Chapter 120 - 119: A Promise.

Chapter 120: Chapter 119: A Promise.

"Her hair was nice," he concedes, intending to placate his friend and end this conversation, but unfortunately his comment has the exact opposite effect.

​"...So you’re into blondes," Ynoro deduces, the flowers in his eyes blooming into an expression of interest.

It’s impossible, but for a fleeting second Drogger is terrified that Ynoro has somehow been able to read his mind.

​"What are you talking about?" he forces out, hoping his expression doesn’t betray any of his internal alarm.

​"I know I tend to sing praises of many women," Ynoro prefaces, which is refreshingly self-aware of him, if an egregious understatement, " --All truths, of course --but you never agree with any of them."

​Drogger is honestly speechless.

​In part because there’s a good chance he’s right, and in part because Ynoro spends so much time being oblivious that Drogger forgets that he’s actually a very good soldier, and a very good friend, and can be surprisingly perceptive when there isn’t a young woman clouding his thoughts.

​Ynoro takes his silence has affirmation, and wraps him in a tight one-armed hug like he’s proud of him.

​"It’s fine, as long as you don’t try to steal my lady away from me," he says, even though he’s again, way off the mark, "I’m just glad I have somewhere to start now.

You do make it tricky to find you a suitable match, I hope you know."

​"I’m not looking for a match," Drogger frowns, for what must be the thousandth time.

He shrugs to dislodge his friend, but again, Ynoro hears only what he wants to hear.

​"...Is it that you’ve already found yourself a match?" he gasps, scandalised, as though offended that his best friend would keep something like this from him. And as absurd and utterly unfounded as the accusation is, for reasons unknown, heat starts to crawl up the back of Drogger’s neck.

​"That’s not it at all," Drogger assures him in his sternest voice, even going so far as to roll his eyes.

Because it’s the truth. He’s not been involved with anyone --not romantically , at least --since...since, well, his wreck of a marriage, and he has no intentions of becoming involved with anyone --

​"But there is someone, right?" Ynoro persists, and there’s a wicked, knowing gleam in his eye that Drogger doesn’t much care for.

"Someone you’ve got your eye on?"

​Drogger has his eye on many people. As a Captain, he’s got to --he’s got to watch out for who might be trouble, and who’s in trouble, and for who needs help, and for who might just be destined for some kind of greatness.

​But that answer won’t fly with Ynoro.

​"There’s no one," he says instead, firm and resolute, and for once Ynoro seems to understand that that’s his final word on the matter.

He just hopes it’s not because the words sound just as hollow to his friend as they do to him.

​"I’m sorry about your shoulder," Ynoro says suddenly, uncharacteristically glump, and Drogger shrugs, unreasonably relieved by the change of subject.

Injuries happen all the time, and it was important to let them heal. What kind of Captain would he be if he didn’t lead by example?

​"It wasn’t your fault," Drogger tells him gravely --honestly, even, and claps him on the shoulder to cheer him up. "You just did what you were supposed to. I was the one who was careless."

​"You should be competing today," he replies in a sigh, shaking his head, "You belong out there with the rest of us, after all."

​"It’s fine," Drogger assures him, brow dipping into a frown because it really is fine.

He’s been injured before, and he’ll be injured again, and he doesn’t want soldiers feeling sorry for him when he’s not even feeling sorry for himself.

"I’m sure you’ll do us proud," he says, a little gentler, and then, because he’s feeling generous despite the strange, mild degree of nausea their previous conversation has left him with, adds, "...I’m sure your stable girl will be impressed."

​The effect is so instantaneous you’d think the girl herself had just come up and confessed her undying love for the man.

Ynoro practically lights up, and brushes away a stray lock of hair in a way he probably imagines is quite dashing.

​"She will, won’t she?" he preens, "You’re right, of course, Drogger. I can’t lose face in front of her, can I?"

​There he is.

​"You better go and get ready," Drogger advises sagely, before Ynoro forgets to finish putting his armour on again .

