When Gregor comes walking into the war room, escorted by Nerissa and his personal guards, Mareth knows that something is wrong. If he is honest, he had known that something was wrong back when Gregor, ash-covered and wounded, whom he had left somewhat distraught to go tend to the nibblers pups in the nursery, had not appeared for days even after having first run off to the Firelands and then had shown desperate worry for his friends afterwards, to the point where he did not know what to do with himself. But there is a war on. Mareth has a duty and little time.
"All excuse themselves but Mareth and Ripred," says Solovet. Her voice is calm, but Mareth has known her enough years to know the nuances of what constitutes calm in her voice. And if she wants only he and Ripred in the room, either it is a matter of delicacy or secrecy.
As the room clears, Mareth's brow tenses. With every person removed from the room, his head feels heavier.
"What is the meaning of this?" Solovet asks.
Marcus and Horatio open their mouths, but surprisingly, Nerissa beats them to it. When she speaks, it is with the steel and conviction known from the voices of her cousin and late brother. "We have need of Gregor in the code room. I took it upon myself to have him released and now ask permission for his aid."
Released? No. No, she would not. Mareth shakes his head ever so slightly.
"And how did you know where to find him?" Solovet does not scoff, but it is implied in her tone of voice. "No, never mind. I suppose you saw him in a dream. What else does our little visionary see?"
Nerissa almost breathes the next words, so quiet are they. "I saw nothing but Gregor locked in a dungeon."
Mareth does not hear the next score of words exchanged. He is faintly aware that his eyes are bulging, his lips parted. But he can mask his horror no longer.
The darkness. The isolation. That empty, small chamber, where one cannot see one's own hand. Made for scoundrels and criminals, but so often used to break and tie hands. One can scream and scream and nobody hears one.
"—Return him to the dungeon."
"He did not run off to who knows where. He came back to battle. And lucky for us he did. Really, Solovet, I don't see how this is encouraging any sort of allegiance to you."
But Mareth knows that not even Ripred can reason with Solovet when it comes to this.
No one could then.
"He's had no light, no medical care, no bed, and little food," Nerissa says.
Hamnet had squinted in the halls with his bloodshot eyes. He had eaten so little, no more than he could go without.
"Oh, excellent. Let's alienate the warrior altogether."
"Fine, allow him a torch and a blanket."
A torch and a blanket? What good will a torch and a blanket do? "I will take responsibility of him," Mareth says and tries to keep his voice level. "He will not leave Regalia."
But Solovet's eyes bore into his. I know what you think of, and I bid you stop. "No, I need you here. And if he outsmarted Horatio and Marcus, there is no guarantee you can hold him."
The implication is clear. She is not relenting. She will put him back in that dungeon with no qualms.
And Mareth wants to shout at her that languishing in a dungeon will not hold anyone. That it was because of this, not despite, that Hamnet ran in the end.
"What holds him is already in Regalia, Solovet," Ripred begins, and then starts a conversation about the boy's feelings for Luxa. And they will hold him here, Mareth knows, for he has seen Gregor's desperation, the look in his eyes when he stood bleeding in the hallway outside of the operating theater. But he is so young, so stubborn. He denies it. He denies it and stares at the ground, and oh, oh, only a child as him has time for self-consciousness in a situation such as this.
"No? Then perhaps the dungeon is the safest place for you," Solovet says. The smile lurks behind her lips.
And that is Mareth's breaking point. He is not subtle nor gentle. He is the man who will knock somebody to the ground to keep them from throwing their life away.
He remembers the "picture" Gregor had clutched earlier, the one in which he dances with Luxa.
"Check his pocket!"
The way Gregor's mouth falls open is painful to watch. Solovet picks the picture from his pocket and laughs at it with Ripred before giving it back. "This has simplified my job immensely." She smiles, and Mareth knows what she is thinking: Another thing to tie the warrior to my hand. "Do not worry, your secret is safe with me." A nod to Marcus and Horatio. "Unbind his hands, he is free to go."
Even as the rope falls from his hands, Gregor's eyes will not leave Mareth. The betrayal is evident in every crook of his body. He turns and runs out the door.
But what choice did Mareth had? He would have died before leaving another friend to rot in the dungeon. There was no way to do it gently, but this is better than the alternative. For just as Howard would have been stripped to the bone had Mareth not hit him, just as Hamnet would have drowned in the Garden, this was the only way.
He can only hope the boy will understand.