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With one hand holding the knife to his throat, the other drops to the laces of his pants and the full scope of this “plan” comes into crystal clear focus with a sharpness that Ywain is surprised isn’t <i>audible</i>. He drags his eyes back up to Foulques, who’s looking equal parts smug and <i>completely unhinged</i> and manages an even-voiced,

“Ah. So it’s to be humiliation, then.” Foulques says nothing, just stares at him, haughty and smug, “Are you <i>truly</i> so committed to this? You still haven’t said <i>why</i> you--” his head snaps to the side with the blow and he’s being dragged back to center by his hair before he fully recovers,

“Beg me,” he snarls, “<i>Beg me</i> to stop. Admit that there are some things your courage breaks in the face of, and I’ll let you go.” Ywain blinks his eyes back in focus, still reeling a bit from the blow and looks up into Foulques’s face.

He looks furious, unhinged, <i>terrified</i>, and it makes Ywain’s decision even easier,

“Foulques,” his voice is soft, he makes him lean in to hear it, “you don’t have to do this. We can fight or you can tell me what this is about and I can <i>help</i> you. There’s no need for you to--” he shakes him by the hair hard enough his teeth rattle.

“Shut up. <i>Beg</i>. There is naught else that can <i>spare</i> you, lancer.”

“Nor you, apparently,” Ywain sighs softly, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back up, resolve firm in his gaze, “If the choice is to debase myself or to let you do it for me, tis no real choice at all. I’ll not beg.”