The Birds and the Bees

by etcetera-cat

Five times Teva made some unexpected friends. A Grass is Greener story.

Disclaimer: As ever, not my world, just my demented little characters.

Notes: This is where I point at Jaelle, shout she made me do it! and then run away. Please be aware that, in this context, 'made' is to be treated as a wildly variable quantity equivalent (sort of) to what-if comment!fic. The concept of linear time should also be dealt with in a similarly flexible fashion.

The Birds and the Bees (and Some of Their Friends)

I. Why we don't throw sticks

I'm hot.

Hot and dusty.

Hot and dusty and bored.

Running Courier Duty on Border Circuits is not all the fun that it's cracked up to be by certain members of the Herd who shall remain nameless, but can be immediately recognised by their habit of going around being immortal.

What I mean is that, since I can actually move my tail at a fairly respectable rate when I have to, and since there weren't any trainees ready to be foisted off on the next unsuspecting Herald out of Haven, Alex and I managed to neatly sidestep (again) having to babysit someone through the process of being shot at by bandits and eaten by hairy things with teeth. I'm inordinately proud of the fact that the one Intern Circuit Alex and I have been forced to deal with consisted of ten of the quietest months ever recorded in the Kleimar region, and that the most trouble our intern got into involved breaking a privy door.

Yet again, I'm not naming any names, but I might just casually point a hoof in Brandyn and Keth's direction. Of course, I'd only ever do that if they weren't actually present, because the last thing I need is to be pushed into the Terilee again, and Brandyn's still a bit sensitive about the fact that him and his Chosen managed to get themselves stranded on a boat in the middle of Lake Evendim. By 'accident.'

I'm saying nothing.

At any rate: we're busy being messenger pony between the Guard Outposts and Houses of Healing along the southern stretch of the Pelagirs Four Circuit. I can't say that I'm upset; it's on the western stretch of Pelagirs Four that we always have our Big Hairy Monsters With Teeth issues, and we're keeping well away from that.

Although, when I say 'busy', what I actually mean is that we've been standing around like lemons for the better part of the morning of what is turning out to be a disgustingly hot day. See, we're the next (and fastest) link in a relay chain of messages that were dispatched from Haven after we'd already left, and we're waiting for the non-Heraldic messenger to show up at the meeting point to pass on the messages so we can go our separate ways. Unfortunately, the way that the standard messenger routes are set up means that the meeting point is a sorry excuse for a Waystation in the middle of the woods, rather than either the very nice Outpost we were at until stupid past dawn this morning, or the very nice House of Healing that I expect to be falling over in the stables of this evening.

As you've probably also guessed, the messenger is late. And I'm bored.

:Alexander,: I complain. :I'm bored.:

He grunts something indecipherable and waves one hand lazily in my direction. Aha, yes—my Chosen, you see, is currently taking advantage of the shade provided by the Waystation, and is stretched out on the ground, using my saddle and blanket as a pillow. There's Heraldic Duty for you.

:Alexander.:

"Teva, 'm trying to sleep."

I snort loudly. :I knew it was a mistake for Harali and me to pace ourselves so that we met up at that Outpost. I'm surprised you pair made it to a private room, quite frankly.:

Alex cracks open one eye and gives me a jaundiced look. "Yet again, your sympathetic and understanding nature when it comes to my emotional wellbeing sends arrows of pleasure straight to my heart."

:Emotional wellbeing my arse.:

A clod of earth whistles past my nose. I ignore it in a lofty fashion.

"You know, Sam was convinced that after five years, the shiny attraction of being sarcastic and abusive would have worn off and you'd get around to leaving our love life alone. I told him not to be so ridiculous, and I was right."

:Smart boy.:

"And yet I still ended up with you."

:Disowning you is still an option. Particularly if you start up with that snoring again.: I pull a face in response to Alex's outraged expression. :Don't even try to deny it; not five minutes ago, you were doing a creditable log sawing impression.:

Alexander sits up and crosses his arms firmly over his chest. "I do not snore."

:You never used to,: I admit, :but then Harali and I made the monumental mistake of allowing you and Mister Bouncy to get bouncy, and the pair of us have suffered bouts of sleep deprivation ever since.:

"Teva!"

:Oh, I'll allow that it's probably very sweet the way that the pair of you are all excited and happy when your free time coincides but, frankly, I'm looking forward to the day when both you and Sam get assigned to Haven full time.:

Alex shakes his head and tuts. "You are a lazy, lazy creature."

:No, I'm pragmatic,: I disagree. :If we're in Haven full time, then you can share rooms and abuse your bedsprings as often as you like. Since you will have that option, you won't be quite so...hmm...single minded as you are—for example—when 'Ali and I happen to mesh our stopovers.: I snort at the sceptical expression Alex is wearing. :What?:

"Nothing," Alex runs one hand through his hair and shakes his head slightly. "I'm just amazed that you've actually engaged in some kind of forward planning, even if it is heading rapidly into the realms of the ridiculously embarrassing."

:I'm sure I have no idea what you mean.:

"My Companion? Planning out every detail of my life in biased and mocking detail?" Alex gestures wildly. "How is that not ridiculous and embarrassing?"

