When Klein first saw the bard Elphin, his stomach tied itself in knots. Elphin's features weren't unusual for an Etrurian, but Klein remembered someone with the same eyes of pale blue, the same golden hair, though not nearly so long.
Klein looked away. It wasn't him, couldn't be him, because Prince Mildain had been dead this year and more. An accident while riding, the news delivered by the ever-stalwart General Douglas. His word was irrefutable. There had been a funeral, which Klein had attended, shortly before he had been transferred to the Western Isles.
The change of scenery did him good. The palace at Aquleia wasn't the same without Mildain there, the silence where he used to be as sharp and dangerous as the head of an arrow.
Prince Mildain was dead, Klein knew this, but he couldn't help watching the bard anyway, when his back was turned, trying to convince himself that what he thought wasn't true.
Elphin was different, that was certain. His movements were slower and more languid, not the abrupt confident motions of the prince. Mildain had been hardy and loved the outdoors, while Elphin seemed to struggle when the sun was at its harshest, and spent much of his time in this tent or that one, avoiding the weather. His clothing was less elegant, and he never so much as looked at a weapon, spending most of his free time playing for the soldiers.
Elphin was the same, and that was just as certain. His tactical knowledge was sound, his voice hauntingly familiar. His voice was softer, but its teasing undertone was the same, and his smile was the same, and whenever Elphin jested with Roy, Klein felt something suspiciously like jealousy taking root in his heart.
Prince Mildain was dead.
He would not have faked his own death, would not have twisted General Douglas to lie for him. He would not have abandoned his father to the mercy of the Etrurian court. He would not have spent all this time here, on the Western Isles, and not have let Klein known.
Elphin could not be Mildain.
Klein wrestled with these thoughts on his own. He confided in no one, and he avoided Elphin whenever possible. It was one thing to suspect. But if he were to talk to the bard himself, then he would know the truth. Klein wasn't sure he wanted to know. If it was a coincidence, it would be as losing Mildain all over again. And if it were not? If it were not, then he would know that Mildain did not trust him. Not knowing was simpler than either alternative.
In the end it wasn't up to him.
The wound he took was small, an arrow lodged in his left shoulder. Not life threatening, but it needed proper attention if he was to continue to fight at any capacity. It was enough of an excuse for Elphin to corner him in the healers' tent while Klein waited to be seen to.
Elphin slipped into the seat next to Klein, lyre in hand. "It was a rough battle, wasn't it master Klein?" he asked. "Would you care for a song to soothe your tired heart?"
It was the same affectionate taunting that Klein had known all his life. The same thread of sarcasm he had been turning to, responding to, since childhood. But this time Klein could not do it. He looked away, and said nothing. What was there to say?
It didn't seem to bother the bard in the slightest. He played a few soft notes and said, "I've seen you watching me, from time to time. I understand. I look very much like someone you used to know. Am I right?"
Klein wanted to keep his silence, he did. But it rankled him far worse than the arrow in his shoulder. After all the grief and pain, Mildain wanted to treat him like this? As if nothing had happened at all? "And how would you know that?" Klein was usually controlled, collected. He made up for and contained the easy-going recklessness of his parents, his sister. But these words he spat out, more venom than he intended, but perfectly pronounced all the same.
He was not looking at Mildain, but did not need to be to feel him deflate at the barbs in his words.
"I didn't want any of this, Klein," said Mildain, no longer playing. "The choices were those of General Douglas. So acting, he saved my life, though at great cost. If I had known surviving would lose me my truest companion, I should rather have let the poison finish its deadly work."
"I'm glad…truly glad that you are alive, my Prince," Klein said, relenting just a little. "But all this time, why did you not tell me? I was here. I was here." He balled his hands into fists thinking on the past year, serving in the Western Isles in distraction, and all the while Prince Mildain was but a few miles away.
Mildain's hand came to rest gently on Klein's uninjured shoulder. "Because you are young and honest, and your association with me is too well known. I was ill for months, and by the time I was well enough to decide such things…it seemed safer to leave you in ignorance." He chuckled, just a little. "Your words you keep leashed, but you hide your emotions so poorly, my general, that no one looking at you would need to wonder if I were dead or alive in your mind. Even now I should not tell you, except that you already knew it and I could see how it pained you."
Klein sighed, and relented a little more. He never could stay angry with Mildain for long. "I thought that I must surely have disappointed you in some way." He looked up and found Mildain smiling, honest amusement replacing his usual crafted sarcasm. And Klein was glad, briefly, that he could still tell the difference.
"You could never disappoint me, my general." Mildain gave a slight bow. "Others approach, so some matters must be discussed later. But do know this, please. You've no need to be jealous of Roy, or any other in this camp."
Klein flushed, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure that had the healer Ellen scolding Mildain.
"Off with you, bard," she said, as if talking to a stray cat or a naughty child. "Stop pestering my patients or I'll set you to washing bedpans, see if I don't!"
Mildain winked at Klein at vacated the chair. "As you say, my good lady. I should never do anything that puts me in danger of doing an honest day's work."
Ellen clucked her tongue and guided Klein over to her work station, muttering under her breath as she went to work. He hardly noticed as she removed the arrow, so great was his sense of relief.
It was only later that he realized he hadn't gotten the full story at all, so focused on his own hurt that he didn't register the information that Mildain had been poisoned. That if Mildain had been trying to protect Klein, he still had enemies who wanted him dead. But that seemed trivial, unimportant next to the fact that Mildain was still alive, and still wanted Klein to be his general.
Whether Mildain's enemies were in Eturia, or Bern, or the Western Isles, or all three, there wasn't anything the two of them could not accomplish together.