A Warm Welcome
Seventh Day of the Third Month 294 AC
By the time you take your seat by the fire in font of the very solid looking tent, you had already sent word back to the Deep asking about the Lannisters,
Ser Stafford Lannister dead, his son and one of his daughters captured. You might have preferred that the elder knight lived, but you are certainly not going to complain at the prisoners you did get. The Lads do good word. It might be that Buttercup's smile looks a touch too sharp, but the flickering light of the campfire hides it.
As the leader of the camp emerges to face you, armed with magic to sharpen the mind and see through glamor as much as steel, you give him a bright smile and send word back to have someone else take them into custody and back to the keep. No sense in linking Buttercup with business too tightly when you don't have it.
"Well now, mighty odd to see three wanderers in these woods after dark." This last half year of leading the Lads, not only with full supplies they did not have to beg, borrow, or steal, but also with a purpose and pledge had done Benjicot Brown good. The man had been straight-backed and clear-eyed when you first met him in the Deep, a knight in word and deed, but now you see a lord before you, for all his subjects are a raucous bunch and his fief is the Greenwood.
"You weren't keeping quiet all that well for folks that didn't want to be found, and it was the sort of hue and thunder likely to draw folks with an ear for a fine feast and finer company still. I've come with songs and I've come with tales. My companion there has a fair few trinkets and fripperies to trade if being lords of these here woods pays as well as I'm thinking it does..."
That got a few cheers, but the brown-cloaked knight raised his hand for silence and asks, "Who is the true king in these lands, master Buttercup."
"Well now some might say the truth of kings is like a dry crackling parchment with dust two fingers thick," you answer as much to the gathering crowd as the knight. "As for me, I say that it's like a song and songs only live in the singing. So kingship lives on men's lips, great and small, young and old. This here's a dragon kingdom, that much I know for sure, and like I said, I'm glad for the company. Better than an old lion's realm nipping at the heels of a stumbling stag."
This time Ser Benjicot does not bother to stop the chuckles.
"You've a fine way with words, friend," you hear Tom's words out of the dark. He hasn't changed near as much as his lord since last you slaw him, though the woodsman's hat to go with the faded green cloak is new.
"Man has to eat somehow, and we can't all be as skilled with a sword as Ser Geralt here..."
"Ser Geralt, from the tourney at Ashford?" the singer asks looking to Ser Richard with and interested gleam in his eye. "If you're half as skilled as tales tell, you've a place here for more than the night."
"The singer's tongue outpaces his patience again, but this time it runs true," Ser Benjicot interjects. "If you'll take oaths before a truth-spell to serve the king and keep the Lads here as kith there's a place at the fire for you, Ser. I know how hard a hedge mage's wanderings can be."
Ser Richard only gives you a long telling look.
Well you started this... There's no spell to carry his words into your mind, but you can practically hear him just the same.
What do you reply?
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OOC: I know the vote goes further but I figured attempted recruiting was a odd enough moment to break for a vote and let 'Buttercup' explain himself. Not yet edited.
