Chapter 481 - 482: What You Decided.

Chapter 481: Chapter 482: What You Decided.

He doesn’t like it when Uncle looks at him like this; like he knows something he doesn’t.

"I thought you’d be happy," he says, politely bemused as he considers him, like he pities him for not understanding. Loac’s not sure what there is to understand. All he knows is that the person he wants more than anything else in the world, the person he was gonna marry is going to leave him behind. Like he doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t care about him the way Loac wants him to care, just when he’d convinced himself that there was the possibility he did.

" Why would I be fucking happy?" Loac snaps, and even though he meant for it to come out angry, his voice cracks in the middle and instead it comes out pitched wretched.

Everyone always fucking leaves him.

"...Isn’t this what you wanted?" Uncle clarifies, voice uncharacteristically soft, like Loac is a wounded animal he is trying to coax from a trap, "For Khobi to be free?"

" Of course it is ," Loac snarls, and it’s a good thing that he’s got the tapestry balled up around his hand otherwise he would’ve split his hand open on the wall when he delivers a swift punch into the stone beside him. Pain still reverberates up his arm, and he grinds his teeth even fiercer to keep from giving away that it does.

But I still wanted him to be with me.

Uncle had to know that. And even though Loac pretends it doesn’t hurt, he still sees.

" Trent ," he says calmly, and while it’s dangerous for him to be stepping in he still does. He reaches out and lays a hand on Loac’s, still crushed against the wall, firmly pulling his fist away from where he’s tried to bury it in the stone. Loac lets him; doesn’t know why he does. Doesn’t know why he doesn’t punch him for trying to touch him when he’s like this. Doesn’t know why his uncle’s hand on his takes away some of the wind out of his storm and turns it to rain. "I know it hurts now –" They both know he’s not talking about his hand, " –But you would never have been content keeping Khobi a prisoner, and he never would have been content remaining one. But once he’s gone from here, whatever promises I made to Silas are meaningless. You’ll both be free to choose your own paths."

Loac chokes out a harsh laugh. Uncle’s supposed to be a smart man; how come he doesn’t get it?

"...Great, perfect! Just fucking...perfect. Y’know, maybe it’s better like this," Loac spits bitterly, shrugging him off and knowing the words are a lie even as they leave his lips. And if he knows, then Uncle will definitely know, but he says them anyways, even though he’s convincing no one, "Right? He can go back to where he belongs, and I’ll just..." The stupid tapestry in his hands strains as his fist shakes around it as he sucks in a low breath; tries to keep his voice steady as he mumbles to no one in particular. Ma, maybe, but mostly himself. "...S’not like he wanted to marry me anyway..."

If Gurdet was looking, he would have seen his nephew’s eyes cast low, and profoundly sad. But he’s already turned his back, so doesn’t see.

He hears it, nonetheless. Both the words, and the emotions and the shattered hope they convey.

I wanted to marry him.

The silence after a storm is always deafening, and this one is no different. And for a long moment it feels as though Uncle is just going to just leave him here amidst the wreckage; like he’s going to just turn his back and walk away from him like he can’t tell that his heart is breaking.

But then, at the end of the hall, Uncle stops, then stoops to retrieve something from the floor.

"...Might I remind you, you didn’t particularly want to marry him, either," Uncle remarks patiently; speaking almost as if talking to himself, "None of them, for that matter; you and Xena both." He sighs, turning back to face him with a perplexed expression, "No matter the match I tried to arrange for you, you never wanted to marry any of them."

Loac forgets how many matches there have been, how many betrothals he never cared about have come and gone; been forged only to fall apart. He never wanted any of them.

Until now.

Until Khobi.

It already hurts just thinking about it, but even as the knife twists, Uncle speaks again; slowly making his way back towards him.

"Things change, don’t they, Trent?" he says softly, hand outstretched in silent confession; that he knows. That he knows, that he’s known all this time, for however long it’s been that Loac’s felt this way. Because in his hand it Ma’s ring, unshattered and unbroken, brown stone glimmering almost red. Ugly still, but held like it’s something precious. And when Loac doesn’t immediately reach for it, Uncle sighs, long-suffering. "Trent," he prefaces wryly, "...I hope you understand that while Khobi was brought here against his will and obligated to marry you because of a promise I made to Silas, whatever he is to you now? That had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you."

With nowhere to go, some of the cold, boiling anger begins to fizzle, giving way to confusion.

What?

But Uncle just smiles at him. And it’s weird because he shouldn’t, but Loac finds it oddly comforting.

(Maybe because suddenly, it reminds him a little of Ma. A little of Montrel. It reminds him of the faces they used to make when they were trying to tell him that everything was going to be all right. It’s a weird look on his uncle.)

"...Like I said, Trent. Things change, people change. Hearts, too," Uncle continues evenly, "...You should know that better than anyone. So if I were you, I’d hold onto this just a little longer."

A lump rises in Loac’s throat. It doesn’t taste quite so much like bile, this time.

(Uncle’s right, after all. He’d already made his decision, hadn’t he?)