Chapter 36: His Servant.

Chapter 36: Chapter 36: His Servant.

How on earth he’d managed to outrun the castle guards on injuries like that, Binny couldn’t fathom.

That was when he saw them, and it made him stop. And maybe it made him understand, just a little.

Gods above, how had he never seen them before? He’d seen him bathe, seen him change –seen the bruises and the scars that riddled his chest and arms and thighs –so how had he missed these ones, so beautiful and terrible –the kind of tearing that floggings left behind.

Terrible, mostly, and they made something thicken in the back of Binny’s throat as he stared. Like rich tendrils of lightning they fanned out across his back and spread in layers across his shoulders –carved into him by a cruel sculptor with a heavy whip. Binny didn’t want to count them.

But as his eyes danced over them, tracing where one would end and the next would begin, he could hear that sharp, wicked crack that would herald the lick of a whip breaking skin. He flinched, despite himself, but couldn’t look away.

Some of the scars --thin and silver --looked almost delicate, whereas others lingered as angry, knotted welts rising up from his tanned skin. They moved as he moved, rippling with each shift of his muscles.

In the moonlight, they looked like wings.

"No wonder you want to go home," Binny found himself murmuring, softer and sadder than he’d intended. Because he’d seen floggings, and seen how they could break a man, and tear not only his skin, but his heart.

And now his mind had conjured up an image of Khobi, unbidden --one where he was strapped for a lashing, alone before the eyes of a crowd, but for the man behind him to deal out his sentence.

Had he cried out for anyone? Had anyone cried out for him? Had anyone been there to stitch up the lashes that gaped, and made sure he would heal?

From the looks of some of the scars, jagged and thick, not likely.

At his voice, Khobi stiffened, face in shadow as though he could feel Binny’s grey eyes raking over his back and clinging to the criss-crossing lines that marred his skin.

But then his shoulders straightened and he glanced back over at Binny with his expression stormy.

"I don’t want your pity," he declared with heat, and Binny’s expression softened infinitesimally at how deep his pride ran.

"Maybe I deserved some of them," he added, a touch of defiance leaking into his tone, "And maybe I didn’t. Either way, they don’t matter anymore."

That sounded like his last words on the matter, and to his credit, it truly sounded like he believed it.

And from what he’d seen, Binny was inclined to believe that Khobi Frost was the kind of man who was more than his scars –the kind that rose above them.

There was no denying that he was a different breed of man –the same kind his uncle had been, at least in a sense. From what he knew of the Ironheart, Khnoji was a tree with thick roots and wide eaves –unbowed and unshaken by even the wildest of storms, and shelter for any who sought it.

Khobi was just as unbowed –with that same iron will that remained unbroken even when his body might shatter.

But Binny knew that much already. He’d seen Khobi’s latest fight, after all.

"Understood," was all he replied, though, and Khobi seemed satisfied enough with that, that he turned away and let the room’s darkness swallow up the scars on his back once more –leaving Binny more than a little curious but concerned for his physical safety if he tried to pry too far yet.

No wonder the guy had trust issues. No wonder the guy had issues, period.

Plonking himself back down on his bed, Khobi bent to peel the bandages from his feet and yelped a little when the movement seemed to pain him. With a light huff, and shaking his head, Binny automatically slunk forward and knelt to do it for him.

He’d barely managed to lay a finger on the dirty bandages when the foot was yanked from his grasp and would have laid waste to his face if he hadn’t ducked aside in time.

Irritated, he glared up at the redhead from the floor as if to say ’what’s the big idea?’

" –Didn’t you hear me? I said I didn’t want your pity," Khobi growled flatly, cringing as he jarred an aching calf and scowling down at him like a petulant child.

Annoyance flared up behind Binny’s eyes as he swatted Khobi’s hand away since apparently he was dealing with a bratty kid, and tugged his foot back down so he could deal with the mess of bandages the idiot had obviously produced trying to hobble over to the window.

"And this isn’t me pitying you, Khobi, this is me helping you," he sniffed back, glancing up into the redhead’s face meaningfully and tightening his grip on his foot.

