Chapter 80: Noble Friend.

Chapter 80: Chapter 80: Noble Friend.

"That’s disgusting."

Cheeks stuffed with food, Khobi looks up from his dinner.

"Huh?" he grunts, and little streak of gravy dribbles from the corner of his mouth as he reaches for another cut of meat. Rogard, sitting directly opposite, his own plate politely full, looks suitably horrified, both by the volume of food stacked in front of Khobi, and the sheer amount he’s already ploughed through.

"That’s too much," he declares, visibly alarmed, and concerned that no one else is, "You can’t possibly eat all that." He stares wildly around the table, pleading for someone to back him up, but the soldiers he’s lunching with today have long since gotten used to Khobi’s absurd eating habits.

"You get used to it," Montrel snickers through a mouthful of bread, and smacks Khobi’s hand away from the piece of meat he’d been eyeing up. "Hey, hands off, kid. Eat what you’ve got first!"

Whatever Khobi has to say about that is lost in translation behind a mash of food. It makes Rogard turn a little green, so Khobi’s gracious enough to finish his mouthful before attempting to communicate again.

"...Is that all you’re eating?" he frowns, wrinkling his nose at the contents of Rogard’s plate.

"This is plenty!"

It’s the first time Rogard’s sat with them. Montrel’s not sure anyone even invited him, but when he’d followed them to their usual table in the dining hall, they’d just made space like they’d been doing it every night. It’s a bit of a squeeze now, but no one’s made any move to sit anywhere else so he supposes it’s fine.

However, there are those who seem to disagree.

They’re fellow soldiers and all, but for some reason Wakamatsu’s never pleased to see the signature blue uniforms of Lord Spidra’s men.

No one is. Not really. Even a couple of soldiers at neighbouring tables look distinctly uncomfortable with their abrupt appearance. For all their lord swore that they were as loyal as to the crown as any other Crade man, no one was under any illusion as to whom they truly answered to.

"Rogard," Jaga says shortly, nodding to the looming shape behind Rogard’s shoulder, "You have visitors." It’s quite admirable, how neutral he manages to keep his voice. Montrel would have gone with outright unfriendly.

As it is, he’s got one eye trained intently on Khobi to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. He’s been arguably well behaved in days of late, but his track record with Lord Spidra’s men is exceptionally poor.

"My Lord," one of them says, blatantly ignoring the rest of the table, and Rogard childishly rolls his eyes down into his plate before turning with a deliberate show of reluctance.

"Yes?" he demands petulantly, clearly irritated, although it’s difficult to tell whether it’s from the presence of his father’s men, or the fact that they’ve interrupted his dinner.

The grimace the soldier responds with indicates that he’s not accustomed to being spoken to in such a way, and doesn’t care for it.

"My Lord," he repeats, more strained this time, "Your father desires to speak with you."

"Oh, does he now?" Rogard sniffs disinterestedly, tucking a lock of his fringe back into place and regarding his father’s men with impatience, as if to say was that all ?

Both of them seem a little taken aback by the attitude, which they really shouldn’t be, seeing as it seems to be approximately seventy percent of Rogard’s personality. Maybe sixty, if Montrel’s being generous. Eighty, on a bad day.

"He’s been missing you," the other informs him, but the lack of sincerity makes the sentiment fall flat.

"I’ve been busy," Rogard replies coolly.

"He’s aware of that, My Lord. But he does insist."

"Of course he does," Rogard mutters under his breath, and slams his fork into a cut of meat with just a little too much enthusiasm. "Tell him he can wait. I’ll go see him when I’m done here, okay?"

"My Lord --" one tries to protest, but Rogard dismisses him by waving a breadstick in his face.

"Tell him he can wait," he reiterates lightly, and punctuates it with a smile that only he could pull off. Dazzling, and dangerous. "That’s an order, okay?"

From the way the soldiers’ expressions turn to thunder, it’s exactly the wrong thing to say, but he keeps smiling, even when a heavy gloved hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes hard enough to bruise.

