Author's Note: Trying to keep things in character, though in all sad reality there really isn't a whole lot of cannon Ben to work with, but I am trying. Lots of dialogue this chapter, more of Arren being a social reject. No song for this chapter, I am getting lazy and no song really jumped out with this one. Constructive criticism and comments always welcome. I don't own any Fable or any associated characters, etc, etc.
He found Walter, Ben and a couple of other soldiers he vaguely recognized sitting in the otherwise empty tavern. Walter and the other soldiers were animatedly engaged in conversation and Ben appeared to be listening from across the table, amused.
While his back was turned mostly towards the door, Ben spotted him with unnerving vigilance from the corner of his eye and waved. Arren gave Ben a once over he hoped wasn't noticeably lingering as he crossed the room before quickly turning his gaze to Walter and the soldiers as he sat in the vacant chair next to Ben. It took a long moment of continued debate between the two younger men over the affections of some old mutual acquaintance before any of them even noticed Arren was there.
"Ari! There you are. I was beginning to think you weren't coming." Arren chuckled at the faintly slurred exuberant words, glad to see Walter finally relaxing a little since they took their leave of the castle.
"I could've been an assassin for all you'd notice. Good thing for you Ben here is at least keeping his wits about him, or you'd've been in trouble." Walter pointed at him with his mug accusingly.
"I noticed you the moment you sat down, I was just too busy explaining what's what to these two lads," he gestured to the other two men who protested and took up their friendly argument once more. Ben, who sat with his mug in hand, leaned over to whisper conspiratorially to Arren.
"They've been in their cups for hours already. It's a wonder they can even sit up straight, let alone carry on a conversation." Arren fought a smile and leaned in to whisper back.
"Walter could probably down a keg and then take down a troll."
Ben nodded his assent and downed the last of his drink. Arren's eyes wandered from Ben's calloused dextrous fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug to his stubble covered jaw and strong neck as he drank. He jerked out of his trance only when Ben set his mug down and stood, gesturing to the bar, likely attempting to escape the raucous debate across the table. Arren followed him and took up the stool at the end next to Ben.
"Sorry to hear about tonight, word got around pretty quick." Ben gestured back to the two soldiers with Walter as they waited for their drinks. Arren shrugged.
"It wasn't too bad. Nothing I haven't dealt with before, really. Page was pretty shocked though." He belatedly realized how arrogant that made him sound, but he supposed arrogant was preferable to entirely apathetic or suicidal.
"I suppose it is kind of odd how sheltered most people are, living their whole lives protected in the city."
"She didn't believe in hollow men." Ben spluttered as he took a sip from the mug that had just been handed to him. "I told her I supposed it was a good excuse for her skepticism about your bragging earlier." Ben looked as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or scoff at that.
"Still, you managed to bring Kidd back, that's something at least." Ben raised his mug and Arren gave a half-hearted toast. A long silence ensued wherein another round of drinks was ordered as they continued to sit at the bar.
Arren looked back over at the table to see the two other soldiers still talking, completely absorbed in their discussion. "All the things going on right now and they choose to bicker over old conquests."
"It is an age old keystone of male bonding." Ben made the statement with all seriousness and Arren began to think he may regret having brought the subject up.
"I suppose we all have our priorities."
"Aw, c'mon Arren. You must've rehashed a conquest or two at some point." And with that Arren's sense of foreboding was fulfilled. He didn't want to lie to Ben, and he didn't figure any response he could come up with would keep the inquisitive soldier from prodding at this point, except maybe one.
"No, in fact, I haven't."
"Well that won't do, come on then, let's hear one." Ben was just drunk enough to be carefree and pushy with his words, but not nearly drunk enough to forget any of what Arren said. A long pause followed and the smirk gradually slipped from Ben's face as Arren stared into his mug trying to come up with a safe response. "Don't tell me you-"
"No, that's not it."
"You're really not one to kiss and tell are you? Ok, ok, I concede. New subject." He put his hands up in mock surrender and took another sip of his drink. A more comfortable silence followed as they sat drinking before Arren spoke.
"My brother's best friend since childhood. He caught us together and...well it wasn't pretty." The first and only person Arren had ever been with, not that he was about to admit that to Ben. The man's next words sounded jesting, but his tone was more thoughtful.
"Ah, jealousy then. I bet she was stunning to have the eye of a king." Arren smiled, recalling bright blue eyes and a dazzling smile.
"Yeah, something like that."
Jubilant laughter drew the attention of them both back to the table where one of the men was chuckling and slapping Walter on the back. There appeared to be a few more discarded mugs on the table than there had been the last time Arren had looked over and both he and Ben shook their heads at the inebriated trio.
"Walter sure can handle his liquor." Ben paused, thinking back on Arren's earlier statement about Walter. "Did you ever see a troll? Before the king killed them all, that is."
"Yep, seen, fought and killed. Dad took me to the lake on my thirteenth birthday, before they started all that construction. We ran into a rock troll and he showed me how to find the weak points in its armor." He had also mentioned something at the center of the lake he had intended to show Arren when he was older. He needed to remember to look in his father's journal for answers about that.
