(1865-08-17) Former Thorns
Former Thorns
Summary: Things can get a little tense when you have former Thorns among your war camp. Former Thorns who are also young Romantes.
Date: 1865-08-17
Related: Anything to do with the recent Thorn Loyalists plots.
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Henric  Dacian  Kira  Letholdus  Lianna  Anjin  Oberyn  

Northern Galenthia
Somewhere in Norhern Galenthia heading for the Principality of Kentaire.
Sunday the 17th of Aout, 1865 IE.

The afternoon sun is nearly set, the last flickers of light casting brilliant colors on the western horizon, taking with it the slow baking heat of the day and deep shadows now dance and sway across the land. Those that remain in camp have squared away everything that can be packed and secured, leaving the camp looking as though it is ready to move at any moment. Small fires dot the camp sites, meals being prepared individually or shared in larger fires. Every army, after all, marches on it's stomach. The hunters that have gone out, roaming far enough away that the game is not scattered by the scent, sight and sound of this army return in small groups, bringing fresh venison and other wild game that can be bartered for. Torches are lit in regimented measures throughout the camp, leaving little to the imagination as to which way to head - either to or from the river, to or from the command tents, and everywhere else. Call it a measure of over-regimented organization, but it works.

Seated on one of the logs that form a rough circle around the larger of the fires around which the healers have set their tents and supplies, Lianna tips her head back and laughs at something Amira has just said. "Most certainly not," she counters with a grin. "Trust me, most certainly not. I just refuse to be knocked down by the little things. And all life, all of it, is little things."

Kira has gotten caught up with the came even though she had intended to leave after bringing Dacian his 'package' this morning. Now still her her drab, commoner attire, she sits by the fire with Lianna, the pair debating something or another. Her hand lifts to push a stray, dirty blond curl back from her eyes. "I am glad to hear you have learned to thrive then. I hope one day to learn to do the same."

The last several days have been hard pushing, the combined small armies of Romante and Ironhold joined together into a larger force, marching away the miles into the north and west. Tonight's camp is made amid slightly rolling, more heavily forested land not very far now from the Principality of Kentaire's border with Galenthia. There is no attempt to hide their fires but the watch is ever more careful now, posted with archers and hounds on rotation with footmen. Strike attacks are entirely possible now they are nearer the border and Letholdus is taking precautions with scouts roaming the countryside in the near vicinity. The thick trees do much to obscure the camp fires all on their own but the scent of smoke carries.

Letholdus himself has spent the evening going over orders with his commanders and knights, reviewing reports the scouts have brought in, a few moongazer messages that came out and replies, and his evening meal. Now the Viscount does not ride, but walks through his military camp on foot with a mix of a few Royal Lancers and his own knights. Culain and another bring up the rear leading horses should it be needful for Letholdus to return to the command pavilion with haste. The Romante stops occationally to greet various people and ask how they fare, working to know his people better in the coming campaign and judge their moral. So far it is high, depsite some rumors beginning to circulate about who may be behind certain events of late.

Lianna shakes her head slightly and rises to her feet once again, this time starting the process of removing the strips of grilled venison from the metal-mesh grill set over the coals. "I wish I had something profoundly philosophical to tell you, Amira," she says as she transfers the meat away from the heat of the grill. "Something about how everything in life is designed to teach one lesson after another. But," and she pauses to aim a wry smile at Amira, "that'd just be fatuous gas bagging, and I'd prefer not to do that. Especially so close to open flame." As she speaks, the rest of the healers in the group and sorting out the last aspects of the meal to be shared. A bucket of fresh gathered and fresh rinsed berries is passed around. The healer working his magic with flat bread arrives to stand alongside Lianna and takes the strips of fresh grilled venison, slices them into smaller strips and passes around irregular shaped slabs of flat bread wrapped around the steaming slices of venison. Small apples are passed around as well, along with tea. Most of the meal, save for the tea and bread, was acquired along the road. Fresh food for all.

Kira laughs softly at Lianna's words, it's not a mean sound though it is a little bitter lit. "Some of us only have prayers to cling to at times." She takes the meat and fruit with genuine thanks and settles back down to start to eat while they speak. "But I suppose as a healer… well you can't accept what is doled out infront of you and also believe you can repair it." She sighs softly. "This is delicious."

