“My good cousin has sent me this, from Dorne,” King Daeron says, a grin on his beautiful face, a great dark raptor clinging to his gauntlet-covered wrist. Though hooded, it looks fierce enough, the talons flexing as it wobbles unsteadily. “The Dornishmen use them to pull fish from the sea, if you’ll believe it.”
Ethos always makes a considerably greater effort on his appearance if he knows he will be meeting with the king, taking time to find an unwrinkled shirt, wash up, comb his hair, and such. So, at the very least the knight looks presentable. When Daeron shows off the dangerous bird, Mertyns looks suitably impressed as his brows lift. Is that an excited smile on his face or a nervous one? “It’s remarkable, Your Grace. Is that what you intend to use it for?” He asks, eying the raptor as if it were a new foe he must conquer.
“Yes, I had thought so. Ser Alyn says it’s been trained to fly at command,” says the young king, violet eyes watching the bird with a distinct pleasure as it sways on his arm. He moves, then, to offer it back to the assistant mewkeeper, who forces it onto his own arm. Nimbly, the leash is tied back onto a leg before it is placed inside a perch within one of the score or more of mews here. There is, it must be said, a certain smell to the place, of bird droppings and feathers and perhaps rotten meat. “I had the thought of taking one of the pleasure bargs into the bay, and seeing what it might do. Or perhaps a longer excursion, landing on the shore and hunting in the wood the next day. What do you think, ser?”
There’s a hint of relief on his face when Daeron hands the hunting bird off to the assistant to put away, and Ethos steps back out of the way. He grins as the man talks of going out into the bay, nodding, “It’s a grand idea, my king. Going out into the wood after would make for a fine trip, I think. I could be sure that all is prepared for your arrival from the bay.”
He pauses, then continues as he latches onto an opening in the conversation to present his thoughts, “In fact, it brings to mind something I had been thinking about, Your Grace. I had an idea to make hunting excursions more enjoyable. What if you had a lodge to take respite in, out in the Kingswood? A place to relax, have some drinks, take refuge from the rain should the weather be less than accomodating?”
The king—and so his little party of hanger-ons and household men—is ushered on down the row of mews to examine another bird, an eagle with feathers that shine like gold. “Oh, handsome,” he remarks, and his companions nod their agreement and give their praise. “This one, the Sealord brought. An eagle such as the horselords use, my soon-to-be-brother told me.” The assistant offers to bring it out of the mew, but the king shakes his head, and instead glances to Ser Ethos. “A lodge, ser? We’ve one deep in the heart of the wood, though I use it rarely; it takes too long to get there, when I’ve only two or three days. Something nearer, however—that sounds a good notion.”
Ethos has seen the birds enough before, of course, but the knight nods along with the rest when they praise the eagle. Far be it for him to ignore the interest the king shows. There’s a moment of curiosity when the Sealord is mentioned, but the man stays on topic. “I had thought something close to where the ferry lands on the river. It could serve as an overnight retreat, or a place for your guests to linger and prepare for a hunt. I spoke with Ser Janden Melcolm, one of the officers of the Warden, and he feels that making sure patrols pay extra mind for security shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I see you’ve given it some thought. As our good Warden did not entirely stamp out the problem of the bandits… well, it pays to be cautious,” the Young Dragon says in response. There is, it must be said, a somewhat peevish tone when he remarks on the bandits that still trouble the kingswood. “Of course, Lord Cargyll will doubtless wonder where the coin comes from for this endeavor. It cannot just be a glorified crofter’s cottage, to say the least.”
The huntsman keeps a carefully blank expression on his face when the bandit problem is brought up, “I’ve been checking in regulary with Janden to get reports of any bandit activity, so I can be sure that the game trails are secure. There haven’t been any sightings in a long time, most likely they’ve fled deeply into the woods.” Ethos comments, then moves back to the topic of the lodge. “I had an idea on how to have the cottage pay for itself, actually.”
The knight takes a slow breath, then continues, “I’ve been thinking about how there are limited game licenses and a great many people that would like to hunt. What if I put together a monthly lottery where anyone that wants to enter pays the same fee per entry? It would appeal to the smallfolk and merchant classes, as they will have a chance to participate in some finer activities, plus I think it could reduce the poaching. I could take care of putting the lodge together, and Lord Cargyll needn’t trouble himself at all.”
That makes the fair-haired, young king pause in consideration. He thoughtfully tugs the gauntlet from his hand, which the assistant takes from him with a bow. A last look to the mews, and then he turns and says to the kingsguard knight, “Send word to Ser Beron that I’ll have need to speak to him, Osbert.” The white-clad knight departs, and it’s plain to see that Beron Buckwell is serving as Lord Cargyll’s surrogate while the old lord is away to his seat. While the knight goes one way, the king starts walking another, towards Maegor’s Holdfast. His companions, young knights all, gossip amiably, and make a point not to disturb him.
It’s after a pair of minutes with such silence from Daeron that he finally says, “My father made much use of lotteries of this sort. Or rather, Lord Velaryon my grandfather did, when he was Regent. Anything to scrape up coin, after the Dance.”
Ethos grows quiet as well, the silence from the king causing the smile to fade from his face. As Daeron begins to walk away, the knight hesitates, then takes a few steps to follow him. Beads of sweat tickle at the back of his neck and he decides against pressing the issue until the king speaks further. “Well..” Mertyns swallows, obviously uncertain if he should drop the idea or not. He soldiers on, not about to give up when he’s gone this far with the plan.
“I thought to make more of an event of it, something for people to enjoy, Your Grace. Perhaps a public drawing, something to excite the population and put their minds on things other than the continuing trouble in Dorne. If the nobility participate, it would add more suspense to the game. The cost of a single stag for a person to hunt is small enough.”
“More than most of our smallfolk can afford,” the king points out. “But that’s fine. I don’t think it will do as much to reduce poaching as you seem to think, ser, but that’s neither here nor there.” Daeron continues on his way, knights at his heels, when he says, “Well, it’s only a license, yes? And if it can fund this new lodge you’ve thought of, even old Lord Cargyll will have to sit on his hands and keep his mouth shut.”
A moment, another, and then, “Very well, ser. You’ve my leave to make the arrangements. I’ll inform Ser Beron Buckwell of this, doubtless he’ll send one of his scribblers to keep a track of expenses and revenue. Let him do the dirty work, if you wish—by huntsman cannot keep his nose to such business, eh?” A brief smile from the young king, with the full force of his charm and good humor behind it.
Ethos smiles brightly when the king finally seems to favor the idea. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Your Grace. I will work with whoever he sends and begin putting things into motion.” The knight bows, and it does a fair enough job of hiding when his smile slips briefly to apprehension again. When Mertyns straightens again, he asks smoothly, “Shall I start preparing for your hunting trip as well, my king?”
“Yes, Ser Ethos, I think so. Perhaps a last trip with the Sealord Ferro, before he departs for Braavos again,” Daeron says. “Mayhaps he’ll enjoy trying my Dornish bird.” And with that, the king’s business with the royal huntsman seems done, as he turns to one of his other companions, and remarks on a new destrier in from the riverlands. Maegor’s Holdfast looms nearer and nearer, and soon enough swallows the king and his entourage up.
Ethos nods again, then bows a second time and waits for the king to move on. Once Daeron is interested elsewhere, Mertyns turns to return to the mews, wiping sweat from his brow that isn’t entirely derived from the heat in the air. The knight lingers for a few minutes, then leaves the care of the birds to those that are far more qualified as he ventures off to decide how to proceed with full plate he’s just dished himself. At the very least the man has to find Janden and pump his friend for information on how to put together the hunting excursion.