PART SEVEN
Gareth had always heard that romance was distracting, that women would take you away from those things you were supposed to be doing. This had always been part of his excuses for not getting entangled with local women. He had things to do, swords to swing. He didn't have time for women.
Which is why he found it both peculiar and unsurprising when the thing with Alan actually improved his focus. It was like a veil had been lifted; rather than puzzling over whatever scroll he'd been assigned, he found himself writing down questions and noting when they weren't answered, comparing one historian's writing to another's, forming theories and testing them out. Something was finally happening. He wasn't always sure what that something was, but he figured it had to be important.
And then, after all the studying and analyzing, was Alan. It couldn't be every day, because that would get suspicious, but it was still most days, where Alan would return to his room and Gareth would show up later, always from a different direction, trying to keep everything secretive. Once he was there....well.
The thing of it was, it wasn't like they liked each other any more than they used to. Alan still glared at Gareth like he thought he was an idiot, and Gareth still thought Alan was an insufferable prick. But in Alan's room, on the bed or against the wall, they could put that away, could replace it with sly grins and the press of flesh against flesh, mouth on mouth (or body), and raw pleasure.
All in all, Gareth found his life going better than it had in years. He felt happy, accomplished, satisfied. The nagging voices in the back of his head began to quiet. The world even felt a little bit brighter.
So, when he finally realized what Myles had been trying to tell him with the scrolls, it was very, very difficult to believe that something so utterly disruptive could exist at the same time as all the contentment in his life.
He stepped into Myles' room and whispered "Is it safe to talk here?"
Myles raised his eyebrows. "It is, yes. What's on your mind?"
Gareth sat down, spreading the map he was holding over the table. "I...well. I know you've been wanting me to read some of those scrolls on judicial procedures, but something caught my interest and I got distracted, so I've been looking at these figures on troop movement." He swallowed, hard. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"
Myles stared down at the map. "This is what you wanted to talk to me about?"
"It was." Gareth's stomach churned nervously. "Am I wrong? Did I interpret it correctly?"
"No, no." Myles shook his head. "I don't think you're wrong. It's just not what I was expecting you to come here for." He smiled ruefully. "Sometimes I thought I was just imagining all of this. It's actually quite reassuring to see that you saw it too."
"So it's true then?" He knew he'd had it right, but it still hurt to hear his suspicions confirmed. "How long do you think we have? Our soldiers are stretched so thin, but doesn't it take a long time to prepare for war? Is there a chance we could....I don't know. Find more soldiers? Do something?"
Myles sighed. "No. I don't think that will help. They'll just get more men to stand against us. His Majesty has made many, many enemies, and I'm not sure there are enough fighters in all of Tortall to protect us if they all attack at once."
"What can we do, then? Don't other people see this? Why aren't people making changes?"
There was a long, long pause. Myles smiles with very little humor. "Think about it for a second. You can figure it out."
It took Gareth considerably longer than a second, but he got there eventually. "Because His Majesty won't let them?"
Myles shrugged. "I suspect it's closer to all of his advisors being too scared of him to make suggestions, but it amounts to the same thing."
Gareth slumped in his chair. "Are we doomed, then?"
"That depends." Myles folded his hands on the table. "The king is an old man. He could die at any time. When that happens, Roald will take over. Now, you're his closest friend. What is Roald best at?"
"Certainly not battle planning," Gareth snorted.
Myles cuffed him gently upside his head. "You're too focused on the martial aspect of the situation. Think, Gareth. What does Roald do well? What has he been doing since childhood? How did he keep you from getting killed when you were a smartmouth page?"
The copper finally dropped. "He negotiates," Gareth said slowly. "He calms people down, makes them stop fighting, makes them less angry."
"Now you've got it." Myles grinned. "So, if we can't fight them...."
"...we make them stop wanting to fight us," Gareth finished.
"Exactly." Myles met Gareth's eyes. "But you have to understand, you have to, that Roald will only be able to do that if his advisors don't talk him out of it. He's going to have a lot of voices trying to make him into the second coming of his father, and still more trying to establish their own influence. He's going to need someone there with him, someone he knows he can trust, someone who will act for the good of Tortall."
Gareth held Myles' gaze steadily. "You mean me."
Myles clapped him on the shoulder. "See? You can be taught."
