(514-02-21) Imber Aftermath
Summary: After the skirmish with the Saxons, Landon checks on his brother Bryce who got severly injured; hate of Saxons is discussed, and the giver of a certain pendant inquired after - alas, the reply is not of the satisfying kind.
Date: February 21st, 514
Related: Happens directly after We're Imber Trouble.
landon bryce 


Setting: After first aid has been granted and the knights retreat to the remains of Imber.


Landon had found a great many villagers and Sir Imber after he barged through the half completed palisade, dispensing with what bound them, be it rope or fear. No doubt he had tried to chase the remaining Saxon’s down, but at some point the people they had rescued became more important. Landon encouraged the villagers out to aid his companions; those that could most certainly would.

But, it had been at least a couple hours if not more since the fighting began, with everyone returned to the village and able bodied men that were left sent to help dig graves for the dead and others to go lumber for materials to repair any buildings they could save. The women would be doing what they could with the stores they had left to cook a fine meal for their valiant defenders, while others tended to the wounded men. The children would be helping as well, running supplies, ferreting messages, or whatever other little task they could see to - such as brushing down the horses. It seems these hardened people who live on the edge of protection recover as quick as they can from the shock of the raid, errecting make shift tents by the smoldering remains of some of the buildings and doing what they could to bring back some normalcy to the place.

It was under one of these tents that Landon came across his brother. The towering knight having to stoop at the pitch of the tent as he shuffled over to take a squat on a stump that had been brought in as a chair. Bryce was stretched out and there was some manner of guilt in Landon’s eyes for it.

“Brother? You awake?” An inquiry made with a gentle tone, as gentle as the Baverstock giant could make it sound, considering how much rage he had held in his bellowing voice before.

Bryce had not been much of help, after the small group sent out by Earl Robert had managed to find out what kept Sir Imber, and more importantly, to drive that Saxon evil out of the little village, in a skirmish that had taken its toll on the Lord Knight of Baverstock; in blood. One Saxon Spear had managed to deal him quite a fatal wound at the left side of his chest; while the fighting was still going on, Bryce had bitten back the pain and growing discomfort that goes along with continuing blood loss; it was after the last foe fell to his sword, and the rest of the Saxons were retreating, that the young man of angular features felt the strength leaving him and he fell to his knees; an increasing pallor evident on his face, his eyes looking darker than usual as he glanced about them, keeping himself barely conscious until he found himself helped and brought away where he could lay down. Once the ringmail had been removed the ghastly wound at his side was subjected to a first treatment, cleansed rather superficially with a wet cloth, and then wrapped with some straps of linen someone had brought along. Someone. Faces started to become a blur, and voices contorted, when Bryce de Baverstock slipped into temporary oblivion.

When those dark eyes open again, they do because Bryce hears his brother’s voice calling. In a gentle tone. His gaze is on the fabric of the tent above at first, but the pain in his side clearly helps in recalling how he had gotten there in the first place. “Of course,” he replies, the voice perhaps a bit hoarse from the discomfort, turning his head just enough to have Landon in his line of vision. “Are you alright?” An odd question, perhaps, but in chaos of combat Bryce had not been able to keep track of his brother at all times.

Critical Fail!
Landon checked his Modest at 13, he rolled 20.

A sense of relief washes over the now cleaned face of the younger Baverstock, to see his brother's consciousness - his hands still had dried up blood and mud caked over them, but he had done his best to clean up. Perhaps he had come before and worried over the ill response of an earlier query. The wound that his brother had taken was grave, after all. Landon was not sure they would move him any time soon.

The bigger man's face spreads with an encouraging grin to the hoarse reply of Bryce, speaking not of the hours that he hadn't been awake. "Their Saxon's blades couldn't touch me brother! I was invincible out there! I showed those bastards the true might of a Baverstock! Five, six… Most definitely five! I've never felt like that before!" His fists clench victoriously before him, "Sir Landon de Baverstock, the Saxon Slayer! Has a ring to it, doesn't it?" He chuckles proudly, then leans over and RUFFLES his brother's curly hair. "You did good too. You're alive."

Bryce tries to sit up but soon realizes this is a bad idea, and so lowers his head back onto the makeshift bed with a pained grimace. Air leaves his lungs and he shakes his head, his eyes closing for a moment, as his brows furrow slightly. Perhaps considering his own rather mediocre efforts during the skirmish. But whatever has been bearing on his mind dissipates when Landon's enthusiastic outburst does manage to bring a smile to his brother's face. His dark eyes open and they focus on Landon, his lips curving into a grin.