"Impressive, I can't imagine what it must've been like to study under the Hero of Bowerstone."
"I can't either. We didn't get many times like that. He was a busy man, and never cut out to be a politician, he said as much many times." Neither am I, he refrained from adding.
"'I don't know a single thing about running a country or being a good king,' he'd say. 'The only thing I've ever known is how to be a good man. And a good man does what's right, no matter how much it hurts or what it costs.' Then he'd clap us on the shoulders and make some terrible joke about his regency. I used to find it inspiring when I was little, then just sickeningly noble as I grew older. Looking back on it though, I could see how much it hurt him to say it every time. I think he did it to punish himself, to remind himself of the decision he regretted most in his life." Arren shook himself and looked down, wondering just when he had finished the four empty mugs in front of him and half of the one in his hand. Great, humiliating rambling. He should probably leave before he made a bigger ass of himself.
"What was that?" Ben's question startled him and he looked at the soldier who seemed to be hanging on his every word and brimming with curiosity while cupping the sam mug he had been nursing for some time.
"He never told us. He never told anyone I suspect, and I never told him that I knew. I found him in his old study one night when I was about twelve. I couldn't sleep. I found him standing by the window. He had his back to me, but I could tell he was upset by the way his tense hunched posture as he scratched Whisper's head. 'All for a fucking dog,' he said. 'all for a stupid dog and a girl who died too young. I'm sorry Bob. I'm sorry Lil.'
"Every year on the same night he was like that, I later discovered, but that night after he left I found the letter he had set on his desk as he went. It was undated, but the page was yellowing with age, it was a letter from his sister. It wasn't until after his death just after my fourteenth birthday that I finally fit all the pieces together. I found a stack of correspondence between him and his closest friend, Hammer." Ben was literally on the edge of his stool with anticipation as Arren spoke, staring at him with an intensity that would have made Arren flustered under normal circumstances.
"I discovered that when the four heroes stood in the spire after Lucien's death, there was power enough in the spire for a single wish." Arren whispered, leaning in close. "He could have money, or he could bring back all of the innocents who had lost their minds and their lives in the spire's construction. But, because Rose and Whisper had died at Lucien's own hand, the wish would not save them, unless he forsook the countless, faceless dead of the spire, and chose love instead. And he did."
Arren bit his tongue so hard he almost drew blood as the last words left his mouth. He had gotten too caught up in his own tale to think before he spoke. He was appalled at himself for sharing this information. He had never told anyone this and never intended to. Yet here he was, telling someone he'd known only a month and could barely deem a friend his father's darkest secret. Nevermind his good judge of character and the fact that he was a little fixated on the man.
Ben blinked owlishly at him and Arren shoved his drink away, groaning, and let his head thump to the table. Aside from his own foolishness, he was pretty sure he had just ruined Ben's idol (as he had surmised from his manuscript) for him by casting a shadow in the flawless light Ben had likely imagined his father in.
He had officially put the last nail in the coffin that was his drinking problem that had developed over sleepless nights since Mourningwood when haunting dreams plagued him. He really needed to stop drinking.
"I shouldn't have said that," he mumbled, more to himself than Ben. The clap on the shoulder he received came out of nowhere.
"Hey, we all need a reality check once in a while. Besides, I promise, I won't breathe a word of it. Though you might want to think about laying off a bit," he gestured to the empty mugs, and Arren, who had tilted his head to look at Ben, gave him a sheepish look.
"Sorry."
"It happens. Though I suspect quite often in your case." Arren groaned pitifully.
"I really don't have a drinking problem. Well, only when I'm alone usually. And only recently." And by the light had he really just said that?! Shut your mouth Arren! "I really am less of an idiot most of the time." Where Ben and alcohol weren't involved of course. Ben just chuckled. "Honestly, Walter would vouch for me if he weren't busy being more drunk and less socially inept than me- and Skorms tongue I need to stop talking now." With that he buried his face in his arms.
"I've been around worse drunks, trust me. There was this one guy in Bloodstone, a retired sailor, bigger guy, anyway-" With that Ben gracefully plucked the conversation out of the muck Arren had steered it into and took it in a less shameful direction.
They shared drinking stories and talked for a while before Arren felt sober enough to really participate in the conversation without becoming a babbling idiot. He was very careful about his drinking after that and only drank some painfully sweet fruit concoction after that, but he still managed to stumble when the conversation waned and fatigue hit him like a punch in the gut and he stood to call it a night.
He stumbled over his own feet more out of sheer exhaustion than anything else. Right into Ben, who caught him with lightning fast reflexes that attested to his skill in battle.
He turned bright red as he realized his face was buried in Ben's chest and his hands gripped broad shoulders clad in rough fabric. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he breathed in the scents of oil, gunpowder and the lingering scent of dew he associated with Mourningwood clinging to the man's uniform, underlined by Ben's own earthy scent.
Arren stepped back and turned around quickly with a mumbled thanks and willed his blush away as he made his way over to the other soldiers to say his goodbyes. Ben followed suit behind him and they interrupted whatever tale Walter was telling.
"Leaving already?" Walter's words words were still only slightly slurred and far more coherent than they had any right being considering how much he had been drinking.