Henric is walking alongside Letholdus, one hand idly on the hilt of his sword, the other at his side. Whether he is there in capacity as a Lancer to the Romante or as a commander or even as a friend is hard to say, cause it could ironically be all three. The cloak of the Royal Lancers hangs behind him, the green fabric fluttering behind his heels with each step, settled with the ruffle of white fur on the top of his shoulders to signify the alliance with the white griffon of Galenthia, which is also boldly upon the chest of his armor. He shares a few words with the people that the Romante greets, knowing the importance of understanding who is alongside them to fight. His eyes are on the swivel however, constantly looking around them, watching the faces around the fires and those that move around the camp.

Ever since a certain little altercation between the persons of Henric Cassomir and Anjin Tekar, the latter has kept very much to himself. Over the course of the march since that incident, Anjin has exhausted no less than two bottles of ink, consumed in some sort of writing when time and the weather permit. He's also been extremely possessive of the project, directing an almost stern gaze and silence to passersby that happen to query him on it, should they happen to be of lesser-or-equal ranking in the hierarchy. Every night, without fail, one could observe him writing… something, words flowing from mind to hand to paper in a smoothly calligraphed manner.

While on the march, he's been quiet, but still has yet to fully don the armaments that had been transferred to his keeping, despite the fact he also personally handles the upkeep of the mail and more riding in his baggage. He doesn't ride too far behind Letholdus, preferring to keep a bit distant, but neither does he submerge himself with the main body either. He does, however, watch the Cassomir and Romante almost exclusively when the mood to observe the scenery does not hit him.

With a laugh, and as she measures out a mug of tea for herself and another for Amira, Lianna carries her food back and takes a seat again. "Prayers are nice," which is her only comment on the matter. "And no, accepting anything at face value - let alone all the symptoms when they're presented perfectly - is rarely a good idea. In fact, it's usually a very bad idea." She glances around the camp, "Half the wounded that may come in will be bearing any number of gashes, lacerations, blade wounds," she clarifies to Amira. "The others will bring in broken bones, crush injuries, things of the like. Some of the presented symptoms will make perfect sense. Others will be disguised with symptoms that could easily be other things. Some will have injuries that look small, but will prove to be beyond our ability to treat. Small things," and she wiggles one foot briefly to move it closer to the fire, "make big things. And it's nice to eat a warm meal, sitting down," she agrees with a sidelong smile.

Kira looks over Lianna while she chews and considers this. Finally she sets her plate down on her knees. "Small things… Yes." She looks about again. "Perhaps I'll stay a while longer, there seem to be many lessons learned here." She pauses. "Do your healers need any one to run errands for them? I'm not needed back in the city just yet."

After stopping by the tents where the black smith and the armorer have been working through the evening and now rest, the Templar bids them a good night and turns to head on to the next unit - the healers. Their block has a nice wide open aisle on either side for easy access, without ranks of other tents on top of them. Letholdus walks on over with his hands clasped lightly behind his back and cocks his head slightly to see what bits of conversation the Royal might overhear. He glances aside to Sir Henric and then lifts his baritone to speak, "Lady Lianna, good evening." The Viscount stops at the edge of their gathering, "Now you have had a few days to settle in with us, do you lack for any supplies? Do you have enough hands, should we have many wounded?"

"We always need extra hands," Lianna agrees with a nod to Amira. "My own rule is that if you feel the urge to be ill, do not get sick on anyone who's already wounded," which is - to her - the perfect advice for anyone who hasn't treated wounded people before. Seeing the Viscount just as he enters the firelight, Lianna rises to her feet and sets her foot aside, a respectful nod aimed at the viscount in greeting. "Good evening to you, Lord Romante," she replies, dusting her hands surreptitious against her the towel hooked through the belt around her waist. "Actually, sir, I came well provisioned. A merchant friend of mine, a Mr. FitzRoy, was kind enough to make a special trip to Firen to bring much needed medical supplies so that I was properly provisioned before we answered the call to your banner." This said she waves a hand toward Amira, who also is seated at the fire, "This young woman was kind enough to volunteer just now, in fact, to help should we need it."

Kira looks up from where she's sitting beside Lianna and is relaxed enough that she doesn't immediately notice the Viscount's arrival but when she does a pink washes over her cheeks and her head bows as she too sets her plate aside and rises. She falls quiet until she's mentioned and even then only answers quietly, "You have no worry about my growing sick My Lady. Blood doesn't turn my stomach."