I give him a long look. :You have obviously never listened to three quarters of the gossip that swirls around the Collegium.:

"Why, because even more ridiculous and embarrassing things are happening to other people?"

:No, because if you had, then you'd know that Companions take great delight in organising a lot of things.:

Alex levers himself up to his feet and shakes his head. "Now I'm filled with a sense of dread about returning to Haven."

:Ha.:

"I'm serious!" He pulls his face into an exaggerated expression of fear. "The thought of being stalked by an entire herd of four-footed meddlers is enough to bring anyone out in a cold sweat."

I turn my head to watch him as he bends to pick up a stick and starts tossing it from hand to hand as he wanders in a loose circle around the clearing.

:You're going to put your eye out with that in a moment, and when you do, don't be expecting any sympathy from me.:

That gets me a stuck out tongue and the breaking of the stick into three pieces so that Alex can demonstrate the finer points of juggling. No, I don't know where he picked up that particular skill either.

:Alexander, I'm serious. Playing around with sticks like that will only result in maiming, blindness or something else equally painful and stupid.:

"You know, your faith in me is really amazing." Alex comes to a halt and begins juggling the sticks higher and higher in the air. I'm slightly impressed, despite my best efforts to feel otherwise.

:What's amazing is that I put up with you.:

"Ha!" Alex's bark of laughter interrupts his concentration and he loses control of the sticks. One hits the ground, one whistles past my ears and the third shoots straight up into the air, vanishing into the canopy of a gnarled oak tree, thunking off several branches on the way, making a few withered leaves drift down.

I give my Chosen an aggrieved look. :I almost lost an ear to that over-sized splinter.:

"You're fine," Alex says absently, using one hand to shade his eyes as he leans back and stares up at the tree.

:What are you looking at?:

"The stick made a weird noise when it went up there."

:Of course it did,: I say slowly. :That's because some nit wit threw it up there and it hit some branches.:

Alex waves one hand at me and shuffles to one side, still staring up into the canopy. "I'm serious; it was a weird, hollow kind of noise. I wonder if I should climb up there and check?"

:Check for what, the weird sound pixies?:

He snorts. "A rotten branch. I'm sure it'd put a crimp in your day if half a tree fell on you."

:I'm not standing under the tree.: I say loftily. :Although...if you really think it's rotten, I don't want you standing under there either.:

Alex curls his mouth into a one-sided smile and glances down to raise an eyebrow at me. "Concern for my wellbeing? It must be a major festival day."

:Explaining to the Groveborn just why one's Chosen is flattened is so demeaning. Besides, Sam would never let me hear the end of it.:

Another bark of laughter, accompanied by Alex fisting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. "You are an absolute master at exaggeration and dramatics."

I'm about to win this latest round of the verbal wrangling that counts as mine and Alex's life when I'm completely and utterly upstaged by the large wasps' nest that fall out of the tree canopy and smacks Alexander solidly on the head.

:Argh!: I swear that I actually levitate off the ground, but I'm not entirely sure as most of my attention is taken up by the sudden increase in very angry wasps flying all over everywhere. And the fact that I don't think I've ever heard Alex use language like that ever.

I scramble sideways to avoid both the insects and the madly flailing dervish that used to be my Chosen. :Water!: I shout as loud as I can. :Remember the bees!:

Sage advice dispensed, I spin on my heels and beat my own rapid retreat to the spring-fed pond that provides water to the Waystation. Thankfully, it's more than large and deep enough to accommodate a Companion and I waste no time is getting myself under water. Moments after I've sunk to the bottom of the pond, I feel the splash of a lesser impact and then the water to the right of me is filled with madly twitching Herald. The mental sendings that I'm getting from him do not bear repeating.

I let some of my held breath bubble out of my nose and roll my head slightly to one side so that I can squint at the rippled-mirror surface of the water. I can't see any wasps hovering over the pond. I decide to risk it and cautiously poke my head above water for a fresh breath.

And promptly get stung on the nose.

:Kernos damn it!:

I plunge back into the water and spin so that I can dispense a glare at the cause of this particular mess. Only to find that he's not there. Panic overtakes me for a moment and I vault up from the bottom of the pond, convinced that I've just ground my Chosen into the silt with my own backside.

:I'm over here,: Alex sends sheepishly, waving through the rising clouds of mud from the safety of the underwater portion of a large reed bed.

I scowl and paddle over to him, wondering what in the name of Astera he thinks that he's doing. As soon as I've managed to wedge at least the front half of myself in amongst the roots and stems with him, he uses one hand to push up on the underside of my chin and raises his own head above the water level. After he doesn't immediately plunge back down, I slowly follow suit.

"They don't seem to want to fly in amongst all the reeds so, um, we can wait them out here."

I'm stuck between grudging happiness at the prospect of not having to endure stings every few minutes in order to get a breath, and exasperation at the fact that I wouldn't have to be weighing up the benefits of breathing versus wasp stings if certain people had just left off with the sticks when I told them.

Not even the fact that Alex is looking rather lumpy and stung around the edges is enough to satisfy me entirely. There is, in fact, only one thing which could possibly make me feel better at the moment.

