A knight served the good of the people. The fact that Tig was, for now, regularly and gruesomely compelled by forces entirely unfriendly to that good didn't change what he was when his mind and body were his own to command. He could not shirk his duty. Now, perhaps, more than ever. He would not.
Which is how he wound up catching the edge of a bandit's wicked dirk against his still-scabbarded blade. Said bandit jolted back with a cry, more startled than harmed; not because a sword had been not-drawn on his knife, which would have been surprise enough. Just, when he'd raised the dirk, he'd done so on an unarmed, richly dressed individual - currently behind Tig, and that sword - not a shabby young knight.
Tig, himself, was rather shocked as well. He hadn't - well, he had meant to interpose, when he saw a sudden bristle and flash of drawn knives and darted up the alleyway. He just hadn't expected it to work. And so neatly. So quickly. With a stern shove, he sent the would-be thief stumbling back... several steps, actually, into the three not-so-gentlemen who'd been hovering, vulture-like, at his back. They, thankfully, were immediately distracted with doing their very best not to stab their comrade on his way by. Even more thankfully, they managed. Last thing Tig wanted, or needed, was blood in the air.
Lowering that still-scabbarded sword, Tig let out the breath he'd been holding. Unneeded as it was. That done, he took a proper stand between this little posse and their prey. "Stow your weapons, and - be on your way. Please," he offered. Diplomatically, he'd hope. "I've no alms or... anything, really, for your pains, except a lack of further pains, to add to them. But I also have no desire to draw steel on anyone." That said - even sheathed, an arming sword could inflict a fair bit of discomfort. At the very least. If it came to that. Gods, though - he'd just... hope it didn't.
@leopold--dawson