Alanna trotted out to the training yard after a quick lunch and began stretching. She wanted to get in an extra quick work-out every day; as a girl, it wasn't easy to keep up with the boys, and her slight frame did not gain muscle so easily as her friends.

Still, things were looking up. No one suspected her subterfuge, she finally adjusted to the grueling palace schedule, and she was making friends.

Real friends. Alanna, as a noble's daughter completely uninterested in feminine arts, had never had a true friend. The acceptable girls – note, fiefs in the Book of Gold or Silver at most – wrinkled their noses at her, especially when she dropped the fact that she hunted in Trebond's forests quite often and in breeches. The boys were never possible, either, for they scorned the weak Thom and thus had no reason to visit Trebond, especially not to advance the possibility of a marriage betrothal with the hoydenish Alanna.

The only dim spot was Ralon of Malven.

How she loathed that boy.

Ralon was more than half the reason Alanna trained constantly trained; she dearly wanted to get strong enough to destroy the fourteen-year-old. He had only recently become a squire, but he was still around the palace enough to make her life miserable, cornering her in the stables, punching and pinching her when no one would notice. When they did fight, Alanna lost; she was only ten, a slight ten at that, and a first-year page.

Alanna sat on the ground to finish her stretches. Leaning forward to touch her toes, she noticed a shadow on the ground right in front of her.

Turning around too late, she gave a strangled groan when the elbow smashed into the back of her head.

Through tear-blurred eyes, Alanna saw the retreating back of a familiar figure topped with sandy-blonde hair.

She cursed him thoroughly as she carefully laid back on the grass, every moment causing her head to spin and nausea threaten.

Eyes closed, Alanna only noticed the figure standing over her when the sun behind her eyelids blacked out.

She shot up only to roll to her side in an attempt to control her gorge, expecting at any second to feel another blow on her body, but the urge to vomit eventually passed and Alanna looked up suspiciously to see an unfamiliar squire.

He was tall and stocky with light brown hair and a strong face. His attire was perfectly practical for a day in the training yard, brown and tan colors not daring to show any stain or dirt. Alanna might have called him handsome if he smiled, but his severe expression made him appear cold and prideful.

"What?" she asked rudely, wishing her blinding headache would cease.

He shifted, the only indication he gave that he was taken aback. "That wasn't right," he stated.

Alanna slowly rose to her feet to find that he was as tall as she had guessed. Everyone was taller than her; it wasn't fair. She scowled at him, "That's Ralon of Malven for you."

"I am aware of him. He is in the year before me and his reputation precedes him. You are a first year page?"

Goddess, did this boy even have emotions? "Yes," she said shortly, carefully moving around to find her motion-sickness had abated.

"He is a first year squire."

"I am aware," she snapped, echoing his previous words.

He shook his head again. "That's unchivalrous, to bully the weak."

Alanna's dislike of him was growing with every word he said. "I'm not weak," she retorted, gritting her teeth.

He shrugged. "Compared to him? Yes, just as he is weak compared to me, and I am to Duke Gareth. No offense is meant…"

It took Alanna a second to figure that he was asking for her name and another few seconds to decide if she cared. "Alan of Trebond."

"What are you going to do about him?"

"I'm trying to train but I seem to be interrupted," she said pointedly.

He somehow seemed amused at her though his countenance didn't change. To him, it was as if a young puppy yapped angrily at a bloodhound, and he understood that the page's pride was damaged. "My knight-master is currently stationed in the palace for the foreseeable future."

Bully for you, Alanna thought.

"I would not be adverse to helping you train. There are tricks I could show you, ways to increase your strength, moves that he would not know."

Alanna was beyond surprised. She stopped stretching and studied the boy. This stiff proud squire was offering to help a lowly first-year page against another squire? What did he want? "Why do you want to help me?" she asked slowly. "What am I to you?"

He looked thoughtful as he answered. "I don't like bullies, and I don't like Malven. You are just one of those he persecutes, and you seem to have the fire you need to beat him."

Alanna stood at a crossroads. She could sooth her pride and sneer at the squire, could tell him that she was a noble and didn't need his help. Things would continue as they were; Ralon would continue to beat her up for several months until she could muster up the training and strength. If she swallowed her pride and allowed this squire to help her, then she might be out from Ralon's thumb even sooner.

The choice was easier than she thought.

"Was it my red hair?" She grinned. "I have been called Fire-Top."

The squire seemed surprised at first, but he broke into a slight smile, his brown eyes showing a spark of life and light. "That was an indication, yes."

"When can we meet?"

He considered. "Before morning workout would probably be best to get the most uninterrupted time. I assume you don't want your friends to know?"

Alanna shook her head. "This is between me and Ralon. And you, I suppose."

"No, this is a noble's fight, just the two of you. I'm just your training master."

Alanna was gratified. He was just another mentor, like Coram.

"I will see you tomorrow, Trebond," he bowed slightly.

"Wait, what am I to call you, oh training master of mine?" she quipped.

"Oh? Didn't I say?" He flushed a bit, embarrassed. "My apologies. I am Wyldon of Cavall."

For the next few weeks, the two of them met every morning. Wyldon showed page Alan ways to use his small stature to his advantage in bare-handed fighting and exercises to increase his strength.

"I would teach you the lance as it is my best weapon, but I fear you are too small to excel at it," Wyldon said regretfully.

Alanna learned to not take anything Wyldon said as an insult; he was merely brutally honest and expected everyone to be the same. It worked out in Alanna's favor, for holding her tongue was more difficult than not, and she enjoyed the time with her friend where she could speak freely. Wyldon appreciated the quick-witted page who worked as hard as he did, and the squire often did his work-outs at the same time as the pages so he could monitor Alan.

"You're getting complacent," Wyldon told her bluntly one morning. "The drills with the sword, you're just hitting and blocking. You're not learning."

"You mean the stick?" she muttered. "Hardly a sword. It's boring and pointless."

Wyldon disagreed. "It's the precursor so that you can wield a sword later. If you get the motions down now it will become second-nature and sword-fighting will be greatly simplified." At Alan's grimace, he simply said, "Trust me."

Alanna did trust the older boy. He was forthright, honorable, and simply hated deception of any kind. It made her uneasy to think of her own deep secret, but she decided that as long as she was honest about everything else it would have to do.

From that point, Wyldon began teaching her a rudimentary art of the sword. It felt just as awkward as the stick, but it was more real. Swordsmanship was vital to every fighting knight; he lived or died by the blade. She worked at it and, combined with her normal workouts and any additional ones she could sneak in during the day, thin ropey muscles began to appear on her arms. Alanna walked taller and more confidently; more than once a friend would shake his head at her and wonder how she managed to progress so quickly.

Alanna merely smiled a secretive smile and mentally thanked Wyldon.

When Alanna met George, she knew that he and Wyldon would not get along well, so she made no mention of him. Wyldon might appreciate George's quick wit, but he would feel distinctly unamused at his occupation and might even feel pressured to report him to the Lord Provost.

Alanna lost more sleep after she asked George for training. After Wyldon, what was one more training master?

When Ralon broke her arm, both Wyldon and George insisted she continue fighting, but with her left arm, so with an irritated sigh, she worked her unsteady arm until it became just as natural to box and swing with it as with her right.

When Alanna felt ready to confront Ralon, her two training masters gave her separate advice that boiled down to the same message: she was only ready if she thought so, and to give him a good solid thrashing. "A noble thrashing," Wyldon advised. "Like a dog," George insisted.

