Lanisen is sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, his hands cupped around his neck, watching the light from the window flare and ebb as clouds roll by outside.
Loc lays on his back staring at the ceiling. He finally breaks the monotony. “Place gives you a lot a time to think huh.”
Lanisen mms noncommittally.
Loc hehs, “Pity we don’t really got a way to pass the time.”
Lanisen says, “Pretty sure that’s sorta the point of prison.” He yawns a bit, then digs a hand into his pocket. “Huh.” He dumps the resultant handful of junk out onto the floor: the stick, a dead beetle, a couple of small copper coins, eight pebbles of vaguely similar shape, a button, and a small amount of rather tangled string.
Loc sits up and observes the contents. He brightens, “Ah. Those pebbles will be perfect. He moves to the floor and traces a board in the dust and dirt on the floor. He begins arranging the pebbles.
Lanisen picks up one of the coins and positions it on the stone floor. He gives it a flick with one fingernail and watches it spin across the cell. “You really sure you want to do that? I /will/ win.”
Loc chuckles. “You get better with each defeat don’t you?” He motions for Lanisen to join him. “Besides, it’s one of the best ideas you’ve had.”
Lanisen scoots over to join Loc. “I have my moments.”
Loc asks, “Foxes or wolves?”
You hear a clank as the bolt is drawn back and the door opened.
Loc’s head snaps up and he looks alarmed.
Lanisen muses, “You mean rats or mice? These ain’t exactly colored like foxes–” He looks up as well, startled.
Lanisen is sitting with Loc on the floor of the cell, where you can see a rough Foxes and Wolves board has been set up with pebbles. It doesn’t look like either player has made a move yet. Lanisen scrambles to his feet as the door starts clanking.
Loc is sitting cross legged on the floor before a makeshift Fox and Wolves game with dirt and pebbles. He looks like a deer caught in the torchlight and doesn’t move as the door is openned.
Dar enters a step behind the guards. His scabbard is strapped to his side. Though there is a woodenness about his movements, and several bruises are just begining to purple on his face and arms, he carries himself with an unmistakable air of authority. His expressionless features would be easy to mistake for sternness. At his instructions, the guards give the prisoners a ration of bread.
Tyren follows after Dar, looking much the same, albeit in a slightly shorter and stockier form and with considerably fewer bruises.
Lanisen backs away as the cell begins to be crowded, standing in the little space between the bed and the table, and watches the men. He takes his ration silently, though he makes no move to eat it just yet. His eyes are dark and frightened in his pale face, he looks thin and unhealthy, and a healing slice is livid against his throat.
Loc immediately begins crawling back towards the cots, moving with speed and agility. He watches warily, his eyes betraying a small amount of fear. This relents as he recieves the bread. He looks to the man with a chain of office, eyes squinting a bit and he bows at the waist before turning his gaze to the next man. His eyes narrow slightly. He looks down at the bread and manages a quiet, “Thank you. Milords.”
Lanisen, again following Loc’s lead, bows quickly and also murmurs his thanks.
Dar gives a stiff nod in reply, the gaze he rests on the two prisoners unbending. “You shall have no cause to complain of ill-usage while you await His Majesty’s pleasure.” He offers no other preamble or introductions, either for himself or for the other knight with him.
Tyren for his part also makes no introduction – in fact, he remains quiet completely, allowing the steward to speak instead.
Loc’s eyes flicker to the second knight and linger for some moments. He looks to the one with authority and gives a small nod. His voice is low but sincere. “Thank you.” He pauses, then replies, “We won’t be giving his Majesty any trouble.” His voice trembles faintly, clutching the bread closer.
Tyren lifts a brow slightly, in a rather classic move for both him and his relations, as he finds himself the subject of one of the prisoner’s scrutiny, though still continues to keep his silence. The action conveys more of a question rather than anything else.
Dar’s eyes narrow slightly as the prisoner’s glance fixes on his cousin. His voice is as unemotional as his expression, however, when he replies, “Rest assured that you would not be permitted to even if such were in your mind.”
Lanisen keeps quiet for the moment, his head bowed, holding the bread in both hands in front of him. He glances once to the door, then fixes his eyes on the ground.
Loc shifts a bit, clutching his meal. “How is the woman, my lord Steward?”
Dar’s eyebrow raises in an exact mirror of the action performed just moments ago by the younger man with him. His reply is careful. “She continues as she was, and is receiving her rations at present just as you are.”
Loc seems relieved by the news and satisfied. He fiddles with the bread. He hesitates, then asks, “Is there anything your lordships would like to know at present?”
Lanisen tenses slightly, glancing from the corner of his eye to Loc.
Tyren glances to his elder companion at this, again lifting a brow and continuing to let him do the speaking – considering, after all, he is more in the position to.