The other soldiers are filling the tents either side of them, and their servants and grooms are painstakingly servicing their masters and their masters’ horses, and their their masters’ armour to make sure everything is in working order.

As it is, Drogger’s spotted what can only be Ynoro’s servant for the day hovering anxiously just beyond arm’s reach with what’s left of his armour clutched in his grasp. "You there," he calls out, and beckons the servant over, "Please, take him away, and don’t let him out into public again until he’s fully dressed?"

​It’s more a request than an order, but the servant nods heartily like he’s just been given the mission of a lifetime, and hurriedly escorts Ynoro away.

​"Please, this way, My Lord."

​"I’ll be off then," Ynoro chuckles, letting the servant lead him away. It’s one of the things Drogger likes about him; that he’s good to the servants.

"I’ll see you later on, Drogger. If I win today the drinks will be on me tonight."

​The drinks will be on the king tonight, actually, but it’s the sentiment that counts.

​" --Oh, and send Rogard my regards," he adds, on a parting note, and Drogger starts a little at the unprompted mention of the young lord.

And then relaxes, again inexplicably relieved, when Ynoro points over his shoulder in explanation.

Rogard’s coming their way. Or at least, someone in Lord Rogard’s colours is coming their way. "I’m obviously hoping to defeat him," Ynoro chimes, and smiles charmingly as his servant looks politely strained by his lack of immediate compliance, "But that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to do well."

​"Tell him your --"

​He’s already gone.

​Drogger runs a gloved hand down his face with a sigh.

The day’s barely just begun and already he’s feeling exhausted.

​"master?" Up above him, settled into his saddle, Rogard’s voice echoes a little inside his helmet, but there’s no disguising it.

Drogger would know it anywhere, and the realisation is a little bit troubling. "...Was that Ynoro?"

​"It was," Drogger sighs, shaking his head at the space his friend had occupied only moments before.

​"He looks hilarious like that," Rogard sounds amused.

The tone is a little at odds with his appearance at present; donned in full plate splashed with the royal blue of Rogard’s Father’s house, he looks as grand as any of the other lords out there.

​Grander, maybe.

​"He’s your superior, Rogard. Pay him some respect," he chides automatically, and then, perhaps against his better judgment, indulges him, "...But I suppose he did look a little ridiculous."

​Rogard’s laugh sounds a little tinny as it rattles around inside his helmet, but it sounds genuine.

​"...How are you feeling?" Drogger asks as Rogard dismounts in a single movement, and lands with a hefty thud.

​"Good," Rogard replies, yanking his helmet off with some degree of difficulty and making a face as his head reacquaints itself with the crisp morning air.

"This helmet is really stuffy, but apart from that...I’ve got a good feeling about today." He sweeps a gauntleted hand up through his hair to get it to settle, and Drogger is embarrassed to find that he tracks the motion.

It’s a little more matted and a little less coifed that Rogard usually keeps it, and if the way he repeats the motion a couple more times is anything to go by, he knows it.

​"Me too," Drogger agrees, a little more absent-mindedly than he might’ve liked. The armour suits him, but for some reason, he looks a little self-conscious.

​Drogger’s not sure why. It’s not like he has any reason to be.

​He immediately reprimands himself for the inappropriate thought.

​"Will you be watching?" Rogard asks suddenly, voice uncharacteristically quiet. Drogger’s response is automatic, because why on earth would Rogard think otherwise?

​"Of course," he replies, frowning deeply, but Rogard seems satisfied with his answer.

​"...I’ll win, master," he tells him firmly, and there’s a kind of vehemence to his words that Drogger admires and is deeply proud of. He hopes Rogard knows that.

​"I know," he says stoically, and despite the serious look Rogard’s wearing, the simple statement makes light flare up behind his amber eyes.

It’s a good look on him; serious, that is. Drogger has no doubt that he is going to do their kingdom, and him, proud.