"Steele, if you prove yourself worthy, I will grant your petition. You'll have a commission in the legion."
Immediately Mat knew this had something to do with the signet ring on his hand. There had never been a place for him in the legion before this meeting, seven times denied before today. Gritting his teeth, he let a smile stretch across his mouth, mirthless and cold.
Their meeting concluded; Mat shuffled back to the parts of the keep he was more familiar with. It comforted him to be in a functional space rather than surrounded by elaborate ornamentation. His feet were lighter now, gliding over the stone floor without caring about the mud that might be trailing behind him.
"What do you think that performance was truly about?" Gareth asked, his expression inscrutable. Mat's arm still hurt and he wasn’t in the mood to suffer through a conversation with a man he hated.
"Who cares? He's given us official orders to take a few buddies and go on a hunting trip before winter descends. Its good fortune is what it is." Mat grinned wide as he realized he would at least get a long goodbye from Mara before he left and perhaps the opportunity to apologize to Finn for disregarding his wishes.
“You shouldn’t trust him,” Gareth said, his tone superior.
“I don’t,” Mat retorted pointedly enough to sting even Gareth’s formidable pride. “I don’t trust anyone laden with enough gold and jewels to buy all the grain and meat needed to keep all of Fangorn fed this winter, who chooses to send us on a hunting trip.”
“Then why are you going?” Gareth leaned against a stone column and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Why are you?” Mat asked in response.
“Do we have the option to refuse him?” Gareth asked, skillfully avoiding Mat’s question altogether. Gareth wouldn’t answer, for the same reasons Mat wouldn’t have either. They were well-matched enemies at least. Gareth glared at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Mat refused to break the stare, and they stayed that way, locked together in silent fury, for longer than Mat cared to admit.
“Wharton Cove,” Gareth said finally, shoving off the column and angling close enough that Mat could see the splatters of mud on his collar. When he didn’t respond, Gareth’s stony eyes flicked down to the signet ring resting heavy against Mat’s hand. “I don’t know what that symbol means, or why Lord Callum is so interested in it. But I’ve seen it stamped on crates coming from Wharton Cove. They’re piled high in the stores.” The wind whistled through the open archway to the training grounds and Mat struggled to contain the fury his casual words evoked within him. He didn’t like the idea of feeling indebted to Gareth for anything, much less anything to do with his father. Mat had to remind himself to breathe normally, slowly, careful not to show any emotion as he processed the information.
"That reminds me." Mat hauled back and punched Gareth in the face, shaking off the blast of pain that radiated from his fist.
"Bloody afterworld! What was that for?" Gareth stumbled back, catching himself on the stone column. Mat felt the grin tug at one corner of his lips, his green eyes sparkling in mischief as he turned toward the forge.
"For trying to bloody kill me this afternoon. Next time, you better succeed, or I'll give you more than a sore jaw."
Without looking back, Mat left him there. It felt so good to turn his back on the entitled prick. Stopping briefly to tell Finn and a few others the good news about the hunting trip and to pack their things, he marched to his job at the forge.
The smith was drunk again, slobbering on the floor. Mat took advantage of the smith’s inebriated state and the warm fall night. He climbed to the top of a parapet on the southern wall of the keep, his favorite view when he needed to be alone. He needed to be alone tonight, more than ever.
The night was eerie, perhaps because of all the celebrations that were raging in the local taverns below. He leaned against the weathered stone, watching the village begin to glow as the sun’s last rays disappeared on the horizon. A gentle stream of starlight, trickling down the mountainside, a shining testament to the life below. Everywhere were signs of joyous celebration, lanterns being lit and set floating in the air, candles pushed down the river on makeshift paper boats and thick waxy leaves.
The entire world was celebrating the murder of a young girl tonight. The moon was high in the sky and would soon turn red and bathe everything in an otherworldly crimson glow. He shook his head, trying to shake off the chill creeping up his spine. He couldn’t understand the tempestuous and grisly appetite of the sea goddess. Not when by comparison Eamon, god of the mountain, taught his followers to protect the innocent. Though, there were few who worshipped him and Mat was never allowed to participate in temple ceremonies. Bastards were not allowed to tarnish holy places.
He would have done the same, though, given his life to save the kingdom. In fact, he couldn't think of a better reason to die. In the service of the people. The Red Princess would have a warrior's death, at least. Quick and filled with glory. The glory of giving her life for the people of Aegis. He could respect her for that. Royalty or not.
"Oi! Matioch, what're you doing up here? I thought you were going to visit Mara tonight?" Finn stepped out of the shadows, all six and a half feet of long lanky limbs.
Mat grinned. "Oh, I'll be visiting her before we head out in the morning. Make no mistake about it, I plan to spend plenty of time with her before I'm stuck with the likes of you lot for the next few weeks."
Finn blushed.
Mat couldn't help but laugh at the look on the poor lad's face. He obviously didn't have a woman, or at least hadn't had a woman in the way that made one a man yet. Mat would have to remember to take him to a tavern when they returned to see if they could change that. Perhaps the goddess of luck and love would be with him. He ran his ring over the stubble of his chin, as he often did, deep in thought, twisting it around his finger obsessively.
"Oh no, not that bloody ring again. You get maudlin every time you wear it." Finn groaned. Distracted, Mat grunted in response, trying to close the gaping chasm stretching wide within him.
"It was my father’s,” Mat answered simply, the words scraping across an unseen wound that had never really healed within him. It had taken root and festered so deep that if he were to try to cut it out, his heart would come alongside it.
“I thought you didn’t know who he was?” Finn asked, his voice soft and timid. He was reaching out to Mat delicately, careful not to chafe such an obviously sore topic while simultaneously offering to share Mat’s burden. In moments like these, Finn became more family than friend. Mat closed his eyes and felt the wind against his cheeks, a chill creeping into the night air. The moon was a vulgar shade of blood red, bathing the world in the threat of violence and wild abandon.
“I don’t. My mother refused to tell me,” he admitted quietly before turning his best impression of a charming smile on his friend and clapping him congenially on his shoulder. “But that won’t help me sneak into Mara’s bed tonight, will it?”
Finn shrugged, taking an apple from the inside pocket of his cloak and taking a large bite of the crisp flesh. A flush crept up his neck and stained his ears nearly as red as the moon. Mat found that flustering Finn usually kept him from asking questions he would rather not answer. After ruffling Finn’s hair, he excused himself and began to walk to clear his thoughts. They sat heavy on his mind tonight and would not let him enjoy the sweet summer breeze.