[color=#007985][b][h2]Sir Jerel Ban[/h2][/b][/color]“Bah!” Jerel barked, waving away the apology like a bad smell, a wry smile twisting at the corners of his mouth, “If she could then she’d have been doing you all a favour.” His pride twinged beneath the joke; it wasn’t too far from reality. It echoed in his wounded arm.

Breaking eye contact, he looked over at a far corner of the room whilst talking; the plaster whirled between the stone in circular patterns. The smile fell away. “I do not think what you did was wrong. Sadly, our captain exists as something more than us mere mortals; to have [i]not [/i]rushed to her aid for the sake of some lowly girl?” Jerel shrugged, as though shifting under a heavy pack, “At least you left her with a fighting chance. However small.”

“I have my doubts,” Jerel went on, “Whether many others would have thought to do such a thing. Whether they cared, even, for the one [i]thing[/i] that kept the fight going, or if they just wanted to wet their blades.”

His eyes snapped, to Gerard, as though remembering he was not alone. “Forgive my blathering. I should not talk of my comrades so, certainly not after..." he motioned at his injured arm to finish his sentence, he bobbed his head downwards with a long blink, a minute bow, and said nothing more of it. 

It was then that a young servant boy skittered up to them and began gathering Jerel’s armour. He bowed deeply upon arriving and departing, but Jerel scarcely paid him more than a glare. 

“Besides, I do not think you need to learn the subtleties of court,” Jerel glanced sidelong at Gerard, “Unless you plan on carving an illustrious career for yourself, but that takes more than simple deeds. No, I think our lot go there as entertainment, something exotic for the circles of higher society to look at, maybe a bard’s tale or two spun overtop. Clumsy social graces might serve to make you more outrageous of an attraction, so erratic are their tastes.”

From his stomach came the growl of a neglected beast. Trail rations and marching weren’t great sustenance for healing. As before when he could not muster a smile, his brows arched. 

“I think the kitchens beckon. Walk with me? If not to the kitchens,” he said, looking the sodden Gerard up and down with exaggerated distaste, “at least until our paths split to the baths?”  

[@HereComesTheSnow]