Henric catches the glance his way from Letholdus, causing the younger man to shift up his shoulders in a tell tale fidget that something was up, as if hoping to regain some measure in the Viscount's eyes. As the Viscount does look on instead toward the healers, Henric exhales shortly and steps along with him. He hasn't spent much time with the Sokar's since beginning this march, which is understandable in such a force and with so many men that he had known from being raised in Ironhold riding along with them. He was still a Lord of House Cassomir and that came with particular duties to see and visit with those of the Ironhold. He manages a faint nod for Lianna as the Viscount questions her ability and the healer's supplies upon the course of their march. The woman that Lianna introduces has his attention for a brief moment, turning a look over his shoulder because he -senses- a particular someone following, or maybe he's just keeping an eye out to prove an earlier point made to Letholdus. Finally, he shifts his weight on his feet, taking stock of the healer's area. It's good to know where to drag yourself should that ever be the case.

Lianna is listened to, and then Kira looked over briefly, "And whom are you? Who is your lord here and what do you do?" Letholdus is touchy about anyone slipping past his many sentries, wary of spies slipping into their army. He gives Lianna nod, "If you need for anything, send a message to the Quarter Master and we'll see that you have it, if possible. Or it'll be added to a scavange list, if we haven't. He'll need to know what you want it for, as well."

No, Henric won't detect that his lord is in any way annoyed with him. Dus does glance about to see if he sees Anjin around or following them, but otherwise the Romonte knight seems at his ease this evening.

"As long as it's not my blood, I feel the same way," Lianna agrees in a quiet aside to Amira, a quick glimpse of a smile shared with the blonde woman. She turns, every move subtle, slightly back to focus on the Viscount, sparing a glance to those of his entourage that have come into the light of the fire. "There is plenty of food and drink to share," she invites of the Viscount and his entourage and guard. "Fresh venison, some flat bread, berries and apples, some tea. I'm sure there's some wine as well," she doesn't have to glance over her shoulder to know that her fellow healers have just shared a glance and more than one produces a wine skin to share. "We are well provisioned for the moment, my lord, but should the need arise, we will send a runner with the written request and explanation of same," she promises with another of those formal nods.

Kira's grey eyes lift and turn to Lianna apologetically. Her chin lifts, her posture straightens, the meekness of her idenity falling away like water off a slick cloak. The rouse she was prepared to defend for her safety is dropped as she isn't apparently willing to lie outright to Letholdus, "My name's Kira, Lord Viscount and I suppose after a fashion you are my lord. Forgive me, I had come to bring provisions to my cousin but it seems I can be of aid here in a few ways."

Dacian's ancient mount managed the march well enough. He may be lazy and not quite up to as much as he was in his youth, but at least he made the trek without keeling over, and for that Dacian is pretty well grateful. He makes campfall along with the very last in the train, of course, and dismounts to let him walk half-burdened again, moving slowly along the lines of the camp. Before just about anything else, he spies the form of the Viscount over there near some text. Then, coming to a halt, he recognizes the dress of his cousin's servant, who was to return to Firen to report to his cousin of his status and his promise to visit her when he returns from this campaign he's pledged himself to. What the hell is she still doing here?

Letholdus smiles to Lianna but gestures no acceptance of the offered food and drink, "Thank you, but I have supped, lady Sokar." That and his poison taster is back at the pavilion. Dus didn't survive the Succession war without being very careful, and now those hard learned habits are snapped back into place, where he let them slide a little these years past.

Anjin isn't seen right off, and Dacian's arrival isn't yet noted. The Queen's Templar gives a nod to what Kira says, but doesn't make the connection of her name and bearing. "You are of my County? Whom is your cousin and what are your skills?" She doesn't look like a knight to his eyes. Also Dus is not placing her with any connection in his memory, at least not yet. "You will forgive my prying questions, but I do not allow people to come and go freely within my military camps. Everyone must be questioned, and we keep rolls of whom serves with us, and their purpose."

Culain has come up from behind the small group and has brought a thin leather folio. He has an ink well and quill and opens it. Kira may well know the boy as he's a Romante recently sent from Firen to squire to Lethodlus, though the boy has only recently turned 12 years and is smallish for his age. Culain bites his lower lip and squats down where he can get a flat surface to make note of Kira's name for Letholdus's staff to record, once a bit more is known about her.

With a curious glance at Amira - no, Kira - Lianna's expression becomes one of careful neutrality as she leans aside to retrieve the mug of tea she'd prepared for herself and takes a drink from it. That wine that she'd inquired about is now being shared among those around the fire and if any of the viscount's entourage are hungry they too are being fed.

