(514-06-06) The Falt is in Their Squires
Summary: Kamron visits his mother's family in Falt. He and Drustan talk squires and murderers.
Date: June 6, 514
Related: Unnamed Feeling I: Hatred and Laverstock Layover
drustan kamron jonnin 


Spring is fading towards summer, slowly but steadily. Blooms still cling to trees and livestock still sheds winter coats. But the initial wildflowers are ebbing away into fields of green and crops are growing steadily; reaching towards the sun. The Falt lands are almost akin to stepping into Rome. Or such is what the initial settlers and developers of the region intended. With Camelot wood at the southern edge of the manor's holdings and Avon running along another edge on its way to the sea, they are a rather scenic land. The Roman villa that was originally in place has taken a Cymric turn over the years as it has been developed, but the bones are still quite obvious. The village about it lends heavily towards fishing and is still small yet, but it is an illustrious place.

Not far from the manor itself lies the training fields. There are a number of men out upon them. Some are wearing commoner attire, but a few — here and there — wear the colors of differen houses from Salisbury. Each are being run through their paces by the Master-at-Arms. Upon a barrel tucked up by the fence sits Drustan Falt. The dark Knight is clothed not in armor, but in more casual attire; trou and a tunic. The trou are black, to match the well-worn boots and belt. The tunic, however, is a dark grey in hue. The coat he often wears is nowhere in sight; the high sun making it too hot for such things. With a small loaf of bread in hand, he watches the young men at work with an intent sort of gaze.

Kamron sent word ahead that he was arriving, even if it was just a quick jaunt by his young squire from up the Avon at Laverstock. Knight and squire approach not in armor, despite the concerns of villains and murderers in the area, but the Dinton knight carries an axe at his right hip, and the Newton squire a sword at his left. It is always best to be safe, but usually best not to appear an attacking force, even an attacking force of two. The motion of the men at work draws Kamron's attention, and he directs the path of his high-stepping brown rouncy in that direction, his squire following on his own rouncy and leading a rapidly-graying charger along behind. As the pair arrive, Kamron lifts up his right hand, a greeting and a demonstration that he holds no weapon. Closing in still further with the exercising men, the knight raises voice as well, "Hello the yards." It's a light sort of greeting, backed by laughter and accompanied by an easy grin. The son-of-a-Falt may not have spent a great deal of time at the southern manor, and he may not be descended from the most prestigious line of the Falts (his grandfather having been a mere esquire), but he is still known to at least some present, particularly from time spent at Sarum.

One of the joys in his life, as son of the regent, is having to learn all of the people who are related; distant as some may be. Drustan will never run a house himself, but he must act the role as if he were. At least, that is what Sir Cadogan deemed. Is it any surprise he lept at the chance to squire with Stapleford and spend a good seven years barely seeing the homelands around Sarum? Still, the Knight was well-aware of the impending visit and it may be the primary cause of his chosen spot. While he can easily watch the young men — all of a squiring age — at work, he can also see the approach to the manor.

With Kamron's call, the Falt Knight shifts to his feet and drops the loaf of bread — with a few pieces torn away — into a waiting bag draped over a fence post. Crumbs are brushed off against thighs and he's already waving over a stablehand to assist with the horses. "Sir Kamron de Dinton, unless I miss my mark?" He'll step up to hold the reins of the knight's rouncy himself for the man to dismount, should he please. "We are glad to have you here. How long did you intend to stay for? I'm afraid it wasn't quite made clear."

Failed.
Kamron checked his recognize at 5, he rolled 16.

Kamron nods his thanks as the other man comes up to take his reins, dismounting easily, taking the reins back in his left hand, and offering out his right arm to clasp in greeting, "Your mark is quite accurately struck, as neatly done as a champion jouster. I'm afraid, however, that I have been remiss in learning the names and faces of my own kin, and have left myself at a disadvantage." There could also be the fact that he's probably only been out here every year or two, and no one is raising him to run a manor. The question that follows draws a short chuckle, "Not to worry, I won't put anyone out by staying long. Just a short visit, delivering some correspondence from Mother," since she can actually read and write, unlike the poor knight, "and saying hello to family. The night, if it won't be too much trouble, although if you're already overrun by leeches like myself," at least he can laugh at himself, "I can certainly be on my way with absolutely no hard feelings. I know that Uncle Cynfarch," that would be the Knight of Dinton, although he's actually a second cousin once removed or something like that, "is always grumbling about how much we knights eat." Gesturing behind him, he adds, "My squire, Jonnin de Newton."

