As does the royal court, so does the royal army.

Warnings:
... none, really. Light on the spoilers as long as you know who Albel is. Knowing Albel's backstory will make parts of this resonate a little better.
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"I'm glad you approve, sir," the soldier said, inclining his head. "I shot it and right away I thought that'll make a fine gift for the commander. To show him the respect due him. Sir."

Glou turned the hare over, studying the small bloodied puncture in its ribcage and running his hand over its autumn-fat belly. "Well! It seems I'm in your debt, soldier. Albel!"

The fourteen-year-old boy standing behind Glou's right shoulder stiffened to attention. "Yes, sir."

"Look at this fine hare ranksman--"

"--Ferenc--" supplied the soldier, right on cue.

"--ranksman Ferenc has brought us to supplement our rations!" Beaming, Glou handed the hare over his shoulder to Albel, who took it without a word. "Take that and see what you can do with it, squire. We haven't time to hang it but it should stew up well enough."

"Sir," Albel said, and carrying the hare carefully against his chest he turned and slipped into the tent.

Glou waited until the boy was gone before he turned his relaxed smile back to the ranksman. "A fine gift. Hardtack isn't my idea of a good meal, and you've saved my teeth for one more day. I just wish I could think of a proper way to repay you."

"Well, sir," the ranksman said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his cap tightly, "there's one thing--"

Glou waved his hand negligently. "Name it, soldier."

"I'm due for a fortnight's leave soon," the ranksman said, words spilling out quickly now that the unofficial negotiations had come to this point. "If you could see your way fit to making sure I get it--"

For a moment Glou was quiet, studying the ranksman through eyes slitted against the afternoon sun. All around them the din of the camp rose to fill the silence, men and horses and dragons and the crackle of cooking fires and the snap of canvas in the rapidly cooling air. Finally he smiled, and the soldier smiled back, with something like relief in his expression. "I'll put in a good word for you, ranksman Ferenc," Glou said. "Thank you again for the lovely gift--was there anything else I could do for you?"

"No, sir!" Letting go of his cap with one hand the ranksman saluted, hand over his heart, and backed up a pace or two. "Thank you, sir! Enjoy the hare, sir!"

He backed up another few paces before turning and striding off, disappearing into the maze of colorful tents.

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"You aren't going to do anything to help him, are you."

Glou stopped with his spoon almost in his mouth and eyed his squire. Albel was looking down into his bowl instead of up at him, and his shoulders were tense. "Why do you say that, Albel?"

His son shrugged carefully and picked a bit of stewed hare out of his bowl, nibbling on it. "Just a theory."

Glou smiled and ate his spoonful of stew, hare and wild onions and crumbled biscuit and a lot of pepper to hide the fact that there wasn't much else. "Well, if I see Woltar in the next few days, and I remember, I might bring it up. That's all I promised, isn't it? To put in a good word for him?"

"Yes, sir." Albel fell silent for a moment. "It's only that this morning Commander Woltar told you that all leaves were being cancelled until further notice."

"Did he now." The corners of Glou's eyes crinkled. "You've turned into quite the little eavesdropper, haven't you?"

"Canvas is pretty thin, and besides, you always tell me--"

"--if you don't turn whatever you find to your advantage, someone else will turn it against you," they both finished in unison, and then Glou laughed. "Clever boy. What else do I always tell you?"

"Sir?"

Glou held out his bowl and Albel immediately put his own bowl down to refill his father's. "Rank Hath Its Privileges," Glou said, dropping his voice and pronouncing the words with reverence.

"Yes, sir."

"For example--" Glou picked his bowl back up and stuck his nose into it, hiding his smile. "--I don't remember your mother packing you off with that sash."

Albel's fingers flew guiltily to the wide purple sash knotted over his armor. "No, sir," he said after a moment.

"For that matter, I don't remember you having it an hour ago. So where did you get it?"

Albel hesitated, then his expression hardened a bit. "I traded the hare's bones to a soldier for it. Sir. He said it would make good soup, and they're all hungry--"

Glou laughed and pointed his spoon at Albel. "Clever! So you used your privileges as my squire to acquire a pretty new trinket, hm?"