Kira watches Letholdus' features closely, watching where there is no recognition at her name, "In a manner you are. I am a lady of your own house, though not particularly attached to any county. But I had brought supplies for Sir Dacian Lord Viscount." She looks like there is something more that sits on her tongue, aching to be let our but instead her lips close into a rather neutral and calm, but respectful affect.

Dacian sees his cousin's maid being interrogated by the Viscount and begins to pic up his pace, even if it makes his horse, who's tired of walking, put back his ears and snort once to be made to step marginally less lethargically. He draws near just in time to hear her explain what her mission had been. "And you told me you were going back to Firen right after," he adds. "Why did you make this whole hike with us? You were supposed to…" he looks briefly to Letholdus, and then back to Kira, his brow drawn in subtle frustration, "You were going to deliver a message for me."

The name might not ring a bell to Henry, since the battles had been quick and furious long ago, but Dacian's face ghosts some image of the past across his features. As if he should know the younger man and as well, Kira, as she is spoken to by the younger man. It doesn't seem as if entire recognition settles on him, just, a brief awareness that he might have seen the kid somewhere before. Henric lingers by Letholdus, letting the Viscount do the talking, interrogating whom he will. He does let his gaze drift over toward Letholdus for a time, to study the man's posture and expressions.

Given the fact that he took quite a bludgeoning to his right side the other night, it should be no surprise that Anjin Tekar shows up at the healers' tents. He's avoided them, but the extended writing project of his - whatever it may be - has finally exacerbated the sensations provided by the bruising administered to his hand. His steps are quiet, his attention swivelling here and there, and by and large he looks pensive.

Seeing the Viscount /and/ the Cassomir present also, however, draws him up short. Nothing crosses his face, and not even a sigh would be observed, but the Tekar man stands still, almost at attention were it not for the leather-bound volume tucked under his left arm now. A glance may have gone towards Henric Cassomir, but as may be expected: no words are offered, only a courtesy bow for the Templar should he take notice of the quiet man's arrival.

Oberyn's been busy making sure the camp has firewood and each place is well stocked. He knows that Henric is with Letholdus so he's not worried about the Romante's safety. He's wearing the colors of the Rose and he's dressed nicely. His arms are full of firewood as he limps towards the fire making sure the stockpile of wood is there for the night. He's grinning as he walks, happy to help. His eyes settle on Henric and then turn to Letholdus and his smile dies instantly and he bows his head and moves more quickly, keeping his head down.

Letholdus is unaware that Henric is watching himself. He opens his mouth, things suddenly clicking together in his mind and for a breath, he closes his mouth without saying anything to Kira. Then he simply says as he shifts his weight, "I see." Pause, "I am pleased to see you, my lady. Though I am very much surprised to find you here, within my camp." And there is Dacian, barging on in. The Viscount lifts a dark brow and if anything, he might look slightly more amused than annoyed or suspicious. Still, Dus's dark eyes are sharp to watching them both, and especially Kira, whom he doesn't really know except by name.

Anjin's arrival draws his gaze briefly. Letholdus notes him and barely inclines his head politely back, then returns his attention to his primary focus. Time enough to speak to Anjin in a moment - but things are unfolding here of interest.

Lianna sets the mug aside as Oberyn returns with more firewood and moves to intercept the Royal Lancer, taking some of the firewood off of his arms as he makes for the stockpile. "Thank you, Sir Oberyn," she says as she turns back to the fire and carefully feeds the larger one, then smaller. "I do wish you'd allow me to take a look at your wound," she says in a quiet voice to Oberyn, dusting bits of bark off of her hands before glancing around and happening to spot the Tekar knight in the light cast by the fire. She aims a look at the one-eyed knight, studying the Tekar for a moment, as chief healer she's not unknown now but she doesn't chase down patients if they don't want assistance. Ok, she'll nag, hence her remark to Oberyn.

Kira's hand twitches a little when she hears Dacian's voice though she keeps her attention primarily on the man before her. "I am equally surprised to be in your camp Lord Viscount, but the One seems to have guided my path here. I had intended to have come and gone by now. If you are in need of a scout do not hesitate to let myself know, other wise I shall, if permited, make good on my offer to assist Lady Lianna and her healers in what ever they require."

