Two Crows Watch from the Gallows Tree (cont'd)

Pratik felt entirely powerless.

He hated nothing more than feeling powerless.

But he didn’t have the first idea what nastiness was waiting for him behind this door.

And yet, he knew damn well it didn’t matter what it was or what he said. He was going through that door whether he liked it or not.

He decided to hold off on fighting until he knew what it was he needed to fight. He stepped toward the door obediently. “Yessir.”

Utrid opened the door and brought Pratik inside. The room was empty except for a few armchairs covered with sheets and a moth eaten set of curtains covering part of a window. It was dim in here too, and stank of mouse droppings and must. Utrid let go of Pratik's color and shut the door.
"I've brought a lot of people up here," he said, facing Pratik. "Easy to clean a place that nobody goes to. You can take your time, you know?" He rested his palm on the pummel of his sword. "I had hoped that our goals aligned but you seem adamant in keeping your secrets. I can't leave loose ends, slave. It's not my nature."

Pratik felt his pulse beating in his gut.

There were so many moving pieces.

He knew how he’d react as Pratik but Aren was another matter entirely. He was far too new to this role to have a solid read on how he should or should not behave in a situation like this.

He decided to be cheeky.

“Your goal is for me to run my mouth?”

"Decidedly not." The sword whistled against its sheath as Utrid drew it. "You're too clever for your own good." He strode toward Pratik at an even pace. "So either you tell me what you were really doing or your blood ends up joining the blood of many others on this floor."

“How about you tell me what you were doing, first?” Pratik straightened his back, entire body tense and ready to spring whatever direction he willed it. If it was going to end in a fight, he wasn’t going to take it lying down. And it’d been a long, long few weeks of biting his tongue. “You seem more concerned about me ratting you out than you are what I was actually doing.”

"I don't see a sword in your hand or armor on your chest." Utrid paced, then swung at him from the left.

Pratik jumped into the blow rather than away. He caught Utrid’s sword arm and then struck his sternum, attempting to push him back far enough that Pratik would be able to get around him.

“No,” Pratik agreed. “And Tarr won’t notice if you kill me now. Just like he wouldn’t notice even if I tried to turn you in. The only difference between my life and death is the blood on your hands and whether or not I stay in this fucking hellscape.”

Utrid stumbled, caught unawares by the blow. He recovered quickly, though, and backed up for a moment to reassess his adversary. "Tarr's begging for a chance to get rid of me. He'd notice, alright. Who the hell are you? Are you working for Ash?"

Well, that was interesting. Maybe he could work it to his favor. Maybe.

“I’m not working for a goddamn person,” Pratik snarled. “I was minding my own fucking business when Nasa came along and decided to ruin my fucking life. Then Tarr decided to make it worse. And now you want to fucking murder me for having the audacity of wanting one goddamn minute of peace and quiet to myself.”

"Your mistake for seeking solace in a place like a Lord's study!" Utrid swung again, trying for a fakeout before striking at Pratik's leg.

At this point, he didn’t know whether he was on Tarr’s side or not.

But it was starting to feel cathartic to be letting off some of the steam that’d been building for literal weeks.

“Yeah, I gathered that much,” Pratik retorted angrily. He jumped over the arm of the chair behind him and in the same motion put his foot on the arm and gave it a shove towards Utrid, placing it squarely between the two of them. “Study equals sword. Got it.”

Utrid leaped backward to avoid the chair. "You must admit it's an odd place for a slave to seek comfort! Why not an upper hall or abandoned room? Why choose a place rife with political documents?"

“I don’t know which rooms are abandoned,” Pratik snarled. That much was true. He’d been trying his best to learn the Keep as well as he could, but they’d been running him ragged. There were only so many hours in a day. “I picked the one I thought would be most likely to be empty. That’s it. I don’t give a rat's ass about this war of any other politics in this goddamn territory. And I can’t read, even if I did give a shit.”

Pratik swallowed hard, realizing his breathing was heavy.

“You’re pegging me as sinister.” Pratik forced his voice to be calmer. “When all I am is tired… and generally confused… and a bit scared, if I’m being honest.”

He wasn’t sure if he was being honest or not. Sure, he was all of those things. But he was also a mole.

And he wasn’t sure whether admitting fear would humanize him in Utrid’s eyes or if it would only serve to fuel the General’s disgust.

"You were in the bloody room serving me and Tarr drinks just last week," Utrid retorted. "Do you think I'm an idiot? And this is war! Anyone'd be a fool not to be scared, with the likes of Tarr and Ash going at each other's throats! You're nothing special, slave." He stood his ground on the other side of the chair, determined not to let Pratik through to the door.

(Oh and if you can think of a way to do it, I give you permission to kill this character.)

“Agreed. I’m nothing special,” Pratik confirmed. “Just a man—slave—whatever you want to call me— trying to survive. Just like everyone else. Nothing special.”

Pratik hesitated, trying to decide what his next move would be. Utrid had calmed from his initial attack. That much was good at least. Maybe there was still hope to talk his way out of this mess.

“… that’s my goal, anyway. I haven’t the first idea what your goal is.”