Loc sits, careful to remain still. His hands and legs are bound.
Dar enters the cell, nodding to the guards and ensuring that their orders have been carried out. He pulls his sword from his scabbard, the noise echoing in the chamber.
Loc pales visibly.
Dar holds his sword at the ready with the practiced ease of one who has been a knight far longer than he has served as a steward. He gives a low instruction to his cousin.
Dar mumbles “Give … guard … razor. He has … …”, to Tyren.
Lanisen sits quietly in the other chair, further back in the cell than Loc in a poorly lit corner, also bound. He’s trembling and keeps his head down, but he watches /everything/.
Loc bows his head looking nervous, eyes moving between the guards and the knights.
Tyren nods, turning to a guard standing close to him, and handing a razor to him. Once this has been seen to, he glances to the sword in his hand and holds it ready as well, the motion clearly indicating a good degree of skill with it.
Dar keeps his eyes, and the point of his sword, trained on Loc. “You will have your request. I do not suggest taking advantage of it.” He nods to the guard, who approaches Loc with razor, basin, and cloth.
Loc immediately slumps as he spies the instruments for a shave. He nods solemnly and straightens, though his eyes still hold reserve.
Tyren, as per usual, keeps his silence, face expressionless as he merely stands to support his cousin with his presence – and blade, if need be.
The guard, per his orders, lathers Loc’s face and begins the process of scraping the razor along the growth of beard.
Lanisen twists his wrists in the rope, squirming with anxious, fidgety discomfort rather than any real intent to escape. The guard standing by his chair grips his shoulder forbiddingly, and he flinches and goes still.
Dar watches the bandit intently as this process takes place.
Loc swallows hard as the lather is applied and screws his eyes shut as the blade is set to the beard. He doesn’t move an inch.
Tyren continues to watch, similarly to Dar, still silent.
The guard finishes shaving the prisoner and steps back, taking the equipment with him. Another guard immediately enters in his place.
Loc opens one eye, still keeping his body rigid. Slowly he opens the other, his gaze moving between the guards and knights waiting to see what comes next. Without the beard, he appears younger and more civilized.
Dar nods, satisfied. He puts his weapon away, scrutinizing the bandit’s now-revealed features. “We have your rations as well.”
Tyren sheathes his own blade again. “You understand, of course, certain precautions are necessary in siutations as this.”
Loc nods, looking more at ease once the razor is out of reach of his throat. “I do Sir. I thank you for the shave.”
Lanisen relaxes visibly once the blades are all put away.
Dar nods. “As I have said. You will have no grounds to complain of being ill-treated. Within reason, of course. Once again, your cooperation is noted.”
Tyren nods his agreement. “You are, after all, human, prisoner or no, and that at least will not be denied you.”
Loc gives a slow nod. “I am grateful for your kindness.” His voice is quiet and sincere.
Tyren simply nods once in reply.
Lanisen stays silent, his head down, though he flicks a glance to Loc.
Loc looks at Lanisen and gives a wane smile.
Dar’s attention is drawn to Lanisen when Loc takes notice of him. “And you? He has had his shave. Is there anything you would like to say while you have us here?”
Lanisen shifts a little, looking startled and wrong-footed on being addressed. “Uh… no, sir.” He pauses and swallows, glancing at Loc, and amends, “Uhm… ‘cept, you know, what he said about answerin’ questions an’ all that…”
Dar’s eyebrow raises slightly. “I see.”
Loc frowns slightly. “They ain’t gonna bite Lanny.”
Tyren quirks a brow slightly and replies, “Well, unless we’re given reason to believe we need to. Though I haven’t had such yet.”
Lanisen is not comforted by this. His eyes flit to Tyren’s face, wide and wary.
Dar smirks faintly at his cousin’s words, coughing once to cover it.
Loc glances at Tyren and manages a laugh. “You have a sense of humor.” He looks throughly amused. “You sure you’re from Chesterton?”
Lanisen definitely looks wrong-footed now. He twists his hands in the ropes, probably unconsciously, earning himself another wordless warning from the guard.