Deliberately, Kaicee had been riding towards the back, up until now she has been keeping silent, another squire in the list of those riding with the knights. Perhaps she had struck up conversation with one of the other squires but it had been kept to a minimum and quiet as to not to interrupt. As soon as they had made camp, she had gone to set up the tent she shared with Henric, the knight she squired under, her movements slightly stiff probably from riding all day. Now and again, she glances at the others, but for now she continues working on setting up for the night.

Dacian isn't much amused, himself, and being ignored isn't helping, either, but he stifles any sort of agitation into a flat, dull look, lips drawn into a flat line. She's having discussions with the Viscount, after all, and he really shouldn't interrupt, though his hand holds fast to the lead of that old grey beast he's drawing behind him. His eyes shift one way and then the other, meeting Henric's when Henric looks at him, his lower eyelids twitching upward in a faintly scouring squint. Henric knows his face; he knows Henric's face, and it sets him utterly ill at ease, for a moment, as if maybe he had fallen asleep in the saddle and this was a nightmare he couldn't quite wake up from.

"You have skills as a scout?" Letholdus looks from Kira to Dacian, then back to her, "If you have declared yourself loyal to the Queen, and sworn your service to her in Melisande's presance, then you are welcome here in this camp. But only if you have done so, or will swear so now. We have need of scouts and those to assist healers, both." Dacian sure got quiet, so Letholdus studies him in turn while the young knight is looking Henric over. All of this is … not commented upon, but noted.

Kira slides a glance sideways to Dacian but it's brief, drawn back to Letholdus immediately when he speaks, "Of course I have sworn myself to Her Highness, and I do yes, have some familiarity with scouting. I will serve her Highnesses' army where ever I can be of service."

Oberyn grins warmly at Lianna. "It's an old wound. There is not much that can be done." He speaks quietly to her. "Plus, milady, it's in a very inappropriate location for a Lady to be poking." His cheeks brighten slightly. "It was a knife thrown by a very angry man who I was thankful did not have a more accurate aim." He slowly moves to his knees and pulls out a small cloth, taking hold of Lianna's hand and wiping it down carefully.

Henric notices the passing familiarity of Oberyn Crane, trying to offer him a friendly sort of gesture, even if the attempt quickly fades for the head drawn down, as if to avoid. There's a quiet sigh from Henric that suggests his disappointment, that couldn't be helped in the moment, for his attention turns back to the company at present - only to find Anjin standing off to the side. Where the… hell! The reaction is plain on Henric's features. He didn't catch the little sneak coming up and tightens the grip on the hilt of his sword, giving Anjin a look that more or less says, one step closer and I'll punch your teeth in.

Such as it is, in the next moment as he reaffirms his attention frontward, he's getting that look from Dacian. There's a rose on his collar, this one even though replaced, wilted too, but standing out and showing his continued alliance with the Rose. "Thorn…" he recalls and mumbles to himself, but the staring Dacian might be able to read his lips. Now he remembers, it seems. He actually disengages himself from Letholdus in an uncharacteristic fashion and approaches Dacian more specifically, letting the silence stand between them - but to anyone who had a good eye they could see these two have history, even if it was a brief one upon a battlefield long ago.

Lianna is a little startled as the Royal Lancer goes to his knees and pulls out a small cloth before taking hold of her hand to wipe it down, carefully. She blinks at the Lancer, startled into a brief moment of silence as he cleans the dirt off of her hand. "Even old wounds can be made better if the right care if offered," she finally says, though his remark about the inappropriate location brings a slow hint of a smile to her face. "Sir Oberyn, I'm a healer. I've done everything from ease children into the world to set bones and everything in between. I don't imagine, sir," her voice is a bit quieter pitched now, "that any indelicate location is on that I have not had - as necessity - tended to before. However, it is your wound. I only seek to help if I can help. If I can't, I won't pester. I promise."

There is a temptation to put his hand out to Henric's shoulder and stop him from going to Dacian. And yet, curious as to what it is that has caught his Lancer's attention, Letholdus lets him go. He gives a nod to Kira, "Very well then, welcome to my camp. I'll have it noted and put you on the list for each purpose, with our thanks, cousin." Dus might be distracted by Oberyn's arrival and him still limping, but for the moment the Viscount's attention is watching Henric. A few idle steps keep the Templar Romante close enough to overhear, or within reach of either of them should there be any trouble.

Culain finishes his noteations and closes up the folio. He at least offers Kira a bright smile and bows, trying to act grown up, "I'm your cousin too! I'm Culain Romante, squired to my lord Letholdus." The other Royal Lancer and the two knights that have been walking the camp with them are watchful but quiet, on duty.

