Edmund steps quietly through the tent flap toward where the prisoner was bound, gagged, and blindfolded in a kneeling position, a knife at his throat. Silently, the Narnian King takes the knife from the guard and dismisses him with a nod, keeping the point of it pressed to the pale throat of the Telmarine spy.
He was young, for the deadly duty he carried out, Edmund noted. He was also not in the best of shape after the fight that must have ensued between him and the Narnians who'd captured him. Well, that was what you got when you tried to fight two leopards and a Minotaur.
He kneels behind the spy and murmurs in his ear, knowing his sense of hearing and touch would be amplified with his sight hidden as it was. "Scream, and you'll be gagged once more and taken to the caves where you'll never be found again. I would rather hear your tale, though. Nod if you agree to these terms, and I will remove your stifle."
A spy? Have they called him a spy? His head still hurts from the entire transition from lost, walking man to gagged and bound prisoner. And of course, he is angry, and of course there are no answers for the animal-like monsters he tried to fight off, but there is not much a man can do with a knife at his throat. All Robb can do is remind himself of who he is and where he comes from. And maybe, later on, he could explain these men/beasts/creatures that he is just lost and that he has no idea where Telmarine lies.
Robb has heard a lot of unfamiliar voices along his quite bump ride but voice he hears close is that of a young man. Someone barely his own age and he wonders if that is a good thing or not. A muffled sound escapes his mouth before he nods.
The sound makes Edmund tense, but it is no louder than a hum, and the nod that follows is compliant enough. The tip of the knife eases. He keeps it braced nearby as one thumb works with his free hand to loose the tie of the gag. He pulls it away from Robb's mouth, then settles behind him, the bite of metal once more nudging his skin, beneath the delicate skin of jaw and neck.
"Now, decide what truth you wish to give me. The real one, or a lie. The former will save us both some inconvenience. I would rather not bloody this tunic, if I can help it." Even in dealing with spies, Edmund's snark could not be contained.
He traces the stubborn set of Robb's jaw with the tickling sharp tip. "They said you were difficult, on the journey here."
Robb tries his best to keep his anger at bay when someone removes the gag from his mouth. He had never came to spy on anyone. Gods, the biggest part of him can't even remember how he got here.
"Gods, you worry about your tunic?" What are you, some bloody Southron craven who only dares to threaten a man from behind?
The feel of the tip of the knife unsettles him but he isn't afraid. Death has never scared him to begin with.
"I will tell you my truth if you take the knife away. Otherwise I leave you no choice than to ruin a perfectly good tunic." These aren't the words he should say. These are words that could only end up with his throat sliced.
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I know you like to keep an eye on me | Robb (ASOIAF)
He was young, for the deadly duty he carried out, Edmund noted. He was also not in the best of shape after the fight that must have ensued between him and the Narnians who'd captured him. Well, that was what you got when you tried to fight two leopards and a Minotaur.
He kneels behind the spy and murmurs in his ear, knowing his sense of hearing and touch would be amplified with his sight hidden as it was. "Scream, and you'll be gagged once more and taken to the caves where you'll never be found again. I would rather hear your tale, though. Nod if you agree to these terms, and I will remove your stifle."
no subject
Robb has heard a lot of unfamiliar voices along his quite bump ride but voice he hears close is that of a young man. Someone barely his own age and he wonders if that is a good thing or not. A muffled sound escapes his mouth before he nods.
He wants to tell his tale.
no subject
"Now, decide what truth you wish to give me. The real one, or a lie. The former will save us both some inconvenience. I would rather not bloody this tunic, if I can help it." Even in dealing with spies, Edmund's snark could not be contained.
He traces the stubborn set of Robb's jaw with the tickling sharp tip. "They said you were difficult, on the journey here."
no subject
"Gods, you worry about your tunic?" What are you, some bloody Southron craven who only dares to threaten a man from behind?
The feel of the tip of the knife unsettles him but he isn't afraid. Death has never scared him to begin with.
"I will tell you my truth if you take the knife away. Otherwise I leave you no choice than to ruin a perfectly good tunic." These aren't the words he should say. These are words that could only end up with his throat sliced.