Randoms

All the King's Men

Mud, trees and stale air was all Edward of Greenvale had known for the past three weeks. His boots were never dry, his mail was growing heavy and he could swear there was a whole family reunion of lice having a ball in his thick brown hair. He looked over his shoulder, peering down his long pointed nose. Everyday all he could think about was what kind of life the chest the men behind him carried could buy him. It would be simple too, taking the coin. The sword at his hip would see to that. He wondered if it'd even come to that.

Ed looked over at his companion Marcus Bromley, a stout young man eager to please. If he commanded him to turn his back and press his nose against a tree he'd ask how long. Then there would be dealing with the men leading the donkey with the chest strapped to its back. He could just intimidate them, scare them off. I'm sure they'd love any excuse to go home. And if things didn't go quite as planned well . . . Ed tapped the hilt of his sword with his fingers, strumming along the pommel. He smiled a wolfish grin and kept walking, hoping the pay for this awful task would be worth it. 

"They couldn't have given us horses?" Ed groaned, letting his shoulders fall. "I mean, they send us halfway across the bloody kingdom and can't be arsed to give us horses?"

"The King is fighting a war ser," Marcus replied, not even moving his eyes from the road ahead. 

"So? Just because we're just 'Men o' the Watch' means we can't get horses? All we get is a bloody mule?"

"It's a donkey ser. And I quite like the walking. The forest is so peaceful, and there aren't any wretched  thugs and their ilk to deal with. And no rioting hordes of hungry peasants."

"I'd rather feed them my blade if you ask me," Ed laughed. "Let them chew on some nice cold steel."

"Of course ser. I'm sure that's all they deserve," the coldness in Marcus's voice threw Ed off a little. It was unlike him to be so openly sarcastic. Ed wondered if he'd struck a nerve. 

They continued on in silence, though the same could not be said for the rest of the world. To Ed's dismay, the gods had deemed it fitting for a thunder storm, and heavy rain began to pelt upon the company. Ed discovered it truly was possible for his clothing to reach a new level of damp, and he trudged on in frustration, trying to ignore the fungus that was setting his feet aflame. 

How does bloody Bromley stay so goddamned chipper all the time? Does he know something I don't? And those two others barely even speak. What were their names again?

"Oi, you two back there, how's the parcel?" Ed called back, desperate to break the tedium. Maybe the two couriers were more entertaining than Marcus. 

"A little damp," one of them replied. Ed didn't bother to look.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Bugger off would ya? We're cold and wet, and your yammering isn't helping," the other piped up. 

Ed stopped in his tracks and spun. "What did you say?" he said, stalking over to the man. He planted his feet firmly before the courier, his nose inches away from the other man's.

"I said, bugger o--" the man was interrupted by Ed's mailed fist. The courier fell into the muck, his overcoat receiving a fresh smattering of mud to go with the rain that had already seeped into the fabric.

Ed pulled the man back up to his feet by the scruff of his neck, putting his ears just next to his mouth.

"Now you'd best be keeping your mouth shut."

The two men shared a glare before Ed released him, letting him stagger back in the mud. 

"Now that wasn't very nice," a strange voice called out from above. Ed turned, his anger replaced by alarm.