still.
Janden is not one to keep anyone waiting - but Lormon’s missive reached him while he was in the Western Yard doing his morning exercises. The knight decided to take an extra few minutes to quickly wash and change from his practice leathers into more appropriate court attire. He’s doesn’t take long at these tasks, and when he arrives at the Kitchen Keep, the only real sign of his rush is that red hair is still wet from the washing.
The morning feels oppressive, even though the sun’s hidden behind grey clouds; it’s the still air, with no fresh wind from the sea, and the heavy moisture that does it. The Kitchen Keep is hardly more pleasant, the walls feeling close and the halls stifling. In this uncomfortable place, at this uncomfortable time, Ser Lormon Buckler—aged but unbent, the lines of his face giving it an even grimmer cast than he must have had in his youth—sits in a parlor room off the entrance hall, a cup of wine in hand, waiting.
“Ser Janden of House Melcolm?” a servant outside asks, seeing the knight entering. “My lord’s waiting here, ser.” He moves, and gestures through the open doorway.
Ser Lormon remains seated when the valelord enters, his gaze judging the younger man. “You’re Melcolm, are you?” he asks.
“Ser Janden Melcolm of Old Anchor, yes.” Janden replies to the question after being taken to Lormon. He then executes a well practiced bow, raising his eyes to meet those of the older knight. “Good morning, Ser Lormon. I’m sorry we haven’t had the chance to meet before now.”
“Aye? I would say the same, if I thought it’d bring me some advantage; but I will not say so,” says the older knight, and he brusquely gestures to a heavy wooden chair across from him. “I do not know you, but let us see if mayhaps we can fix that. Sit, ser. Take your ease.” There is no other cup of wine, however, anywhere in the vicinity; and the chair is damnedly uncomfortable, once one sits in it, the cushions thin and the wood so ornately carved as to feel unpleasant.
If Janden is concerned about the lack of wine or the stiffness of the chair, he does a fair job in hiding it. He has sat in worse. He finds his way into the chair, shifting for a moment to find what comfort he can in it and then regarding the old knight once more. “I’ll do my best to expose what I can of myself, Ser. Maybe I’ll have a chance to know you in the process. As much as a single conversation can allow, in any case.”
Lormon’s severe mouth quirks briefly, but it’s not an expression that leavens his grim appearance very much. “Some say words are wind, and only actions have any meaning. I have asked about regarding you,” the old knight says. “Stormbreaker’s man in the kingswood, eh? He must think well of you, if he’s sending his brother’s heir to find me and let me know of the suit. What have you done, for them to be so particular in their friendship with you?”
“I won’t venture as to what Ser Sarmion thinks, Ser. He lets me do my work, and I take a fair pride in doing it well. That relationship works best.” Janden is not at ease, but he speaks at a reasonable pace and takes a moment to consider his words. “His involvement and that of Ser Tancred was not really my intent. I can’t complain of the gesture or the support, but it wasn’t something I put in motion. Do you know Ser Ethos? The Royal Hunstman?” He only pauses a second, not really needing a response. “I’ve supported him in several ventures, including his placement in the King’s household. He set this chain into motion.”
“An ambitious pup, from what my men tell me,” Ser Lormon sniffs. “But still, sometimes one must make use of them…” He does not finish the thought, taking a swallow of wine instead, giving Janden his cool regard over the cup as he does so. “I recall seeing you when you were little more than a boy. Some tourney, as I recall, the melee where Ingram Bluespur took the prize. You fought well enough, for a boy; a boy fostered by the Hightowers, no less. Your lord father must think well of you, to have found you a place with Lord Lorent.”
“An impressive memory, Ser. That was some years ago. Enough seasons in Dorne nearly have erased those memories from my own mind. My time in Oldtown seems very long ago.” Janden’s gaze narrows very slightly at the mention of his father, and he regards the older knight for a few long moments. “I’d be surprised if you are not aware of my relationship with my father. The circumstances around my fostering were not well hidden - and you are a resourceful man, Ser Lormon.” He shrugs just a little. “My relationship with my father has always been strained. What I’ve done in my life has been done in spite of his attempts to balk me.” The knight lifts a thumb, rubbing at his jaw, watching the other knight and waiting.
A shrug of his shoulders, and Lormon replies, “Mayhaps I knew of it, ser, and merely wanted to see how you put it. An honest man, at least, even if the lie would have brought you more advantage. So, no friendship from your father. And you the third son; I suppose I cannot expect much in the way of dower for my daughter.” It’s baldly put, and Ser Lormon eyes Janden again thoughtfully before turning his gaze away, eyes going distant as he seems to calculate something. “And ... I suppose the dowry that my daughter brings would be welcome to you, ser. You are just this side of a hedge knight, for all I know. Save for your friends, that is; few hedge knights have Baratheons and Hightowers in their acquaintance, and king’s huntsmen.”
Janden listens, his expression unchanging as Lormon lists his rather scant credentials. None of this is new to the man. He nods simply when Lormon is complete. “You make a fair assessment. Having strong friends is important in King’s Landing. I came to the city to become more than a knight with strained ties to his family. I continue to work toward that goal - but given my limited resources, I’ve made progress since my arrival.” The knight takes a breath, considering and then continuing. “My father sought to keep me unknighted during my time in Dorne. I still fought and fought well. I defended the King himself during an ambush. Side by side with the King’s guard. I was knighted by Ser Osbert for those efforts.” He tells his tale in a matter of fact fashion. “Things are not always simply handed to a man. But, they can still be earned, Ser.”
“Aye. Aye, they can be,” says Ser Lormon, and for once he does not sound suspicious, or judging, or rough. But then, his station, his towerhouse near the kingswood, his Velaryon bride that made his children kin to the Targaryens, were all earned through blood shed in the Dance of the Dragons. Another swallow of wine, and then he sets the cup down empty. He fixes Janden with a gaze under heavy brows, and considers for a long moment. Then he nods. “If you are a man willing and able to earn your way in the world, ser, and to do what must be done to advance yourself… then I have no objection to your courting my daughter,” Ser Lormon says. “As to her dower lands, I suppose she can expect none now, eh? But that can wait for the contract ... as to dowry, if there is no dower, there will be no dowry. If you wed, I will give you both a morning gift, so you might keep a place here in the city. But I’ll do no more. than that.”
And then he stands, still strong and imposing despite his years. “This is not a betrothal, ser. Not yet, not until the contracts are agreed. I shall send my steward with a contract, after I consult a justiciar on the finer points,” Buckler remarks.
Ser Lormon nods vaguely. “Mayhaps we’ll have the opportunity, ser. Good day.”