Council Meeting Room
Caedmon was quiet for a little while, awaiting the council’s judgement, but already as Joshua spoke, his heart sank. From the tone he spoke in, he knew that this was not good. He had heard this way too many times when the council had spoken to others, and it was not a good sign.
As the council kept on, Urit even going as far as to mock him, Caedmon remained respectfully silent. He had been taught by one of the best, and he wasn’t going to begin throwing a fit at petty name-calling. He respected his teacher too much to do so.
Then Fergo spoke up. "Caedmon... these thoughts are... troubling to hear. You have been through your training and you know your responsibility as second in command. Perhaps we chose wrong in that decision..."
Caedmon’s paw tightened slightly around his knee, the one pressed to the floor seeming to tense a little up, almost unnoticeable. If anything could have hurt him and his pride in particular, it had been what Fergo had just said. Caedmon had trained all his life to become one of the best, to be able to defend the weak and act out justice on the wicked, ever since his parents had died, and here he was, being told that he was wrong in believing civilians should be spared.
He was then tasked with interrogating the Mechanist prisoners and even threatened with being demoted if he didn’t get the information the council wanted. Urit then spoke up and mocked him again. Caedmon didn’t even twitch. This time, the mocking had hit him, more than it had before, but he had trained himself in the arts of patience and management of his emotions well enough to be goaded into lashing out at a councilmember.
They were then dismissed and Caedmon rose, silently, bowing his head to the Council before turning, walking out of the room with a completely emotionless expression on his face, though his bodylanguage was slightly easier to read now. He took long strides and his muscles were tense. He seemed like he did, the moment before going into battle.
“The council laughed.” Came a comment from his left. He turned his head and spotted Maverick standing next to him, sending him an angry look. “Get down to those cells, now.”
“I will go clean and remove my armor first… sir.” Caedmon’s voice was as firm as ever, but there was a faint undertone of a growl in his voice. As Ribibin exited the room as well, Caedmon shot her a glance. It wasn’t one of accusation, nor was it one of passion. He simply looked at her for a long while before turning, striding off and going down the stairs.
One of the guards that had been protecting the council during the attack moved towards him on his way out, to ask him some sort of question, but Caedmon waved him off, glaring ahead of himself. It was rare anyone had seen Caedmon this angry. Sure, he got emotional at times. When he was out having a drink, or talking about his passions, but it wasn’t often anyone could get him to be angry.
After a stride through the darkened streets, he arrived at his apartment, cut out in stone like almost all the other houses. He slammed the door open and shut it behind him, just as violently. He then stood there, in his, for a knight-commander, rather humble living quarters. It had only a couple of rooms. A bedroom, with only a bed, a bedstand, and a stand for his armor, a bathroom, which had a washing trough for his armor and himself, with a drain going to the sewers, and a toilet, which was more or less just a hole in the ground with a removeable lid. This also went into the sewers.
Finally, there was his living room. It held a simple carpet of various colours, a window to the streets outside, what looked like another bed, but which was actually a couch, pushed against one wall, a small table, and a small cupboard, containing cutlery, plates and the like. In the corner of the living room, there was also a small kitchen. It only had a small oven, a desk for cutting the food in pieces, and a sink, which was to be filled with a jug of water that had to be refilled at one of the wells around town.
He simply stood there, staring into the wall in front of him for a few moments, staring at the smooth, stone wall. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a few moments as he breathed heavily in and out, using a technique his master had taught him to control his emotions, and his anger in particular.
Afterwards, he moved into the bathroom and began peeling off his armor, placing it within the bathing trough. He then filled it with water from a rather large jug, picked up a sponge sitting on a small stand nearby and sat down with his legs crossed, scrubbing at the blood-stained armor pieces.
He didn’t say anything as he did this, and he tried his best not to think, but it was hard. The council had just confirmed his worst fear. That they had no quarrel with eliminating civilians, even if they were completely harmless. Almost, at least. The council had, in fact, proven to be worse than the Mechanists. At this thought, Caedmon bared his teeth and scrubbed particularly hard on one of his cuffs, a small growl emitting from him.
He hated to admit this. That the ones responsible for the murder of his parents, had become “better” than the council he fought for.
Sitting there, he continued scrubbing his armor, the trough filling with blood-stained water, but Caedmon kept going. Thinking. Contemplating. Waiting.