Closed [The Rearing Stallion] Random Encounters (Garland)

[Dovey]

28 Spring, 517 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

"Yeah, me too," Garland responded, and Dovey relaxed without being quite sure why. It was as though she'd been given permission to stop thinking for the moment; her own mind quieted in imitation of the foggy silence which had arisen, and she allowed her breathing to calm as she took long, slow pulls from her mug of ale. The anxiety and the grief were still there, in the background, but at least she could let them lie.

She drained her ale to the dregs, half a chime before Garland arose from his stupor, and lowered the empty wooden mug slowly to the countertop. The Stallion was filling up, she noticed dimly. A sluggish stream of patrons trickled in through the doors, some alone, some on each other's arms; the background hum of chatter and laughter grew steadily more intrusive. Dovey let go of her mug and rested her chin in both hands, curling her fingers into loose fists, feeling the nails' soft pressure on her palms. It was all right. She was all right now, really. There was nothing at all the matter with her.

She leaned toward Garland, shivering suddenly, when his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She felt her expression begin to contort, the corners of her mouth dragging upwards, and she lost herself for a moment in fighting tears. She hunched her shoulders when Garland withdrew his arm, curling into herself, suddenly afraid the other patrons would notice her distress and laugh at her -

she mustn't cry -

"I am such a failure," said Garland beside her, and she realized he was sobbing.

"Oh!" She swiveled in her seat to face him, startled out of her self-absorption, eyes widening with the beginnings of alarm. "No... no, don't." She reached for him, setting a hand awkwardly on his shoulder, wanting him to straighten up and be strong like before - she didn't know what to do, everything was all wrong and Garland was crying and she didn't know what to do...

She gulped on her next breath, and her eyes hurt and she blinked hard and then there were tears seeping out of her as well, big droplets falling in a steady stream she couldn't have stopped if she tried. Garland's fit of crying eased, then halted altogether, and she thought vaguely how absurd it was that he should apologize to her for crying when she was doing the very same thing. He might not have noticed, she supposed; she wasn't sobbing, and her expression was not too flagrantly misshapen. She was only sitting quite quietly and weeping, and she knew why and she wished to the gods she didn't. Why couldn't one simply shut off grief when it had gone for long enough? Why did it have to keep on and on and on and... Dira and Kihala, it wasn't fair! She'd fought it, she'd fought it for a long time, but she saw now that she had never been going to win.

And there was Garland, sitting beside her, outwardly calm but likely feeling near as messy inside as she was. Gods, she wanted to help, but how could she? She was so tired, and this hurt, it hurt like petching Hai...

She caught the barman's eye, slid her mug across to him. Ale, she mouthed.

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Garland]

That feeling didn't leave him. Eyes like daggers watching him, seeing his every move. He continued to eat, his sadness had taken the back seat, his face was now focused. He looked over to Dovey, seeing her hold back the tears and failing, instead she just let it roll down her face.

She was stronger than him in that sense at least. He continued to eat, though he didn't focus on the food, instead he looked at the silverware he was eating with, pretending to be looking for any dirt or filth on the utensil.

In truth, he was looking at the reflection, looking behind him watching people behind him. He placed the utensil on the plate and held Dovey's hand. "Sorry, I know you don't need this right now but..."

Garland quickly let go, picked up the silver fork from his plate and quickly turned around, then dodged to the right, and in one quick motion, he stabbed the fork into a man's neck and let the blood spray out and cover Garland's face.

In the man's hand was a dagger, coated in some green poison or venom. "Poison! Why does it always have to be poison."

A few other stood up from their tables and brandished weapons. They were bold to attack someone in the city, what was their plan if they succeeded? Well it was getting to night, but not nearly late enough for the guards to be at their weakest.

"Sorry about the fork, Kevith." He said and reached for his sword. only to find that it wasn't there. "Petching shyke biscuit." he cursed and the other assassins rushed forward with swords and daggers.

Garland ducked under the blades and tackled one of the assassins into a table and breaking it in two. Garland had always avoided breaking the tables and chairs during a bar brawl, but this wasn't a brawl, this was an attempt at his life.

