Chapter 279 - 277:Smiling Again.

Chapter 279: Chapter 277:Smiling Again.

And he looks so baffled by it that Khobi can’t hide a bark of laughter.

Loac immediately flings him a dirty look over his shoulder and childishly demands a rematch.

Jaga just shrugs, like it’s all the same to him, and promptly does it again.

​Loac flings his hands up in disgust, and Khobi makes sure to lean off the wall to taunt him as he strops past to go get Jaga his damn drink.

​" –Can’t win em all, right Loac?"

​Loac throws a middle finger his way.

Khobi sends one back just to keep things even, and ignores the way that the exchange makes his pulse jump.

​...

​The bards know what they’re doing.

They know how to turn a tavern to putty in their hands with a song and a show, and the young women who have come out searching for a good time are quick to lure men up for a dance.

Rogard is their most popular target for obvious reasons, and winds up surrounded by pretty faces more than once.

He honestly can’t complain; he is having just the best time, and he’s honestly, truly just about to head back to his seat after dancing to three entire songs one after the other when the next one strikes up and immediately roots him in place.

​Those simple notes --so light and playful --instantly stir up an old, dusty memory, in the way songs so often do.

Eyes widening, he shoots a look across at Loac, and is surprised and very pleased to find him looking back with an expression of dread, like he’s experienced the same such sense of deja vu and is desperately hoping that Rogard doesn’t remember.

​A grin stretches across Rogard’s face, wicked and knowing.

​Oh, but he does.

​Loac shakes his head, infinitessimally.

​"Loac," he urges, golden eyes shining dangerously.

​"Not happening, Rogard," Loac warns flatly, and makes a big, useless show of making himself comfortable right where he is.

But Rogard has other plans.

​"Loac~"

​He doesn’t get the chance to tell him no again because that’s when Rogard grabs him with both hands and with all his considerable strength, hauls him up and out of his seat to where a bouncing group of bright-eyed young women are taking their places.

It’s a tight space for this sort of dance, but they’re making do with what they’ve got and Rogard can respect that.

​They’re the only men out there, but Rogard doesn’t even care, and makes sure to stick his tongue out at the soldiers when they whistle.

​"Come on, Loac, remember?" he urges, swinging him into place opposite him and holding out a hand for him to take.

Loac sets his jaw and obstinately refuses to take it.

​"I don’t."

​Rogard grabs his hand anyways, just in time for the bards to let out a whoop and join in with their drum and their bells.

​And it turns out Loac is a big, fat liar.

Because while not exactly enthusiastic, for someone who doesn’t remember he sure seems to know where to step and when to weave, and when to clap and when to swing Rogard around just like the girls do.

The same can’t quite be said for Rogard who, as it turns out, doesn’t remember quite as much of this dance as he thought he did and accidentally crashes into a least four different people as they weave and stamp.

But that’s to be expected; he hasn’t even heard this song since he was a kid, when Loac’s mother had showed them the steps and danced it along with them.

It’s an absolute shambles, and Rogard is entirely to blame.

Because as much as Loac grumbles and complains and shakes his head like he can’t believe Rogard dragged him into this, he at least doesn’t trip anyone (or himself) over, and handily keeps them in time when Rogard does both such things.

Which is truly no mean feat when Rogard’s laughing so hard that he can barely keep himself on his feet.

It’s not his fault. Loac looks just so done that he just can’t help it; the laughter just spills out all on its own, high and loud and infectious and makes Rogard warm all over.

The tavern, too.

​Because some kinds of joy are made to be shared, and spread, and this is one of them.

It fans out through the room, catching fire, and shows in the vigorous way the girls whoop and smile as they pick up their skirts and kick up their heels, and in the animated way the soldiers hoot and laugh and stamp along to the beat of the drums, and in the helpless way Loac rolls his eyes and slings an arm around his shoulders and tousles his hair into an absolute travesty.

​It’s the beautiful kind of chaos every bard dreams of inciting, and by the time the song finally ends to deafening applause, a definitely-drunk and helplessly grinning Rogard is the one being dragged, and Loac’s laughing loud and grinning along like an idiot right there with him.

​It’s nice to see Loac laughing again, the way he used to.

They never got to do anything like this, back then, and Rogard has to wonder, just a little, if this is what the winter nights of his life would have looked like if he’d never listened to his father; if he hadn’t let him sway him or mould him or shape him in the image that he wanted others to see while ignoring the one that Rogard wanted to be.

But that thought tastes awfully sour on a night full of sweet, so he pushes it way back down and away and decides that the fact that he’s here now is good enough.

​The soldiers rib him good-naturedly about forgetting the steps, but Rogard doesn’t worry about such things anymore, and makes sure to tell Montrel that he better not come crawling to him when the princess wants to do that very same dance at their wedding.

She’d loved it too, after all, and didn’t Montrel already ask her to marry him? That sets them all roaring again, and with nothing left to defend himself with Montrel just flings his hands into the air and lets them have their fun.

He’s grinning as he does it though, and hollers a request to the bards in a last ditch effort to distract them.

​It works.