eachdraidh | CALLING A MEETING | LOCKED TO SEELIE

Lords, ladies, knights, and other honoured guests of the castle... I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, who joined your company as of the feast day which passed only days prior.

[ He looks a little haggard, dark circles grown under his clear eyes; but much improved from the worry-pinched figure who had spent much of the feast hunting for his family. ]

We have been brought from many disparate worlds for the purpose of this war, the War of the Shards; expected to cast our lots in the fighting at the behest of generous but poorly-evidenced monarchs. And the castle staff itself, while similarly generous and no doubt goodhearted, can offer us only so much information or direction. I have requisitioned the library and some of the attached study-rooms to hold a great conference of us, beginning at midday tomorrow. At this conference, I mean to make an accurate and detailed accounting of:

Our names, talents, and intentions regarding residence at the castle and regarding the war. It's my aim that all of this be made public knowledge, so that those of like mind can easier meet and plan with each other. Some of the study-rooms in the library will be marked for this purpose; for those wanting to remain in the castle but abstain in the war, those willing to make war all together, and also a room for those wanting to depart the castle.

[ He exhales a breath, frowning a little. ]

I've commissioned a clerk who I will be posted with at the door, who will record the information of those willing to give it as they enter. By no means is anyone obligated to breathe a word about themselves, or to attend. Those who desire a copy of the final manuscript may request one at their leisure.

For myself, I distrust this place and its people; what manner of monarchs call upon untested children, even girls, to battle in a war they have no stake in? Pulls them sleeping from their beds?

[ His jaw clenches, but he'll tamp back on the tirade in the interest of efficiency. ]

Having been brought to the castle in the manner as I have, am for a short while reliant upon its goodwill. Given our shared circumstance, I believe that there are none we can afford to trust as much as each other. So, if you're willing, I beg you attend, if only to add your name and intentions to the lists, that others who intend likewise may reach out to you-- and you to them. There are few men or beasts that live long or successfully relying only upon themselves.

Good day to you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm busy.

[He says it with a bitter scowl, because, well, he doesn't like Ned all that much. Oh, he'd heard snippets of the tearful reunion with Sansa. But that did not dull his resentment of the man. And though unwise, he couldn't resist muttering his reply at the (in his mind) pompous call to arms from someone so recently arrived.]

[ Ned's jaw tightens perceptibly, and he draws a breath sloooowly in. ]

Indeed.

[ Clipped. Brief. ]

But I'd speak with you, at length, upon your return.

[His response is immediate and harsh.]

I figure it won't take more than a minute for you to say your thank yous, m'lord, then you'll be done with me. And if not you with me, then certainly me with you.

[ His weathered features go cool and stiff; and it's a moment before he replies. Cool. Slow. Solemn. ]

I'd given my word to my king and my friend, upon his deathbed, that I would see to the guardianship of his children. You are among their number.

I'm grateful for your current service, and intend to see it fairly rewarded. But there are yet more grave matters for us to discuss; for I do not mean to fail my word.

[He pauses and makes sure that Sansa is still a good distance away from him. When he's certain she won't hear, he scowls at the locket.]

Your word means bugger all to me and my royal father even less. I ain't gave you no service and I won't be giving no more. So keep your reward. M'lord.

[ Ned's dealt with all this before. Boys. Prideful boys.

His expression is stern and closed, his pale eyes flinty. ]

Beg your pardon. I don't believe I heard you correctly.

I said you can keep your reward. I don't want it. I don't need it.

You're mumbling, lad, I can't hear you.

[Jon wouldn't presume to interrupt if his father were speaking to someone trueborn, honestly, nor for most other reasons, but Gendry's particular grievance (as he understands it) hits close to home with him so he does it anyway. His tone is appropriately deferential for someone like him publicly addressing someone like his father when he does, though, at the least.]

Lord Stark.

[ It takes a moment for the tense stiffness to ebb in the silence. Ned exhales a sigh into the emptiness, a clear 'I'm too old for this'.

He answers with a quietly even, ]

Aye.

[Jon inhales audibly and hesitates for another second, before pushing forward. He already stuck his foot in, might as well try to cross completely.]

You did not tell Ser Gendry the name of his Father, though you knew it.

[A reason for why the man is so intent on butting heads. There is also a bit of accusation in Jon's words that he couldn't scrub completely out, though. Like you wouldn't tell me of my mother.]

[ That little knife slides right in through the chinks, and something pained flashes in Ned's expression, like the scales of a fish catching the light and gleaming up through deep water.

Even so, he doesn't look any less stern. ]

Aye, I did not. For it seemed to me that lives were at stake; his among them. Jon Arryn was slain for his knowledge of that and more. And I.

I don't keep any secret lightly.

As you say. But he has a grievance. [And a right to it, is what he doesn't say, because that'd definitely be pushing it.]

[ Ned reaches a blunt-fingered hand up, pinching the place where the bridge of his nose meets his forehead. Closes his eyes.

But he sounds patient, not harried, when he speaks. ]

That may well be so. But how, Jon, does one man address a grievance with another?

[Jon watches, before glancing down almost apologetically.]

Usually in the way his that father taught him to, my lord.

[ When did all my children get cleverer than I?

Amusement warred with pride, and Ned's mouth gave a little twist. ]

I've been lucky in my sons.

Keep close to him where you can, Jon; I fear my bridges here are burnt such that they'll be long to build, and he seems much in need of a good friend with a level head. I made my oath to Robert on his deathbed, and I cannot forsake it, though the well of my patience for brash young men feels near to emptied.

[ He'll do what must be done, and find the manner of more patience. ]

Then I'll not trouble you no more, m'lord.

[He slams the locket shut, thrusts it into a pocket, and goes back to the business of protecting this man's daughter.]

CALLING A MEETING | LOCKED TO SEELIE | FORWARD TO 6/02

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voice; hope nobody minds me butting in

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