Chapter 324: Give Me Time.

Chapter 324: Chapter 324: Give Me Time.

Fuck, what is taking so long ?

​" –Hey, Montrel, can you quit your pacing ?" Gandy complains from where he’s standing vigil at the locked infirmary door; the way a good guard is supposed to do when they’re on watch.

The way Montrel is also supposed to be standing vigil. "You’re making me dizzy."

​" –What am I supposed to do, just sit here?" Montrel grinds back irritably, and continues pacing.

​" Yeah ," Gandy heaves dryly, "It’s literally our job." For what it’s worth, he doesn’t sound thrilled about it either.

Personally, Montrel’s plenty sure that if Loac and Khobi and Rogard wanted out, they’d get out and all the guards in the world wouldn’t be enough to stop them, but Captain’s orders are Captain’s orders, and Bongo’s ordered them to make sure that no one tries anything... drastic while the king mulls things over.

​Which, given Khobi’s history, and the way Loac had yelled at the king, was probably a good call. Montrel just wishes Gurdet would mull just a bit fucking faster.

​The waiting is killing him.

That being said though; if he and Gandy are just gonna wind up having to throw Khobi in a cell and toss away the key, that’s news he can happily wait for. Forever, if it came to it. Coz that’d seriously kill him.

​" Montrel ."

​"I know, I know," Montrel grinds out, but doesn’t quit his pacing.

He’s not sure what exactly there is to mull over. It all seems pretty goddamned simple to him.

The story Rogard had told the king lined up exactly with the one he’d told him; that his old man had gone beserk on him, Rogard had defended himself like any sane man would, and that the fact that Khobi and Loac had even gotten involved in the first place was pure coincidence.

​Okay, so Khobi was meant to be on his best behaviour. But what was he supposed to do, just turn around and walk away? Shit, if Montrel had arrived on the scene any earlier, he would’ve been in there too.

Rogard had looked a right fucking mess ; what kind of father let his guards do that to his own son?

​The thought makes Montrel’s blood boil.

​Not to mention the fucking bolts that had been littered all across the courtyard.

Drogger would be goddamned furious if he saw; all of the castle trained soldiers knew better than to play around with crossbows when even a glancing shot from one of those things could permanently maim a man.

One of those to an arm or a leg and supernaturally gifted or not, you’d never be the soldier you once were.

​He’s glad Loac punched the guy.

​To hear Khobi talk, it sounded like he seriously had it coming.

​"I’m actually gonna hit you."

​" –That won’t be necessary, Gandy," a voice abruptly interjects, and Montrel stills for what feels like the first time in hours as the familiar shape of the Third Captain looms into view.

Both he and Gandy immediately snap to a crisp attention, "There’s been quite enough of that for today, I should think."

Bongo gestures for the pair of them to fall back at ease and nods towards the closed door they’ve been hovering anxiously at.

"How’re they doing?"

​"Not a peep," Gandy replies dutifully, and Montrel hopes it’s a good sign that Bongo chuckles at that.

​"...Not always a good sign," he reminds them wryly, and well, he’s got a point there.

​"...They’re good kids, Captain," Montrel feels the need to interject, even though they’re not strictly kids, and sometimes they’re nothing but serious, massive pains in his ass. It feels a little too late; Bongo’s clearly only here because Gurdet’s made up his mind, but it feels like something he needs to know, anyways.

​"I know," Bongo assures him shortly, and gives him a reassuring clap on the shoulder, "Don’t worry, Montrel. Gurdet isn’t nearly as unreasonable as he pretends to be."

Gandy, the bastard, looks just as relieved as Montrel feels, although there’s something distinctly un -reassuring about the way Bongo adds, with a long-suffering sigh, "I wish I could say you get used to it."

​...

​"So, you gonna tell us the real reason your old man freaked out on you?" Khobi inquires, flopped down on his back on one of the tiny infirmary beds, staring up at the ceiling.

From the bed directly adjacent, Rogard sighs, and begins to repeat exactly what Khobi’s already heard before.

​"We had a –"

​"Yeah, yeah, a disagreement ," he snorts, rolling his eyes, and while Loac --sitting on the edge of the bed beside him --doesn’t add anything, it’s clear he’s listening, "We heard what you told Gurdet."

They heard, and he doesn’t quite buy it. There’s got to more to it than that. He knows there is.

Khobi’s had disagreements with what feels like half the castle, and very few of them have escalated to anything like that.

And while it’s fine if he doesn’t want to tell them --it’s his business, after all --Khobi figures he should know that he can. If he wants to.

​That’s an if that Rogard wrestles with for a long moment.

And for a second there it seems like he’s going to try and talk him around; to tell him it’s really nothing, but then after a moment of consideration, he exhales heavily and his shoulders sag, like he’s been holding them high for so long and can suddenly go on no longer.

​"...Father’s never..." he begins uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder like somehow he might be there to listen.

He doesn’t know how much he should say; how much he wants to. Even Drogger only knows pieces of how his father has made him feel. "...My father isn’t a good man."

He doesn’t elaborate, but from the way he runs a thumb over the cut on his cheek, Khobi understands a little of what he means.

​"...I told him I was done," Rogard says to his hands. And even though Khobi’s barely got an inch on him and he’s got the kind of presence that can rival his own, suddenly he feels so much smaller. "...With him. And he didn’t really like that."

​"Oh." Khobi doesn’t know quite what else to say. And while the expression Rogard’s wearing looks like a smile it doesn’t feel like one. It makes Khobi’s stomach twist.

​"...And that bit of paper...?" he ventures tentatively, and is relieved to see that the mention of it --or maybe the memory of what it had contained --brings a little of his usual sparkle back to Rogard’s face.

​"Ah," he murmurs quietly, "That was..." He catches himself, just as there comes a knock at the infirmary door. "I’ll tell you another time, Khobi. Promise."