:I told you so.:

II. Birds of a feather

It turns out that having a Chosen really isn't all that different from not having one. Except for, y'know, the sudden need for equitation lessons, the intimate, trainee's-eye-view of the laundry, and learning more than you wanted or needed to know ever about national crop yields.

And, I guess the whole completion of the soul thing.

I'm not explaining this very well.

My point is that I Chose Alex just over two months ago now and—apart from the occasional fit of mine! Mine! Mine! All mine!—I seem to be pretty much the same as before. Part of me, I think, was vaguely convinced that Choosing indicated a certain level of maturity, especially as Alex is a few years older than average.

Wisdom, serenity and a definitive knowledge of how to be an adult were going to drop into my hayrack within short order, or so I thought. The daft and ridiculous things that happen to foals—and that seemed to continue to happen to me long after they'd stopped happening to everyone else, despite all my efforts—were going to vanish overnight, and the world was going to be treated to a new and shiny and generally more adult Teva.

It turns out, not so much. On pretty much all counts.

Take today, for example. Today, Alex had weapons work and field tactics this morning, spent most of his lunch time gossiping like an old washer woman with his friends, and is now sitting in a history class, being bored fairly near to death by the temporary teacher, who may or may not be trying to lecture about the migration and naturalisation of the Holderfolk in the time of King Randale. It's pretty hard to tell, and not just because Alex is paying only minimal attention. The teacher in question has a terrible habit of mumbling and is old enough to have quite possibly been alive during Randale's reign.

The main reason, however, that I'm unable to determine whether or not Alex's teacher has actually been wheeled out of a crypt is because I'm trying to figure out what to do with my new friend.

"Awk!"

It, as closely as I've been able to determine, is green and blue.

"Polly good!"

Is called Polly.

"Good boy Polly!"

Is severely confused about the subject of gender.

"Polly want cracker!"

Oh, yes, and how could I forget? Would also like a cracker. The only thing that could possibly make this worse would be—

:Heyla, Teva! What's that on your head?:

Brandyn turning up to gawp at me.

Fantastic.

I turn and level a glare at him, aware of the parrot twisting its claws into my forelock and flaring its wings in order to keep its perch. :I thought you had Equitation with Keth?:

:Misa got called into a meeting with the Circle.: He gives an unconcerned shrug. :So I thought I'd come and see if you were up to anything interesting.:

:I'm not.:

"Cracker for Polly!"

:I think your friend disagrees.: Brandyn doesn't even try to sublimate his laughter into something else.

What I mutter in return doesn't bear repeating. I dispatch another glare in Bran's direction and stomp further into the copse of birch trees I've been skulking in since I gained a talking head ornament about a candlemark ago.

:Come on Teva,: Brandyn wheedles as he following after me. :It's not that big a deal.:

I whip my head around, eliciting an offended screech from Polly. :Not a big deal? I have a parrot attached to my head and it won't come off! I'm going to be the laughing stock of the entire Field and Alexander is going to want nothing to do with me ever again!:

Brandyn squints as my Mindvoice spirals upwards. :I think you're over reacting,: he says placatingly. :I'm sure that your Chosen won't be put off by one measly parrot, unless he has a deathly allergy to feathers?:

:No.: I vent a grumpy snort. :But I still have a bird on my head and nothing I've tried has dislodged it.: I become aware of a tugging sensation and roll my eyes around fruitlessly, trying to see what the perishing thing is up to. :What's it doing? If it's messing on me, I'm going to turn carnivorous, I swear!:

Bran snickers. :It's grooming you. I think it likes you.:

:The feeling is not mutual.:

:Aw, be nice.:

"Want cracker!"

:You may very well want a cracker, but what you're going to get is spit roasted.:

:You are a horrible, horrible person.: Despite that statement, Brandyn is wheezing with laughter.

:Hello! You two aren't going to believe the uproar at the Palace.: Sinna's Mindvoice. Which means that as soon as she catches sight of me, I'm going to have two of my so-called friends mocking me. Fantastic.

:Not one word, Sinns. Not a single word.: I get that out in the open before she can get a good look at me and get the metaphorical bit between her teeth. Once Sinna's on a particular subject, she will not let it go come Hell or high water.

:Havens.: Sinna comes to an abrupt stop and gapes at me and Polly.

"Good boy Polly!"

:And you can shut up, too.:

:I wasn't going to say anything!: Brandyn gives me an injured look.

:Not you,: I say, exasperated, :the bird.:

:Oh.: Bran shuffles from foot to foot and has the grace to look embarrassed.

:No—but, don't you see?: Sinna hops excitedly forwards. :The bird's what's got the Palace in uproar!:

Both Brandyn and I give her an utterly blank look. :What?: we say simultaneously.

:You know that the Ruvan Ambassador and his family arrived last week?: Sinna says.

I trade a look with Brandyn. :Yes?: I venture.

:Honestly!: Sinns rolls her eyes. :And you're the two with Chosen! For your information; yes, the Ruvan Ambassador and his family arrived nine days ago. His youngest daughter brought a pet bird with her, and—:

:—and it's the bird currently roosting on my head,: I finish in a resigned tone.