Dar exchanges a brief look with Tyren before focusing his attention back on the prisoners. “You are that anxious to speak?”
Loc gives a small shrug. “Don’t know about anxious. But I will answer anything you like to the best of my ability.”
Tyren looks mildly surprised by this response, again glancing towards Dar.
Lanisen stares down at his portion of bread, his expression blank.
Dar says, “Your cooperation will no doubt meet with His Majesty’s approval. However, we are not here as an official delegation at present, but merely to see that you are being tended to. The questions will come soon enough, from the king’s own lips. I shall not usurp his prerogative.”
Tyren gives a small nod, finally breaking his silence, though it perhaps doesn’t add much. “Nor shall I.”
Loc gives a small nod. “Then I shall await His Majesty.” He looks to Tyren, “But I will say–the man that did that to you is dead. I thought you might… be interested to know that. Sir Tyren.” His lip twitches as he says the name, though his expression remains nuetral.
Dar’s eyebrow lifts again at this, and dramatically so.
Lanisen’s eyes dart to Tyren’s face at that, noting the scars with new understanding. He returns immediately to studying the ground.
Tyren mirrors his cousin’s reaction, though to a less dramatic degree – it appears that this is through force of effort rather than from less surprise. Beyond that, however, he simply dips a small nod. “Of interest, I grant, though I do not relish in it.”
Loc says coldly, “I’m not going to lie. I’m glad he’s gone. You met the worst of us.” He observes Tyren closely, “He never went into much detail about that. Just bragged about the blood.” He looks down at his bread, his voice becoming quiet. “I… am glad to see… it healed well.”
Lanisen frowns slightly, looking almost puzzled at Loc’s words, but he keeps quiet.
Dar, once his intial reaction to the news has passed, fixes on another portion of the bandit’s speech. As Tyren speaks, he falls silent, his mood intently contemplative.
Tyren’s face continues to register a degree of surprise. His tone, however, remains calm and even. “I thank you for that, then.”
Loc grunts, looking at his bread and falling silent.
Dar glances to his cousin again. His face continues to reflect little of the thoughts within, until he asks, “My own identity, I surmise, can be easily ascertained by the chain of office I wear. My cousin’s, however, is another matter. How did you come to fix upon it so readily, Bandit?”
Loc replies, “He’s the one that was in Carmichael. Myrd knew him by name. And he sent Zan after him. Zan talked all about how good he got that fancy pants knight.” He pauses, “And they always said he was the quiet, serious one.”
Lanisen again looks slightly puzzled. He still does nothing to draw any attention to himself.
Tyren says, “Which is true enough, I suppose.”
Dar apparently does not have enough to press the matter further, but neither does he look convinced. “Perhaps,” is all he adds. “Your forthrightness is, once again, noted. You will remain here awaiting His Majesty, and your needs, within reason, will continue to be provided.” With this, he turns and makes his way from the cell.
Tyren nods his agreement with his cousin, and follows suit.
Loc bows at the waist.
Lanisen, as they start to go, blurts, “Where’s Colin?”
Tyren can’t quite fully mask a wince as he glances to his cousin for answer.
Dar pauses, stiffening more than can be accounted to his bruises. Again, his reply is diplomatic. “He continues here as well. Be mindful that it is yours to answer rather than to ask.”
Lanisen’s eyes flicker with alarm and he lowers his head quickly at the rebuke.
Loc remains quiet, watching Lanisen and the knights. He begins to nibble on his meal.
Dar turns on his heel, his long strides quickly taking him out the door.
Lanisen steps backward and sits down onto his cot, fairly sagging with relief. He considers the bread in his hand for a moment, then takes a small bite. “Figured they were gonna…”
Loc tears into his bread and laughs, releasing his nerves. He says over a moutful, “Yeah.”
Lanisen evidently sees nothing to laugh over. He eats slowly, making it last.
Loc finishes his meal and leans his head back on the cot, closing his eyes. His features reveal some strain. “So that’s Tyren”
Lanisen sends him an oblique look. “I know.”
Loc says, “We shared a shoe size once.”
Lanisen eyes him. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
Loc says, “I was….” He opens his eyes, squinting at the ceiling. “Nine or so? People always said I was big for my age. I was helping my father in his shop every few days and he got a special order…”
Lanisen scoots back against the wall. “For shoes… I see.”
Loc says, “Father called me over to the bench. According to the order, it was for a boy about my size foot. Tyren wasn’t always the…” He gives a roguish grin, “Fine specimen a knight you saw before you today. He hadn’t long been in training as a Squire. He wasn’t runty, but he wasn’t a big kid either. Apparently he was getting some boots for when he did… ‘common’ work. You know, his duties that didn’t involve being all noble and such.”
Lanisen seems to have no comment on this.