[center][h1]ILLRIC THE BRAWN[/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://il9.picdn.net/shutterstock/videos/2508821/thumb/8.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][i]Castle Tarrow, Lady's Sarisa's Chambers[/i][/center]
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[color=#81F79F][b]"Good news?"[/b][/color] Lady Sarisa asked him, and Illric nodded, breathing a sigh of relief that she hadn't seemed to have noticed his foolish phrasing. He extended the scroll to her, and allowed her to read it at her leisure. 

"Allow me to summarize, that Lord Leoric will be arriving some time this morning. I will endeavour to prepare the castle for his return, as much as that can be done given the limited span of time we have. For the nonce, that involves waking and setting the maids to work, and the cook can set to making a welcome breakfast for Lord Cade. I was also going to inform the Castellan, but thought it possibly wiser to allow Ser Raymun to find out for himself of his brother's return. Unless you require anything else Lady Sarisa, I shall be attending to those matters now."

Illric paid careful attention to the paths his eyes followed, and while he didn't outwardly betray his nervousness, he felt a quivering sensation in his chest. His gaze slipped past the Lady and to her chambers, which looked full of candlelight and half-sewn articles of clothing. It seemed a warm space at first, but as Illric continued his observation he noticed that the window was open, a chill breeze was brushing through the drapes. He knew well the cold winds that could blow on a night like this, and he found himself wondering how warm the Lady could be, dressed even in furs as warm as those. The curves of the fur draped seductively over-

Illric blinked, and his gaze returned to Lady Sarisa's eye level. He coughed abruptly, "My apologies my Lady, my duties await." And without heeding whatever she might have said, had she noticed his damned wandering eyes, Illric fled the corridor. He made his way down several flights of stairs, feeling the breeze of his hastened movement in the chilled beads of sweat on his neck. He'd been stupid, and made a mummer's farce out of that exchange! It was only when he'd banged on the maid's quarters with enough force to bruise his hand that he realized that he was seething. [i]Who am I angry at? Myself surely? Or is my anger directed at the Lady for being betrothed to another? Or yet even more, perhaps my anger is towards Lord Cade himself? Gods, but I should never have become a maester, this is the seventh hell! I was doing just fine in a congregation of only male acolytes but now? NOW? I'm at a loss! I'm an utter disas-[/i]

"Beg your pardon?" Illric asked, internal dialogue broken by somebody's voice. One of the senior maids was staring at him in the doorway with consternation.

"I said, what do you want Maester? 'Tis late and my girls are still too groggy to sweep the kitch'."

"Well sweep the 'kitch' they shall! Lord Cade will be arriving in a scant few hours and it would be in all of our best interests to see to it that he recieves a fair welcome home!" Illric retorted, nodding curtly to the maid before turning to leave. The maid nodded to him as well, and then closed the door. However the wood on lower floors was cheaper and thinner than the quarters of the nobility and Illric heard the maid's comments about the "Raven-boy" loud and clear. 

Illric stormed down through another level, woke the cook, and then stepped outside for a breather. He nodded to the Dornishmen who had remained at Tarrow as an honour guard for Lady Sarisa, and their commander nodded in return. It wasn't unusual for the soldiers to be woken at unusual times at regular intervals. These men were cut from a fine cloth indeed, demonstrating the readiness at any hour. Perhaps they'd even see fit to provide the Lord Cade with a welcoming salute, Illric didn't think that possibility unlikely. Still his mind buzzed with thoughts as he rushed through the courtyard, attention flitting this way and that, until he staggered, took a breath, and sat down. He felt a rush of blood in his head, pounding in his ears, and realized he was panicking. There wasn't any need for that, or so he told himself. Illric's thoughts turned once more to Ser Jakob, and how he would prepare for a battle that he was expecting. The maester drew himself into a cross-legged sitting position, folded his arms and breathed deeply. He put his worries from his mind, and breathed. He could hear some of the early morning birds, and faintly, the clangour of men in the barracks preparing to run drills. That was who he was, or at least used to be, in his time on the trail. The roads that had led to battle had been roads that Illric ran readily with restless risibility. A man of arms, and armour, and the arts of anatomy. Cleaning wounds, shouting orders, and in a few cases, even clashing blade to blade with the boldest of intruders.

Illric breathed and remembered those days, and he drew gentle lines over his scars underneath his robes with his fingers. It had been the nightmare which had set him on edge, distracted him and thrown off his guard. He would have to see about checking his stores for sleeping herbs that could deaden his dreams. Of course, plants hadn't been a strong focus for Illric, so a visit to the castle's library would be essential, to leaf through some of the Cade's own tomes on herbology. [i]A clear course, and specific goals, the surest path to a clear conscience and healthy mind... But, Lady Sarisa?[/i]

Illric breathed, and assured himself that whatever else he might feel, his duty to the Archmaesters, the Cades, and himself mandated that he set aside his urges, and let the marriage come to pass without protest. The cold pragmatic side of Illric added helpfully that should his needs become impossible to control, a polite (and veiled) request to draw upon the wealth of House Cade could grant him the opportunity to proposition a lady more properly suited to his needs and status. Honour was no object when it came to serving the Lord of Tarrow. Loyalty over honour, Illric decided. And if he were to engage in less than glamorous activities to preserve that loyalty, so be it. The Seven knew what happened to men incapable of compromising their principles from time to time, Illric remembered the chill in his spine when the news of Lord Eddard Stark's death had come to Tarrow. He vowed to learn from the man's mistakes, and do his best to avoid meeting the same fate. Illric understood he was unlikely to lose his head to Ser Illyn Payne, but rather, the point he made to himself was merely that in upholding his station, he was becoming a more capable maester, and an effective servant to his masters. [i]But what would Ser Jakob and Gyles say of this line of thinking?[/i]

Illric breathed, and arose. Those days were over, and he had to adapt to his new life sooner than later, considering the Lord's imminent return. Gone was the era of idealistic youth, and permeable layers of society. Gone was the age of dragons and fire. Gone was the season of summer. As the Starks were so wont to warn, Illric reflected darkly, [i]Winter is Coming, and stronger men than me will fall into the Stranger's embrace.[/i] Illric kept walking, and decided he was ready to face the Bastard. He adjusted his course accordingly.

***

Illric stood outside the Bastard's door, and just like Lady Sarisa's door, it too made guessing at the activities of the occupant impossible. Unlike Lady Sarisa's door, the bastard's portal was wrought of dark iron, bearing a knocker forged in the shape of a bear. That had always puzzled Illric, seeing as Bear Island was many leagues north of Tarrow, and to his knowledge no Mormonts had ever possessed any holdings in the Riverlands. The much more worrying interpretation was of course, that bears tended to raid beehives. The sigil of House Cade. Illric shrugged, and used the knocker. As he awaited Ser Raymun, he wondered what state of dishevelled lechery the bastard would be in when he answered the door. It certainly wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, given what behaviour Illric had observed of the Bastard.