Garland started punching the man's face in, the other patrons panicked and ran out of the bar, Garland was pleased with that, hopefully they could get help, and avoid any of the crossfire of the fight.

Garland stopped his attack and rolled off to the side, another assassin had raised up his sword and plunged it into his associate's chest by accident.

Garland grabbed the sword on the ground, it was a short sword, something he wasn't quite accustomed with. There were three more of them, but only two were looking at Garland, the other was looking at Dovey.

Another person he cared about being put in danger because of him. Garland rushed passed the other two assassins, he ignored the swords that bit into his flesh, and the poison that seeped into him.

It was painful, the most painful thing he had ever experienced in his life. He blood boiled, his eyes felt like popping, but he kept fighting. He tackled the one aiming for Dovey onto the counter where the one armed bartender, Kevith, took out a sword and decapitated the man with two swings.

The old man's knight training was kicking in, it had been years since he had raised a sword and fought, he didn't miss it, but there was something about protecting people that got his blood flowing, also they were messing up his tavern.

[Dovey]

28 Spring, 517 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

Dovey gripped Garland's hand when he placed it in hers, looking sideways up at him in lukewarm curiosity. She was still crying, still in pain; she didn't care much what he was saying, in all honesty - though that was rude and she wished vaguely she could exert more focus on his words. He was apologizing for something - for what? -

he withdrew his hand -

- grabbed his fork, spun, dodged out of her sight -

and there was a stabbing sound -

Dovey whirled around, slipping off her barstool, scream already at her lips before she saw exactly what had occurred. There stood Garland, dots of red speckling his face, and before him a man was falling, horribly unresponsive, to the floor.

"Poison!" Garland growled, and Dovey's stomach jumped. They weren't - but no, he meant a weapon, not their food and drink. That was something, but now four other patrons were standing up from their tables, drawing weapons from their sheaths. Oh, gods' sake, what was happening, where was safe - she dodged behind the stool she'd so lately been sitting on, seized it in both hands by the wooden seat, raised it up to chest height. It wasn't much of a shield, but she was too panicked to think of anything else.

"Sorry about the fork, Kevith," Garland said; Dovey heard him dimly, and then his oath cut sharply through her ears and the assassins were on him.

"Petch it, Garland, what's going on!" Dovey shouted, as Garland ducked beneath his assailants' strikes and tackled one through a table. "What is - " She cut herself off abruptly, choking on her breath; one assassin's sword had pierced his compatriot's bosom, blood welling up around the blade. After a moment, and a clearing shake of the head, she firmed her stance and secured her grip on the barstool she held in both hands. This was no brawl, as if that hadn't been made clear enough when Garland put a fork through a man's throat. Dovey needed to protect herself.

One of the assassins moved. He moved away from Garland, and he moved towards her.

She took a half-step back, not sure what to do - Garland was still behind the other two assassins, and the man before her was coming closer, pulling up his blade - time seemed to be passing very slowly, but she couldn't think, couldn't move fast enough -

She raised the stool, and then Garland was charging. The two assassins he passed struck out at him with their blades, and Dovey saw the thrusts hit home; red slashes, oozing blood, opened on Garland's form. Gods, that looked painful - she hoped he'd be all right but there was nothing she could do - now the young squire tackled her attacker to the bar and -

the bartender had a sword and -

the attacker's head was off -

Dovey stumbled backwards, away from the gore now spilling across the near part of the counter. What was happening? She couldn't follow, it was too quick - her head was light but she still had the stool in her hands - there were two assassins yet standing, and they moved forward.

Now, suddenly, Dovey found herself able to act. She threw the stool at the nearest attacker, paying no mind when the clumsy thing fell short of its target, and darted for the open door. She had no idea what was happening behind her, whether the assassins had closed the gap between Garland and themselves, even how badly her companion was injured. "Come on, Garland!" she shouted as she exited the building, and hoped.



Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Garland]

Garland was someone that could almost beat anyone else in single combat, almost, but while poison coursed through his body, against two other somewhat competent fighters, he was at a disadvantage.

Not to mention he didn't have his ideal weapon. Kevith was a good fighter in his time, but age and his condition did nothing to help them, still Garland could see the fire in his eyes, he was ready to defend his own and his patrons if need be.

