The smell of the tavern nauseated Lance. Rats, men, vomit, and who knows what else filled the air as he drank from the unusually rancid ale that burned his throat. The tavern defiantly did not hold the same standards of what Lance had grown accustomed to since his rise in status. The muted sound of Landrem’s rambling rang in Lance’s ears, but his eyes focused on a drunken man across the room causing Landrem’s words to fade to nothing but a murmur. Lance felt the alcohol’s affects much more than usual. Normally, Lance took more caution in his alcohol intake to avoid such degrees of intoxication. Suddenly, Landrem’s voice stopped abruptly which attracted Lance’s attention from the man. A sickening colour appeared across Lance's companion's face. Quickly sending his glass down onto the counter, Landrem rushed out of the tavern. Into the streets, Lance kept his pace up to match the taller man.
As they reached the massive wall on the far end of the street from the tavern, Landrem doubled over. A foul smell pierced sharply through the air as the sound of the contents of Landrem’s stomach spattered over the stone. Stopping some distance behind Landrem, Lance quickly covered his nose as the smell stunned him in his drunken state. Letting a puff of air escape his cheeks, Lance slowly spoke through the muffle of his fist, “Landrem, are you alright?”
Landrem did not respond as more of his putrid spewed from his mouth. The sight nauseated Lance; however, another voice disrupted the sound of Landrem’s vomiting. “Give me your blades and coin!”
Lance’s eyes snapped to the voice to see a hooded figure near them. The soft flash of light shimmered off the man’s blade onto Landrem’s back. The face of the man was unrecognizable to Lance from beneath the man’s hood and his voice sounded unusual. Although in all fairness, Lance was not entirely sure what most mugger’s voices sounded like. It was hard for Lance to focus his vision on the man. Everything seemed fuzzy and foggy, but despite that haze of drunkenness, Lance immediately recgonised the threat upon Landrem’s life. Struggling to keep his own stature strong, Lance forced a neutrality onto his tone, "What are you doing, boy?"
The mugger did not answer the question directly to Lance’s dismay –not that he expected the man to. Instead, he stood closer to Landrem with a slight jab of his sword as a threat to skewer the drunk warden, "I said, give me your coin! Or else... his blood will be on the wall with his vomit!"
Tensing his jaw up, Lance stepped closer to the man. Landrem slurred some words out, but the sound of pounding adrenaline rung in Lance’s ears to drowned his friend out, "You really don't want to do this kid. Walk away now or we will be forced to press charges."
The man did not listen to Lance though. The thought of declaring his rank murmured in the back of Lance’s head as the young man snapped his blade to point to Lance instead of Landrem, but Lance dismissed it. Instead, Lance stepped closer to the man and demanded once again, "One last chance! If, if I dont get my coin soon, both of you will be bleeding…"
Tensing his fingers tighter around his hilt, Lance closed the space between him and the man a bit more. He could not afford to let the man attack Landrem instead of himself due to the compromising state of Landrem. Lifting his chin into the air, Lance forced his voice to deepen even more in attempts to intimidate the man. Although, Lance struggled to tell if he did successfully deepen his voice or if he simply thought he did. Either way, Lance said, "We have no money, kid. Now I suggest putting down your sword at once." Luckily, for Lance, even in his drunken state, he found lying easy.
The mugger believed the lie and even his voice faltered as if he was unsure what to do at that point, 'Th-then give me the blade...'
Lance tensed up. The one thing Lance could never do was give up one of his beloved swords. Behind him, Lance heard Landrem’s voice finally cut through his layer of adrenaline, "Are you so hungry for steel? Ours are not blades easily fenced." To be fair, Landrem’s words were hard to believe in their current state.
The words did not seem to sit well with the mugger though. Instead of speaking again, the man simply swung up his sword. Immediately Lance felt his natural instincts kick in and take control of his body. In a fluid motion, Lance’s sword scrapped against his sheath and sliced out into the air. Warmth splattered across Lance with the motion of his sword. Lance did not mean to strike with such severity, but it happened. Sharp sounds of gasping escaped the man as he tried to bleed. The cut struck across his chest and throat while the blood seeped out quickly. The clanging noise of the man’s sword reverberated into Lance’s ears. He felt his heart fall into his stomach as he stood frozen like a statue. The man lowered to the ground and his hood fell back. Beneath the scars and blood, Lance saw the shimmer of youth in the man’s features. Just a boy trying to survive.
Words seemed to struggle finding their way up Lance’s throat as he pulled his eyes away from the boy to Landrem who had extended himself to their fallen opponent. But despite Landrem’s gesture of sincerity, the dying boy retracted in fear. The horror glimmered strongly in the young man’s eyes and Lance knew his face would portray the same horror too if the circumstances had been switched. The gasps slowed from the man as his final breaths whispered out. After a moment lingered between Lance and Landrem while the man’s warm blood continued to pool out onto the white pavement of the city’s street, Lance finally found his voice enough to murmur out, “I thought…” Nothing more could come out. His vision seemed clearer before as the shock of what had just happened snapped him into sobriety. All Lance could see was the pale, horrified face of the young man. Pale and lifeless. It was not beautiful. He had forgotten how ugly death was.
He heard the sound of Landrem’s words- “It happens in the course of our work”- but the ability to comprehend the words left Lance though.
After another moment, Lance let out a breath and felt himself drown out the shock of the scene before him into a forced neutrality. Taking a step around the corps, he drew his eyes away from the man’s body and to the streets of the city instead, “What is the protocol for this situation in Minas Tirith?”
“Let the tier know of the man’s death,” Landrem said behind Lance. “We find his family and offer them our condolences. Then he is returned to the family for burial.”
“Yes,” Lance cleared his throat softly, “I should do that. Let’s get you back to the barracks though, Landrem. You should get some food and fluids in your system.”
“I should go with you.”
Lance paused for a moment to look at Landrem for a moment before simply nodding. He then lowered himself to kneel beside the man. Reaching his hand out, he gently felt the still warm face of the young man as he gently shut the man’s eyes. The pool of blood stretched out around Lance’s boots. Letting out another breath, Lance retracted his hand and stood once more. The soft stain of red covered the tips of his fingers, but he ignored them and looked back to Landrem. “You should.”
“Call for one of our men,” Landrem said as he gestured his hand out to the streets.
This writing session contained the help from the players of Landrem and Dirgam.