In the end, with Ralon rolling on the ground, blood pouring through his clapped fingers, Alanna's friends stood around and cheerfully congratulated her. She said little, still feeling jittery and beginning to get nauseated, but looked up to catch Wyldon's eye and see his solemn nod.

Later he explained how he knew how she felt. "You were stronger than he, knew more than he, and you were ready, but if you hadn't beaten him, he would have continued to harass you until you did. When the time comes where you have to kill a man, do it quickly, but do it absolutely. There is no fairness in war, only life and death."

Alanna looked carefully at her friend. He was pale and his lips pulled into a thin line. She didn't have to ask if he had killed someone, and he didn't offer the information. She clapped him companionably on the shoulder.

Wyldon continued training Alanna. He had asked if she wanted the early morning lessons to finish, but Alanna fervently declined.

"There will always be a bully," she declared to him, "and I want to be ready to stop him. Besides," she blushed, "you're my friend."

Wyldon, delighted, gave her permission to use his first name. Rolling her eyes at his stiff formality, Alanna offered her own permission.

Alanna never left the palace for the summer, instead choosing to stay where there were the best training facilities. Wyldon's knight-master remained at the palace and so the squire and the page happily continued their meetings.

When Jon and Raoul and Gary and the rest of her friends returned to Court, they were surprised at the change in their small friend.

"Alan! It's as if you've grown, not taller, but larger!" Gary gasped teasingly.

Although Alanna was very pleased to have her friends back, she was unhappy that Wyldon had to leave. His knight-master was assigned to the south because of troublesome Bazhir, and he would be gone at least six months. Both were very saddened at the departure, and Alanna wished her good friend the best of luck, while Wyldon commanded her to avoid any scrapes while he was gone and unable to help. "Not as if you'll actually be able to avoid it; you attract trouble, Alan."

Therefore her friend wasn't at the palace when the Sweating Sickness struck. It was the only time during his absence that she was glad he was gone; pages and squires were just as susceptible to the disease as the oldest and youngest.

When Wyldon finally returned for a brief stay in the palace, they gave each other a rough hug, inconspicuously checking each other for obvious injuries. He assured her that he was fine, though not for lack of trying by the Bazhir. He didn't like even those who were allies of the king. "Too different," he declared, shaking his head. "I cannot understand how they can live so happily in such a beastly place." Wyldon did, however, praise their horses though he expressed his doubts on whether they would be effective for jousting. "Too thin-boned, you see. Wonderful stamina, faster than any of Tortallan horses; I don't think they would hold up, but breeding their speed and our build…"

Alanna in turn reassured him that she never took ill with the Sweating Sickness, and that Duke Roger had come to teach Gifted pages. She hesitated whether to tell him that she didn't trust the mage, but it wasn't necessary.

"I don't trust the Gift," he said uneasily.

"I don't either," she replied flatly, "but I would rather know how to use a tool at my disposal than have it use me."

They agreed on the practicality of training it and left the issue alone.

Alanna also told him about her sword Lightning and her new mare Moonlight. He uttered acceptable praise over the sword and was exceptionally verbose –for him -over the horse. She told him without hesitation about the ruins at Olau and he expressed concern for her that she waved away. She was fine, no harmful effects, she told him.

When asked where she found the horse – "she has Bazhir stock in her, Alan!" – Alanna told the truth, albeit abbreviated, that a friend found her and sold the mare. Wyldon was suspicious and a touch hurt that his friend was holding something back, but accepted that Alan would tell him if and when he could.

She did relate to him her failure with Geoffrey of Meron and the disastrous sword duel. Wyldon commiserated, pointed out that she had been neglecting her practice patterns, and mercilessly drilled her in more intricate patterns. "It will come," he assured her. "When everything clicks together, you will be an excellent swordsman, so long as you keep practicing, and no, I do not care how boring it is." He also suggested that Alan practice with a heavier sword than Lightning so that he trained his muscles with a large weapon and fight with a light one.

Wyldon remained in Corus for a month and during that time, they spent as much time together as possible, mostly training but during all times of the day when they were not otherwise occupied. Wyldon was halfway through his third year as a squire and he had learned much during his time with the Bazhir, which he gladly showed to his friend.

Alanna's other friends asked where she went off to, but she tartly told them that they were not her only friends. Gary was the first to figure out who she spent her time with and when he told the others, they were all confused.

"Wyldon of Cavall? How did they even meet?" Alex asked.

"Why would Alan even like him? He's so emotionless, I don't think I've ever seen him smile," Gary pointed out.

"He's so stiff, I could paint him and use him as a shield," Raoul jeered.

"It is curious," Jon agreed, "but I am sure Alan has his reasons. He always does."

They watched their friend and agreed that Alan was happier for Wyldon's company. "Beats me what Alan sees in him," said Raoul helplessly.

They were somewhat alarmed when Alan moped for a week after Wyldon left, this time for eastern Tortall, but managed to cheer him up when Gary pranked his father during supper and earned himself punishment duty for a month.

"You do it next time," Gary grumbled to Raoul, Alex, Jon, and anyone who would listen.

Alanna appreciated her friends' efforts and made an honest attempt to be her normal hot-tempered self.

Being closer to Corus, Wyldon visited the city whenever his knight-master reported, about once or twice a month. He and Alanna had impromptu lessons whenever they could, though increasingly Alanna began holding her own. She didn't come close to beating him, but as she grew faster and stronger, Alanna no longer lost immediately.

They also spent more time enjoying each other's company, trading stories of their adventures, hopes and fears, tales of hapless siblings. Alanna laughed at his painstakingly detailed description of his young sister Elsabenne and her fascination with his quills when she was younger and how she would sneak into his room at all times to nick one or five. Wyldon laughed when Alanna told stories about her twin brother and how he went an interesting shade of green when she caught and skinned a rabbit in front of him. "My poor brother, he was always the mage; he would have been completely helpless as a knight."

Alanna finally introduced him to George after receiving an oath on his honor that he would let her explain everything. As she imparted to him about George's lessons, his friendship, that he had sold her Moonlight, Wyldon listened carefully, his face blank. He was quiet for a few minutes and turned to the Thief, saying, "As long as our first priority is Alan, we shall have no trouble," adding with a slight grin, "and you acquire a similar horse for me."

When Wyldon returned for his Ordeal the midwinter of Alanna's third year, she sat her own vigil all night, praying to the Mother Goddess for her friend's safety and peace of mind. When he stumbled out of the chamber, pale and trembling, she restrained herself from rushing to help only because she knew he would not appreciate it. He was a stubborn man, she thought fondly. Later he told her that he knew what she was thinking and that just knowing it gave him the strength to walk under his own power –"lest you charge over to drag me away to my rooms." Alanna had blushed but couldn't deny it.

As the months wore on, Alanna's friends saw her friendship with Wyldon as increasingly worrying. They all had their suspicions about the intensely shy and effeminate Alan, how he refused to swim with them, how his voice hardly changed at all and remained quite high, how he never showed any interest in girls, though they were disturbed in different amounts at the thought. Regardless, they all were fiercely protective of him and suspicious of Sir Wyldon of Cavall.

"I haven't heard anything incriminating," Gary admitted as they all, but Alan, sat in his room. "He is the heir to fief Cavall, which is famous for its kennels and stables, and there isn't a whisper of improper behavior, anywhere."

"Now that's suspicious right there," Alex drawled from his. "He's a knight now. All of us but Jon here are squires, and we've all been caught with the ladies once or twice."

