Lorne waits patiently, gaze on the plain wooden table in front of him. No sense in turning and causing himself more pain. Dain's words are mercifully empty of an apology or melancholy.

"He wouldn't have. Captain Lance interceded," Lorne says, a touch gruffly. He closes his eyes for a moment. Lance couldn't stay his hand too much, or Brickenden wouldn't be satisfied. It had hurt Lance immensely to do this to Lorne, and Lorne still doesn't have an idea of how to balm that kind of wound. "Probably saved my life. It was this or the commander was going to empty the winter stores for the whole village."

Fury sharpens the edge of Lorne's tone at the ruthlessness of that man. Not all the soldiers are like him, not all worth scorn, but this particular fire is unlikely to go out.