Tyren’s brow lifts slightly higher, though a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth may imply his words are less serious than his tone implies. “Not so much humor as a simple desire to provide the full truth, but call it as you like. As for the question, bear a mark of it right here.” He grips the hilt of his sword at this point.
Loc flinches a bit at the grip but then squints to see better. His eyes grow slightly larger. “I heard about that. Something about a tournament right? A gift from your brother? What a sight that is!”
Dar keeps his attention on the younger of the two prisoners as this conversation continues. Without preamble, he interjects, speaking to Loc, “I would not be surprised to discover that you yourself hailed from Chesterton, with the interest you seem to take in it.”
Tyren removes his hand from the hilt, the gesture clearly not purposed to have been a show of intimidation, as he nods in reply to the question asked. He glances to his cousin briefly as he interjects.
Loc nods. “Aye. I do.” He pauses, “Or would it be did?”
Tyren’s brow inches upward again at this admission. “I see… that would explain the apparent familiarity with myself and the rest of my family, then.”
Dar nods, not nearly as startled by the admission as his cousin. His expression doesn’t change as his surmise is confirmed.
Loc nods. “Aye. The whole town was a flutter when there was a rumor of you gettin’ married. No one expected any of the line to–let alone you–and then when word reached about who–well. It was the prime topic of the evening.” He looks thoughtful. “There’s nothing more exciting or fascinating to common folk than the intrigues of their nobles.”
Tyren shifts slightly, and his stoic countenance cracks just slightly, though what it is replaced by is still too veiled to properly read. “Yes, well. We do tend to fall in the public eye rather a lot.”
Dar glances to his cousin, something unreadable passing between them.
Lanisen stays quiet, swallowing occasionally. The incongruous small-talk seems to be making him anxious.
Loc smiles a bit, “Never said you were a failure. I personally approved of the whole thing.–Most people were thrilled. Gave us something to busy ourselves with.” His smile fades, “A good woman’s love is the greatest thing a man could ever have. I don’t blame you for wanting that.”
Tyren once again arches his brow at this comment – or rather both, clearly caught somewhat off guard by something in the words he hears. He quickly masks such, though the moment is long enough to be noticed.
Dar frowns briefly, his eyes resting on Loc in a glance that is clearly scrutinizing. He says nothing to Tyren yet.
Loc lowers his gaze, expression becoming contemplative.
Tyren clears his throat slightly, stoic countenance once again carefully in place. “Well. In any instance, I am indeed a son of Chesterton, with all it entails, and I can only hope that it was not actions on our part that drove you here. Our duty is to the best interest of the people, after all, though I know we falter in that at times…”
Loc’s expression becomes clouded. His voice is quiet, “I used to blame your family. But–I made a lot of choices. And I can’t blame anyone but myself for my own stupidity. I could have left before I did if I had really wanted to.” He looks at Tyren. “I wish I did.–But things are as they are, and I only have myself to blame for it.”
Dar’s words are even. “An attitude reflective of some soundness in judgment, even if lately gained.”
Loc says, “If I ever get out of here, I’m going to be a different sort of man. A /good/ one.”
Tyren gives a small nod of agreement, and his tone is perhaps a slight degree softer as he makes his own reply. “Indeed, and there is still value in that. And for what it is worth… I know my family has not always provided the best way it can for those they are responsible for. I… hold far less importance than one might expect, being simply the lesser lord, but for what it is worth, I do apologize. Blame is hardly ever laid completely unreasonably, after all.”
Dar arches a brow at his cousin’s words, though if a trace of anything can be read in the gesture, it is approval.
Loc smiles a bit at Tyren. “I am pleased to call you my Lord, Sir Tyren.” He inclines his head to the knight.
Tyren actually quirks a small, clearly visible smile of his own, for a brief instant. He dips his own head in a slight nod as he says, “I am glad to hear such. Let us both hope I live up to the title, then.”
Dar remains quiet during this exchange.
Loc hehs, “Let us hope I live through this to be your vassal.” His tone is light but carries an underlying seriousness.
Tyren hehs. “That is up to His Majesty. We shall see what he deems just.”