Kira nods to Dus greatfilly but takes that as a dismissal. She flashes a brief smile to Culain, "We shall have to speak soon," she tells him before she turns quickly and heads towards Darius hastily.

Oberyn finishes cleaning off Lianna's hand and moves to her other hand. "My mother said a healers hands must be the cleanest hands." He speaks quietly. "Milady, I do not doubt your skills nor what you've done. I doubt that you've seen my indecent area." He speaks quietly. He finally finishes cleaning her hands. "I … would like it if the pain stopped." He nods slowly. "Perhaps you can help but I am not comfortable you treating it in view of others." He grins warmly to her.

Dacian's chest gets tight; his heart races until its pounding is the only thing he can hear in his ears, eyes widening from their squint as the nightmare-face utters that word, Thorn— he can see it, and even if he can't hear it, he can't hear much of anything else at present, either. Not even his own voice shouting, "Oh— God— Fuck—!" like a spastic before he hurls a punch at the guy coming at him.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Henric=Hands Vs Dacian=Hands

< Henric: Great Success Dacian: Great Success

< Net Result: Henric wins - Marginal Victory

The tent is causing a bit of frustration, as Aframes are wont to do, and Kaicee struggles with it a bit longer, in no apparent hurry to join the other around the campfire. Finally, the tent is up and prepared, the horses taken care of.. now for the bedrolls and she was out of excuses.. Setting about doing the interior work now, she ducks inside, disappearing from view.

Lianna glances down at the first hand that Oberyn has cleaned so neatly, studying the Lancer as he cleans her other hand. "Your mother is a very wise woman," she says with a small smile. "Dirty hands spread more than just dirt, they spread germs as well." Lianna straightens subtly, understanding his quiet words and sharing a nod, "Very logical," she agrees with a smile in return. Her attention is lifting just as she watches the young Dacian and the Cassomir nobleman (that's Henric) commence incordial relations.

Kira is heading towards Dacian herself when the punch is thrown and while she doesn't know exactly WHY it's thrown there's an empathy there in her for Dacian in general that doesn't exist for anyone else. While there's part of her that too would love to throw punches the survivor, the part that /needs/ to live holds that firmly in check. At the same time this whole situation strips away years, pulls her back to a time when this was all less certain. "Dacian…" She calls though uncertainly.

Something unresolved settles between Henric and Dacian. The younger could hardly be any older than Henric was, the first time they crossed paths. His eyes size up the Romante as he nears the other, letting his hand fall away from his blade, as if to present no threat to the younger. Before he even gets a chance to say anything, even get a word in to greet the other, to do something, Dacian takes a swing at him. It's not unexpected, really. Though Henric wasn't intending to fight the youth. Aware of it, he sees it coming. The punch is ducked and avoided, a counter response to snatch Dacian's arm and turn him aside (so he cannot try to pivot back with another punch), "Lord Romante, Hold!" He puts distance between them, hands raising as if to gesture his unwillingness to fight, "A word with you, that is all-" Okay, so walking up to him directly -wasn't- the best of plans, but he's had worse, "Peace." He'll try again, realizing that pretty well everyone must be looking at them, ugh, his ears get red. Yup. Damnit.

The moment trouble starts, Letholdus doesn't hold back but steps up quickly - about to break that up, "Sirs!" Only, Henric has enough sense not to be laying into the younger knight. Of them, this Romante is perhaps taller than any of them and a fairly powerful man in his own right, ready to wade in and force himself between them, Viscount or not. /That/ certainly gets the very startled attention of his other Royal Lancers and the two knights of his County who jump to, all ready to come in to protect their lord! But Henric defuses it fast enough on his own initiative.

A breath is sharply intaken ere Letholdus speaks again, his baritone carrying easily, "Stand you down, Sir Dacian, and Sir Henric. There will be no fighting among ourselves."

Oberyn grins slowly. "She was." He nods to her and chuckles. "Perhaps you can…" He doesn't finish before he pushes himself up quickly and limps a few steps towards the punches thrown. His eyes on both men and he does not seem impressed. Then Letholdus is already speaking and he relaxes, gripping his thigh tightly and watching to see if Dacian attacks again.

