It was then that it occurred to him, his hand already on the door handle, that there was another reason for the Soldiers’ reaction. He was no longer one of them. Another realisation followed: this was no longer his room. Unfortunately, the realisation didn’t arrive in time. The door opened, letting him into the room he’d only a short time ago shared with Marten.
Even more unfortunately, Marten was there. “What the bloody…” The Soldier looked up from something he was writing. An incredulous smirk spread across his face. “Well, now. Didn’t expect to see you here again, Marle. Missed me?”
Jaren stared for a moment. Then, against all common sense — or uncommon for that matter — he heard himself say, “I’m confiscating your wine.”
The smirk turned into outrage and confusion. “What—”
“I know you’ve got some,” Jaren said, entering the room and letting the door close behind him. “I don’t care how you keep getting it, but you can either give it to me now or to the Master of Soldiers. Your choice.” The Master of Soldiers. That was Jaryd, now. Light, if Marten chose that option and told him what Jaren had tried to do…
The younger man barked a laugh. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” But he went to the drawer and pulled out a bottle. “You can go to the city now, surely you don’t need me to traffic booze for you?”
Jaren stared at the bottle for a while. He knew this was a bad idea, potentially the worst idea he’d ever had. He could pull rank over Marten, but if he drank the wine, Marten would always have that to hold over his head. Right now he didn’t care. He grabbed the bottle and took a long pull… and made a face. “This is horrible. Where do you get this stuff?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know,” the Soldier said. “And you can give it back if it’s not good enough for your royal ass.” Disgusted both with himself and the excuse of a vintage, Jaren handed the bottle back to its dubiously rightful owner. As he turned towards the door, he heard Marten call out after him, “You’re a disaster, Marle, you know that right.”
Jaren honestly wasn’t sure he could argue against that.
— Somehow, instead of heading to his room — the correct one, in the Dedicated’s quarters — he found himself wandering the Tower grounds. What good was he if he couldn’t Heal? No, there had to be something else. He needed a distraction… And it was moments like these that he realised that he didn’t exactly have many friends in the Tower. Well, at least friends he could just drop in on like this. Nasrin was a Novice, he couldn’t just barge into the Novice quarters unannounced. Tristram had seemed like he might have been a potential friend, but the ball had ended on a confusing note and he’d not had a chance to talk to the other man again before the test, and after… it hadn’t seemed like such a good idea.
Light, what had that second Arch even been about? Well, it was not as though he could exactly talk about it with Tristram, so the best course of action was to try to forget about it.
It was without a conscious decision that he finally found himself drawn towards the Warder Yards, but once he realised where he was headed, he also realised that there was someone he might perhaps talk to. Or, if not talk, someone who might perhaps agree to beat him up with a practice sword or something equally entertaining. Light only knew what Johan thought of him — or what Johan considered friendship — but the Ji’val had been friendly enough before.
And Jaren had promised to teach him to dance.
Shoving aside thoughts of whether this was a good night to be dancing — or even thinking of dancing — Jaren headed straight towards the familiar figure at the edge of the training yard and halted at a respectful distance. “Hello, Johan.” He gave a little wave, dredged up a semblance of a smile. Never stop smiling. “It occurs to me that I promised to teach you to dance,” he went on. “Are you busy or could I persuade you to join me for a drink out in the city?”
- Spoiler: show