Gary blushed as he stroked his mustache. Raoul coughed lightly, looking away. Jon rolled his eyes. Even though he was only a fourth-year page, he wasn't an idiot, or inexperienced.

"Maybe he doesn't know how?" Raoul said, almost pulling off a straight face.

"It appears that he doesn't," Gary said in an attempt to get the conversation back on target. "Or at least, he is very very discreet."

"Are we sure about Alan?" Raoul asked doubtfully.

Jon shook his head. "No, but neither are we sure about Cavall." He drummed his fingers on his knees. "Make no moves, but monitor them, discreetly," he ordered.

By the time Alanna was a fourth-year page, she was sure of several things.

She loved being a page and learning how to fight. It was much harder than she had ever expected, but more gratifying. There was little more pleasing than knowing exactly where her sword blade would strike, or combining her practice dances and increasing the speed until the blade was a steel whirlwind, or controlling her mount with only her body, striking out with sword in one hand and shield in the other, giving and fending off blows at the same time.

She had the best and most annoying friends in Tortall. Although they were gone from the palace at times, they always sought her out when they returned to catch up on all the palace gossip and her adventures. Her friends also had an irritating tendency of following her around, which made ditching them for practices with Wyldon more difficult.

Wyldon was another certainty. He was her best friend, even better than Jon. Even though he was a knight, whenever he was in Corus Wyldon always had time for her. He understood her completely, complemented her absolutely. Where he was quiet, she was raucous, when she was tired, he convinced her to continue, aiding her with his strength and example. Wyldon accepted her swiftly changing moods and hot temper; he balanced her with his solemn calmness and level-headedness. Both of them altered for the better in each other's company. Wyldon smiled more and even laughed on occasion. Alanna, affected by his unruffled demeanor, considered her words before she spoke and attempted to curb her temper, though she never amended her biting honest sarcasm because it amused her quiet friend.

"You are a wicked creature," Wyldon said once, laughing.

Alanna was certain that she had a major, incontrovertible, embarrassingly large crush on Wyldon.

It wasn't her fault that he had grown into his strong face, which was now handsome instead of awkward, or she started noticing how nicely he filled out his tunics. It wasn't her fault how his deep voice caused a pleasant tingle and made her heart beat just a little faster, how when he touched her to correct her stance or grip it made her skin jump and warm, how it made her happy just to look at him.

It wasn't her fault that he was the most honest person she knew, the most honorable, and a most loyal friend. Nor was it her fault that he took the time from his life to listen to hers, to advise and counsel, to make her feel important and equal to him.

It wasn't her fault, but it was the truth.

Alanna had no idea what to do besides continue on as before. She was a boy to him, not even a girl let alone a woman.

Wyldon spent more time than usual in Corus at the beginning of Alanna's fourth year as a page. His father had died, making him the lord of Cavall, so he was granted leave to take over management of his fief. Wyldon traveled between Cavall and Corus, seeking advice from people and visiting Alanna. By now she was skilled enough with a sword to best him at times, and though she gloated every time, Wyldon shut her up with a raised eyebrow and an invitation to joust. Alanna preferred life, as she told him pointedly. She spent all of her time with her sword; Wyldon switched between tilting and the sword.

"There's just something so right about it," he told her once. "There is a feeling of completion, from the ground through the horse and out the lance. Does that make sense at all?"

She grinned and replied, "It's exactly how I feel with Lightning."

Wyldon surprised her at midwinter with the gift of a puppy from the Cavall kennels, half-trained.

"You'll have to continue her training," he warned as he watched his friend twirl around with the dog in her hands. "She knows the commands and I'll give you the list. If you slack, she will forget them, or she'll ignore you."

Alanna solemnly promised not to ruin her training as she held the pup and let her nibble her hair. Wyldon rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. When Alanna asked for the dog's name, he smirked –causing her heart to beat erratically – and answered wickedly, "Firetop."

Alanna blushed deeply and agreed that it was a fine name for a dog whose coat was a shiny red, the same color as her hair.

Later that day, Jon and the others walked in on her playing with Firetop and practicing the commands.

Jon, leading, stopped just inside the entrance in surprise. Raoul, Gary, and Alex ran into his back, swearing.

"Who is that, Alan?" Jon asked.

Alanna frowned. Jon had an odd tone in his voice. "This is Firetop," she said proudly as she commanded the dog to "sit."

"Where did you get him?" Jon continued, the same note in his voice. Raoul and Gary looked at each other and silently agreed to let Jon handle it.

"Where do you think?" Alanna snapped. "It's not like Wyldon is a secret; you've met him before."

"Yes we have, but you spend a lot more time with him than we do." Jon was worried; Alan was hiding something. He felt his heart drop a bit as he considered the rumors might be true. Alan would always be a good friend, but Jon felt defensive about his small companion and very concerned about the possibly unscrupulous knight.

Alanna twisted her fingers in Firetop's coat. "He's a friend, Jon, like all of you. I just don't get to see him as often because he's always away. You and Gary and all of you, your knight-masters stay close to Corus, so it's as if we're all still pages, almost. Wyldon," she paused and shook her head, hunching her shoulders and mumbling, "he's always been there when he could." Try as she might, she couldn't contain her blush.

Her friends gave each other very significant looks and after a half bell of idle talk, made their excuses to go. After a brief tussle, they decided to let Jon be the spokesman for the group and to take Gary, who was nearly the same size as Raoul and more tactful, less likely to insult Wyldon unnecessarily.

Jon and Gary knocked on the door to Wyldon's chambers. It opened to reveal a neutral Wyldon, a newly bound book in one hand. "May I help you, Prince Jonathan, Naxen?" he asked dryly.

"I believe you know why we are here, Cavall," Jon replied coolly. "May we enter?" he asked as he walked through the entrance.

"Quite," Wyldon muttered as he shut the door firmly. He carefully put down the book on his desk.

"Midwinter gift?" Gary asked pointedly, sidling over to read the title.

"From Alan."

"This is a very rare book, Jon," Gary murmured. "Very impressive of Alan."

"I believe he had assistance from George," said Wyldon, irritation rising.

"Alan told you about George?" Jon was very surprised; it had taken the page two years to introduce him to George, and he was Alan's best friend. Or at least, he thought he was.

"I've known him for about a year, interesting fellow," Wyldon's eyes pierced Jon. "An especially interesting character for a future King to associate with, wouldn't you say?"

Jon refused to look away or to show any discomfort. "Certainly," he said regally.

Wyldon's mouth twisted and he hinted, "I am sure you did not come here to question me about George, but our other mutual friend."

Gary looked to Jon, glad he wasn't the one to speak to such a prickly person. What did Alan see in Wyldon that he couldn't get from them? He didn't really want to know the answer.

"I want to know what your relationship is with Alan," Jon said bluntly.

Wyldon's blank face broke as he stared at Jon in shock. "Certainly you don't mean-"

"Alan has a lot of friends," Jon continued softly, "friends who are eager to see him happy and who would be quite upset if he were toyed with." He felt Gary move behind directly over his shoulder.

Wyldon shook his head disbelievingly. "This is an outrage-"

"We are quite protective of our small friend," Gary cut in. "People who have hurt him were dealt with."

Wyldon finally found his stride and he struck a solid blow. "Your intimidation tactics do nothing to me. I know exactly what happened with Ralon, more than you, I suspect. This is an incredibly improper and outrageous conversation and I refuse to have it. Suffice to say that we all care for Alan's well-being and that is all we must agree upon."