There’s a collective intake of breath, and chairs creak apprehensively against the stone as the men in them tense like a bowstring being pulled tight.

"We answer to your father, Rogard," the soldier growls, and Rogard’s expression frosts over again, to something aloof and icy. "Not you. Is that clear?"

"...How about just this once then?" he suggests flippantly, no longer smiling as he slaps the soldier’s hand away from him with disdain, "And I won’t tell my father that you laid your hands on me. How does that sound?"

The soldier look likes he’s just slapped his face, rather than his hand.

"...Very well, My Lord," he relents, through gritted teeth. "Just this once." It looks like it pains him enormously to say it, and the polite bow the pair of them offer as they take their leave is decidedly stiff.

As soon as they’re gone, the ice drops from Rogard’s eyes and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"I never liked those guys," he remarks offhandedly, shaking his head as he starts back into his food like the scene that had just played out is nothing out of the ordinary.

"Wow, you’re actually the worst, aren’t you?" Khobi snorts, shaking his head incredulously. He thinks he’s being so sneaky, but Montrel doesn’t miss the way he relaxes his grip on the meat knife he’d been clutching like a vice.

"I’m hurt," Rogard simpers back, sounding anything but. Khobi just rolls his eyes at him and biffs a piece of crust at him.

"That seemed serious," Jaga comments conversationally as the tension in the air slowly begins to melt away, and confiscates Rogard’s spoon before he can use it to flick crumbs back across the table at Khobi in retaliation.

"Yeah. I bet father’s going to yell at me," he pouts morosely, yielding up the spoon and making no move to use his fork for anything nefarious. "He’s probably mad I’ve missed his last three afternoon teas. And he really doesn’t like being told what to do." He doesn’t seem to think that what he’s said is anything odd, when really, it is.

"...It must be so weird being rich," Montrel mutters in disbelief. "Afternoon tea ?" He’s familiar with the concept --he did grow up in a castle, after all, but it’s never been something he’s been at all interested in.

It always sounded so horrifically stuffy and proper , and he’s been told by his captains, his king, and even his mother, that his strength doesn’t lie in his manners. "Why would he be mad? Doesn’t he have servants to pour the tea?"

Even Jaga snickers politely.

Rogard looks highly affronted.

"It’s about more than tea ," he sniffs, all high and mighty, "There’s music, and food, and intelligent conversation for one--" That’s definitely a dig but Khobi’s quick to counter.

"...So what are you doing there, then?"

" So rude !"

"Do you actually drink tea?" Khobi asks, and Montrel seriously can’t tell if he’s pulling Rogard’s leg or genuinely curious.

It seems unlikely that Silas would have invited him along to any fancy tea parties during his stay in Briyagi.

" Obviously ," Rogard scoffs, rolling his eyes like Khobi’s a total moron. Which is arguably true, at times. "I prefer when father serves mineral water though. I can tell exactly where it’s been sourced from just by tasting it. It’s a talent."

"That’s not a real talent," Khobi deadpans, and Rogard gasps, just a little.

" You wouldn’t know real talent if --"

"Kids, can you not ?" Gandy growls irritably, before dinner can devolve any further, "The adults are trying to eat here."

Neither Rogard or Khobi looks particularly thrilled at being called children, but it makes them quieten down all the same. Unfortunately for them, the peace is short lived.

This time, it’s really not Khobi’s fault.

" Oh sorry, I didn’t see you there!" pipes a disingenuous voice, a second before a mug of ale goes sloshing all down Khobi’s back.

He yelps, and manages to make it to his feet for approximately one second before Jaga and Montrel each grab him by a shoulder and stuff him back into his chair before he can make trouble.

"Right," Montrel says with displeasure, looking up to find that Albi already has Hasbar by the scruff of his neck for trying to start something. "Hasbar. Really? You’re still pulling this shit?"

