In Which Jadin Confirms the Other Half of the Story

July 4, 1175

"Barging into my bedroom now, are you?"

Shrugging, Jadin kicked the door shut behind him. Cold avoidance was an art and Sparron was a virtuoso, but one of these days, he was going to get something out of him--and with any luck, that day would be today. "You don't look like you're doing anything."

"No, but perhaps you have something better do to."

"Frankly, I don't." Christ, how had Searle put up with this for years--and on such a larger scale, at that? And at least Jadin had a sense of the other half of the story. He doubted Searle had a clue and he wasn't sure he wanted to change that. "All you do is sit around and wallow in your own misery and drain everyone else like some emotional vacuum and someone needs to put his foot down. So, that's what I'm doing. I'm not leaving until you get something off your chest and that's final."

He felt himself smiling smugly. Lyssa wasn't old enough to be lectured, but for his first time, he thought he'd sounded rather impressive. But his pride was short-lived; Sparron killed it with a roll of his eyes. "Then I guess you'll be stuck here for quite a while."

What a stubborn ass. No wonder sensitive little Searle had come home in tears all those times. But as he would readily admit--albeit for different reasons--Jadin was not Searle. Jadin was a stubborn ass too. "Come on, have you even thought this through at all? If I had a problem with you--you being--what you do--well, you know... ah, whatever. Point is, if I wanted to ruin your life, don't you think I would've done so by now?"

Sparron just looked at him. How did he not see it? He'd been solving complex puzzles with ease when Jadin had still been struggling with subtraction. He played strategy games with the lords and knights and captains and wiped the floor with the lot of them. He was the most meticulous, methodical person Jadin knew. How had he not considered that? "Like I have a life left to ruin."

Oy. Poor Searle. "Aww, Sparrow--"

"Don't call me that." A tense second dragged on before Sparron's gaze fell upon the empty hearth in front of him. Everyone said that Sparron had his mother's eyes. Jadin had never known Sparron's mother but he'd heard enough to make some educated guesses. "You should leave."

No... no, he shouldn't. Shaking his head, Jadin took a seat on the empty side of the couch and studied his old friend--glazed eyes, vacant expression, everything. Anger, and then this, and then more anger. It was just as Jadin's father had said, all of it. All of it, and perhaps even more. "That's not the only thing on your mind, is it?"

"There's nothing on my mind." It was a quick answer. Too quick.

Too quick, and not quick enough. "I saw it, you know--last week, when I came to try to talk to you and you stormed out of your father's study. I followed you for a minute."

Sparron's knuckles whitened as his fingers coiled inward. Jadin half-expected a punch--he even winced--but Sparron only closed his eyes. "Why did you do that?"

"Not sure, but I did." Sparron didn't press any further. He'd probably forgotten the incident. Maybe it was stupid of Jadin to remind him, but... "You got to your mother's old sitting room and you paused and looked around, like you thought someone was talking to you." The fist tensed further. Not sure if he could stand to watch it burst, Jadin let his eyes fall to the floor as he mumbled the last few words. "But it was dead quiet..."

He didn't know what came after that, if anything. He wanted Sparron to finish it. He wanted him to protest, to say it was only a mouse or the castle settling or even some sort of tick in his neck, anything.

But Sparron said nothing.

"How long has this been going on?" It didn't matter. It had already been too long. "Does your father know about this? Or Jeda? Maybe someone could still help you at this point."

The words were not believed. Frustrated, Jadin forced himself to look back at Sparron; if he hadn't known better, he might have thought the words hadn't even been heard. "Sparron, please say something. Sparron?"

Sparron stood. He wasn't a large man, but Jadin had never thought him small until just then. Maybe this was how people looked as one gazed at them from a differently world entirely. He never turned around, never bowed his head, hardly even stirred--just drifted further and further into space until Jadin's view was obscured by a passing moon.

Silence. Then--

"Don't tell Searle."

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