He strode to the door and opened it, gesturing pointedly.

Jon and Gary followed slowly, but before they exited, Jon had one last parting shot. "If you hurt him, I will do everything in my considerable power to make you pay."

"At least you are loyal to Alan, if nothing else," Wyldon answered bitterly, shutting the door with a resounding clunk.

Wyldon went to Alanna the next day and informed her of his next assignment. He had been posted to the Southern Desert for another six months, ending just after midsummer. Wyldon had expected it, for there was still trouble with some Bazhir tribes and at least he had a desert-bred horse courtesy of George. Alanna was resigned; it was the life of a knight to be at service to the crown. Before he left, Wyldon took her aside.

"You will be a squire in a few months, Alan. Have you given your knight-master any thought?"

"Yes Wyldon, I've given him many thoughts," said Alanna cheekily. "It's just too bad that he'll be gone for so long that I can't give him even more."

"You'll wait for me, then?" he asked, staring into the bright violet eyes.

Alanna was caught in his gaze, his innocent words flinging themselves through her brain and taking on a deeper meaning. Wait for me, wait wait wait for me you'll wait for me, then?

"Of course," she whispered, too fervently. Wyldon was a bit disconcerted, but he was too glad to secure his best friend as a squire over the Prince. It didn't take much to realize that the Prince was jealous over his friendship, but more the fool him for not having already asked Alan.

They parted after a manly hug, though if Alan held him a little too tight, Wyldon didn't think anything of it. Alan felt deeply even though he pretended to be antagonistic and uncaring, assisted by his quick temper.

The months passed. Alanna was cheered by her new dog even through Wyldon's absence, and Jon and the rest were relieved to see that their friend seemed to suffer no ill-effects from the knight's absence. Training took up the time not spent with them so that by the time it was summer, she seemed to have blinked and made time race from midwinter to the month before midsummer.

It was then that Alanna was informed of her inclusion in the squire's trip to Persepolis. She was ecstatic for she hadn't been looking forward to a month without any of her friends, and besides, there was the slightest possibility that Wyldon would be there.

The journey there was as expected, hot and sandy, exactly as Wyldon had said. She did learn a lot from Myles and Lord Martin and more from the governor of Persepolis, Ali Mukhtab. The meeting with Duke Roger was also quite informative, though not in the same way. Having never trusted the charismatic Duke, Alanna saw easily that he was persuading Jon to go to the Black City using the jewel as a focus.

After the meeting, Alanna intended to talk to Jon but was distracted by a familiar face in the dining hall.

"Wyldon!" she called gleefully, trotting up to him. They exchanged a quick hug and Alanna sat next to him to listen to all of his tales of the past few months, and she told him about her first experience in the Southern Desert.

"Just as you said." She wrinkled her nose. "The dratted sand gets everywhere and it's so hot that I feel I'm taking a bath in my clothes, I sweat so much."

Wyldon grinned at his fastidious friend and ruffled his hair to see him make a face. At Alanna's question, he explained that he was just finishing up his assignment here and was to help escort the squires (and Alan) due to his knowledge of the desert and Bazhir. Wyldon admitted that he appreciated the Bazhir a bit more than the time he was here with his knight-master, for though he still couldn't understand their ways, he appreciated their stoicism; he related a story in awe about a tribesman who stitched his own wound close without a healer and without cries of pain.

They enjoyed the company and by the time they parted amicably, Alanna had forgotten all about Jon and Roger and the Black City.

She woke up in the night, nerves thrumming and body tense. Alanna dressed quickly, firmly commanded Firetop to stay and guard the room, and went out to the hallway to see Jon just leaving his room. They hesitated and shrugged at each other, but before they could leave, they heard a low voice behind them.

"Alan, what are you doing? Even if it weren't in the middle of the night when you should be asleep, I would know you were up to something. You always get a sneaky suspicious look whenever you're about to do something incredibly stupid."

Alanna gaped in fury and spun around to vehemently deny it when Jon put his hand on her mouth and nodded at the knight. "He's right, Alan. Lord Wyldon, you are quite perceptive," he said as if he hadn't realized it before.

Alanna tore away Jon's hand and gave him a deathly glare before whispering harshly, "It doesn't matter. You're not going with us, Wyldon. This deals with magic and you don't have the Gift; you could be hurt." As she said it, she realized it was true. Somehow, Alanna felt to her bones that this was evil magic at work.

He looked at her steadily. "Either I come with you or I wake up Duke Gareth."

"That's blackmail!"

"Is it?" he raised an eyebrow. "Or is it my duty to guard the squires and you?"

Jon impatiently interrupted their battle for dominance. "Are you coming or not, Alan?"

All three snuck out and rode to the Black City. At the perimeter, Alanna gave one last attempt to convince Wyldon to leave, but it was like trying to bend stone.

As they walked through the City, they felt the presence of something older than themselves, something certainly not benevolent, and Alanna felt increasingly worried for her non-Gifted friend. The Gifted had an innate defense against some magics.

When the Ysandir appeared, the three of them grouped together, all fighting to get to the forefront before Jon won out. Alanna and Wyldon were relegated to the back, both of them wearing a mulish expression.

Alanna's fears were realized when one of the Ysandir threw a spell at them and Jon, a better mage than Alanna, was too late in shielding Wyldon. The knight collapsed to the floor, unmoving. Alanna felt her heart stop, then beat again when she saw his chest moving up and down, very slowly.

Enraged, she clasped hands with Jon and the pair routed the Ysandir, though only after her true identity was revealed.

Afterwards, they carried Wyldon between them back to the oasis and horses, Jon still reeling over the discovery.

"Does he know?" Jon asked her after they washed in the pool.

Alanna blushed and shook her head. "Don't tell him, either," she warned. "Wyldon hates deception. I want to keep his friendship for as long as possible until I have to tell him and ruin it forever," she ended sadly.

"Do you really think he would reject you, Alanna?" Jon said incredulously. "He is absolutely devoted to you; he nearly bit off my head when Gary and I confronted him."

"Wait, what did you do?" she sat up in alarm.

Jon blushed lightly. "Your… more feminine characteristics have not gone unnoticed by your friends. We don't care," he rushed, then corrected himself, "Well, we didn't care, no, we wouldn't have cared, and we were concerned that Wyldon was taking advantage of you in some way."

"That's ridiculous," Alanna said tartly. "Wyldon is not, well, he just isn't. We're friends." She looked away, Jon noticed, and gleaned a hint of the truth.

"Am I to assume that you're already taken?"

Alanna frowned in confusion. Jon clarified, "I was going to ask you to be my squire before Raoul or Gary, but I take it someone already has?"

Alanna's face smoothed and she gave the unmoving form under a tree a fond look that she didn't intend Jon to see. She murmured, "He asked just before he left, back in Midwinter, but there was never a chance for anyone else. I am sorry, Jon," she added guiltily. The prince was her next best friend after Wyldon, and she hated hurting him.

Jon shrugged and clapped her on the shoulder. "I understand," he said quietly. "You were my only choice, too."

Alanna blushed uncomfortably and fidgeted.

The three of them, two alert and one unconscious, sat under the full moon, connected in bonds of friendship that burned brightly, illuminating the darkness, but also casting shadows that would be revealed in the years to come.

Squire Alan wished fervently at that moment to be back in the nice warm desert. Though sandy, at least it didn't pour cold rain that soaked through her clothes and sent her shivering. She finally managed to find shelter and make a fire and was in the process of warming her frozen body when a wet cat raced in, meowing piteously.

