Chapter 355: How Far Would You Go For Him.

Chapter 355: Chapter 355: How Far Would You Go For Him.

Gurdet can’t remember the last time he and his nephew sat alone together.

There’s the distinct possibility that it’s actually never happened, and probably by design. He and Loac have never really gotten along, after all.

Much to his daughter’s great dismay.

​Well, there’s a first time for everything, he supposes, because here they are, obstinately at opposite ends of the same table, and while it can only be a few feet that separates them for some reason it feels so much further.

​For once Loac’s barely touched his food.

​It’s the strangest thing, but Gurdet isn’t mad. And he should be; the gods know Loac has been testing his patience and his limits and everyone around him for years, and this time he has without question crossed a line that even he knows not to cross, but for all the times he’s been driven spare by his nephew, this time there’s no anger.

Just confusion .

Because this just isn’t like Loac. Well, it is , but at the same time it isn’t. He’s always been wilful, and while he’d love to blame that facet of his personality on his father the truth is that his mother is equally to blame.

Moreso, even.

​But going so far for someone else? That...that just doesn’t make any sense.

​"I suppose you know why you’re here," he states, breaking the silence that has reigned supreme since the moment Loac set foot in the hall.

​" Yeah ."

​That makes it easier; that he’s admitted it. That he knows he did something he wasn’t supposed to.

And it’s such a shame that Gurdet is so baffled by it that he can’t even be bothered bandying back and forth with him about it.

​"...Why did you do it?" He finds himself asking.

​He expects him to lie. Or at the very least, come up with some kind of excuse.

​He doesn’t.

​"Why not?" Loac shoots back flatly, sounding oddly defensive.

He looks defensive, too; slouched in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, and he’s not looking at him, "I was going for a ride and he wanted to come."

​The words feel true, but it doesn’t feel like the truth .

​Gurdet looks at his nephew. Hard. Harder than he’s looked at him in a long, long time. It’s strange, because while he doesn’t look altogether much different, he feels it.

And while he’s clearly going for the kind of indifference Gurdet’s accustomed to, there’s a brand of petulance there that’s new.

​No, not new .

Recent , perhaps. It’s not the first time he’s caught a glimpse of it. And he should know that Gurdet can tell the difference between being detached and merely pretending to be. It’s easy not to care.

It’s considerably harder to pretend you don’t.

​Gurdet picks his questions carefully.

​"...And why would he want that?" he inquires lightly, pouring himself a cup of tea.

At the other end of the table, Loac starts picking at the bread that’s been laid out for him. He doesn’t eat it though, just picks idly at the crust sending crumbs spilling across the table.

​"Why wouldn’t he want out?" He deflects, and Gurdet immediately cuts in with a wry smile, " –I meant with you ." Loac absent-mindedly picks another layer off his bread, brow furrowed as he starts piling the crust up into a heap.

​"...Beats me."

​A truth.

​How curious.

​Gurdet decides to press a little further; settling back into his chair with an eyebrow raised as he adds, "...Because –and do correct me if I’m wrong– I was under the impression you two didn’t get along."

​It’s not even a total lie.

He was . He just doesn’t happen to be any longer.

​"...What’s the big deal?" Loac drawls, and it does not escape Gurdet’s notice that he evades the question.

The lack of finesse is rather astounding. That he gets from his mother.

She was always too blunt; never had any time for the games her sister and the other ladies of the court played.

​It raises the question of why . Why not just admit that they do get along, when clearly, in their own juvenile way, they do? And if they don’t , why not just say the words? They’re just words; words they’ve never been shy about it saying before.

​"He came back, didn’t he?"

​Gurdet hums, raising his cup of tea to his lips.

​That he did .

​(More questions.)

​Why . Why, with all the wilderness spread before him, would Khobi Frost willingly come back here?

​"...You’re gonna keep your promise, right?" Loac suddenly asks, and in his next breath unwittingly answers that exact question, "About finding his uncle? Coz I told him you would."

​Now why, sweet nephew, would you tell him that?

​"I’m a man of my word," Gurdet replies, and for the most part he is, except when it’s convenient not to be, obviously. But he means it, this time. "I’ll find him."

​"...And when you do..." Loac’s stopped picking at his bread. In fact, he’s stopped moving altogether. "...You’ll protect him?"

​" Now why would I do that ?" Gurdet muses aloud, and while the way he leans forward into the palm of one hand could be considered contemplative, what he’s actually pondering, is his nephew.

And just why exactly he would ask such a thing. "Silas is supposed to be our ally ," he reminds him slowly, "Protecting his most hated person would be widely considered a, how should I put this? A very bad political move."

​"Tsk," Loac scoffs derisively, breaking out of his stillness just enough and for just long enough to flick a piece of fruit off his plate. He doesn’t watch where it falls, "Silas doesn’t give a shit about an alliance."

​How astute .

​"...Did Khobi put you up to this?" he inquires suspiciously, because that would be the obvious answer.

But no , Loac’s shaking his head, and even though he’s still not looking at him, it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to hide a lie. More than anything, it feels like he’s trying to hide the truth . And honestly, he should know better, by now.

​That’s just going to make him look all the harder.

​"...So you won’t, then?" he states flatly, eyes narrowing into a thick, scornful glare as he finally glances his way, "You won’t help him?"

Gurdet sets his cup down and folds his fingers together as he levels his nephew with a look.

This is probably the longest conversation they’ve had in years without either of them raising their voices, flinging barbs, or storming out.

The fact that this is even a conversation at all, let alone one without any of such things having yet occurred tells him more than Loac probably wants him to know.

​It tells him that this conversation means something to his nephew.

​In a way nothing else has, in a very long time.

​"...Are you asking me to?" Gurdet inquires carefully, and eyes the way his nephew’s jaw clenches as mulls over the question.

​"Yeah," he says stonily, and finally, finally he looks him right in the eye. "I am."

​And just like that, Gurdet thinks he understands.

​"Then I will," he shrugs simply, returning to his cup of tea, and now it’s Loac’s turn to look suspicious.

​"What, it’s that easy?" he scoffs, and Gurdet can’t help but chuckle, one hand dropping into his pocket to absent-mindedly thumb the ring that’s sat awfully heavy there as of late.

​"Ah, you think so little of me, sweet nephew," he sighs shaking his head, "I was never going to let Silas have him."

​"Then why make me beg?" he demands coolly, but Gurdet just smiles, and doesn’t answer.

If Loac thinks that this is begging, and that this is how he makes someone beg, that just goes to show how little he really knows about how kingdoms are run these days.

​I wanted to know how far you would go for him.