"I've been here for hours."
"And sitting over there the whole time. Sit, drink, join in the revelry."
Arren sensed a losing battle of wills with Walter approaching. He was in no shape to deal with it, he was so tired he could barely stand. He hadn't realized just how bone weary he had been until he stood up. His fatigue felt like bags of sand around his neck trying to pull him to the floor. The last five hours had flown by in Ben's presence and he was more than ready to pay his tab, get a room and pass out.
Ben wasn't faring much better, but evidently he had more resolve than Arren did and Walter caved at his insistence. The three soldiers bid them goodnight, and Walter gave a harrumph.
"Cheer up, Walter, you can have me all to yourself tomorrow if you'd like. We could do something fun, like wander through hobbe infested tunnels again, or kill bandits. Maybe Ben will even come with." Despite his fatigue Arren couldn't resist the quip as he slipped away from the table with Ben on his heels.
He paid his and, despite much protest and a grumbled quip along the lines of 'who's sickeningly noble now', Ben's tabs. His streak of bad luck for the evening struck again once more, however, when he found out there were no rooms available.
He groaned, not relishing the thought of trekking through Brightwall or Driftwood to get to one of the only two properties he didn't rent out. He would probably stumble right off the bridge before he made it to his cabin. Ben chuckled smugly at this news and yanked his arm pulling him towards the stairs.
"One of them is mine, we can share." Ben kept a firm grip on his arm until they reached the stairs behind the bar and Arren stumbled along behind him trying to keep up.
"Who's the noble one now?" Ben glared back at him as he made his way up the stairs. Part of Arren wanted to make a joke about Ben wanting to get him into bed, but thankfully he had sobered up enough to keep his mouth shut.
They made it to the room and Arren realized what he should have before. There was only one bed in most of the rooms. When Ben collapsed on the large worn bed, Arren made to sit in the chair nearby.
"There's plenty of space for two people," Ben argued as he sat up. Arren grumbled and grudgingly made his way over and sat next to the soldier, yanking off his boots and tossing them to the floor with a clatter.
He found himself a moment later thanking his exhaustion as Ben did the same before standing to remove his jacket and the shirt underneath. Arren averted his gaze as his tired brain tried and failed to lure him into thoughts he should should not be having about his new friend. And certainly not around the man himself when he had yet to suffer through an awkward night of sleeping in the same bed with him.
Alcohol trumped his libido, and he was probably the first man to ever be thankful for that. He disregarded passing thoughts of modesty as well and shed his jacket and gloves, tossing them by his boots and laid down as close to the wall as he could manage without looking like he was doing it on purpose. Ben flopped down next to him, a good foot of space separating them and drew the old quilt over his legs.
Arren couldn't resist peeking out of the corner of his eyes at Ben, despite his chivalrous sensibilities insisting it was wrong, his logical mind argued he accept the view that was willingly, if unwittingly, offered. His eyes wandered once more over the dextrous fingers of the hand that rested on Ben's gently rising chest and and down to chiseled abs and surprisingly muscular arms.
As his gaze wandered upwards he saw Ben's tired blue gaze staring into space. Arren watched as his lids grew heavier and he eventually gave in to the pull of sleep without another word between them. Arren turned towards the wall and drifted off thinking, for once, not about his troubles and inner turmoil and the chaos of impending civil war, but about Ben's wild tales, his friendly casual demeanor and his charming smile.
A large man covered in shining plate mail flew through the air and hit the ground with a thud and a clang as his helmet rolled off. Arren looked once more through the stranger's eyes, dark swirling ink covered half his youthful face and blond hair hung in his startlingly blue eyes as he looked at the man's reflection in his helm. Arren as usual could not control the man's movements, but simply watched and felt as the man pulled his gaze away from his reflection, which Arren was seeing for the first time.
He hefted his greatsword once more and stood, sprinting towards the hulking man that had appeared again and again in Arren's disjointed dreams. This time though, the man's usually fragmented thoughts ran over his own like water as he delivered one last blow to their opponent and the man fell to his knees.
'Finally, a chance to avenge my family.' The thought rang clear as a bell and it took Arren a moment to sort out that it was not his own. 'Goodbye Twinblade. May Avo reject you in the afterlife.' The venom in the thought struck Arren like a blow and he could not hear Twinblade's words over the mans thoughts. Poised to strike a fatal blow, the man stopped at the whisper of a feminine voice as the figure he had only ever glimpsed before approached.
"There you are," said the blind woman as she approached. "What's wrong? Don't you recognize your own sister?"
'Theresa?!' Was the only dumbfounded thought that came after her following words of choices between darkness and light, secrets and arenas of blood. Shock and confusion wove through his muddled thoughts, but he could not be sure the emotions were entirely his own.
"Before I leave, Brother, I have a present for you. For all the birthdays I've missed. A power that runs in our family."
The word 'birthday' brought some hazy broken half-thoughts to mind about teddy bears and chocolates and a smiling man. The pain hit then an Arren could feel the man's blood boiling as if it were his own. While the man let out a silent scream, his own echoed in his ears as he jerked awake with a shout.
