InsaneJournal

to what other end (ithacles, vedette, onainat)
He should have been interrogating prisoners. There were four of them. As more than one lieutenant had pointed out, he was not an expert in interrogation. His training was that of a soldier, not that of a questioner, and it was important that he know the difference. That he keep himself apart from all of this. That was what found him not in the hall of the iron bars but in the hall of the creaking wood.

There were many such chambers in a castle. Long, rectangular rooms of naked stone that held banners from bygone eras. When he was a boy, and Gerbold had brought him to this place, it had been difficult not to admire the banners. There was history woven into their fabric. He'd stared long after he was meant to. Gerbold had been forced to drag him away. Now they seemed merely old. On the verge of becoming threadbare. Ulbarich had no idea what the future held for him.

The roots he had were being cut away, little by slow, it seemed.

At some point, someone had thoughtfully brought multiple skins of wine to them. Onainat and Captain Uthral - he needed to sort out her name before he was driven insane by it - were also with him, as there was no proof yet that they'd been absent a place in this. Yet Ulbarich was writing a report for much of the time. In between strokes of his quill were large gulps of deep red that were perfectly chilled. They must have come from below. He could see water collecting on the outside of his goblet. That was how you knew that you were drinking something worth having. Or at least, something cold enough to mask the fact that it was bitter with cork and wood. Report. Focus on the report. Not on a woman's legs or a prince's spoiled, rotten attitude.

The door burst open at some point - not far in, every second seemed like a day - to reveal Gerbold. The general was not wearing his uniform. He had an untreated coat of leather on, with no shirt underneath. One of his men must have reported the incident to Gerbold in the city. He'd come here by horseback - the disarray of his hair revealed that much - but Ulbarich's mother was not with him. Out of respect for the man's rank Ulbarich stood hastily, saluted with fist to chest. The old general made a vicious sound in his throat as he crossed the room. A hand clapped down on his shoulder. It was followed nearly instantly by a bear hug that Ulbarich had no chance to avoid.

"You keep giving people a reason, boy," Gerbold said roughly. "And they're going to find the means."

It was his way of saying that he was concerned. Ulbarich thought he understood. He also thought that this never would have happened if he'd simply gone as he was meant to go, away from here and into the sunset, without resigning himself to an ultimately meaningless post such as this one. He'd stated in his report that he felt the only reason for the attack was to capture or assassinate the leader of the prince's guard. Given that none of his attackers had swords, he would lean toward capture and not assassination. Ulbarich had ordered the plans for Ithacles' guard changed on a rotating schedule. What was the use of capturing him? He wouldn't-

"You'll have to tell your mother," Gerbold had finally released him, though he was still clutching Ulbarich's shoulders to hold him at arm's length. "How are the old injuries, then? Did you-"

Ulbarich cleared his throat. His eyes went to Onainat and Captain Uthral. Both of them were standing and watching with keen interest. It was the first thing that had happened at all since they'd come to the long stone room, with its forbidding conference table - a deep oak - and its high-backed chairs. They were not trying to be rude. There simply was no reason in this room, with only four people, to pretend they did not notice the situation. Gerbold at least had the good grace to let go of Ulbarich's shoulders. The Captain was annoyed that his father had come down in such haste to check on him. The General seemed merely relieved to have something else to talk about.

Ha.

"Forgive me," the old fellow said. "I am General Gerbold, son of Furil. This is my boy. Ulbarich, son of Gerbold. He usually leaves my name out of things, doesn't he? He hates to seem as though he's currying favor because of his father's rank."

The look that Ulbarich gave Gerbold was dire.

"Not that he does," Gerbold added hastily.

Another murderous look.

"Seem as though he's currying favor."

The growl which rose in Ulbarich's throat was grievous, indeed.

"Or actually does, either. Curry favor, that is."

At once, father and son laughed. It was a back-slapper to the pair of them - Gerbold commanded men and spoke to them as a self-assured master of war, yet he could not seem to piece together one sentence to let two beautiful women know that his son had earned his rank. Gerbold's punch on Ulbarich's shoulder was hard and quick. Ulbarich's return punch made his father wince. That set both of them laughing again. Then, with a hard slam, the door was closed. Another presence was announced. This time it was Ithacles standing in the entryway, looking every bit a prince despite the hour.

Father and son, looking far too much alike already, straightened on the instant - both offering the salute of fist to chest.