Chapter 64: General VS Noble.

Chapter 64: Chapter 64: General VS Noble.

Drogger had not always been a Captain. In fact, he had not always been a soldier.

Once upon a time, he had been nothing more than the son of a lowly tailor. And, because that was the way things were, that was all he would ever be. He was not discontent with that fate, because he was a good son, and it was his solemn duty as a son to follow in his father’s footsteps. And a tailor he would have become, if not for a twist of fate that had brought one of the King’s own Captains to his father’s door one autumn festival.

That autumn, a young Noog learned that there was more than one way to be a good son.

Once upon a time, he’d been just another soldier, building his strength and training his heart out so that he could prove to all those around him,to all those who doubted him because his father was a tailor, and he was a tailor’s son, that he was just as worthy to be a soldier of Crade as they were. And some men came to admire that. Many, in fact. And those that didn’t, feared it, and that was fine with him too. He was good, and people who needed to notice that sort of thing, noticed. And it became his duty to teach the generation that would succeed him, to nurture their talent and raise them into soldiers that their kingdom could be proud of.

Of all the things Drogger has failed at, this was the one that he was most ashamed of.

"What do you think you’re doing here?" he asks sternly, arms folded and expression carved from stone. He keeps his eyes straight ahead and his chin raised, and senses, more than sees, the hesitation in the man who had made to pass by him without so much as a nod of acknowledgement.

"Am I not allowed to be?" comes the bratty retort, and Drogger feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"You’re late," he says, grey eyes sliding sidelong and up, and catching sight of a striking profile. One that’s not looking at him either.

(Once upon a time, before he was a Captain, and he a Lord, Drogger knew Rogard Spidra.)

"Excuse me?" he sounds indignant, and his nose wrinkles like there’s been some kind of mistake. Drogger wants to yank his ear, because he’s certain he taught him to speak to his elders with more respect than that, but he doesn’t. Rogard is no longer his student, no longer a child, and it’s not a captain’s job to question how a man’s been raised. Instead, he simply returns his gaze to a spot on the horizon, brow furrowing deeply.

"I distinctly recall informing you that drills started at dawn, Spidra," he says, not angry, not disappointed. He’s long since moved past such petty emotions.

"I don’t do drills these days, Drogger," Rogard informs him, as though he’s not already well aware. He wonders when his voice became so sharp, and when his eyes became so cold.

"That’s Captain, to you," he reminds him sharply, "I advise you not to forget that."

Once upon a time, Rogard Spidra had been a good kid. Several years Drogger’s junior, he’d been a little whiny, prone to acting his age, and wasn’t above throwing a tantrum when he didn’t get his way, but a good kid.

"I think you’ll find that it’s Lord Spidra now. Captain."

Drogger barely recognises him anymore.

"What are you doing here?" He repeats again, "These are the training grounds. If you’ve no interest training, then you’ve no business here."

"...I have a score to settle."

Even if Khobi Frost wasn’t already storming over amid half-hearted attempts to stop him, Drogger could have probably guessed who with.

"...So you finally decided to show up, huh?" the redhead taunts, and if his voice didn’t irritate Drogger quite so much, he’d probably be impressed that he’s rearing for a fight after the vigorous warm up he’d started his morning with.

(He’d almost been on time today. But unfortunately for him that was exactly the same as being late.)

Drogger resists the urge to run a hand down his face as Spidra quips back something equally snide, and when he works up the strength to look, he finds the pair of them locked in a bitter standoff. Neither of them are armed, which can only be a good thing, but they both look ready for a fight, and there are a lot of men within earshot that look all too ready to egg them on.

And Drogger will not have them turn this place into a madhouse again.

"That’s enough out of both of you," he declares loudly. Frankly, he’s irritated that they’re quarreling on his time and making such a spectacle of it, but clashes of ego are rarely discreet, "If you want to fight, then I won’t stop you. But here, you play by my rules, is that understood?"

He pauses, and sighs longsufferingly when he’s met with silence.

" Is that understood ?" he repeats, louder, and less patiently.

"...Yes, sir..." Only Khobi answers him, and it’s definitely through gritted teeth.

Which is hardly good enough.

Their heads make a very satisfying sound when he knocks them together.