"Oh, you poor thing," Alanna murmured, ignoring the hurt looks of Firetop as the dog alternately glared at the cat.

When the Great Mother Goddess entered, Alanna took in her messages dazedly, but especially the one about learning to love.

Surely she didn't love Wyldon. She liked him a lot, she was very attracted to him, yes. He made her breath catch and her pulse race, but that meant nothing, especially as he could never love her back. He would be too hurt and absolutely livid over her deception; he would see it as the deepest betrayal.

Loving Wyldon was impossible, Alanna decided. Utterly impossible and ridiculous. She'd be better off with Jon, or even George, someone who already knew she was a girl and didn't mind, even liked her. Actually, she'd be best off with none of them. She didn't need love to be a knight.

That she dreamed of Wyldon's soothing voice, his large calloused hands on hers, his soft breath tickling the back of her neck, and his lips descending towards hers… That was meaningless.

Alanna and Wyldon spent her first year as a squire in the eastern part of Tortall. Rumors had reached Corus of Duke Hilam of Tusaine's growing ambitions and Tortall was subtly arming and preparing for war. They assisted in patrols of the border, hunting out an increasing number of bandits. They suspected that the raiding parties were disguised Tusaine soldiers. Alanna was particularly disgusted at the subterfuge, but Wyldon just shrugged and said that it made logical sense; they were scouting out the territory in preparation for an attack.

Alanna grew increasingly deadly with Moonlight, Lightning, and Firetop, but she hated killing, no matter how good at it she was. As Wyldon had predicted years ago, after her first major skirmish in which she gutted a man, she was sick behind bushes. The feel of her sword slicing into flesh was unexpected and disturbing, though she could not regret her actions. Wyldon was right, after all; if she hadn't killed the man, he would have tried to kill her, though his presence and cool hands on her neck did more to comfort her than the cold knowledge.

A few months in, they reported in Corus their suspicions and Wyldon suggested asking George to gather information. Alanna agreed, and convinced George to contact the Tusaine Rogue before they returned to the border.

The next time they returned to Corus, George sought out Alanna with worrying news. Tusaine was mobilizing its knights and armies, all centering on the River Drell. Alanna was ready to take the information immediately to Myles, but George stopped her with his talk about giving up the Rogue in a few years.

Alanna scoffed and asked where he would put his collection of ears, and scoffed again when he claimed he was waiting for his chosen woman to grow up. Before she realized, he swooped in and planted a soft kiss against her lips. Her face went slack in shock, and George slowly pulled back, looking deeply into her eyes.

Alanna blushed brightly and pushed George away, feeling altogether too guilty for enjoying his kiss. It felt as if she had betrayed Wyldon, which was ridiculous because he didn't even know she was a girl. As George stepped away, her knight-master walked in, frowning at their closeness. Alanna couldn't help herself as she flushed again even brighter and muttered a greeting to Wyldon and a terse goodbye to George.

The thief chuckled and gave a crooked grin, whistling cheerily as he left.

Wyldon didn't ask and Alanna didn't volunteer. They both pretended to forget the situation and they both dwelled upon it all too much. Alanna was confused about George, but mostly guilty and worried that Wyldon saw them. Unbeknownst to her, Wyldon had not seen the kiss but had walked in just as George pulled back, seeing just enough to surmise the previous action. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, but so long as Alan didn't bring it up, he would contain his curiosity.

They returned to the border just long enough to be summoned back to Corus at the Call to Muster. Alanna was annoyed at the constant riding back and forth. "Why didn't they just keep us at Corus, if they knew they were going to Muster?" she muttered, annoyed at losing the training time travelling.

When they learned their assignment, Alanna was not surprised to find that Wyldon was to be a bodyguard and advisor for Jonathan. Wyldon was not fool enough to be honored; he knew that the prince wanted to keep a close eye on him and Alan. The knight never forgot that midwinter when the prince and Gareth of Naxen attempted – and failed – to interrogate him about his questionable relationship with Alan.

Neither of them were pleased of their posting on the River Drell, and especially not with Jon as the commander. He was too young, no matter his royal position, and he didn't have the experience.

They took the first peaceful weeks in stride, training together constantly, for as Wyldon often said, "a lazy knight is a dead knight." Some of the soldiers watched them spar, placing bets on who would win and how many words they would say between them, for they were a very quiet sparring pair. Neither wasted breath on insults or curses.

The army weathered the first major attack well. Alanna, experienced after her year of fighting Tusainian bandits, suffered no major injuries until the very end. She had spied an archer aiming for Jon and pushed him out of the way. The arrow glanced off her shield and sliced up her arm, though she didn't notice until Wyldon rode up to her in the chaos and exclaimed, at which point the pain shot through her body and her arm went numb.

They retreated to relative safety and Wyldon bound up her arm with a bandage. He was torn between protecting his squire or the prince until Alanna assured him that she would go immediately to the healers.

She didn't, of course, but as soon as the battle eased, went to find big Thor. Alanna passed out after she helped the large man find peace, though she blearily felt a wet nose at one point, heard a loud bark in her ear, and saw Wyldon's worried face.

Alanna woke up to the same face looming over hers, though it bore an expression of long-suffering annoyance rather than worry. "What?" she mumbled, carefully examining the bandage on her upper arm.

"You said you were going straight to the healers," Wyldon accused. "Instead you took a stroll on the bank and tired yourself more by using your Gift. If it weren't for Firetop, we wouldn't have found you in time."

Alanna reddened in shame, guilty for worrying her best friend. "I'm sorry."

"I hope you are," he said with heat in his voice. "I couldn't even see you when we brought you back; Prince Jonathan ordered me to assist in clearing the battlefield." He ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair. "I didn't even know if you lived or not until he told me."

Alanna felt relief war with her guilt, for at least Jon had dressed the wound and put a shirt on her. If Wyldon or the healers had done it… she shuddered.

"I am sorry, Wyldon," she said sincerely, touching him on the arm. "I was riding for the healers but then I remembered that Thor had guard duty. I couldn't leave him there, not without checking to see if he was alive. I helped him sleep." She looked down at her hands and heard Wyldon sigh.

"I understand, Alan. Your loyalty to your friends is admirable; just don't put them in front of yourself." He patted her lightly on her shoulder. "Rest and heal quickly, my friend. I'll need my squire again soon."

When Alanna was captured by the Tusainian soldiers, she was terrified, not for herself, but at the thought that Wyldon would disobey orders to come after her.

Would his loyalty and their friendship cause him to cross the Drell after her? Wyldon might, but he would hate himself for doing it, for defying explicit orders. She wasn't worth that, she wasn't worth him betraying his own character for her safety.

At the same time, she yearned for his comforting presence. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him sitting next to her, his calmness flowing over her and giving her a measure of peace. If he came for her, they would live and her secret would be undiscovered; she had no illusions that in the present situation as a captive, she would not be able to hide it for long.

Conflicted and miserable, Alanna worried the hours away.

Wyldon, upon hearing of Alan's capture, was frozen with indecision. Did he disobey orders and rescue his best friend, or did he trust that the prince would? Part of him rejected that; he was Alan's knight-master, he was Alan's best friend, he should be the one to save him. His stomach roiled at the thought of Alan in the hands of the notorious Duke Hilam…

It was with a heavy heart that Wyldon entered the prince's tent only to find him and other soldiers armored up. He was inordinately pleased that the prince cared enough about Alan to risk punishment to save him as well as exceedingly annoyed that he had not been consulted. It seemed that Jonathan was still jealous about his friendship, that he didn't trust the knight.