Garland couldn't quite have it in him to put someone else he cared about in danger, Kevith was the pseudo-father figure Garland had, he had always liked the strong but kind retired knight.

So he ran, he had hoped that their prey running would make them ignore, Dovey and Kevith. Garland rushed forward towards the man Dovey threw the stool at and with the momentary distraction, Garland threw an arm towards the man's neck, sending him down to the ground while he ran pass and into the street.

Garland rushed out to the street, his body throbbed in pure agony and he almost fell to his knees. He grit his teeth and held on, his vision was blurry, but a few shapes from the crowds came rushing towards him. He looked around, seeing Dovey run as well.

By the looks of it, the group that were running towards Garland were a group of knights rushing towards him. Garland rushed towards Dovey and placed his hand on her shoulder before going limp and passing out.

The knights surround the tavern and after a little while, only one of the assassins had come out, with Kevith having a sword pointed at the man's back.

"Ser Kevith! What happened!" One of the knights asked. Kevith shoved the man forward towards the knight. He then pointed with his sword towards the passed out Garland.

"Get that boy to a healer!" Kevith yelled, the old no nonsense Stewart Knight had awakened and barked orders as if he had never retired. Some of the knights converged on Garland and Dovey, a few checked Garland if he was still breathing.

"How long had he been fighting, he should have passed out when the poison entered his body." One of the knights said, and the others just scowled.

"Get him up and to a healer, now!" The leader of this group of knights looked at Dovey. "Do you know him?"

[Dovey]

28 Spring, 517 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

Dovey whirled round as soon as she was a few steps away from the tavern door. She backed up a few more fast steps before freezing in place as Garland sped outside, bent over and stumbling in pain. Figures came rushing at her in the corner of her eye; she flinched before realizing they were wearing the armor of the Syliran Knights. Oh thank gods. She was gasping, she realized, with every breath; her chest felt hot and constricted. Oh thank gods.

Garland's hand fell, sudden and clumsy, onto her shoulder. She turned her head to stare at him a moment before his form grew limp and he slipped heavily towards the ground.

"Garland. Garland!" Dovey caught at him, but the muscled squire in his armor weighed too much for her to support; it was all she could do to slow his descent before he landed on the cobbles, still unresponsive.

Oh gods, how hurt is he? Did he hit his head hard when he fell? She slid a hand underneath his skull, searching by touch for any damage. There were no wounds on his scalp that she could find - but Rak'keli help her, she was no doctor, she didn't know what a dangerous knock to the head would feel like under the fingers! Would it even make a cut, leave any blood? And besides - forgetting his head, the marks of swords were littered across his skin, and many of the wounds were bleeding.

The knights whom she had seen were behind her now; she could tell by the sound of their voices and their clinking armor. They were by the tavern - but what were they doing, why were they not helping her and Garland? Did it take all of them to defeat the two assassins remaining? Dovey twisted her head away from Garland, peering back over her shoulder at the knights who, she could see now, were not even fighting but only surrounding the tavern. Oh petch them! She was on the verge of shouting out to the patrol very crossly when the barman emerged from the tavern, prodding a single assassin before him at the point of his bloody sword.

One of the knights tried to chat, but thank gods, the barman Ser Kevith shut him down; shoving his captive toward the patrol, he pointed the knights' attention to the unconscious Garland at last.

All at once they were surrounded by several armored men. A couple of them knelt at Garland's side, pushing Dovey gently but unceremoniously out of the way as they checked that the squire was still alive. "Get him up and to a healer, now!" one knight barked, and only then did he or anyone acknowledge that Dovey was there. "Do you know him?" the knight asked her, still in the same brusque, commanding tone.

The other knights were lifting Garland from the street beside her; she hastened to stand along with them. "I do, ser," she replied a trifle breathlessly. "Please, let me help you, I'll worry elsewise. I was there when he got attacked. I wasn't much use, but I was there." She knew she was rambling, but somehow it seemed the only thing to do. Still, at the same time, she settled one of Garland's arms across her shoulders and clutched his limp hand firmly in her own. She might not be able to lift him without assistance, but she could surely help the Knights carry him.

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach