family (ithacles)
It was a good, square room with wooden beams across the ceiling. Ulbarich knew it instantly for what it was. A room in the castle proper. He could not recall how he had come to be here, or how he had come to be dressed in the linen trousers of a patient. Those were the first details he noticed. Castle. Trousers. He was lying atop a bed, and he could not move his left arm. The right arm answered his call. The right arm rubbed viciously at his eyes to clear them of what must have been day after day of endless rest and sleep. The left arm was bandaged heavily, and rested inside of a sling. So that was why he could not move it. Something must have happened. He could not have said what.
His face was rough. Needed a shave.
"He's awake," someone said.
"Don't shout in his ear, love," someone else said.
The first voice was Ara. The second voice was Gerbold. He knew them comfortably as mother and father. She was wearing the dress that she always favored for public occasions, green and willowy, just as she'd always seemed to him when he was a child. Her face seemed thinner than he remembered it. Gerbold was a big, angry-looking man who wore the same uniform as Ulbarich himself. Albeit with much more brass, silver and gold adorning his chest. That was to be expected. He was an old soldier. A general, now, and trusted in every quarter. They were here in the room that saw his recovery. Why should they be here unless...
Ulbarich waved his hand at his father.
"Would you like something to drink?" Ara asked excitedly. "Don't speak until you wet your..."
"...a dry throat is a dry throat," Gerbold's voice was kind.
He hadn't remembered until his mouth had opened. Memory was a many wicked thing. Where a tongue should be he had nothing, and he could not tell his mother that he was fine except in the way that they shared. Gerbold had never minded before now. Yet it felt wrong to exclude his father. They were both here. They were both concerned. That was all that Ulbarich wanted or needed to know in the instant. He accepted the glass of water with his good hand and drank thirstily. So dry was his throat that it burned and scratched as the water passed through it. Ulbarich did not think he could have been here for long.
Time would answer that, too.
"You had a fever," Gerbold explained while Ara fussed over Ulbarich's pillows. "They were bringing you back from the front, and you caught an infection. There were few enough injured that they made it here with all possible speed. The infection was forced back, and you kept all your limbs."
Once again the silence was stiff. Gerbold seemed ashamed of what he had said, though the only outward sign of his shame was a hard stare focused on the toes of his boots. There was no anger in Ulbarich at the memory of what he'd lost, what he could never have back. A bitter and distant thing which soon passed. Ara seemed to have little to say, as well, despite the fact that she was vocal in her movements. A pat of his forehead, even though he was no longer a boy. A smoothing of his too-long hair. A disapproving tug on what was becoming a wild beard. Only when she'd refilled the tall tin cup bearing his water did Ara speak.
"It's only because the prince was with you," she sniffed angrily.
"He's recovered quite well, we're told," Gerbold spoke before Ulbarich could lean forward too far. "From what I understand, you saved his life at least twice, and he yours for the same number. It helped, having you out there. Some of the boys broke and ran when they saw the orcs bearing down on them. I think Prince Ithacles respects your courage, boy."
"For all the good it's done," Ara would not let it go. "Why, he hasn't been once to see our boy, has he?"
"He's a prince, my cherished wife," Gerbold's patience sounded strained. "He cannot come and-"
"Give thanks to the one who saved him from death?" Ara retorted angrily.
It was a mirror of an argument that had happened before, when Gerbold had taken injury or illness at the front. Ulbarich had heard his mother's voice rise in concern, fear and irrational anger more than once. Ulbarich agreed with Gerbold on this matter. Ithacles was far too busy to visit every soldier that gave his life or limb or even his temporary health to the cause. What was of more concern was how an orc patrol - even one with such limited strength that a squad of trainees and farmers could best it - had comne so far into Faustben without being detected. Or how they'd managed to survive long enough to receive emergency aid.
Next to these things, a visit from a Prince seemed a bit much.
There was only one stand in the whole room. No windows, just walls of gray stone, and a pair of chairs that must have been transplanted from another room. The finish was yellow and black, as were the sheets atop the lumpy mattress which Ulbarich occupied, while the chairs were a deeper shade of red silk.
There were oil lamps, too many of them, but the place was well-lit. That hard wooden door creaked open with agonizing slowness, the iron ring which served as handle clanking while hinges squeaked in protest. Ulbarich knew who it was as soon as the door had opened. It was Ithacles, son of Ithunvel in the flesh. Gerbold stood at attention immediately, and acquitted himself extremely well with a perfect bow from the waist. Ara's curtsy was adequate, but grudging. Ulbarich considered standing only as long as it took him to grow dizzy. Rather than let the awkward silence go on, Gerbold spoke as the door closed.
"Forgive my son, majesty," the old man's voice still managed a certain power. "He's not up to standing, yet, but he gives his respect."
When Ulbarich held up his hand, it was to demonstrate his thumb and index finger. At that moment they were held so close together there was barely a gap between them. Ulbarich was squinting at that gap, between fingers and through it to Ithacles face. Almost as if the mute was quantifying his respect for the prince, and the respect he quantified was small. Gerbold said nothing, merely stood at attention with his hands at his sides.
Ara gasped.
Ulbarich laughed, a deep and hollow thing that resonated in his mouth instead of his throat.