He heard someone come into his room, and he asked for her name. She came over to the side of the bed, blushing and seemingly unable to take her eyes from him. He had no idea how bad he looked, but from the wide-eyed stare the girl gave him, it was clear he looked awful. She told him her name was Mary, and she had brought him something from Adelaide. Just hearing the princess' name had made him grin, and he asked to see what it was. Dutifully, Mary brought over one of the small, red flowers. Kervall took it, his heart suddenly lurching with worry. What would happen, now? Were there going to be political repercussions for Lionel's actions? There was supposed to be a feast tonight, wasn't there? He could feel in his bones that something terrible was about to occur, an ominous rumbling as clear as the storm outside. Kurt couldn't let his family, couldn't let Adelaide face this alone, while he lay in bed like an invalid. He was the Winsler heir, he had to do something.
Pleading with Mary, Kervall swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tried to stand, leaning some of his weight on the serving girl. She protested, but it was not exactly within her right to deny his request for aid. The pain was immeasurable. The very blood within his veins seemed to crawl with burning torture. Kurt gasped, but forced himself onward. Unfortunately, grim determination and a stubborn disposition were not analgesics of any kind. He got to the door before he collapsed, despite Mary's aid, and the girl ran to re-summon a Maester. Admonishing the young Winsler, the man told Kurt if he tried to pull another stunt like that he would be forced to lock the door. Sullenly, Kervall agreed to stay put, if only because the pain had seemed to take offense to his attempts to ignore it, and had returned three-fold. This time, the young man accepted milk of the poppy from the Maester, and now he lay in bed, drugged and pouting.
Soon after Mary left, Flynt Cavanaugh paid a visit to the recumbent Winsler. The look the young knight gave Kervall made him grimace. "Do I really look that bad?"
"N-no, my Lord! I was just... surprised to see... uh... so many bandages!" The boy sighed, and offered an apologetic shrug, though Kurt was actually grinning. "Alright, fine. You look like hell. Is there anything I can do for you, my Lord? The feast is going poorly downstairs. The tension seems thick enough to cut with a dagger." Flynt frowned, looking worried. "But I can bring you some food, if you like?"
Kervall shook his head. "I am not hungry, but thank you." He paused, trying to think - the poppy milk made it hard to stay coherent. "If you would, go back downstairs and watch what transpires. You shall have to be my eyes and ears, for now. Can you do that?" He offered a hopeful smile.
Flynt's chest puffed out with pride, "I will, my Lord. I will watch all, like a hawk! And report back to you soon." The knight turned to go, pausing to glance over his shoulder at Kervall, "Take it easy, alright?" With that, the boy left.
Kervall turned his head to stare out the clouded window and sighed. It was hard to think, but the only thoughts that came repeatedly were of Adelaide. He wanted to see her again. He even had considered asking Flynt to summon her, but worried what kind of trouble that might get her into, and that was the last thing he wanted for her, especially by his hand. His eyes drifted closed, and he allowed the blackness to consume his world, once more.
=*=*=*=*=*=
Things were really getting rather out of hand. Raban was really starting to worry. Everything his brother was doing seemed to go directly against what Mother and Father wanted, let alone himself or Adelaide. Why was Lionel going out of his way to be such a jerk? While it was true that Leo hadn't exactly been his favourite person lately, he had always thought that if things ever got messy, that Lionel would have their backs. What was that saying Father had told him a while ago? 'Blood runs thicker than water.' Father had said it meant that deep down, Leo loved them even if he didn't show it, much. Well, things were getting pretty messy, and Lionel hadn't changed. He even seemed to be getting worse. Rab had been so hopeful, too, when his brother had given him that sword yesterday. Every time he thought about it, Raban wanted to do nothing more than snatch it up and run to the practice dummies to start using it, but he hadn't had the chance, yet. He hadn't even been able to name it, yet, either. Father had told him once that it was bad luck to name a weapon before you had had the chance to swing it. Still, he had hoped, albeit briefly, that maybe it was a sign that his brother was finally getting better, that Leo didn't hate his guts, and that maybe they would get along again. Somehow, that was seeming less and less likely.
Thankfully, the tournament had gotten his mind off of his worries, at least temporarily. It been an absolute dream to watch - the only thing better than watching it would have been to participate, but Father hadn't allowed it, no matter how much he'd begged. So Leo had gotten a little scary when he fought Ser Gregory and Ser Kervall, but at least it hadn't been him, for once. He'd seen that look in Lionel's eyes, and it always frightened him. But he thought that maybe if they could focus that anger on their enemies then it wouldn't be quite so bad, right? But now Lionel seemed to be committed to making more enemies than he needed.
Raban didn't really understand most of the political intricacies that were flying around the great hall that evening, but Mother was furious. He was no master of intrigue, but Rab knew his mother, and he could see her anger for what it was. The boy wanted to say something to her, wanted to help her or to comfort her, but he couldn't think of anything that would help. So many crazy things were happening. Leo crowned Greyhardt girl the Queen of Love and Beauty - but wait, wasn't that the wrong girl? Then Father announced Lionel's marriage - again - but he also said Ada was to marry Kervall! But now she was refusing? Bored and confused, Raban squirmed in his seat. That Dornish guard didn't seem to be anywhere nearby, and Mother was clearly distracted, so the young Damian slipped out of his seat and wandered to the edge of the room. What he really wanted now was to steal over to the armory field and play--er... practice with his new sword, the thunderstorm outside not dissuading him in the least. No one's paying attention, though, right? Grinning with mischief, Raban sauntered quietly towards the doors that would lead him to the proper hallways. If no one noticed him, he could make a clean break, and have possibly hours before they found him.
Raban made it nearly to the doors without being stopped, and, suppressing laughter, bolted the last ten feet, excitement fueling his speed.