The arm-clasp is returned as Drustan releases the reins. He nods at Kamron's words and seems largely nonplussed by not being recognized. Unless the man visited in winters, well. The last Drustan was around with any regularity was before he was fifteen. A lot can change- especially when you squire to someone who tracks Saxon movements. It hardens the soul, as well as the body. Leaning back to his heels, he crosses his arm, looking to the squire. There is a nod to the lad. "Drustan de Falt, son of Sir Cadogan." The acting regent, after the heir died. Until Custennin is ready to take over. "No apologies or concerns necessary, I assure you. As for the length of your stay, the night is certainly acceptable. We would not be put out in the least. A week or more, well, there may be some grouching, I cannot deny that." There is a hint of a smile, but it's not a broad one. Like perhaps he's still remembering how such facial features work.

There's a glance to the fields, thoughtful. "Perhaps your squire would like to challenge some of the lads. I am to select one soon to be my own squire. I would be interested in the input of someone new to the path themselves."

Kamron certainly has no issues figuring out how facial features work. He nods at the introduction, "Well met, Sir Drustan, I thought there might have been something to Uncle Cadogan in your face." Not that Cadogan is exactly an uncle either, but it's just easier. The it the mention of grouching, however, that draws easy laughter from his chest and a crooked grin to his lips, "Oh no, I certainly would not trust to mere familiar relations to feed a knight and a growing squire for a week." 'Growing,' he says, with Jonnin already overtopping Kamron's utterly unimpressive height by several inches, and only at fifteen. The squire looks anxious and hopeful at the offer, and Kamron laughs again, nodding, "Take the horses to the stables, Newt, and then you can show off." The youth shows no dislike of the nickname, taking up Kamron's reins and hurrying off toward the manor proper. Looking back to Drustan, Kam shrugs a little helplessly, "He's only been with me a season. He's a good boy, but I keep forgetting how clumsy my cousin was at that age. I wasn't so bad because I knew where all my limbs were, but tall fellows like Deyr," his cousin, Cyndeyrn, "and yourself… that was perhaps the one period of my life that I did not envy your height."

"If you name me tall, you have not yet my cousin, the heir. He has near a foot on me." Drustan may certainly manage a couple inches past the average, but he is not the bearer of height in the current generation of Falt. He does appear amused by this; there's a hint of laughter in his voice. Really, how much did Stapleford infect him during his squireship? One could say by way of his attire, but Falt's own colors run the monotone spectrum. There is a slip of gaze towards the field again, considering the lads at work. The MAA had heard the offer to the Dinton's squire and seems to already be picking out a few to throw up the line first.

"I only returned about a month prior after being Knighted. I was hoping to avoid a squire a bit longer, but I understand the need." He looks towards the stables, as if to ensure the stablehand is helping Newt get the horses situated. "How have your travels gone, Sir Kamron? The weather has been pleasant, at least."

Kamron shrugs a little helplessly, "You're all tall from down here, Sir Drustan, but yes, Sir Custennin," he's heard of the knighting and marriage then, "puts even yourself to shame. I do recall looking more at his navel than his neck." An overstatement, perhaps, but one that certainly does not overstate his own standing. "I did without a squire for a good while longer than that, actually. Ever since the Afternoon Battle until the end of winter. But I got tired of pushing the barrel," the barrel of sand to scour the mail, "around. Life is certainly much easier with a squire." The question about his travels draws a little shrug, and he glances over his shoulder, "Well enough, certainly. I stopped by Laverstock on my way here — I've gotten to know several of their knights over the past year and found them quite pleasant company." Here, however, his smile falters, "But I did not tarry over-long. I mean to be back looking for the murderer, Sir Sior, as soon as these missives are delivered."

There is somewhat more of a smile at the jape regarding Custennin's height. A smirk, almost, but certainly not at anyone's expense. It indicates a joke well-placed. Drustan nods and there's a slight cadence of laughter to his tone when he speaks again. "Yes, well, I was going to do without longer, but the repair to my mail after a recent run-in with some bandits made it clear that I, perhaps, can shorten the time from tending to another's or my gear to having someone do me the favor. I would quite fancy a night's rest to wake to repaired equipment rather than staying up by the fire myself." The Falt leans back on his heels, lips drawing into a line and eyebrows low at the last. "I have only heard bits and pieces of this, I'm afraid. It was within the market itself, correct?"

