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The armor chafes around his shoulders, as it always has quite honestly, but he’s not really helping the matter anyway as Din viciously tears at the fastenings holding it all in place. It’s most always been a two-man job at best, but as he furiously pries at leather straps, at hard edges, and anything at all that will take the accursed silver and blue colors off of him... bit by bit, it’s giving in. It already wasn’t in the greatest of shape, though under the force of his anger he was slowly but surely raining pieces upon the ground, each falling with a heavy clang.
Jenlyns, in the meanwhile, stands there without seemingly lifting a finger except to placate him as he tries to get a word in amongst it all, “Din, you are overreacting, man, if you would just stop and speak with me truthfully—”
“Truthfully?” Din ejects out mouthful of bloody spittle, “No, Jens, I’ve had it, I’ve had enough—”
“Din!”
“With all due respect, captain,” he snarls, stressing the title that’s as shiny and useless as the discarded armor at his feet, and on his tongue already tasting of copper, it’s as near to a curse as he can make it. “I’m not going to stand here pussyfooting around while you fuckin’ accuse me of working! For Monetarists!” Din is down to his leathers now, dark with sweat and blood both. Somewhere on the edges of the room is some poor healer trying to get a word in otherwise, but Din is tired, aching, forced to wait for the captain himself wanting to speak with him about the events instead of getting rest and healing he unquestioningly needs—
But as soon as the word falls into the space between them the sultansworn’s face darkens, and some of the anxious worry over his injuries changes into something tighter, something uglier.
“I did not say as much,” Jenlyns says through gritted teeth, his placating hand falling away, “Seeing as you were throwing a tantrum like child, but what a coincidence that you bring it up, now, without any prompting otherwise—”
“Thal’s balls, come off it!” He might be shaking a little, he’s so very tired, “Jenlyns, I’ve just spent all night fighting for my life, from a mission you yourself ordered me on, supposedly following up on a rumor of Oathkeeper being seen and instead I walk into the middle of a bandit’s nest that knew I was coming.”
“Yes, after which you miraculously survive whole and well to tell the tale, while good men and women lie dead and we’ve lost the only clue about Oathkeeper we’ve had in so very long—”
“If there even was a clue at all, Jens, gods!” Din presses a hand to his aching head, all sorts of frustrated and agitated. “You’re still so godsdamned singled minded, and you never even explained where this tip came from in the first place. Did you ever stop to think if it were worth all this? Everyone that went, we were outnumbered and we couldn’t— couldn’t—”
The world swims a moment as his injuries catch up to him. When it clears again he’s not sprawled on the ground at least, because Jenlyns has closed the gap to brace him instead. Din’s smearing gods-knows-what over the captain’s pristine armor, and as he stares blearily at his reflection in the shining plate, Jenlyns shuffles awkwardly. The lull is stifling.
“…I’m willing to admit I spoke brashly,” Jenlyns said quietly. Some of his anger was subdued some. Maybe he was finally showing some concern over Din’s condition, but a touch of stiffness is still there, awkward and halting. “But- Din, surely you understand, the pride and the honor of the Sworn— it’s tarnishing before our eyes. As captain I have to do what I must to preserve it, and that means making… certain decisions.”
…Din closes his eyes.
“Decisions,” he echoes bitterly, and the last piece of him that had been holding out for so very long quietly gives in. With a heavy hand he pushes himself up— back from Jenlyns, back from his friend, planting a great dirty handprint across his tabard so that he can stagger away under some of his own power. “I’m done. Sorry. Done running around. Done being sent to die over a sword of all things when I thought I was finally doing something right joining up— sorry. I quit.”
…Jenlyns stands stock still, absorbing the words, and then it sinks in and his eyes flash with steel as his brow twists and his mouth curls in gathering anger.
“You— What do you mean, you can’t just quit!” he protests, taking one furious step forward but Din waves him off, limping over the pile of discarded blue and white on his way towards the door. “Oh, oh I see, so you’re running away again, looking out for only yourself again instead of thinking about the good of all? I was a fool to let you enlist! I didn’t want to think the rumors were true but run back to your masters and tell them I will not be deterred from my path!”
The last accusation stings. It’s as he feared, then… but he’s too tired to be angry now. He just wants to be done, and if Jenlyns walks freely into a noose of his own making… maybe he had the right of it there. He was only looking after himself in the end, numb to the ranting and threats that grow the closer he gets to leaving, and Din responds to it only by tossing something over his shoulder without looking to see where it falls- a pearly blue stone, that glimmers once and goes dark. The soul of the paladin he’d been entrusted with, once, that clatters to the ground as Jenlyns is finally stricken into silence…
And Din crosses the threshold, alone again.