"Polly good Polly!"

:Exactly.: Sinna pricks up her ears. :It got out of the Ambassadorial wing this morning and the girl's been kicking up a positive hurricane of a tantrum ever since. I'm surprised that—:

:If it's from Ruvan, how come it can speak Valdemaran?: Brandyn interrupts, his face wrinkled with confusion. Sinna shoots him a glare. She does not like being cut short.

:It's rude to butt in,: she says severely. :And I presume that the bird learned as the children learned; the Ambassador's family is expected to be fluent in the language of their country of station, after all.: Sinna shakes her head. :As I was saying: I'm surprised that you've not heard about the kerfuffle. I think every Herald who could manufacture a reason to get away is either hiding out in the Field or down at a pub in the city, and I'm positive that most of the Royal Guard wish that they could do the same.:

:Every Herald who can has run away,: I repeat. :What possible help is that to me?:

Sinns ripples her hide in a shrug. :Not much,: she admits cheerfully.

:You're a rubbish friend.:

:Now, now, Teva,: Brandyn tuts. :It's fairly obvious that all you have to do is walk over to the Palace, and some people will do the rest about removing the bird from you. We'll even come with you.:

:That does not make me feel better,: I grumble, but set myself moving in the direction of the Palace. I can feel Polly sidling himself around on my head until he's facing the same way that I am.

"Cracker for Polly?" he says in what I suspect he's learned is a hopeful fashion.

:Yes, Polly. We're going to find you a cracker.:

III. Topical application only.

I think, despite both Brandyn and Sinna's vocal dislike of the Evendim area, I'm going to try and persuade Alex to ask for Courier assignments here rather than on any of the Pelagirs Circuits. For one thing—Bran's horror stories about boats and Sinns' rants against shale cliffs notwithstanding—the Evendim Circuits seem to be peaceful in a way that nine months of duty in the Pelagirs regions have never managed to be.

For example: we have yet to be chased, menaced, pursued, ambushed or otherwise attacked by any kind of big hairy monster with teeth. That's a lot of marks in the plus column as far as I'm concerned.

"Dammit!"

Of course—and unfortunately—Alex might not entirely agree with me. My life is filled with trials.

:Alexander, they're just midges.:

Alex pauses in the act of slapping at his face with one hand and his left side with the other and glares at me. "They're eating me alive, Teva!"

:You're exaggerating.:

"No, I'm not!" Another volley of slapping and contorting.

I take a deep breath of the humid evening air and blow it out. :Maybe you should light another of the insect repelling candles? You said that there were boxes of them in the Waystation.:

"Teva," Alex says in the patient tone of voice that really means that he's annoyed. "I've already lit nearly a dozen of them and it's not made the blindest bit of difference."

:The midges aren't biting me,: I point out with faultless logic. :So clearly something's working.:

"Argh, dammit! Well, maybe these midges only like the taste of people?" Alexander writhes around in a truly inspired fashion, nearly falling off the log section he's been using as a seat, and paws around at the half-laced shirt that is all that stands between his upper body and common decency.

:I am people.:

"Human shaped people, then. You know what I mean."

I peer over the small fire burning in the fire pit in front of the Waystation. It is also sending forth insect repelling fumes to the extent that, when taking the candles into consideration, the area around the Waystation smells more like a still room in Healer's Collegium than it does a wooded clearing near the lake front. :I'm not entirely sure that I do. Have you tried fellis oil?:

I squint as Alex waves both hands wildly around, trying to scare away the cloud of midges hovering over his head. He fails at that, but he does manage to billow pungent smoke into my face.

:Alexander!:

"Sorry, sorry." He doesn't sound particularly sorry. "And the fellis oil ran out two days ago, you know that."

:The Waystation...?:

"Has nothing except those blasted candles and—dammit all to Hell!" Alex bounds to his feet and begins frantically trying to scratch at his back. I retreat a few steps and try to think of something helpful.

:Maybe the candles will work better in an enclosed space? You could try lighting some in the Waystation and seeing what happens.:

"What happens is that I'll cook," Alex says sourly. "Being cooped up inside a stuffy Waystation with a dozen candles and no fresh air is not my idea of a relaxing evening."

I roll my eyes. :At least I was trying to be helpful, rather than just complaining,: I say tartly. :Which is rather more than you've been managing.:

"If you were in my position, you'd be even worse." Alex wags a finger at me, an effect rather destroyed by the way that he breaks it off to scratch frantically at his side again.

:But I'm not in your position.: I aim for serene, but I suspect that I overshoot and end up firmly in smug territory, given the look Alex is directing at me.

"I've had enough of this," he says finally. "There must be some fellis growing around here somewhere." With that, my Chosen stalks off into the dusk-shaded shadows of the undergrowth.

I listen to the crackling of his footsteps and debate going after him, but ultimately decide against it. The midges haven't been biting me so far, and for all I know, that's because of the fire and the candles. I have no desire to leave their influence and present myself as dinner.

