[color=#007985][b][h2]Sir Jerel Ban[/h2][/b][/color]
A Royal Ball. Faces of those within earshot looked up, or at each other, smiles creasing their faces and putting light back behind their eyes. Mostly. There were those whose brows creased downwards and who left with a jumping jaw muscle or as though trying to pound holes in the floor with their feet. Some did not react outwardly at all, apart from a flinch they couldn’t contain, or a quick flit of the eyes, to the messenger and back again. 

Jerel saw this, and more. Even with his world receding inwards, despite even the dull ache in his chest and the throbbing in his temples, he saw, and he cursed his eyes. 

He nodded back at Gillian. He knew the connotations carried by that mere gesture. 

As the knights broke away into their islands, Jerel stood alone on his. 

Perhaps he could have chased the dourness away by meeting the eyes of another of the knights, one of those he considered more than a comrade, and letting loose the words out that bubbled up beneath his breast. Most of those were gone now. He would not have anyway. Even when he should be mourning the loss of a knight he considered only himself. It would have made him feel better if that came as a surprise. 

With his features hammered into stony indifference he turned his back on the hall, its display cases and knights, and strode with measured paces to the healers’ wing. He kept his eyes ahead and his mouth a taut line. 

He did not remember how many lives he took.

What did they look like? His eyes might not miss much but his memory was as fallible as any other. 

His legs carried him forwards, his face remained untouched by his thoughts. Just how, Jerel was unsure. 

Far away, outside the stony halls, up and up, were his birds, his books. They were waiting for him. He could feel them pulling at him, urging him to run and lock the door on the world. A Royal Ball. 

He had a duty, an oath. He was a warrior in his tribe and now in this kingdom. The others, they would not question so much the justice they dealt. They wouldn’t let themselves get injured by a greenhorn bandit either. 

How many?

“HmmmNn mhmm nnnrr?”

The world came back to him. Acrid tinctures and the low complaints of pain and illness. Hard wood bit into the backs of his thighs. Jerel was on a bench. 

He raised his eyes to the healer, ready to catch the words if they came again.
[@VitaVitaAR]