aevander said this sounded different and…it was…wasn't it? What I mean is…it was more than just stealing, and killing a few guards and maybe some smallfolk. It was like…they wanted to kill as many as they could just for the sake of killing…like they'd come with a vengeance of some kind."

"We have." This is true and Viggo doesn't bother to dispute it, knowing how often Kevyn's own father had patrolled the lines of their borders. "It was. It was merciless," he agrees with a scowl. "Well, my brother may have been fucking a Blackmont. Or perhaps they just decided it was time, like one of those bloddy turners. Their veins full of sand and spite."

"Do you figure the woman there was a Blackmont?" Kevyn asks. As if he's a little surprised by the idea, but not in a disbelieving sort of way. As if it simply hadn't occurred to him before, but it seems to slide into his brain and make a lot of sense.

"It would make sense. My brother never had a sense of where to put his cock after his wife…well, the earring was Dornish. I know not if it was merely a ruse or done in vengence." Viggo shakes his head sharply. There is no excuse either way.

"I guess that'd explain why there's been no word of a family searching for a lady like that. You'd think a highborn…but if she was a Blackmont…" Kevyn nods some to himself. Makes more sense than many other things about this have to him. "Do you think your father believes this to be the why of it? Do you think cousin Haywood does?"

Viggo nods shortly, lifting his shoulder in an indolent shrug as he curls his fingers against the sheets. "We'd not of heard of it if she was Dornish. The earring…the lack of bodies." It makes enough sense to him to strike. "I know not what my father things only that he condoned it. My brother did as well. We could not sit and do nothing."

"I guess we couldn't. Doesn't matter why it happened in the first place, I suppose." It's unclear if Kevyn actually believes that, but it seems like the correct thing to say. He stands. "I'm going out for awhile. I'll be back in the morning."

"Fine," Viggo agrees, watching his squire through a narrowed gaze. "It doens't. I'd like to know though…" Playing at indolent, he drops back against the bed and folds his hands behind his head. "Take your blade." That is an order.

Kevyn mutters something that's probably sullen and best left inaudible under his breath, but he does reclaim his belt and dagger from where he'd tossed them earlier, and he does put them on. "I'd like to know as well," he says. "I suppose now we won't, though." With that he goes, closing the door behind him as he exits.

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