Alex is gone for about half a candlemark, time that I devote to admiring the sunset over the lake. This Waystation isn't actually on Evendim itself, but one of the smaller lakes that feeds the tributary rivers that themselves feed Lake Evendim. The shoreline that we are near is gently sloping to the edge of the water; the pale sand contrasting with the rich, fiery colours the sun stains the still water. I suspect that the insects are as bad as they are because there hasn't been anything like a decent wind since we started circling this lake this morning.

A rustling sound precedes my Chosen pushing his way back into the clearing, both hands filled with a double-handful of large, glossy green fern fronds. I tilt my head to one side and project a feeling of scepticism.

:Are you sure that's fellis, Alex?:

"Of course I'm sure," he insists. "I had to suffer through herbology and woodcraft lessons, didn't I?"

:Yes, but—: My objection is totally ignored in favour of Alex dumping the leaves on the ground and stripping off his shirt, which he tosses to one side. :Alexander—:

"Teva, trust me," he insists as he sits down and begins crushing the fronds in between his hands, smearing the resultant pulp over his arms and upper body. "See? No more midges."

I flare my nose at the peppery smell wafting my way and shake my head in a dubious fashion. :It may be scaring the midges off, but that doesn't smell like fellis to me.:

"Nonsense, I—" Alex blinks and freezes in place, a very strange expression spreading across his face.

:Alex?:

More blinking; rapid now. I snort with worry and pick my way around the fire, squinting as the peppery smell intensifies enough to make my eyes water. :Alexander?:

"Argh!"

The sudden explosion of sound makes me jolt backwards, which is just as well because Alex follows up the shout by leaping to his feet, arms madly wind milling. Once on his feet, my Chosen begins a frantic, contorting dance that puts his earlier midge-induced efforts to utter shame.

"Burns! It burns!" he yelps as he spins and slaps his way around the clearing, me scrambling after him, stuck between wanting to help him, not actually knowing what to do to help him, and trying to avoid being punched in the nose or—worryingly—kicked in the ear.

:Alexander!:

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Burning, ow!" On our third circuit of the fire, Alexander suddenly reverses direction and manages to smack his head very firmly into my nose. "My head!"

:My nose!: I go cross-eyed and begin indulging in some frantic skipping and side-stepping of my own.

My eyes streaming tears, I can just make out that Alex is now clutching at the back of his head with one hand, and slapping erratically at his torso with the other. "It burns and my head hurts!"

:You hit me in the nose,: I shout in an outraged fashion. :My nose!:

"I don't—" Whatever Alex doesn't, I don't find out, because he abruptly vanishes from view with a yelp.

:Alex?: I blink frantically and shuffle forwards, only to find myself looking at the top end of a skid mark in the soft sand that makes up the beach and the small dunes that border it. The skid mark ends in the shallow water, where Alexander is laying on his back, muttering what may well be curses as he fitfully paws at his skin.

I sigh and drop my head down. I don't think there's really much I can say.

IV. Pleasant words are like the honeycomb.

:You look ridiculous.: I tilt my head to one side and examine Alexander from this new and somewhat slanted perspective. :Completely and utterly ridiculous.:

"Good afternoon to you too, Teva," Alex says cheerfully, adjusting one elbow-length glove as he continues to walk along the gravelled path.

:I mean it.: I trail after him, not sure whether to direct more of my attention to the baggy tunic and gloves, or to the utterly ridiculous wide-brimmed straw hat that is not only jammed onto my Chosen's head, but is trimmed with a sack-like, shoulder length veil of cheap gauze. :You look like a half made cheese that the dairy maid neglected to shape and wax.:

"Wax isn't the main point," Alex says. I stop for a moment and stare at the back of his head, because even by the standards we've been setting for the past three years that is the most absurd non sequitur that I have ever heard in my life. When I realise that not only is he not going to stop, but that he's also not even going to look back at me, I scramble to catch up.

:Alexander,: I complain as I clatter noisily across a narrow wooden bridge that was probably only built to span the lazy curve of the Terilee with people of human proportions in mind.

"You'll see in a moment, impatient one."

But I want to see now, I most definitely don't say, because that would be whining, and I do not whine. I settle for flattening my ears and actually deigning to notice that we appear to be in a portion of the Palace gardens that I don't recognise at all. For one thing, there are neatly trimmed fruit trees. For another thing, there's the humming.

I squint around suspiciously. Astera only knows what calamity Alex is dragging me into.

After a diversion from the path, down between a double row of what may well be pear trees, I find myself following Alex across a small, artfully wild meadow. The humming noise is our destination, and that destination is at least twenty white-painted wooden bee hives, arranged in the lee of a thick hawthorn hedge.

I drag my feet and wonder vaguely if any of those stupid gauze veil hats come in Companion sizes.

:Alexander, bees.:

"Make honey, yes, I know." Alex turns his head from side to side then begins waving enthusiastically. "Heyla!"

A second gauze-covered hat pops up from between the hives and the figure waves back.

"Teva invited herself along, then," Samyel says good naturedly as we draw closer. "No kicking down the hives, clumsy."

