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Maybe it was because he had developed the basic survival instinct to be a light sleeper, maybe it was all the wine they had drunk the night before finally prompting him awake with a full bladder and a headache, maybe it was the blade of sunlight cutting through his shutters and into his eyes or maybe it was just bad luck. Either way he had awoken to a still-warm empty space next to him and the sound of bare feet on hardwood floors ponderously padding about, and the rifling of objects in bags ad the shuffle and soft, thoughtful slow opening and closing of drawers.
Valentine's mouth tasted terrible and wonderful as his eyes blinked open. He watched, unmoving, as Alden rifled through the pile of clothing on the floor and pulled on his pair of trousers. That was the thing about Eyres though, they always seemed to know when you were watching them. Alden stopped and stood up and glanced over his shoulder at Valentine, who was grinning, "Going somewhere?"
Alden didn't answer immediately, and instead dug through his drawers briefly before pulling out a clean tunic and pulling it on
"Alden---" Valentine sat up and reached for his dressing gown.
"I have to go," Alden said quietly.
"Go?" a smile tugged at the corner of Valentine's mouth, but his one remaining eye didn't smile, "I know you're going. I said, 'Going somewhere?'"
"I am. It's best if you don't know where," said Alden.
Valentine scoffed softly, "That's usually my line you know." He watched Alden further, quietly damning the Eyres for those eyes and the Highberrys those curls. Alden said nothing. His mouth was tight, his hair damp, and all memory of the previous night washed off of him. Valentine looked down. He wasn't an idiot. He saw the half-full knapsack resting on a chair. "It's my line when I'm not sure when I'm coming back...or if I know I'm not coming back..." The wine spiked a headache in his empty eye socket and scorched across his forehead. He never got hangovers. He was Valentine. He was better than that. He was better than the sickness pooling in the pit of his stomach and in the hollow of his chest as he watched Alden yank on his boots, no longer caring about the soft padding of feet now that he was awake. Valentine pulled on his dressing gown and cinched the belt tight. "You're not coming back, are you?"
Alden looked down. "I was hoping to spare you---"
"To spare me," Valentine scoffed, half chuckling, though it was in his throat and not in his chest, "To spare the b*stard of Beauson, the Duke of Dragon's bay, as if he was some blushing maiden waiting and wishing for her true love to return. You don't have to run from me---"
"You said you loved me last night," Alden blurted out.
Valentine was still for a moment, a half-stunned look in his one bloodshot eye. "I---" he started to say 'And I meant it,' but he knew what was coming now. He didn't want to make it hurt more for either of them. But it was still clinging and stinging. "I said a lot of things last night," he said, looking off and folding his arms, "And if memory serves so did you. We agreed it was the best night we had since I lost the eye--"
"It was."
"So why are you going then?" The question tumbled out of Valentine before he could stop it. Alden's lips were pursed again. Valentine said, a bit more quietly this time, "You're not coming back. You owe me an explanation. You owe me at least that." Valentine could have kicked himself for how desperate he sounded when he said that.
"I've been thinking---" Alden started haltingly, "Ever since the attack---Ever since you lost the eye..."
"Don't want to stay with a cyclops?" Valentine muttered under his breath.
"You know that's not it," said Alden, "I've been thinking ever since the attack---we were lucky. We were both lucky to escape with our lives there, and even luckier no one recognized us... but if they had...if my father had gotten word of it..."
"Your father already hates your guts. So does mine. We've established that," Valentine leaned against the bed, "And here I thought we could share in the fact that we both came from families who didn't want us."
"But that's just it, Val," Alden said, finally finding his tongue, "Father may have always treated me like a failure, and hell, Kyrene and Alden were always making me feel like a fool...but they love me, Valentine. My mother loves me..." he folded his arms, "I heard word in a Tavern the other day that Florenz Latham escaped the Yate's clutches but...but he's not home yet. Alden's been tearing up the countryside to find me..and...I can't put them through what the Lathams are going through. I can't make my mother lose a son. When you got your eye put out, a terrifying thought came over me. It wasn't just that I was terrified I'd lose you, it was how much of myself I've put into you."
Valentine resisted the urge to say something really terrible and funny then. Probably something along the lines of, 'Not nearly as much as what I've put into you' or something like that. But lewd puns aside, Valentine felt a cold hollow in his gut at the thought of it.
"If I stayed with you...I would be going with you... but how different would that be from constantly trying to prove myself to my family?"
"You'd be happier, for one," said Valentine cuttingly.
"I'd just be letting another person, not myself, define who I am," Alden said, regardless of the clear pain on his face as he said it, "If I went with you, all I'd be is your lover. I would be no one's son. I would be no one's brother. I would have nothing to my name except for what you carefully put aside for me, and even then, that wouldn't even be to my name, would it? I couldn't use my name any more."
"And your name is more important to you than being happy?"
"I was happy, Valentine, I was... but I can't just sail off with you and expect everything to be fine. I'm not romanticizing either of my futures...We're in a war...And whatever side I'm on I'm just going to end up hurting someone else on the other side...and I can't do that. There are people I love on both sides of this war...So...last night I decided I would pull out altogether and join the Order of St. Heorot."
"You're telling me that you'll choose a moss-lined hovel over my feather bed and those furs you sleep in at Borem because of some noble delusion of not hurting the people on either sides of this war?"
"Yes," said Alden, "Yes I am."
"You can't avoid hurting people," Valentine said softly, "You especially can't avoid hurting the people who love you."
"I know."
"There's nothing I can say to stop you, is there? Nothing I can say to keep you here..."
"No, there isn't."
Valentine chuckled painfully to himself, looking down. "I knew I'd find myself damning the hard-headedness of the Eyres one day with you."
Alden smiled. "Good bye, Valentine."
"Good bye, Alden," said Valentine.
Valentine watched Alden walk out the door He waited about twenty minutes for him to be sure Alden was far enough out of earshot, and he swept everythng off of his desk and threw the desk over in some blind feverish rage. No that didn't help. It usually helped in the stories. He felt ridiculous, clad only in a dressing gown and tearing things apart. He slumped down onto his bed and saw that there was still a bit of wine in the bottle next to his bed. He grabbed the bottle and chugged its remainder before lying back in his bed and feeling how strangely big it had suddenly gotten around him.