Unsure what to make of the expression that crossed Khobi’s features at that, he lowered his gaze again, clucking his tongue.

The bandages were ugly and crusty from reopened wounds, but nonetheless he began painstakingly peeling them back to inspect what the hell he’d done to himself this time. Typically, he’d ripped open whatever scabs had been healing reasonably smartly, and irritated the ones that were getting there.

But, and Binny felt an odd sense of relief at the observation, the mess of dried blood caked to his heels made his feet look worse than they actually were.

They could probably just use a good wash and some new bandages –two things that all of Khobi could stand to benefit from, by the looks of things. The other servants obviously weren’t taking appropriate care of his wounds.

That wouldn’t do, he mused to himself. Next time he came up here he’d have to give him a thorough bath, and make sure his bandages were dry and changed, and ensure he was resting, because how was he going to escape again if he couldn’t even –

Binny’s hands stilled at the same time as his thoughts, and he wondered with a start just when he had started pressing ointment into the cuts on Khobi’s feet to make sure they wouldn’t fester.

I’m not his servant, he scolded himself, why should I go out of my way to make sure he’s all right? He glared down at the wounded foot he was holding, as though it might offer some kind of answer –and in a sense, it did.

The rest of it, Binny found on Khobi’s face, when he peered at him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t looking at him –making a point not to, it seemed –uncomfortable and confounded, as though he didn’t know quite what to make of Binny’s actions.

And maybe that tugged on his heartstrings a little –a tune he remembered from years gone by, when cruel children who wrinkled their noses at the lonely boy in the corner who was weird and rude and scolded them for being too loud, had asked him, "why do you even hang out with him? It’s not like you’re even friends."

Binny, small and wild-eyed, and blunt, like children are prone to be, had just grinned at them, and shrugged, because it seemed so simple.

"If I don’t, who will?"

In the darkness, head bowed, Binny’s expression softened, and a chuckle bubbled up from his throat as he mindlessly pressed ointment into the wounds that carved up Khobi’s feet.

"What’s so funny?" he demanded hotly, jerking on his foot again and sounding wounded, like he thought Binny was making fun of him (again).

But Binny automatically caught his foot again and kept up his ministrations without pause.

"Nothing, nothing," he assured him distantly, "I just remembered something, that’s all."

Khobi huffed at that, apparently not entirely sure that he was telling the truth, but not making to pull his foot away again.

He sat there without further protest until there were new, clean bandages tied neatly in place over the wounds of both of his feet, which was when Binny decided to get chatty again.

"I saw your fight, by the way," he remarked, inspecting his handiwork and absentmindedly tightening a knot.

Khobi tensed rather sourly, sensing a jibe, but that wasn’t his intention in the slightest. In fact, his voice softened rather mistily –fondly even, "...I haven’t seen a fight like that in a long time."

I haven’t seen him fight like that in a long time.

Ah, maybe he’d sounded too wistful, just then.

It was lucky that Khobi was too busy sulking to notice.

"Cheer up," Binny snickered, slapping the side of Khobi’s calf as he stood, and making him flinch.

He pretended not to notice, moving to turn down the bed like he normally would for any other lord, "You put up quite the fight, you know?" Khobi didn’t seem reassured; staring out the window with a storm simmering in his eyes.

"I still lost."

Binny paused a moment, glancing across at the dim silver outlines that marred Khobi’s back.

Disregarding how frequently his escapes tended to be thwarted, and despite his story –the demise of Scargga, the scattering of his family, and his fate to be a ward of Briyagi –Khobi had never seemed the type to lose.

Sounded like someone he once knew.

"And you’ll keeping losing," he shrugged nonchalantly, scoffing when Khobi turned his glare on him, and waving away the look as if it didn’t bother him. "What?" he sniffed, patting the pillow to remind the man that it was well into night and long past his bedtime. "You’ll never beat him fighting like that."

He didn’t mean it as an insult –merely an observation, but Khobi clearly took it as the former, and would’ve undoubtedly exploded into some kind of outburst if Binny hadn’t given him a decent prod in the ribs –right where it was definitely going to hurt.