I flatten my ears and snort loudly. :Haven't they shipped you out to the back of beyond so the rest of us can have some peace and quiet?:

Even through the gauze, I can see the face Sam is pulling at me. I decided very early on into Alex and Sam's relationship (Harali would say 'before it even started, you baggage,' to which I would reply 'piffle!') that the Silence was nothing if not stuffy and boring, and that in certain areas, I'd have no truck with it.

The fact that Alex refuses to accurately relay the majority of what I say to other people may also have some bearing on this. Some of the foals reliably inform me that Collegium gossip has me well on the way to being classed as notorious.

"As well you know, you terrible creature, Harali and I are on leave for the next month and a half, the same as you." Samyel waves something at me that looks halfway between a set of miniature bellows and one of those piping bags that cooks use for fancy cake decorations. "I thought it was about time that Alex got a new hobby."

:What, you mean you've gotten bored with him pinning you to the sheets and—:

"Thank you, Teva!" Alex cuts me off, flushing a bright red colour.

I affect an air of innocence that I'm not entirely sure either of them believes for a moment.

"Quite," Sam says evenly. "Although you'd be amazed at the uses one can find for honey."

"Sam!" Alex yelps in an anguished fashion. "Don't encourage her!"

Samyel may or may not be smirking. I can't entirely tell, partly because the veil is obscuring his face, but mainly because I'm laughing hard enough that I think I'm on the point of coughing up a lung.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, closing the last few steps between them in order to pull Alex into a slightly awkward embrace, hampered both by the thing in his hand and the fact that the pair of them are wearing those stupid hats.

:Oh, please. The hives full of honey provide more than enough in the way of sickly sweetness. Next thing you know, you'll be tossing flowers at each other's feet.: I make a retching sound, which is no mean feat for someone who is essentially horse-shaped and possessed only of Mindspeech.

Sam relaxes his hold on Alex's waist and twists around enough to give me a mischievous look. "What if I scatter things at your feet?" he asks. "How about some nice field mushrooms?"

:Then you would find yourself floating face-down in the Terilee with my hoof prints on your backside, and Alex would have to find a puppy to keep him warm at night.:

"You are a terrible person," Sam laughs as Alex groans and shakes his head.

:So people keep telling me.: I try not to look satisfied. I'll take notoriety over obscurity any day of the week.

"Beehives," Alex says, blatantly trying to drag the conversation back on track.

"Right." Sam shakes his head and steps back, towards the nearest hive. "Well, the first thing you need to do is check that the hive itself isn't damaged." I allow my eyes to cross and stop paying attention as much is said about smoking and how to remove frames and queen bees and about a hundred and five other things that go right over my head.

Much like the increased number of bees now flying around. I eye them in a nervous fashion. Okay, so they're not stinging me to death yet, but that is a 'yet' and I am nothing if not cautious.

:Are you sure this is entirely safe?:

Sam glances up from the plate of raw honeycomb that he and Alex are sharing. The fact that they now have long cascades of gauze tangled over the tops of their hats makes them look even more ridiculous. They also have a fair number of bees busily crawling over them, which I'm not sure that I approve of.

"It's perfectly safe," Samyel says patiently. "People have been keeping bees for hundreds of years."

:Let me rephrase that; is this entirely wise?:

"Don't be such a worry," Alex chides. I blink at him, affronted, but before I manage to formulate a reply, he waves a piece of honeycomb under my nose. "Eat, enjoy. Try not to marvel at the utter lack of disaster following in your wake."

:You think you're funny, but you're not.: I swipe the sweet from his hand before he changes his mind and chew thoughtfully. I think this is a hobby that I could get behind, and I say as much. Both Alex and Sam seem amused by this.

"Approval? From Teva?" Samyel strikes an exaggerated pose of shock, one hand flung skywards, and the other pressed to the brim of his hat. "I must be dreaming!"

:You still think you're funny, but you're really not.: I swallow and attempt a grumpy look.

"Now, Teva—" Alex pats at my neck with one hand. "Don't get into a tizzy. Oh, dear."

:Oh, dear?: I repeat dangerously. :Alexander Malken, have you just got honeycomb stuck in my mane?:

"Only a little bit," he says guiltily, ineffectually tugging at my mane with both gloved hands now. "Um."

:You're making it worse!: I roll my eyes around, trying to see. :Stop making it worse!: I start reversing this way and that in an attempt to avoid Alex's further efforts to help me.

"Just—hold still," he keeps on saying.

:You're making it worse!:

"Look out!" Sam's warning comes too late. And by 'too late' I mean just after I've bumped into one of the beehives with my rump.

Of course, this being me, it's not one of the hives that the boys have been smoking, oh no. No sleepy bees for me. What I get is a sudden swarm of about all the bees in Haven bearing down on me like a Karsite plague.

:Argh!: I start violently and begin dancing energetically around in a futile attempt to avoid being stung.

"Calm down!" Sam shouts. "You're only going to make them more agitated."

:They're stinging me.: I buck and shy in place, before abruptly deciding that hanging around where the bees live is not going to be helping my case any. The hawthorn hedge isn't really that high if you're a Companion, even one who's being murdered by insects, but I do stumble in momentary surprise when I realise that the other side of the hedge is one of the secluded corners in Companion's Field.