"You weren't planning on leaving without me, were you?" he drawled slightly. Jonathan's face tightened but he nodded to the knight, including him in on the plan.

When the group of knights and soldiers entered the small hut where the captives were being held, Wyldon's eyes immediately went to the form of his friend on his knees. His blood went cold as he heard the man who had to be Duke Hilam murmur about looking forward to breaking Alan, and his heart sang with pride at hearing Alan's defiant response.

Wyldon moved swiftly to grab the hand of the sneering man who was about to strike him, fingers digging into the bones in his arm, naked sword held to his throat. "I wouldn't do that," he said calmly.

He looked at his friend and was struck with the sheer gratitude, relief, happiness, and something else he just couldn't identify, but he knew was echoed in his own.

Wyldon was a very confused man. At the age of twenty-two, he thought he had everything figured out. His life was in order, his character firmly established, his reputation in the process of being formed. While not a war hero, his valor in combat had earned him a purse from the Crown and the admiration of the Court, especially the ladies.

His relatives were delighted at this, for they considered it past time for Wyldon to choose a wife and settle an heir for Cavall. Wyldon wasn't against this plan. He did look at the court ladies in approval, but he felt exceedingly awkward and unwilling to approach them or be approached.

Wyldon couldn't understand why, when one beautiful woman after another came up to him, he found himself comparing them to his squire.

He knew that he was attracted to women – he had experienced short dalliances with appropriate outlets, albeit quite privately – and therefore he was baffled why he suddenly found their bright blue eyes wanting violet, why their blonde or brown hair seemed colorless in comparison to a burnished copper.

Wyldon was disgruntled with this discovery and sought to distance himself from the ladies, curtly rebuffing them so that he would not be tempted to compare the shape of their lips with Alan's…

He would have suspected his friend of finding male company more to his liking, and it still was a distinct possibility, but Alan never said a word or indicated any preference at all.

Still, his bothersome relatives insisted on his presence at court functions, so he begrudgingly went and stood awkwardly against the wall, nursing his glass and alternatively wishing for Alan's comforting and amusing presence and relieved of his absence. He had asked his squire once if he wanted to join him, but Alan had declined, stating a desire to use the empty practice courts instead.

At one such event, as Wyldon finished his last glass of alcohol and hit his limit for the night – the usual sign that he had stayed long enough to satisfy his great-aunt – he stood dumbstruck as a new lady entered. He had never seen her before in his life but she looked hauntingly familiar.

Her name wasn't announced and she seemed to be as awkward as he, flitting unsteadily around the perimeter of the room, looking into each group of people and eyeing those on the dance floor.

Wyldon wondered if she was looking for someone.

As she neared him, Wyldon found his pulse begin to race. Relief, terror, excitement, shame, and guilt all ran through him in quick succession. He was relieved that he found no impulse to compare this tiny woman to his squire, yet guilty at the preposterous thought that he was betraying Alan. The curve of her neck, the gentle arc of her lips as they pulled into a sweet smile, the brief glimpse of white teeth as she laughed to herself, all of it enticed him, though at times he caught a hint of…

His eyes met hers and both of them stood still. She blushed brightly and almost turned away, but Wyldon could not let this vision go. With more confidence than he was feeling and more initiative than he had ever shown, he approached the lady and introduced himself as Lord Wyldon of Cavall.

She looked at him, her dark eyes flitting over his somber sensible tunic, and spoke in a teasing voice, "I have heard of you, my lord." Her eyes glittered with amusement, but at what? "I am Lady Vivenne of Milis Forge." After a brief pause, she extended her arm and Wyldon laid a courtly kiss on it.

"I hope that we shall become better acquainted, my Lady," he murmured, though he wondered at his sudden ease with flirtations and attributed it to too many glasses of wine. With gallantry he never expected himself to possess, he asked for permission to dance and led her to the dance floor.

Wyldon arrived in his rooms late that night after escorting Lady Vivenne to the guest corridors. Alan's room was dark; he was asleep, so Wyldon did not disturb him. He wasn't sure he wanted to, anyway, for fear that his sudden infatuation with the lady would cease and he would again notice his squire.

The next morning he awoke to muted arguing in the adjoining chamber. Wyldon suppressed a groan and wearily rubbed his eyes, grabbing a worn tunic and slipping it on. He walked, none too steadily, to the door and threw it open.

Jon and Alanna froze. Wyldon, ignoring the stab in his throat, raised an eyebrow and Jonathan hastily removed his hands from Alanna's upper arms and moved away. "I don't want to know," Wyldon muttered and closed the door to finish getting dressed.

Jon flushed as Alanna glared at him. "I didn't, we weren't," he started, but Alanna cut him off. "It doesn't matter. I am through with this conversation, and if you ever touch me again like that, I will thrash you in the training yard."

"Alann-Alan," he amended at her panic. "Just keep it in mind. You're playing a dangerous game."

Alanna closed her eyes and nodded, sighing. "I know."

Jon left, and Alanna pushed aside her exhaustion and went to join Wyldon in the courts. They went through their usual routine, neither mentioning the incident. Wyldon really didn't want to know, after all.

At every function Wyldon attended, he looked for Lady Vivenne. She was usually there with a warm smile on her face, and was quite happy to spend all night with him, though on occasion the prince stole her away. Wyldon didn't think she liked him much, as she always seemed to be arguing with him and was relieved to return to his own. Though Jonathan looked distinctly unamused after every such encounter, he insisted on dancing at least one dance with Vivenne every ball.

A few months later, Wyldon finally cajoled Alan into coming with him to meet Vivenne. He hadn't told Alan much, because whenever he mentioned her name Alan seemed to blush and look very uncomfortable. Still, Wyldon wanted Lady Vivenne to meet the most important person in his life, as he told a peaked-looking Alan.

To his dismay, Vivenne didn't arrive. She didn't come to every function, after all, but Wyldon was extremely disappointed. Not even Alan could lift him out of his mood, especially as his antics only served to make him notice his squire's bright eyes. It was worse when the prince dragged Alan away. Wyldon's thoughts took an unwanted turn and he followed his squire with his eyes as Jonathan seemed to win an argument.

They always stood too close to each other. Why did they stand so close together? Why did he care? Wyldon tried to ignore his suspicions and especially his jealousy. He liked Lady Vivenne, why was he still noticing Alan's light laugh?

The next ball, Alan pleaded a vicious headache and went to sleep early. Wyldon left with hopes of seeing Vivenne and was not disappointed. She was properly apologetic for missing him, and as they danced that night Wyldon never felt lighter on his feet or in his heart.

He dared to suggest a walk in the rose garden and was gratified to see her blush. As they strolled along the path, her arm tucked into his, Wyldon marveled at the close connection they seemed to have. They were comfortable with each other, seeming to anticipate the other even after only a few meetings. Lady Vivenne was beautiful, petite but not fragile as she had a surprising amount of muscle that was pleasing. He didn't want to have to worry about breaking her.

They sat together on a bench near a balcony, surrounded by the delicate smell of the roses. As if by a mutual and pre-planned decision, they leaned towards each other. His head dipped down and hers rose, reflecting the soft moonlight. Wyldon had never seen anything more beautiful. His heart clenched as their lips met gently, tenderly.

For one terrifying and exhilarating moment, his world stopped.