Having settled the three horses with the stablehand, Newt comes back out, carrying a sheathed and rebated sword in his gangly arms. Kamron watches the squire hurry toward the field, trip over something not even visible at this distance, stumble, nearly fall, recover, realize he's carrying the sheathed sword, drop it, reach down to pick it up, trip again, recover, and finally grab the sheathed blade, hug it to his chest, and blush bright red. The knight shakes his head in wry amusement, "They're like puppies." There is, however, a more serious discussion at hand, and the Dinton sobers quickly enough, nodding, "It was. Just outside the Boar's Beard. I was there myself, with Sir Lainn Laverstock, neither of us armed or armored. Six armored men, at least two of them claiming knighthood, causing a disturbance across the Eagle Market before they found poor Sir Hadyn and mistakenly identified him as some man they were seeking. Sir Hadyn drew his blade in defense of himself, but it was still murder, through-and-through. Six of them, and they would not halt in the Earl's name. My shoulder still aches where they slammed me aside to make their escape."

And Drustan, too, cannot help but snerk in amusement himself at the squire. Oh, he remembers those days. When the feet are simply much larger than you expect them to be. He quickly averts his gaze to look back to Kamron; attempting to lessen the lad's embarrassment by at least a small measure. He listens to the story told, features darkening further. He does well the brooding knight, but it seems to be more a side effect of his natural demeanor rather than something affected. "That is concerning news, indeed. Has anyone spoken with Sir Jaradan regarding this incident? Were any of them wearing markers that might note where they hail from or pay alleigance?"

Kamron nods across the yard to where Newt is clambering over the fence to join the other squires and prospective squires, red-faced and heartily embarrassed, "I sent Newt to fetch the guard. Unfortunately, it was over so quickly that I should have sent him to the nearest gate instead. They were gone before the guard arrived. But the proper authorities at the Castle certainly know. I gave the best description I could of the so-called Sir Sior, and of his chief henchman, and older man who named himself Sir Iorveth. As for their heraldry, most wore none, safe for Sior, and I did not recognize it. It certainly was not of Salisbury."

There's a tilt of the Falt's head as he turns slightly, looking towards Newt. The Master-at-Arms is introducing a few of the older lads. The ones more ready for squiring. Three of noble heritage, per the colors they wear. One commoner, though he looks heartily determined. Who wouldn't, in his shoes? Drustan exhales slowly at Kamron's words. "Poor men, whatever their lands may be, to cause such a disturbance within the market." His slate gaze slides back to the Dinton, one eyebrow shifting upward. "Did they give any indication of who they thought Sir Haydn was? Or their business with him?"

Kamron shrugs a little helplessly, "They called him Sir Andras, although Sir Hadyn showed no acknowledgement of the name. And Sior said something to Sir Hadyn, although I didn't catch it. I was rather more concerned with Iorveth and his fellows standing before me with drawn swords, to be honest. But they were all quite wroth, so they must have had a great deal of reason to want to find this Andras."

Inside the paddock, Newt greets the other squires stammeringly. It's probably a good thing that he's the son of a knight, because no matter how earnest and intent he is, he's just not that polished. Then again, that's why he's a squire, and not a knight. That and because he's only just fifteen.

"Sir Andras? I cannot say that name is at all familiar with me, either. Yet it seems they felt this man would be in Sarum, so he must be of the region or have business here. How troubling, though, that they felt they could simply kill the man outright. Even if they had a reason from their liege, they would be able to present evidence or explain themselves. I'm sure, if this Sir Andras committed crimes, they could have one to the Earl…" Drustan lifts a hand, pushing back some of those errant locks. There's a look towards the lads at work, but his gaze seems loose. Distracted.

The boys that are introduced are just as awkward, themselves. Puppies, indeed. The Master at Arms suggests they all go through some forms against a practice dummy. He's giving Newt the chance to try to play at more experience, a single season or no. Even a squire needs the ocassional bout of ego, right? Thus, the lad is allowed to provide his thoughts on how the others are doing; corrected or approved, ultimately, by the MAA.

Failed.
Kamron checked his merciful at 10, he rolled 14.
Failed.
Kamron checked his cruel at 10, he rolled 19.
Success
Kamron checked his sword at 10, he rolled 7.

Kamron nods his agreement, "The name meant nothing to me. But I tried to get them to take their grievance to the Earl, even offered to go with them to provide it. They were out for blood, however, and would not be swayed." Frowning, Kamron moves around to lean on the fence, watching the squires, "I would like to think that I would never find myself in so blood-thirsty a state of mind as to ignore the proper way to go about something."

Newt is, perhaps a little hesitant, glancing over to Kamron and getting a little shooing gesture of the knight's fingers, 'go go, show off.' Drawing the rebated sword, he explains carefully (and probably unnecessarily) to the prospects why the edges have been removed, and then nods his head to the Master at Arms to move to the pells. Wonder of wonders, he even manages to demonstrate the basic strikes without losing his grip on the sword or fumbling in some other embarrassing manner. Probably because he's totally obsessing over how he tripped in front of everyone and so isn't thinking about what he's doing. That always helps, with Newt.

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