Geography, however, is not at the top of my list of priorities right not; not being stung to death is. Yelping and squeaking, and completely ignoring Alexander's shouts behind me, I bolt out into the Field. I haven't really got much of a direction in mind, per se, but surely bees can't fly as fast as a Companion can run, can they?

Two thirds of the way across the Field, I glumly conclude that yes, they really can. I need a new tactic, and I veer suddenly in a different direction, heading towards the bulk of the Palace-Collegia. I don't let anything get in my way, and that includes a knot of five gossiping Companions, a group of adolescents in the assorted colours of the Collegia, and several Herald-Companion pairs out enjoying the summer day.

The only thing I let stop me, in fact, is the welcome width and depth of the Terilee, which I belly flop into like a spavined mule. I screw up my face and hold my breath as the cold water closes over my head and let myself sink the not inconsiderable distance to the bottom.

There is much in the way of silt and water weed.

I wait until my lungs start burning before shoving myself back to the surface, blowing out huge, watery breaths as I scrabble to the bank and haul myself back onto dry land. Alexander, I notice, has caught up with me, and is standing a short distance away, hands (one hold smoking bellows, the other clutching his stupid hat) braced on his knees as he tries to reign in his breathing.

Directly in front of me is a fairly mature looking Heraldic trainee, her otherwise refined face utterly caught between an expression of horror and one of bemusement.

I shake myself from head to tail, pleased to note that there are no more bees in the vicinity, and paste an innocent expression onto my (slightly sticky) face. :What?: I ask airily, before waltzing off along the river bank, completely ignoring the fact that I am trailing weeds behind me.

"You're impossible," Alex mutters as I pass him. "Impossible."

V. By any other name.

:Well, at least we're living up to the legends.: I looks sideways at the stone and daub wall we've stopped besides and give some serious thought as to whether it could cope with me leaning on it as a prelude to completely falling on my face and sleeping for the rest of the year.

"Hmm?" The saddle slips badly sideways as Alex jerks himself out of the glassy-eyed trance the pair of us have been occupying since we left the Army bivouac on the Karsite border at a quarter past stupid this morning.

:Legends; we fit the descriptions.: I shake my head slightly and trying to convince myself that the wall really isn't that inviting.

Shuffling and creaking sounds announce Alex's attempt to dismount. Once his feet are on the ground, he continues to cling to me and inches his face up to my shoulder. "Wait," he says tiredly. "We're supposed to be at the Guard Outpost outside of Horn. This is a road. A road with a wall."

:A road that goes up a hill,: I add mournfully. :The Outpost is, of course, on top of the hill. I need to work myself up to climbing the hill.:

"Oh." Alex sags further into my side. Since he's dismounted, and there's no longer any danger of me mincing up his leg, I give into the inevitable and lean against the wall with a huge sigh. "I could walk up the hill and get help?" he offers after a moment.

:You could maybe crawl up the hill.: I don't even have the energy to sound adequately sarcastic. :I'm in better shape than you, I just need to prepare.:

"That's because you're designed to eat leaves," Alex mumbles into my neck.

:Among other things, yes.: I leave it to Alex to decide what, precisely, 'other things' means. :Well, I'm about as ready as I'm ever going to be. Mount up and we'll get going.:

Silence as Alex shuffles around so that he's facing my rump, then: "I don't think I can."

I twist my head around to look at his hunched shoulders. :If I lay down then I'm not getting up any time soon,: I offer helplessly. :Maybe we can just stay here? It's a very nice wall.:

"You could go up the hill and send help back down to me?"

I veto that idea immediately. :I'm not leaving you alone.: Pulling my breath in I brace myself and wobble back to something that at least approaches vertical, and doesn't involve masonry. :Okay, keep a hold of the saddle, we're going to use our feet.:

Alex rolls around so that he's facing the same direction as me and loops one arm through the chest band of my saddle. Before we started this most recent tour of the border, my tack fitted perfectly. Now, even with the clumsy dagger-point modifications Alex has been making for the past month (cinch my saddle much more and the stirrups will be meeting each other), everything is depressingly lose and worn. Consequently, Alex has no problems worming between the leather and me.

"On the count of three?"

:One, two,: I agree.

"Three," Alex completes. The pair of us lean forwards simultaneously and begin to ascend the hill at a pace that would embarrass a dead snail, lurching from side to side like the most pathetic drunkard to ever sleep face down in a Exile's Gate gutter.

I hate all the hills, slopes, inclines and topography that exist in Valdemar. I'd spend time listing all the ways in which I loathe and despise such things except that I only just about have the mental capacity to keep my legs moving in (roughly) the correct order.

"Gods above and below!" The exclamation jerks me out of the fog I was in and I stumble to a halt as I forget which hoof I'm supposed to be picking up.

There's a man in Guard blue, a short-spear in his hand, standing directly in front of us at the main gateway into the Outpost. His face can't make up its mind whether to be shocked or appalled. I squint owlishly at him, aware that Alex is doing the same.

