George rolled his shoulders, adjusted his hand against the pommel of his sword. "You...Well, you know we both"--George's eyes darted towards John--"have been in your shoes. We know what you're going through."
Peter muttered something under his breath. No they hadn't--been in his shoes. No one had been in his shoes. How dare George try and claim otherwise. This was different. Wasn't it?
"Should say something," said John. "We'll be stationed with each other quite a lot now that they know you're committed."
"Committed? Is that what murder is to our lords? A show of commitment?" Peter scoffed. "You don't understand what it's--"
"Sure we do," George cut in. Once again his eyes darted to John. For support? What was he hoping to find on the face of his friend? A look or encouragement? Some sign that told him to keep on going, keep trying? Or was he looking for reassurance? A hint that he wouldn't be left on his own. That he would be backed up. "You were going to say we don't understand what it's like, uh? What it feels like?"
"You've killed soldiers." Peter said. "I...I murdered a boy. Not even. A wee lad. A child. And his mother. A woman and her child."
"There was no other way." John said. He half reached out, as though he wanted to touch his friend to try and comfort him, but he changed his mind and dropped his arm.
"There was another way." Peter said, half to himself. "There must have been."
"There was," said George. "Until there wasn't. Now you must live with what happened. Trying to undo your past actions is a waste of time. That's why I suggested we talk about it. John and I have killed, now so have you. Let's talk about it."