"Yes, sir."

Glou paused, his eyes crinkling a bit. "And the pelt?"

"Rolled up in my pack in a bit of canvas." Albel looked down at his bowl. "Sir."

"What? Didn't trade it for anything?"

"No, sir, only--" Albel stopped, and when he looked up at his father his eyes were cool and assessing. "--there's a tanner's daughter who lives in Kirlsa, and last time we were there she told me they were getting desperate for trade, animals are thin on the ground--"

"--and we'll be there in three days, so you thought you'd trade it to her for, hm, a little bit of this and that? Is that it?"

"Yes, sir." Albel's eyes didn't flicker and he held his father's gaze.

"That's my boy." Glou chuckled and finished off his second bowl. "There isn't anything wrong with using what you've got to get ahead, that's what I say. A hare here and a sash there and no one really gets hurt, do they now?"

"No, sir."

Putting the wooden bowl down on the tray, Glou looked up at his son, and his everpresent smile faded a bit for the first time. "Well?"

"Sir?"

"Is there anything else, Albel? Aren't you going to chide me about accepting the hare in trade for what turned out to be essentially nothing?"

Silence. Then Albel pushed his black bangs out of his eyes. "No, sir."

By this time Glou's smile was gone entirely, and he was watching his son carefully. "Why not, Albel?"

"Because--" Albel stopped and glanced away for a moment, then looked back at his father. "Because it wasn't nothing, sir. Even though he won't get his leave, you'll remember him and his gift, won't you?"

Glou was almost holding his breath as he watched his son work it through. "And?" he prompted quietly.

"And so he'll be in your good graces no matter what." Albel shrugged. "It can't hurt him."

"Very good," Glou breathed, finally relaxing.

"He won't see it that way, though. He'll see it as a waste of a hare he could have eaten himself."

"Then he's shortsighted," Glou said, and allowed himself to smile again. "You and I can see that hare for what it was."

"What it was?"

"An investment in his future, Albel."

Albel fell silent, considering this. In the lamplight his son's hair was black and gold, and Glou watched him fondly. A year, maybe less, and Albel would be ready to try bonding a dragon of his own, and then he'd be a man, and there was still so much to teach him about the endless game of getting ahead and staying ahead and keeping an eye on your rivals. Some of Glou's fellow commanders weren't nearly so scrupulous about who they hurt in their struggles to advance--

"He doesn't have a future," Albel said abruptly, and his father's thoughts scattered like startled birds. "If he wasn't already thinking about it that way, he doesn't have any kind of future. He doesn't know any better. He's much older than I am and he's still a ranksman, and he's probably never thought about much more than staying alive from day to day. Filling his stomach. Keeping his feet dry."

Glou did not gape, precisely, but he hesitated for a moment. "But he did think to bring me the hare, Albel."

"So he's a little smarter than the others." Albel's brown eyes glinted red in the lamplight, narrowed and pitiless. "It doesn't matter."

"Ah, but remember, investment--"

"In his future, I know," Albel finished for his father. He smiled, a thin expression that didn't show his teeth, and Glou was suddenly, coldly certain that Albel was learning his lessons very well indeed. "But he doesn't have a future. He'll always be a ranksman. Maybe if he lived long enough he'd get promoted to eightsman, but he won't. He'll die before the year is out."

And that was enough to stun Glou to silence. Albel's smile widened, baring his teeth. "Men like him always do."

For a moment they watched each other over the pot of stew, quickly cooling in the chill Airyglyphan air. Then Glou, with an effort, looked away. "Clear the dishes away, Albel," he said, instead of protesting his son's assertion--completely unfounded assertion, he added mentally. The boy was only fourteen, what did he know about these things?

"Yes, sir." Albel dipped his head and stood, gathering the plates.

Glou watched him in silence until he moved away.

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Three days later, in the final push to retake Kirlsa, ranksman Ferenc died, leave ungranted.

Oddly, this started out as an attempt to explain why Albel had so many ranks in the cooking skill. That's it. Really. I, uh, got a little carried away.

Heh. Sane Albel. There's a change.

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