Dacian sounds, to all evidence, more terrified than angry, the swing firm and true but wild with a kind of desperation to keep the man away from him. When he's negotiated into a hold he's trembling, every nerve of his standing on its ragged edge, his breath coming shallow and rough. He doesn't try to pull away, struggle, or continue the fight. It could be that after some years of captivity it's almost a calming state to be in, back where he started, in the grasp of those riding for Cassomir. He doesn't want a word with Henric, and doesn't give him a word, either. But stand down, he does.

Despite himself, Anjin's good eye flickers to Henric for all that Letholdus decrees there be no infighting. Assuming the Templar /doesn't/ know is tantamount to stupidity, but all the same, Anjin … stares at the young Cassomir for a moment, before giving himself a shake. Lancers and Romantes and more (oh my!) can handle a two-person altercation, and Anjin really was here for a legitimate reason that did not involve trying to antagonize Henric.

Continuing on his original trek, that book of his retucked under his left arm after it slipped just a second ago, Anjin eventually makes his way towards finding a healer not preoccupied by sudden bouts of pugilism. He doesn't press his case upon anyone, just… waits. And stares, of course.

Angling a look first toward the Viscount to read his reaction, Lianna follows along in Oberyn's wake to stand just to the side of him and a step behind. Her position is prudent, as there is not - as yet - need to tend anyone in this particular exchange of pugilistic contest. Near enough at hand to see what is happening without being in the line of flying fists. She casts a sidelong look at Oberyn, notes where precisely he is gripping his thigh, deduces that would be the epicenter of the wound and notes that for future reference. Lianna runs one of her (now clean) hands over her hair, shaking her head as she tucks one of the chin length curls behind one ear as she casts another look, this one around the fire. The group of healers are, to the last man or woman, standing calmly among those of the Viscount's entourage. After all, healers run TOWARD the fight, not away. Seeing the calm resolve on those faces, people she's barely come to know, Lianna finds herself straightening subtly again, drawing up to her full and not terribly impressive height and sharing the calm look back, along with a mild nod. While they have not, as a group, seen combat as of yet, they just stood their first test together and not a single healer withdrew from the possibility of a fight unfolding in their midst's. Well done.

Kira's weight rolls up onto the balls of her feet but when Dacian stands down it settles down onto her heels and she lets out a slow, greatful breath, relaxing some.

Henric put distance between them, the hold only long enough to force the distance and to ensure the younger hadn't any further designs to strike again. The horror and desperation that he saw behind Dacian has him retreat a further step, hearing the commotion of the Viscount and guards coming to break it up, even though there was nothing really to break up. He gets turned aside by one of his fellow Lancers (one that he road North with), almost a grabbing of the scruff gesture and allows it. Oddly, Henric knows he's the culprit here and allows himself to be 'encouraged' away from the scene. Whatever he would've said to Dacian is held back, mostly, there's pity there now in his eyes and guilt, sent over his shoulder. Though it is a fellow Lancer that sees him off to help further diffuse the situation.

All right then, things seem to be breaking up. Letholdus watches Sir Henric closely as he knows now well how to read Henric. His attention returns to Dacian and his cousin, Kira. Dus makes a gesture for her to go ahead and give Dacian some comfort to quiet her kinsman if she may, "Sir Dacian, Sir Henric is one of my most trusted companions. You are sworn to serve our Queen and he, nor anyone else here, will harm you." Letholdus looks to Lianna's healers and reaches out to gently take one of the wine skins, if he may. The Viscount presses it into Dacian's hands, "Take a drink and pull yourself together, Sir."

The scuffle, the shouts, they serve to bring the Romante squire out of her tent and looking warily around with her sword drawn without even realizing she had done it. Expecting swords and torches and the sounds of soldiers feet, she only notices the parting of Henric and Dacian accompanied by the encouragement of the Viscount. Tempers were flaring again.. As the circumstances fizzle out as soon as they had started, Kaicee returns her sword to its resting place and quietly remains in the shadows as well as she can and after a moment, goes to finish her work inside the tent since she is about finished.

Oberyn sees Henric back off and glances to Letholdus and then the other man he doesn't recognize. He turns slowly to Lianna and grins. "The Viscount has control of the situation and no one appears to be injured." He hears what Letholdus speaks of Henric and it brings a small smile to his face. His eyes go to Anjin and his head tilts slowly. "Do you need help, sir?" He appears worried for the man with an eye issue. He limps towards him and grins warmly. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Kira steps over quickly and reaches a hand out to curl it around Dacian's arm, tugging lightly away from the fray. "I think we should speak Sir Cousin, we have a great deal to cover." Her voice drops lower between them. "You can't do this Dacian…"

The healer that was holding the wine skin does surrender it without contest, even a murmured, "Good eve, milord," is offered as the healer joins the others nearest the fire. After all, there IS food still being passed around.