"Saxon Slayer," Bryce echoes. "Aye, quite befitting, I daresay." His gaze flits over the impressive frame of the Saxon Slayer in question, and his brows lift in wonder. "You are not even hurt, brother." One hand comes up as if to ward off the ruffling of his hair, but not really succeeding there, why, not even objecting in earnest as a moderate chuckle of Bryce de Baverstock joins the proud laughter of his younger brother. "Alive, yes. I am. Somewhat.", is added in a more sober afterthought, dark eyes going distant for a moment. "But I didn't take down as many as you." In the end, maybe one or two, while almost getting slaughtered in turn.

Even so, the smile remains on the angular features of the Baverstock Lord Knight, as his dark gaze once again finds Landon's. "Well done, brother, indeed. Seems you got your first chance to prove yourself and seized it."

"Hold brother, don't tax yourself before you're yet ready-" His bigger hand reaches out and gently puts pressure on Bryce's shoulder to convince him to stay down, not that he has to since Bryce goes back down anyway, "No use wrecking the stitches that been put into you just yet." Once he's sure that Bryce won't tempt fate too soon yet, he settles his hand back and flops his forearm over his knees, hunching forward so the top of his head doesn't brush up against the canvas tent.

Landon grins at the echoing of his brother, "Not even a scratch!" He's had a good run at his first official mission for the Earl thus far! He's looking rather proud of himself too. One would say he earned it. And as for the ruffle, he joins in the chuckle, knowing it's one of those things that he can take advantage of in his older but shorter brother. "Next time Bryce. You'll have 'em next time. We'll even count how many, given 'em Saxon's something to consider when we're numbering off how many we kill." A bit of competitiveness there.

"I did. You know, it's thanks to Lorcan and you that I was prepared." He heaves a breath, Bryce would know that look - it's the thoughtfulness that comes with thinking of their father. He wore it many times since the man's death at the hands of Saxon's.

Ruffling his brother’ss hair is a thing Bryce does occasionally as well, because he can reach up there! But not now, when lifting his arm would need energy he does not have. The older Baverstock brother is pale from the blood loss, and no matter how much he tries to play his current discomfort down, smiling back at his brother and attempting to keep his tone light, it is clear he is in pain.

Success
Bryce checked his Forgiving at 10, he rolled 9.

"You want to compete against me…?", Bryce asks, a brow lifting in faint amusement. "Why… we could postpone such till the tournament at Carlion. It would be a much more merry occasion, than killing to defend our own…" It seems this Baverstock has gotten his share of Saxons for today, and the next weeks to come. "This is not about… numbers, Landon," Bryce says then, after giving his brother a rather long ominous glance. "Each Saxon we have killed has a story of his own, a family, loved ones… Tis not a simple deed, and none to lend amusement. Alas, it is a task that is required…" Saying as much as his gaze slips away from Landon and the older brother is for a moment engaged in his own impressions of the recent fighting.

Dark eyes flit back to Landon at his words of gratitude, and a faint smile curls Bryce de Baverstock's lips. That smile dimming then when the nature of the look on Landon's features is recognized. "I am glad you fought at our side today, brother. I am sure father would have been proud." A faint line appears between his eyebrows. "No, he is proud. Where he is now, with the Lord above, watching how we manage…" The smile he gives Landon is reassuring. "A shame, I am in such a bad shape. I doubt we can return as swiftly as planned to Baverstock. I doubt I can ride… do anything…" A slightly annoyed roll of his eyes there.

The real worry eventually shows through as Landon looks down on the pale form of his brother. So near to death he was. He reaches across to Bryce and grabs a fist of cloth just by the man's collarbone underneath shoulder (essentially over the heart), an affectionate gesture, "You scared me brother." It was a simple statement, but looking upon Landon now, he facial features express considerable worry.

Landon's eyes narrow with that hatred smoldering within when they speak of the Saxons, "The occasion is merry every time our blades taste Saxon blood. We bloody well should dance for each one we smite and deliver unto God's justice." He grunts a bit as his hand gives a pat pat to Bryce's shoulder before he draws it back, especially since their view points on the matter of Saxon's was differing. The sobering reality of each man dead has Landon quietly smolder, until at last he snaps, "It is not /us/ who invades their lands! They come for ours! They know they risk death for their heathen greed. So we will give them death. And /I/ will count. Because everyone /I/ kill is one less who will be killing or raping our own!"