" Owww !"

" What the fuck was that for ??"

Drogger rolls a creak out of one of his shoulders as the pair of them clutch at their ringing heads and spout the sort of colourful language that would probably make their mothers cry. They don’t seem pleased with him, but if they’re going to act like children, then he’ll treat them accordingly.

There’s such ice in Rogard’s eyes. So much so that Drogger wonders, not without sorrow, if over the years it’s turned to hate. He looks like he wants to punch him, but they both know it’s a bad move.

Before centering his attention on the problem(s) at hand, Drogger takes the time to send a sweeping glance around at the men stupid enough to spectate the scene and get caught doing so, and it’s enough to have them hurriedly making themselves look very small and very busy.

"You can settle your differences after you’ve paid your dues," he informs them tersely, tucking his hands behind his back, "And not before."

" Our dues -- " Khobi starts to say, and the vein in Drogger’s brow pulses dangerously.

"--Spidra, I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happens when you’re late to training," he interrupts grimly, hoping that Khobi interprets his look as a warning to stop speaking out of turn.

"And if you have, Khobi will be more than happy to remind you."

"I’m not here to run laps ," Rogard scoffs, tossing his head and flicking a lock of gold back into place as his eyes settle on Khobi. "I’m not here to train. I’m here to fight him, and that’s all."

"Then leave," Drogger declares in a thick growl, eyes fierce and gleaming like polished steel. They’re eyes that have inspired fear and unadulterated awe into many generations of soldiers, and he’s satisfied to see that they still have an effect on even Rogard. He flinches, like he’s been struck, and looks a little taken aback at his own reaction. "There’s no place here for anyone who isn’t prepared to respect what we do here."

Rogard stares at him, eyes full of cold anger on the verge of outrage. But Drogger doesn’t blink. He became immune to those eyes when he was seventeen years old. Eleven year olds could look on their teachers so cruelly sometimes, and said a lot of things they didn’t mean.

In the end, it’s Rogard who looks away first. It’s so unbecoming of a grown man to sulk.

"I don’t have time for this," he sniffs as he wheels away, "I didn’t come here to be lectured ."

Drogger’s not sure who’s less impressed by the attitude, him, or Khobi.

For a second, he almost likes the kid. For a second.

"So you’re just gonna run away then?" Khobi mouths off, and even though the condescension in his voice isn’t directed at Drogger, it still makes his temperature spike. And if that’s the effect it’s having on him, it must be making Rogard’s blood boil . "After all that talk of kicking my ass?"

Drogger’s starting to see why Gurdet likes him.

"If you can’t run a couple of laps, then I guess --"

(It’s not a good thing.)

"I can do it," Rogard retorts sharply, instantly on the defensive and already deep in the trap. Did he really never learn? "I just don’t want to."

He knows from experience that this could go on for some time. He thought he’d left mediating these sorts of fights back in his teenage years, but evidently he was mistaken.

" Both of you ," he barks, sharp enough to draw their attention away from each other, and grim enough that they know he’s deadly serious. "Either you start running, or you get out of my training grounds and don’t come back."

Your choice .

"Wha -- both of us ??" Khobi immediately splutters, "But Drog --I mean, sir -- he’s the one that was late!"

"I’m sure you’re equally to blame."

"You can’t be serious." Rogard’s definitely not dressed for running. Drogger doesn’t care.

And he’s serious.

"If you want to fight each other, then I won’t stop you," he informs them both, because he understands well that sometimes things are a matter of pride. They look a little surprised. "That is what you want, isn’t it?"

"Well, yeah --" Khobi starts to say, before Drogger speaks over him, his voice growing steadily more irritated.

"Well what I want," he growls, "Is for the men of this castle to show some discipline." It’s not targeted at Rogard, because there are still too many men shirking their duties, but what he says next definitely is.

"You may be a Lord out there, Rogard," he says fiercely, unflinchingly meeting Rogard’s stony gaze, "But not in here. Here, you’re a soldier of Crade, just like everyone else." And just like everyone else, he had to answer to him.

"So," Drogger says, "If you’re serious about proving yourself, proving that you’re better than him --" He spares a look for Khobi, too, because these words are for both of them.

"Then you’d better start running."