There was no point in explaining that Ithacles never complained about what Ulbarich did. Ever since the incident in the recovery room, when Ulbarich's mother had finally charged in and seen what had caused the commotion, Ulbarich and Ithacles had been at something like a peace. He could make whatever comments he liked so long as he remembered who it was that led. Ithacles remembered it clearly at all times, and Ulbarich was expected to do the same. A sip of his ale. This tin tankard was probably going to poison him and then kill him. It was the sort of thing that was likely to happen to him on this night, when anything could happen and probably would.
A shake of his head.
Another sip of the ale.
They were ready to forget about Ithacles entirely. If her welcome was not warm, Ulbarich supposed he could understand being dejected. He did not approve of the way that Ithacles had behaved. Yet he did not approve of Captain Uthral's handling of the situation, either. If something was important to you then you did not give up. She was ready to simply go, because Ithacles had not welcomed her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He would come around if her argument consisted of something involving... a statement about more than herself and what she wanted. They were neither of them knights, and Ulbarich did not aspire to be, but even soldiers had to be unselfish.
It was written in their blood upon the face of the land.
Captain Uthral's comrade was no soldier. Which was fine. Yet Captain Uthral seemed attached to the idea that things should be just so or not at all. Ulbarich did not have a place in any of this. Not to tell Ithacles, and not to tell Captain Uthral. Their differences would be sorted out or not. He was here for the ale, and then he was going to go and sleep in the only finished room of his new home.
A second, more emphatic shake of his head. There was nothing to apologize for.