Then a sniff, "But you are weak from injury, it is not the time to speak of it." As if to give Bryce that excuse for his sympathy toward the Saxon's.

And Landon cools.

The mention of their father earns a subtle nod that eventually leads to a drop of his chin as he calms."I will stay with you until we can get you back to the Manor," he tells Bryce, "I have ensured that Sir Imber acquires us a cart for the road home, so you can lie in the back of it." A hand moves to Bryce's forearm to give a squeeze, "Your mount, Devil, he's in bad shape. He might turn up lame. It's too early to tell yet."

Near death? Not quite. But still, admittedly in a bad shape. A faint smile curves the lips of Bryce de Baverstock as he looks into the concerned face of his brother Landon. "Didn't plan to," he offers in a bit of a dry tone, then his eyes shift away, as he considers the hate of Saxons so evident in Landon's bearing, and the smile dims. His right hand is raised and placed upon Landon's arm, Bryce nodding grimly then as he concedes, "Aye, they are leaving us no choice. I don't mean to say I wish I hadn't engaged in the fight. It's just that they are… human beings as well. Perhaps we should remember that once in a while…" Blood loss hampering his reason? Perhaps.

Either way, a bit of air leaves Bryce in a soft maybe relieved exhale. No, he is not in the state for discussions of this kind. Not at the moment. Even so there is a slight upturn of his lips as he regards Landon, when the brother continues about moving him to Baverstock. "I'm not sure… It might be better to move me to Tilshead first," Bryce ponders. "The way back to Baverstock is long." And yes, the comment on Devil brings a worried frown to Bryce's face. "He'd better not. I would regret to lose him." Words trail off and it becomes clear the conversation is taking its toll on him, eyes taking on a blank expression, and his hand reaches for something he wears about his neck, only obscured in part by the shirt he has worn underneath the padding and the armor, those latter two having been removed as his wound was seen to.

Landon looks down to the hand upon his arm and the measure of Bryce's words, but even still, such words have come much too late in life to hamper the hatred that seeths in the younger Baverstock's heart. "They do not think that of us and our people when they come to raid," he retorts with just as much grim certainty as his brother shared. Perhaps on realizing the strain of the conversation, the younger drops his head and so, drops the conversation.

"To Tilshead first then," Landon agrees, "I'll ride with you even if the others have to return long before us." He really should be the one racing back to tell their tale so that credit is given where it is due, but, the younger Baverstock's loyalty to Bryce far outweighs any measure of glory. "I've made sure that what talents are here see to your Devil," he pats Bryce on the shoulder, as if understanding his brother's weight of consequence even if his own body and his own mount were unscathed in the events.

His eyes follow down toward the movement, seeing what he was reaching for, "So who is she brother? The one you think of now?"

A sigh. That is all Bryce has to offer in reply to Landon's retort. Neither does he wish to pursue this discussion, idle as it is, and hurting as he is. A nod then, to his younger brother's agreeing to the plan to retreat to Tilshead. A glance when Landon speaks of the black stallion with the bruised hindleg. "Thank you," Bryce says, lips twitching into a faint smile. But his gaze should convey the fullest gratitude he feels to the younger Baverstock.

But then. The question.

Critical Fail!
Bryce checked his Honest at 16, he rolled 20.

Dark eyes flit to the pendant, Bryce's fingers had closed about, and his smile deepens. "A lady, I promised to return this to, once we are back." Keeping it vague. No, evasive.

Landon exhales a deep breath out of his nostrils for the elusive name to the fair maiden who has conquered his brother’s heart. He shakes his head slightly and pats Bryce once more on the forearm, “Then I should leave you with your thoughts of her, for she seems to be very much upon your mind.”

There he rises from the stool, a bear in his own right, stooping underneath the canvas tent, “I’ll be back in a while to check on you again brother. Rest easy now. We hold ground for the night.”

Then, the younger Baverstock is swooping out of the tent, his voice soon heard to be booming out for Carl, to eventually tell the lad when he darts over to stay with Bryce just outside the tent in case he was wont of anything rather than tending the horses.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License