"Wyldon," she sighed, reaching her arms around his neck.

He cupped her face in one large palm, gazing over her blissful expression, so much like Alan's when he …

Wyldon's eyes flew open and all he could see was Alan. He muttered a brief apology and fled as if dogs were nipping at his heels. He swallowed back the tears pricking his eyes and acknowledged to himself, finally, that he was in love with his squire.

Like the first morning after he met her, Wyldon was awoken with sounds of arguing from Alan's room. He groaned as the memory of last night returned to him and tried not to listen to the muffled voices, though they were too loud not to hear.

"I told you this was a terrible idea!" That was Prince Jonathan's voice, but his presence in Alan's rooms wasn't a surprise.

"I know." That was Alan's, sounding almost as miserable as Wyldon felt.

"What did you expect to happen?" Jonathan pressed, voice hard. "All roses and sunshine? It couldn't work, you know that."

"I do know!" Alan cried. "Are you happy now? What you predicted came true; I fell in love, but it doesn't matter."

Wyldon stopped, tunic half on. He hated himself but he couldn't stop listening.

"Love?" Jonathan's shocked voice came through the door. "I had no idea, oh Al-"

"Like you said, it doesn't matter." Alan said firmly though with a tinge of desperation. "It won't work out, it can't, and I'll just have to live with it."

Wyldon's heart sank, his suspicions finally confirmed just as he understood his own heart.

Alan was in love with Prince Jonathan, and now the prince was rejecting him.

Wyldon heard the other door open and close. He approached the adjoining door to invite Alan to the courts, but stopped when he heard low, bitter sobs.

He left Alan to his private grief though his own heart wept with him.

It was with relief that Wyldon received a post in the north. Since that morning, there was an awful tension between the knight and his squire. They both felt it and had no idea how to fix it, so they persisted with awkward silences and confused looks.

The respite they expected once they had work came, but only slightly. It was only when they were too exhausted that they could sleep without dreaming of the other.

Alanna had long since acknowledged that she loved Wyldon, had always loved Wyldon, and increasingly, that though she was unhappy with him she would be completely miserable without him. Even though he was depressed, and she assumed it was because of Lady Vivenne even if she couldn't imagine why, he still brightened her day by merely being in it. She just wished they could forget the last year and continue as they had been before the Tusaine war, best friends.

Wyldon was similarly afflicted. He was resigned to his fate as a lonely bachelor in love with his best friend. No one else, male or female, could compare to Alan. He had almost convinced himself that he was in love with Lady Vivenne, but he realized now that she was a mere substitute, Alan's face in a woman's body. Wyldon might have worked up the courage to approach Alan, but not after hearing his disastrous break-up with Prince Jonathan and seeing Alan's subsequent depression.

Wyldon refused to be a substitute for the prince, just as he refused to let himself replace Alan for Vivenne. It wouldn't be fair to her, though he felt very guilty about leaving her alone in the garden. He did return to a few balls in hopes of seeing her again to apologize, but she never appeared, and he carried the additional shame of breaking her heart.

He did his best to cheer Alan up and Wyldon counted his day well spent if he could convince his squire to crack one watery smile.

They exerted their mutual frustrations and heartbreak on the practice courts against each other, both of them growing more skilled as desperation spurred them to greater heights.

When the time came to return for Alan's Ordeal, both of them were sick with fear and relieved that they could get some space from each other.

Alanna was additionally conflicted. She had always planned to reveal that she was a girl after she got her shield, but when? How? Wyldon would be furious; she would lose his friendship without a doubt, especially as it had been incredibly tense for a while. Still, she loathed hurting him but knew that she had no choice. In her bitterest moments, she almost wished she had never picked up a sword, that she had gone to the convent. Then she looked at Wyldon and couldn't believe it; their years of friendship were beyond priceless, even if she was destined to lose him.

There also remained the problem of her Ordeal. Alanna was fairly certain that the Ordeal would test her, for there had been female knights in the past, but the rituals beforehand required her knight-master and another.

Wyldon couldn't see her naked and the only other person who knew she was a girl was Jon.

That would be awkward. Alanna knew that Wyldon couldn't stand Jon, though she didn't know why, for, for if his name ever came up, Wyldon looked simultaneously pitying and livid.

When they arrived in Corus, she approached Jon and explained the problem. Jon immediately accepted the other position and suggested they talk to Wyldon together and explain her discomfort in bathing in front of him. To their surprise, the knight accepted the decision to let Alan bathe in another room and read the ritual words after he was done.

The night finally came for her Ordeal. Alanna left no note for anyone, not even Wyldon. If the Chamber opened upon her dead body, she trusted that Jonathan would be able to hide her secret. Wyldon did not need to know of her betrayal, not if she died. It would give him unneeded grief and she couldn't do that even though she longed to let the truth be known. She was tired of hiding.

During her vigil, Alanna meditated more on her relationship with Wyldon than on the ideals of knighthood. The abstract principles of chivalry didn't matter, didn't resonate with meaning. Wyldon was the embodiment of those ideals.

Since the very beginning when he, as a second-year squire, approached a new page and offered to help teach him to defend himself, Wyldon was there for her, teaching, cajoling, serving as the perfect example of the knight wanted to become one day. His dry humor, his slight smile, even his stiff formality, all of it made him unique and special to Alanna.

She remembered flashes of their eight-year friendship, from showing her the different grips when holding a blade, to attempting to teach her jousting, to the excited spark in his eyes when he discussed horse breeding. She remembered waking up to see his worried face after Drell, her relief and reassurance in the knowledge that he would always come for her as Halim mouthed his distant cruelties, her utter heartbreak when she realized that he loved Vivenne…

Alanna would never forget Wyldon of Cavall, even if he wanted nothing to do with her after she revealed herself.

As if prompted by the thought, the Chamber doors opened and Alanna walked inside.

Alanna suffered through the cold, the voices begging from beyond the grave, the massive spider, and the feeling of water pressing down on her, filling her lungs until she choked.

She saw a picture on the wall, blurred. When she reached out to touch it, it shifted and felt like a piece of cloth. Alanna tore it open to reveal Jonathan dead and Roger crowning himself triumphantly.

Then shifted to a different figure.

Wyldon appeared before her, handsome as ever, but with a cold gaze she hadn't seen on him in years. He snarled menacingly, "How could you betray me, Alanna? I thought we were friends, that friends trusted each other. I never want to see your face again, unless it's facedown in some Corus gutter." He sneered. "I can't believe you ever thought I could love you. Females can't use weapons; I don't know how you ever deceived me. You must have witched me with your foul Gift to make me think you were competent. I wasted half of my life dealing with you. You disgust me."

Alanna clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatened to break out, tears pouring down her face.

The Chamber doors opened.

Alanna stumbled out, eyes rimmed with red and still flowing, blood dripping from her hands. She tripped over her feet and pitched headfirst but a pair of strong arms caught her and set her back on her feet, hustling her out of the room.

She couldn't see through her tears, but when she was finally allowed to stop, calloused fingers gently wiped away her tears to reveal Wyldon. She smiled tremulously; he pulled her to him and let her weep on his shoulder, arms tightly clutching each other, threatening to never let go. Alanna felt a kiss on her hair and smiled sadly, face pressed against his soft tunic.

This would be the last time, Alanna realized, the last time they stood as equals, as friends. Fresh tears streamed out at the thought as her best friend rocked her softly, murmuring in her ear.

