|Summary:||The morning after a sucker punch, Gedeon has a few more words for Alek. One could not say they went well.|
|Related Logs:||Victor's Spoils|
|Guest Room — Rockcliff Inn|
|Once it was tidy, now it is not.|
|27 October 288|
The room that Alek stays in is in a slight disarray of arms and clothes as can be glimpsed from beyond a bare shoulder where he edges open the door to that early call. Perhaps Gedeon was nice enough to give him the night with a pretty lady, but it is rather early now and the man seems rather hungover. It does not help that eyes are unevenly colored, one bruise almost faded where the other darkens. A large, purple bruise covers most of his right ribs. "Gedeon," he greets, flatly.
Alek," the other man replies, stepping inside and nudging the door shut so that he can lean up against it. "Good night?"
"Very good, expect for being taken by surprise with a fist," Alek answers dismissively, moving with a grimace to lift a glass back to his lips, downing wine despite it having been out overnight.
"It wasn't the first time, I doubt it will be the last." Gedeon sighs softly, letting the back of his head thumb lightly against the door. "I would prefer peace between us. Can we come to an understanding about Rowan?"
Alek takes a long moment to answer, twisting his glass beneath his fingers before flopping into a seat on the mussed bed. He answers slowly, "No, Ged. Not as long as you decide that this was something in which you deserved to hit me, that it was not the stupidity of your squire and not /my/ fault."
"It wasn't exclusively your fault," Gedeon says, "but there was no need to damage him the way you did. I will not thank you for that or tell you I approve of how you handled the situation."
"He did not belong on that field yet, whether you invited him or not," Alek replies sharply, grey-green eyes narrowing where they slide to Gedeon.
"Then I suppose you should have taken it out on me, rather than him," Gedeon replies, straightening a little.
"Should I have, Gedeon? Perhaps you both need a better lesson," Alek replies with a wave of his hand, no move made to stir from his bed though he stretches along the length of it and gathers up a pillow. "What do you want from me, really?"
"Mmm, yes," Gedeon's gaze travels around the untidy room with its empty glasses and hung over knight. "We should all be taking lessons from you, Alek." He breathes out softly. "I want to be spared playing middle man between you and my squire. I've no interest in dedicating my time to stopping one long fight."
"As long as your squire keeps to his place, you should not need to worry about playing any type of man," is said flatly, Alek's lips twisting away from a smile into a slight frown where his gaze hardens on Gedeon.
"My approach with my squire is not ours," Gedeon says, "What I ask of him and where I 'place' him differs."
"Perhaps you should learn his place then." This is said as Alek fingers the bruise on his chest, jaw tightening against pain and anger. He adds, "You do not seem to know it any better."
"Perhaps I remember the place you put me in when I was a squire and want something different for my own. At any rate, I have said my piece and told you what I hope. The rest is your choice." Gedeon pushes away from the door, hand reaching behind him to start to turn the knob.
"Gedeon," Alek calls as the man moves to leave, detaining him only briefly. His next words are a murmur, low and flat. "If you ever punch me again, be prepared for what I may pay in return."
"So noted," Gedeon replies, his tone careful and measured, his expression blank. He opens the door, then, and slips through.