Roen could still smell the freshly baked bread in the basket, nestled with a small bit of cheese and salted fish wrapped in linen. All were inspected by the guards, of course, as she was stopped at the entrance to the gaols. The Lalafellin jailkeeper gave Roen a look with lofted brows, obviously surprise to see her returned to her place of recent imprisonment.
The paladin recalled the day she had walked out of the cell that had been her residence for weeks. She vowed never to return unless absolutely necessary; she was still trying to forget the walls that had grown oppressively thick, the rooms darker each day that had passed.
“Bread, eh?†The guard piped up as he walked her down the hallway, the keyring jingling in hand.
Roen just nodded, her eyes looking over the contents again rather than the long dark hallway or the bars that she had stared at for so many suns. She was not here as a prisoner, she reminded herself, but she could certainly sympathize with anyone kept within. From what few words they had exchanged when Daegsatz Traggblansyn was arrested and she brought him to the gaols, she knew he was not aware--at least not fully--of the plan that she and Nero had concocted to gain evidence against Jameson Taeros. But the Roegadyn had been unfortunate enough to be injured and apprehended at the raid that should have only involved the Monetarists' men. Daegsatz recognized Roen's name at least, and he told her where to find Nero after the failed raid.
But now Nero's First Mate sat in the gaols while Natalie and Coatleque tried to sort out the truth about Taeros’ shipment of somnus, and Roen did not have the authority to set him free herself. So the paladin took it upon herself to, at the very least, check on him daily, much as Ser Crofte had done with her. It was the little things that mattered--the small bits of news or good cheer, rare as it might be, that the Sultansworn would bring that made things just a little more bearable for Roen. Sometimes she came with a vase of flowers, other times a book or memoir, or even an extra lamp.
So Roen knew to do the same. It makes all the difference in the world, she knew. She said nothing as the doors were opened for her by the Lalafell, and closed behind her with a clang and a click of the lock. It was only after she heard his armored footsteps echo away down the hallway that she eased a smile for the Roegadyn.
“How do you feel?†She canted her head, eyeing where she had used conjury on him the day before. “The bruise should subside in a few days.†She approached him and extended the basket toward him. “I thought you could use some amenities.â€
The paladin recalled the day she had walked out of the cell that had been her residence for weeks. She vowed never to return unless absolutely necessary; she was still trying to forget the walls that had grown oppressively thick, the rooms darker each day that had passed.
“Bread, eh?†The guard piped up as he walked her down the hallway, the keyring jingling in hand.
Roen just nodded, her eyes looking over the contents again rather than the long dark hallway or the bars that she had stared at for so many suns. She was not here as a prisoner, she reminded herself, but she could certainly sympathize with anyone kept within. From what few words they had exchanged when Daegsatz Traggblansyn was arrested and she brought him to the gaols, she knew he was not aware--at least not fully--of the plan that she and Nero had concocted to gain evidence against Jameson Taeros. But the Roegadyn had been unfortunate enough to be injured and apprehended at the raid that should have only involved the Monetarists' men. Daegsatz recognized Roen's name at least, and he told her where to find Nero after the failed raid.
But now Nero's First Mate sat in the gaols while Natalie and Coatleque tried to sort out the truth about Taeros’ shipment of somnus, and Roen did not have the authority to set him free herself. So the paladin took it upon herself to, at the very least, check on him daily, much as Ser Crofte had done with her. It was the little things that mattered--the small bits of news or good cheer, rare as it might be, that the Sultansworn would bring that made things just a little more bearable for Roen. Sometimes she came with a vase of flowers, other times a book or memoir, or even an extra lamp.
So Roen knew to do the same. It makes all the difference in the world, she knew. She said nothing as the doors were opened for her by the Lalafell, and closed behind her with a clang and a click of the lock. It was only after she heard his armored footsteps echo away down the hallway that she eased a smile for the Roegadyn.
“How do you feel?†She canted her head, eyeing where she had used conjury on him the day before. “The bruise should subside in a few days.†She approached him and extended the basket toward him. “I thought you could use some amenities.â€