"...Or with this how it is..." he pointed out, as Khobi yelped and clamped a hand protectively over his aching abdomen, red eyes flaring up.

Binny raised an eyebrow reproachfully, point proven, and took a step back (in case Khobi decided to retaliate). But Khobi just watched him as he shrugged, seemed to see the truth in his face that said you wouldn’t stand a chance right now. And he didn’t seem happy about it.

"I’m not just gonna sit here –" he began heatedly, but Binny shushed him with a dismissive hand.

"Don’t I know it?" he chuckled wearily, wondering when was the last time this room had heard those words.

And then memories of green flashed behind his grey eyes –strong and vibrant and with its own kind of warmth.

I’m counting on it.

"I don’t need you to lecture me..." Khobi snorted flatly, (and Binny would beg to differ), but at the very least he was obliging enough to shuffle himself up onto the bed and under the covers.

Binny contemplated offering to tuck him in, but figured that that would probably not be well received. Instead, he wordlessly began heading for the door again, stopping beside one of the windows for a long moment to peer off into the world.

It was quite the breath-taking view, he had to admit. High up as they were, it felt almost possible to see beyond the borders of the kingdom and to the corners of the night sky.

The castle stretched out below them, and the city beyond even that; torches and lanterns and candles lighting up the distance as little pinpricks of light.

A stone path ran along past the foot of the tower, storeys below –and he remembered looking up to the tower when the days of playing were long passed, and wondering at how far away these very windowsills seemed.

Now that he took the time to look down, the ground seemed just as distant.

When he turned back, Khobi was (thankfully) in bed, but facing away from him, little more than a dark lump in the corner of his bed.

The corners of Binny’s eyes creased slightly as he moved towards the door, but he didn’t dare call it a smile. But instead of slinking right out through the door without another word, he stopped.

"Hey, Khobi?" he queried quietly into the darkness, his voice low and a little hesitant. In the long pause that followed, he traced the wood on the inside of the door with a finger. It was ridged with old, worn dents, like once upon a time someone had beat at it, to no avail.

"...Yeah?"

"...Mind not telling the guards I was up here tonight?"

"What?" Khobi snorted, blankets rustling as he shuffled to gaze across the room at him through the darkness, "...They didn’t let you up?"

"They didn’t have to."

"...You snuck up here?"

"That’s a harsh way of putting it," Binny chuckled lightly at the disbelief in his tone, locking grey eyes against red with a dry smile, "...But yeah, maybe I did.

So...maybe don’t mention it to them?" Khobi stared at him incredulously for a long moment, seeming to be trying to weigh up the truth of his words and not coming to any sort of conclusion.

"...What do I get out of it?" he inquired flatly, and Binny snickered, because he should’ve been expecting that.

I don’t serve him, part of him reminded himself.

One day you will, another argued back.

But strangely enough, neither part was what urged him to spread his arms rather theatrically, to proclaim graciously, as if it were all he had to give, "I’ll come when you ask." And then he shrugged simply, grinning slyly as though it were all a game, "...And sometimes when you don’t."

Khobi didn’t know what to make of that, and clearly didn’t take him any sort of seriously, because he slumped back down into his mattress with a harrumph and a flat snort of, "Whatever, Binny."

"Sweet dreams," he replied lightly, hand leaving the indents on the wood and reaching for the door handle, when Khobi spoke once more.

"....Why’d you come up here, then?"

The door swung open just a crack, and Binny allowed himself to listen to his memories for just a moment, as the shadows of youths flitted down the stairs ahead of him, snickering and shushing each other in turn.

You coming, or what??

"...Let’s just say...for old times’ sake," he answered mistily into the darkness of the stairwell. What had gone and come over him recently? He knew his place now, or so he told himself and anyone who might claim otherwise.

He’d made his peace with it, he thought, had successfully staved off nostalgia for years now.

Maybe not as successfully as he’d thought, because he was here, and lingering on old memories, so it seemed it was rising with a vengeance that made his grey eyes turn a bitter, sad kind of smoky, the kind that has seen better days, and watched them fade.

"You have your past, Khobi, and I have mine."