what agency

Cell 2
Castle Anvard

Tyren nods a little again. “Indeed, from what I remember. If my memory’s working right, that is, which I admit it doesn’t always.”

Loc chuckles. “Guess we share same size foot too.”

Tyren says, “Or did at one point, at least. Don’t know if that’s the case now.”

Loc hehs and nods. “Yeah.” He holds up a foot and examines it curiously.

Tyren is silent a moment or two again, before he says, “Nobleman I may be, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know the struggles other men face, you know. As a knight, I see much. And feel much more.”

Loc puts his foot down. “Father once said he’d never be noble. Somethin’ about wearin’ the weight of the world on the shoulders.”

Tyren says, “Feels like it, sometimes…”

Loc leans his head back against the wall, “Said life’s much simpler like we lived…”

Tyren merely shrugs a shoulder, letting that serve as his response.

Loc falls silent, ruminating.

Lanisen stirs on his cot, evidently wakened by the conversation, and blinks blearily up at the other occupants of the cell. It takes a moment to register, but he’s almost immediately on his feet when it does, sketching a hasty bow.

Tyren gives a nod of acknowledgement in Lanisen’s direction.

Loc says, “Good to see you up.”

Lanisen mumbles a rather indistinct apology and yawns cavernously before making a perfunctory attempt to smooth down his disheveled hair.

Tyren asks, “How’s the cold?”

Dar opens the heavy wooden door and comes walking into the dungeon.

Loc is wrapped up in his blanket sitting on his cot.

Lanisen is standing next to his cot, looking half-awake and a bit rumpled. “‘S fine,” he answers Tyren, his voice distinctly stuffy.

Tyren nods towards Lanisen, then glances over as the cell door opens again. He lifts a brow as Dar enters. He looks his cousin up and down a moment, and what might be construed as a vague frown forms on his face as his brow furrows.

Dar enters the cell, which has been opened for him by one of the guards. His manner is calm enough, though it might be noted that he perhaps looks slightly disheveled. He speaks to his cousin by raising his own brow. The actual words come after. “I was not informed you would be here, Tyren. I simply came to ascertain the prisoner’s condition before sending for Adrian.”

Tyren simply nods once.

Loc stands, still garbed in the blanket and bows. His own eyebrow raises at the sight of the Steward in such a condition. He quickly lowers his gaze and sits back down.

Lanisen also bows toward Dar, yawning again. He glances at Loc, then sits back down on his own cot.

Dar studies Lanisen briefly, then gestures to one of the guards, who approaches. He speaks a few words to the man, and the guard leaves, to be replaced by another.

Loc watches quietly.

Lanisen watches the guard depart without much evident interest. He coughs to clear his throat and wipes at his incorrigibly-drippy nose again.

Tyren falls quiet himself, letting his cousin handle things now that he’s present.

The guard quickly returns, with two cups of wine and a packet, looking to contain herbs of some sort. He hands these to the Steward, telling him, “From the Master Healer.” Dar takes them with a nod of thanks. He reads the hastily scrawled instructions, then shakes out the herbs into both goblets. He hands one to Lanisen, his eyes resting on the boy. “If you do not trust me, or Adrian, then I will drink first. You falling ill does no good to anyone.”

Lanisen blinks at the goblet, then at Dar, baffled. “What…?” he begins, then objects, “I ain’t /sick/ sick, ‘s just a cold!” He eyes the herbs still floating on top of the wine with obvious misgiving.

Dar’s face remains impassive. “Which was enough to concern your cellmate and your guards.”

Lanisen shoots an accusing look at Loc.

Loc says in an even voice, “Take it Lanny.”

Tyren simply nods his agreement with his cousin.

Lanisen’s eyes shift between the steward, the knight, and the guards. “Do I have to?”

Dar’s eyebrow raises. “Need I prove to you that there is no harm in it?” With this, he quaffs some of the wine in his own cup, waiting for the boy to do likewise. “I trust you have sense enough that stricter measures will not be called for.”

Lanisen watches Dar drink, and goes pale and tense at the implied threat. He moistens his lips, glancing around the cell, then swallows and reaches for the cup.

Tyren hehs softly.

Loc smirks faintly.

Dar shows no reaction to his own drink, though it likely tastes unpleasant enough. He watches to ensure that at least some of the medicine makes it into Lanisen. “Wise of you.”

Tyren says, “Indeed.”

Loc gives a cheeky grin and says in a mildly patronizing voice, “Good boy.”

Lanisen makes it about halfway through the dose, then lowers the goblet and covers his mouth. By the expression on his face, the taste is more than unpleasant. His eyes are watering slightly in response to the strong flavor, but he sniffs hard and seems to be able to breath through his nose again. He looks down into the cup, which is still nearly half full, and looks a pleading question at Dar.

Dar nods once to this.

Lanisen swallows, eyes the half-dose left in the goblet, and raises it to finish it off. He seems to be operating under the idea that if he can swallow it all quickly, he won’t be able to taste it – the result leaves him sputtering and gasping for breath.

Loc grimaces.

Dar begins to move forward in case intervention is called for. He takes the now empty cup from Lanisen.

Tyren keeps close to his cousin, which probably isn’t too surprising.

Lanisen moves back as the men move nearer, swallowing several times and working to get his composure back. He doesn’t look at anybody.

Loc speaks quietly, his voice sincere, “Thank you Lord Steward.”

Dar knocks on the door for the guards to open it again. “I am finished here.” He turns back to the prisoners when they speak, his expression not shifting at all. His simple reply is, “I neither deserve nor ask for thanks.” The door opens, and he turns and begins to exit the cell.

Loc stands and bows, his gaze falling on Tyren. He gives a small nod and a half smile before returning to the cot.

Lanisen raises his head at this, his forehead furrowing. He bows, watching Dar go.

Dar opens the heavy wooden door and walks out into the dungeon.

Tyren watches his cousin make his exit, brow furrowing again somewhat. He takes a breath, then turns back towards the bandits. “I believe I’ve done what I’ve needed to here myself. Unless there was something further?”

Loc says quietly, “Thank you Sir.”

Lanisen shakes his head, mumbling thanks. He edges toward the table and pours himself a cup of water to wash down the stuff’s aftertaste.

Tyren nods once, and makes his own departure.

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