date: ten of ten. location: the barracks. status: closed to @revoluticn
The barracks are busy. It’s not his favorite place in the Castle but it certainly is one of the most interesting and most active. Where the upper corridors, meeting rooms, and quarters are quiet, in the barracks it’s all noise. Around every corner there is a prime example of someone acting entirely, totally, utterly human. Not five minutes ago -- yes, he might have gotten lost, he’s not particularly familiar with the layout -- he’d watched a guard trip and fall over their own two boots, and their compatriots had only laughed and then gone to help them up. That sort of fellowship wouldn't occur anywhere else in the place, Armel thinks, especially if any members of the royal family were around.
He can see it now, picture it in his head with startling clarity: a guardsman trips and falls over their own two boots. Instead of laughter, there is silence. The worst kind, the one that tells you you’re well and truly on your own. Dead blank stares, a necessary distance between humanity and occupation. And, in their embarrassment, the head of the guardsman is called for. Dead within the hour. All the pieces fit into place like a truly awful puzzle. It’s happened before, he’s certain, and it can happen again. What does life matter when it comes at the cost of shame to some men with too much money?
He tries not to think about it too hard -- he’d been one of those men, once. Not anymore, but... still. Maybe he’s a hypocrite. It’s these thoughts that carry him forward, dwelling on the concept of hypocrisy and the stereotypes his mind can conjure up, up until he reaches the office of the Lieutenant of the Guard. He’d done some poking around, early, and found that her father had been one of his teachers at the college all those years ago. Good man, her father. Wise man. Had his head on his shoulders.
And now he’s dead. Dead for some time, he thinks, cold in the ground. Did he even get a burial? He raises his hand to the door, forms a fist, knocks thrice. None of his actions so much as stop any of the guard from going about their duty. It’s like he doesn’t exist at all. It’s wonderful and terrible all at the same time. When there’s no response at first, he knocks again. “Ser? It’s--” Oh. How does he introduce himself? This presents a problem. “The court bard, ser.” Ah, yes. Very eloquent. Graceful. Gives off a sense of power. Undying, he’s an idiot, isn’t he?
