In Which Octavius Finds an Opening

August 3, 1172

In the absence of light, sound had a way of taking over. The rustling of sheets became the crash of waves and the gust in the courtyard outside was a dragon's roar. Servants' footfalls swelled to thunderclaps; a lone wolf howled with the fury of a charging mob. Holladrin's faint, self-stifled coughs bounced off the surrounding surfaces and engulfed the room in a dreary haze of worry and anguish.

Though far from awake, Octavius was not quite asleep and not even close to dreaming. He knew perfectly well that he was nowhere near and ocean and that dragons did not exist. It was too late in the season for violent storms and by his estimation, the next angry mob wasn't due for at least another week or so; there was no sense in worrying about such things just then.

What concerned him was that cough, raspy and persistent as it always was whenever it chose to rear its ugly head. His wife was a fighter--she soldiered through every spell of illness and emerged as vivacious as before--but he couldn't deny that her bedridden bouts were growing more and more troubling. They were a little longer, a little harsher, a little more frequent, and despite all her efforts to hide it, it wasn't as if he hadn't noticed. Having nearly lost her time and time again, she couldn't so much as yawn without sparking his worry.

Another cough. He pressed his hand to the curve of her naked back and rubbed. Her shallow breathing eased somewhat, still strained but at least stable--inhale, exhale, inhale...

Knock!

Octavius pried his eyes open as Holladrin began to stir beneath his touch. "Was that--?"

Knock! Knock! "Anyone awake in there?"

Oh, hell no. "...Florian?" Of all the people who could have been banging on his bedroom door in the middle of the night; annoyed, Octavius pushed himself upright and glared in the direction of the noise. "Christ, it's got to be past midnight by now. Go home!"

"Not without a word." If only for the purpose of being a nuisance, the steward rapped his knuckles against the door once more. "Can I come in?"

"No!"

"Why not? Is Holladrin naked?"

Why haven't I fired that man yet? Cringing, Octavius kicked back the covers on his side and slung himself off the bed; back on the mattress, Holladrin retreated further into the folds. "Go down to my study. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Florian gave the door one last thud! before scurrying down the corridor, his footsteps a strain on the ear even as they faded. Shaking his head, Octavius dragged himself to the wardrobe, then grabbed one of his shirts and an old pair of slacks. He dressed himself with a lazy sort of haste and glanced back toward the bed. "I shouldn't be long. Try to get some sleep, all right?"

"I'll try to take advantage of the absence of your snoring." She winked at him before rolling onto her side; he smirked as he shut the wardrobe door, careful not to close it too loudly. Maybe having the bed to herself for a few minutes would do Holladrin some good.

Swift yet quiet, he stepped out of the room and into the hallway, down the stairs and through the sitting room to the narrow stretch that led to the northeastern corner of the castle. Florian had not thought to leave the door ajar; the reasons for his annoyance mounting by the minute, Octavius pushed it open and entered the study.

"All right, out with it--what do you want?"

Not taking his eyes off the newly-lit candles, Florian sighed. "You're going to want to sit down for this."

He gestured toward the couch. Octavius rolled his eyes and crossed the floor to collapse upon it. "This had better be urgent."

"You know, I liked you better before you got to be so angry all the time." Florian turned around and looked down at him through narrowed eyes, his upper lip caught between his teeth. "But whatever. Apparently my son is in love with my stepdaughter."

The room fell silent save for the sound of Octavius's own rapid eyelids. Three blinks. Four blinks. Five. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. "Really? You woke me up in the middle of the night to talk about your children's personal lives?"

Florian sniffed. "Oh, well of course you don't see it as a problem; I suppose I shouldn't have expected much of a reaction from a man who married two of his own cousins."

"Second cousins," Octavius corrected, "but what does that have to do with anything? Hell, what does any of this have to do with me?"

The steward shrugged. "I figured you might be able to help."

"How?"

"I don't know, that was supposed to be your part." Florian drove his fist into his own hip, as if to burrow his knuckles in the flesh--as if that could do anything. "Make it illegal or something."

This was so bizarre it almost had to be a dream; God really did have a sick sense of humor. "What would the point of that be? I mean, really, is it such a problem? It's not as if they're--"

"Hey, since I'm the only one of us who never married any of my cousins, I'm the one who gets to have an opinion." Irritated, Florian tapped his foot against the floorboards; knowing Octavius's luck, his boots were probably muddy. "At least help me figure out a way to keep them apart for a little while--maybe a way to get one of them out of the house for a while without making it looked like I kicked them out."

"Fine." Octavius stood, his arms crossed over the bleached linen of his shirt. The man was really making far too great a deal out of this, but now that he thought about it, there was an opening here. "But if I help you with this, then Lord help you if you ever drag me out of bed at this hour again."

A squeamish look flashed across Florian's face for a few seconds before he swallowed back his pride and nodded; it seemed that even Florian could be propositioned. "Fine, whatever you say; just tell me what you can do."

"All right," he began. "Garrett's seventeen now, and while that is a rather young age to be knighted, I do think he's ready for the responsibility, so he probably won't be my squire for much longer. I haven't had the time to get a replacement lined up, so if you like, I could give the position to Setran and he could come and live here."

Florian took a moment to consider this; in spite of his ill temper, he seemed intrigued. "I could still see him every day, then."

"That you could--and in all honesty, I think it would be good for Sparron to have a boy his own age around here." Octavius tugged at the sleeve of his shirt and sighed. "Poor kid never sees much of his friends anymore--well, except for Searle, but I don't really know what's going on there. He hasn't been himself since they started spending so much time together, and I think someone like Setran would be good for him."

"So you'll take him, then?" Florian's features were both hopeful and resigned, neither trait one Octavius might have expected from him; in a strange sort of way, he almost pitied him. "You'll make a squire and make him a knight and maybe introduce him to some pretty young noblewomen?"

Not sure how to respond, Octavius gave an awkward sort of half-nod. "I'm not pulling any strings in regards to his love life, but the change of environment might give them both a chance to reconsider."

"Fair enough." The other man moved his mouth as if trying to smile; he eventually gave up and compromised with a stare. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Octavius gave him an indulgent pat on the arm, then pointed toward the door. "Now get out."

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