Alanna felt her heart stop when Duke Roger's sword sliced through her breast-bindings, leaving only a thin scratch but revealing the curve of her body to the room.

Her eyes searched out one person.

Wyldon was standing as close as the rules allowed, and he could certainly see everything. His face was slack, mouth open, one hand lifted as if to suppress the urge to vomit.

Please, her eyes begged him. Please understand.

Alanna ignored her brother as he explained the situation to the room with obvious delight and satisfaction.

How could he be so flippant when her world was crumbling?

Wyldon was shaking his head now in disbelief.

Alanna was close to tears. Please.

A distant part of her brain noted that the King was demanding who had knowledge of deception. She felt no surprise when Myles spoke up, or pride when Coram and Jon never hesitated. She was achingly aware only of Wyldon, and of the incredulous voices when he didn't speak up.

Jon spoke for him and vouched that he assisted in keeping Alanna's knight-master in the dark. Wyldon's eyes flickered to Jon's figure and betrayal entered them.

Alanna would have stayed in that dreadful spot forever, watching the ghastly emotions play over her beloved's face, if it weren't for Roger's sudden attack.

With difficulty, she ended his life.

Alanna looked up to see that Wyldon was gone. She closed her eyes as people flooded the platform, grief making the chaotic room seem muffled, the bright light dim, and the pain in her heart suffocating.

Jon found him in his room, packing hastily with none of his usual care. "Where are you going?"

Wyldon said nothing, not bothering to stop or even to acknowledge Jon's presence.

"Are you going to run away?"

There was silence but for his heavy breathing and the soft thumps as articles of clothing were thrown in a bag.

"Wyldon, please."

Wyldon paused, then muttered roughly, "What is there here for me?"

"Alanna."

Wyldon let out a choked laugh. "Alanna is not mine."

"Isn't she?"

"Don't be a fool. I know as well as you that you're in love. Of course, I thought she was a boy at the time." His eyes filled with pain and he shook his head, continuing to pack.

Jon couldn't help it. He laughed until his sides ached, unable to stop even when Wyldon tied his pack together and hefted it on a shoulder. Jon grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Why do you mock me?" Wyldon whispered wretchedly.

Jon sobered quickly and tried to explain before it was too late. "Alanna and I were never in love, Wyldon," he said softly. "I might have been, but she was always in love with you."

Wyldon froze. "You lie," he said desperately.

Jon shook his head gravely. "Never," he vowed.

The bag fell to the floor as Wyldon clutched Jon with his other arm. "I overheard you and him-her. Alanna. She said that she fell in love."

"She was talking about you."

Wyldon frowned in confusion, putting the pieces together over the last two years. He had overheard them the morning after he kissed – "Vivenne. Alanna is Vivenne."

Jon slowly nodded. Wyldon sat heavily on his bed, his head in his hands in a vain attempt to stop it from spinning.

"I knew Alanna's secret since the Black City, and I asked her that night to be my squire, but she told me that there never was any question of being yours," he said, deciding the best path to find their way our of this convoluted lie was honesty. "I knew about her being Vivenne only because I walked in on her when she changed that first ball. I was so worried for her. I knew she had feelings for you, strong feelings. I tried to change her mind but she refused to listen. I told her that it would go badly, that she could not resist speaking to you, and she didn't care. At first I couldn't understand, but now I believe she wanted to feel like a woman, like someone you could love.

"The night you kissed? She realized she was in love that night. I saw the two of you in the garden and when you left her, I saw the tears on her face. Alanna left before I could get to her so I went early in the morning before you awoke."

"You made no attempt to be quiet," muttered Wyldon behind his hands.

Everything finally made sense. Alan's feminine affectations, his stature, his high voice, the way Vivenne reminded him of Alan, how Vivenne was Alan, how Alan was this stranger Alanna. It was too much.

Jon watched the man's shaking shoulders and for once felt older than the sober knight. Wyldon was lost, drowning in the lies and circumstances, and Jon could only throw a rope. He could not make Wyldon grab onto it.

"Are you still going to leave?" he asked.

Wyldon gave a shuddering sigh and looked at Jon, his eyes rimmed with red. "I don't know."

"Will you at least stay tonight and think about it?"

Wyldon nodded once.

Jon left him alone, not concerned that he would run. Wyldon never broke his word, unlike the rest of them.

Jon felt suddenly inadequate to the solemn knight who suffered so greatly.

Alanna sat on Moonlight, Firetop standing to one side of the horse and Faithful sitting calmly in his cup.

"Are you sure you have to leave?" mourned Raoul. He felt as if he had lost and gained a friend all at once. He didn't know this woman, but he wanted to see how much of Alan remained.

Alanna, her hands white on the reins, nodded silently.

Gary patted Faithful. "We will miss you, Alanna. Be safe."

Raoul and Gary turned towards the palace, giving Jon and Alanna space to say their farewells.

"You haven't seen him?" Jon asked softly. Alanna shook her head.

"Mithros," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He didn't tell Alanna that Wyldon's room was empty that morning, clothes and weapons gone, as was Wyldon's horse. Jon felt incredibly disappointed that Wyldon fled, just like Alanna was doing now.

"Thank you for everything, Jon," Alanna spoke suddenly. "I know the only reason I kept my shield was because of you."

Jon smiled. "My own father could hardly strip you of the title you just earned moments before killing the man who was murdering my mother, not when I knew about you." His smile turned bitter as he spoke about Duke Roger.

"Jon," she said pityingly. He reached up and clasped her hand briefly, patting it with the other.

Their goodbyes done, Jon watched the back of her as she slowly got smaller.

Sudden hoof beats behind him made Jon turn. He laughed aloud when he saw the figure on the horse.

Wyldon galloped up to Alanna, blocking her path.

"Alanna."

She turned away.

"Alanna, please."

The 'please' got her attention. Never had Wyldon begged, not once.

"Where are you going, Alanna?"

She couldn't face him, not after what she did to him.

"Come now, find your courage. Alan always did."

"Alan never existed," she said quietly.

"You are Alan, just as you are Vivenne."

She turned to him, shocked. "How did you know?"

"Jon."

She hunched in her saddle. "Aren't you mad?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

Wyldon answered truthfully. "Livid. And terribly betrayed," he added.

"Then why are you here?"

He slid from his horse and walked to her side, gazing up into her violet eyes. "Because I am more miserable without you."

"Wyldon, I'm so-" she let herself be pulled from the saddle.

He put a finger on her lips, not letting her apologize. "I know," he said simply. "I understand why, and it will be a long time before I stop feeling betrayed and confused, but so long as that long time includes you, I will be happy."

Alanna's eyes filled with tears. He dipped down and kissed them away, murmuring softly, "None of this, now."

They moved as one and kissed for the first time without disguises. It was as earth-shattering as the first, and not tinged with the bitterness of deceit.

"What are you going to do now?"

He looked at her steadily. "That depends on you. Wherever you go, I will follow."

"I can't let you do that, you can't abandon your oaths to the Crown," she said desperately, holding him fiercely.

"I go where you go," he said firmly. "You don't have to run away, Alanna. You can stay with me, we can get posted somewhere together."

Alanna bit her lip. She couldn't make him break his oaths, his vows of loyalty to the Crown. Nor could she abide living without him anymore, close but with a barrier between them constructed of years' worth of lies.

"Alright," she decided. "Let's stay."

They walked back slowly, leading their mounts by the reins to stretch out their first moment alone. They held hands, the sun directly behind them, burning brightly.