"Allow me to apologise," Albi says to Khobi, in Hasbar’s stead, and bows his head apologetically as Khobi tugs on his sticky shirt.

"His personality is incurable."

"I’ve noticed," Khobi remarks dryly, and grimaces when Hasbar sends him one of his wholly fake smiles.

"I suppose we’ll meet at the tournament," he says excitedly, eyes shining, "You’ll be entering, I imagine. Dogs gotta fight, don’t they?"

Albi smacks him in the back of the head and sighs.

"Please excuse him," he says stonily, "The Captain’s drills have brought out the worst in him."

"You’re entering?" Gandy raises an eyebrow, sounding sceptical, "After the thumping Khobi gave you? Took him what, five seconds?"

"I do have to pay him back for that," Hasbar admits with a self-deprecating laugh, "What better way to do that than publically humiliate him in front of every kingdom this side of the sea?"

"What did you do to this guy?" Rogard demands of Khobi, incredulous, looking a little too alarmed for someone who’d made several similar vows not too recently.

"Oh no, that’s just what he’s like," Montrel assures him dismissively, "What about you, Albi?" The stoic soldier shakes his head and shrugs.

"It’s not my thing," he replies flatly, "Let the enthusiastic young ones have their fun."

" Young ones ," Gandy cackles heartily, "Don’t let Drogger catch you hearing that. I’m pretty sure he’s actually a favourite to win the tournament."

"He’s actually entering?" Albi sounds politely surprised.

"As far as I know? I assumed he would,"

Gandy frowns, looking around the table for support, "Why wouldn’t he? He’s our Captain."

"Bongo won’t be though."

"Bongo ’ll be guarding His Majesty."

"True. He should still enter. I’d love to see someone finally flatten Jaga. No offense, Jaga."

"None taken."

"Noisy bunch, aren’t you?" Hasbar chips in brightly, and yelps when Albi tugs on his ear for his cheek. "I suppose you’re all entering, then. You’re all real suckers for punishment, huh?"

"Oh, and you think you can beat the Second?"

"What? Of course not. I know I can’t take the Second," he laughs, waving away the notion as ridiculous. "I just hope I get to cut down a couple of others before I have to face him."

A couple of the soldiers roll their eyes. Albi just looks tired. Montrel gets it, Hasbar’s shitty personality must get seriously exhausting.

"That’s enough," Albi sighs, hauling Hasbar along by his collar to keep him moving, and bowing his head in apology for interrupting their lunch. "Excuse us."

Hasbar waves his empty mug at them as he’s carted off.

"That guy’s got some serious issues," Gandy mutters, scraping his plate clean.

"Oh yeah, you got that right," Montrel sighs, shaking his head, "You all good, Khobi?"

"Yeah, yeah, not the first drink that’s been tipped on me," Khobi shrugs, fisting his hair and grimacing when his hand comes away sticky.

"What about you, Rogard?" Mural asks suddenly, having been following the proceedings with quiet interest.

"Huh?" Rogard, clearing up his plate, looks a little startled at being addressed out of the blue.

"Are you entering the tournament?"

Rogard blinks at him.

"Of course I am!" he exclaims after a moment, pushing away from the table and dusting off his clothes. He’s quick to polish the grim expression off his face and makes sure he stamps a winning smile on in its place.

It’s so bright Montrel could swear he can see flowers blooming in the air around him. "That guy was right, after all. What better place to take my revenge on Khobs??"

Khobi immediately chokes on his drink.

"K--what ??" he splutters, but Rogard just winks at him and waves to them all as he backs away.

"I’ll see you guys tomorrow!"

And just like that, he’s off.

Khobi just stares after him.

"Um, what just happened?" he asks flatly, pointing at the space Rogard had just occupied and wondering if they’ve just heard what he thinks he just heard.

"Nothing good, let me tell you," Gandy mutters through a mouthful of food, and Montrel sniggers.

"I’m not completely sure..." he muses wryly, "But I think -- I think --Rogard Spidra just decided to be your friend?"