He was not quite sure what compelled him to try & bother the Ruined lord again. Their conflict has been resolved — ending with Gryff coming out on top, just as expected. That, however, arose the question of what was to be done with Rodirk next. Leave him as a scratching post, allowing the cripple to roam around freely, as long as he kept his end of the deal, sounded reasonable. Gryff quickly discovered, that trying to raise the ire of a man, who stubbornly refused to have it raised, was a lot less fun, than meeting actual resistance. So he’d drop sarcastic remarks here & there, waiting for an instance, when the Forrester would loose patience & slip up—
& maybe, he was about to get one now.
“You? Pity me?..” Words were accompanied by a sarcastic scoff. Pity, when genuine, was a bitch to deal with, Gryff knew that — just as he knew, that the Ruined lord was merely trying make himself sound superior, despite his wretched state, while feeling nothing of the sort in reality. Something like helplessly shouting “you’ll be sorry one day!..”, knowing well enough, that such day is not likely to ever come… Such a childish thing to do. They were all nothing but idiotic children, these Forrester, & children deserved to be spanked for their misbehavior.
“And what exactly do you pity me for, Forrester?..” A sarcastic smirk never left Gryff’s features as he descended down the stairs of Ironrath’s Great Hall, approaching the other. “Having kicked both you and your sister down in the mud? Or being the new lord of your bloody keep?..” He let out another laugh, rolling his eyes slightly. “I enjoyed both well enough, thank you very much. The only one worth pitying here is you, Rodrik.” Young man winced semi-sympathetically, mockery obvious in his expression. “The fact, that you don’t even have the balls to admit it, just makes you look even worse, belive me or not.”
“Pity and sympathy are two different things, Gryff.” Rodrik murmured. “House Forrester feels sympathy for me because they still respect me in spite of the fact that I am a ‘cripple’.”
He leaned on his cane for a moment, shoulder sinking as he applied more weight to the right side of his body, a brief smirk crossing his lips as he closed his eyes and pointed his head away from the man. It was not a smirk at Gryff’s expense - Rodrik simply found humour in the situation. How blind Gryff could be to how things were, trapped in his own head and his own way of seeing things. That was one of the things he deserved pity for and it was only now that Rodrik could see it.
“You... deserve pity,” he stated bluntly, “because you have to resort to abusing those who can’t fight back. A child and a cripple. If the story had been different, if it had been Ser Royland who had dealt with your dog stealing from the kitchen... you wouldn’t have made such a show. You can’t admit that either, so who out of us is worse?”
The man looked up at Gryff as he slowly descended the stairs. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight and hoped this would only extend to a shouting match; his bones ached enough from their last encounter... but he’d come too far. Maybe his words could give Gryff something to chew on for a while, to shut him up and keep him away, or goad him into attacking Royland and having his head gracelessly removed from his shoulders in response.
“You have to attack cripples and children because it’s all you can do. Deep down, you know you can’t fight on equal terms; you can only win by preying on those weaker. That’s what’s so pitiful about you.”
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