Lianna shares a smile with Oberyn, "Thus far," she agrees and with another glance around she follows the Lancer toward the one-eyed Tekar. Maybe it takes a fellow knight to address the often very quiet Tekar, but she waits for the answer all the same.

Dacian puts his arm back at his side, then folds it in front of him to test its range of motion after being twisted so. But it's all fine, he's not hurt, just a little bit unsettled, as though he were really wondering whether he was going to wake up in a second. He's definitely had dreams weirder than this. The maid's turned into a scout. The nightmare-face is here, speaking words of peace. So he stands there where he was left, with his back half-to the rest. When Letholdus addresses him he looks over his shoulder, lips slightly parted, eyes sort of dull, listening and then bobbling his head in a numb-looking nod, taking the wineskin in both hands. This is the sort of dream that needs a drink. Or seven. Then, tugged away from the group by this… person, he squints at her, lips twisted into a suspicious not-quite-smile to match the squint. "Who are you?"

Kira looks up at Dacian, pained. "I'm Kira… I…" She sighs. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to know you were alive but I don't have a guard. And I wasn't sure you'd want to see me. Forgive me… Please."

As Oberyn speaks to him, Anjin's single eye goes towards the man as though to suggest that its the scarified, sightless iris that needs help. That stares holds for the space of a second before the Tekar knight is suddenly adjusting that leather-bound rectangle under his left arm so that he can more easily pull off the leather glove covering his right. It takes some effort, due to the fact that he's exposing the signet ring with his family crest engraved, but soon enough the bare flesh with a beautiful bruise pattern is fully revealed in answer to what Oberyn just asked. Anjin feels no need to nod, given that.

Letholdus lightly slaps a hand on Dacian's shoulder as Kira leads him aside to let him get hold of himself. Whatever this Romante is thinking about his cousins, former Thorn loyalists, Dus keeps to himself. His dark eyes follow them, then he turns to rejoin Henric and his fellows he arrived with, "My apologies, Lady Lianna, for the interruption. Sir Anjin, I'd care for a word with you tomorrow, as well as you, Sir Henric." As in, them together. Da-da-da-da-dun! THe Viscount makes a gesture to the rest of his small party to continue. "Let us go. There is some of the camp I wish yet to see ere we return to my pavilion." There is brief eye contact with Oberyn and a faint nod to that man before Letholdus starts to walk off.

<FS3> Lianna rolls Healer: Good Success.

Henric is rather silent and murmuring to the other Lancer, whose got a hand on his shoulder - like a boxer in the corner of his ring being encouraged on before the next round. Yes. There's a brief nod from Henric as he decides to stay out of conversational reach of any of those in the healer tent, until Letholdus decides to move on. When that happens he'll fall back in, near the rear guard however, mollified and ashamed. Tail between the legs, his features darkened and frowning. Then he's off with the others, not a word or look back at the 'fuss' he caused by simply stepping toward someone. Who would've thought he was -that- intimidating.

Lianna glances up at the Viscount as he speaks to herself, Sir Anjin, then around to Sir Henric. "A little bit of letting off of steam, in the right environment, isn't necessarily a bad thing, my lord," she says with a measured nod at the viscount before he takes his leave.

She turns back to Sir Oberyn and Sir Anjin, stepping forward then and invading a bit of the Tekar knights personal space. Ok, invading a lot of it. "By your leave, Sir Anjin?" she says before she finishes the invasion and takes ahold of his right hand and angles his hand slightly so that the light can better illuminate. "Serious bruising. It would've been negated in advance if this had been tended to, properly," she doesn't say this in a admonishing tone of voice, merely a statement of fact. "Make a fist, please?" she asks, testing his range of movement, watching intently for any additional symptoms other than the lovely bruising and what most certainly has to be some measure of discomfort.

Oberyn winces at the bruising and inches closer. He's following Lianna into Anjin's space. "Let me know if you need anything, milady." His voice is quiet when he speaks this. "What caused this, sir?" He worries over the man he's not met. His eyes connect with Letholdus and he gets the little nod and he nods in return. He glances back to Anjin and hover hands over his shoulder. He winces.

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