"Sir Herald, forgive the rudeness, but you look like a pile of horse turds. Adin, ring the damn bell!" That last is directed at a weedy looking boy, dressed in the same uniform as the speaker. After shaking his head in order to break off staring at the pathetic lump of mouldering Herald and Companion, the boy snatches up a short wooden stick and begins beating the large bronze bell set just inside the gate.

"I imagine we look worse than we actually feel," Alex manages to dredge up a weary smile.

:That'd be an achievement,: I mutter to him. :Because I know for a fact that you feel like something that's been dead for three days.:

"I know you can't leave your post," Alex continues as smoothly as one can when one has a voice scratchy from smoke and fire and bad things. "But if you'd just point us in the direction of the stables, I'm sure we can manage to stumble there."

"Straight across the courtyard and take a left," the guard shifts his grip on his spear and points with his free hand. "The bell'll make sure that the Commander and Healer and Stable Master be waiting for you." He pauses for a moment. "Sir—I mean, Herald—are you sure you're alright?"

"Nothing a bath and some food won't sort out," Alex lies with a grace that I'd marvel at if I didn't have to devote considerable effort to not keeling over sideways. "Come on, Teva."

:A bath—several baths—: I mutter, as I shuffle through the short tunnel beyond the actual gate, and begin limping across a courtyard that seems to be half the length of Valdemar. :And a lot of food. Enough food, in fact, to make my eyes pop out of my head. Another bath, something soft to fall over onto, about five years worth of sleep, another bath, and...what else?: I half close my eyes, not entirely wanting to see just how much attention our slow and sad progress is garnering from all the people who've popped through doors or opened windows to see what the cause of the bell was.

Alex produces a rusty sound that may or may not be a chuckle. "What else?"

:Oh, yes: for the whole of Karse to be towed out to the middle of Lake Evendim and scuppered. I don't think that's too much to ask, do you?:

Given that Alex was right alongside me a week (and then five, four, three and two days) ago when significant bits of both the Karsite Army and Priesthood tried to set me on fire, I'm absolutely sure that he does not think that that's too much to ask by any stretch of the imagination.

This brings us (not at all) neatly to the smaller, sanded yard in front of the Outpost stables.

"Heralds!" There is only one particular breed of person who can manage to imbue a single word with that much worry, despair and exasperation, and they always wear green. I blink as, without as much as a by-your-leave, an amply endowed older woman with steel grey hair and eyes (and yes, a full set of Greens), bears down on us and manages to get Alex handed off into the care of a pair of guards and myself actually pushed in the direction of what must be the Stable Master and a groom.

"Um," Alex tries, only to be forcefully hushed into silence by the Healer.

"Not a word out of you, Herald. You are going to go with Karl and Dahn to the bath house and then you are going to sit down and be treated by myself while you eat something. Garth and Lind are going to take care of your Companion." The Healer abruptly switches direction and waves a commanding finger under my nose. "And you, you are also going to eat something and get cleaned up, and then I'm going to come and deal with you. Am I clear?"

I gape somewhat vacantly as the Healer rapidly chivvies a knot of people, Alexander at its centre, into what must be the main building of the Outpost, the heavy wooden door slamming behind them.

"Ma'am?"

I turn an equally vacant look onto the Stable Master who is standing diffidently by my side. He offers me a worried smile.

"Y'be the worst looking we've had come in for a while," he says. "It'd be easier to clean you up if you can make it over near the pumps?" He points obliquely across the yard at a row of large troughs and cast-iron water pumps. I dredge up a sigh and shuffle towards them as best I can.

"Thankee, ma'am," the man says as I slowly halt. "I'm Garth, and this here missy is Lind. We're going to get your kit off you and try and polish you up afore Healer Bethan comes back and has a conniption."

I whuff out what could only be considered an equine laugh by the most charitable of standards and stand like a dummy while Garth and Lind efficiently strip me of the sad ruins of my tack, and then set about the nigh-impossible task of excavating me out from the layers of muck and dirt I've been living in for the past month.

The only real pause is when Lind fetches me a bucket of water to drink from, and then vanishes off to return with another bucket of mixed grains. I'm so hungry that I'd be in serious danger of getting colic from bolting my food, except for the fact that both Garth and Lind are watching me carefully, and the fact that merely chewing and swallowing seems at least as difficult as running the Obstacle Course blindfolded and hobbled.

"Boss," Lind says eventually, after she's successfully removed about half the border from my mane. "Why'd they look so—so—" she gestures vaguely at me with the brush in her hand.

Garth shrugs. "T'aint polite to talk about people as if they're not there," he says. Frankly, I? Do not have it in me to be offended. "'Sides, them what's been down on the border? When they get their chitty, they light on out of there, fast as they can."

Which, exactly: common sense should have dictated that Alex and I spent at least one whole day in the bivouac prior to hightailing north. Ha, yes, well, common sense does not apply when you've been running front line dispatches that developed an acute case of 'behind' instead of 'in front of' with respect to the concept of enemy lines. After we finally managed to get back onto our side of the lines—with any number of details about troop movements and supply dumps—and were told firmly that we were most definitely off duty, the notion of putting as much distance between our tails and Karse seemed like a very attractive idea.

I drift once more into a trance-like state as Garth and Lind give into the inevitable, produce coarse brushes and buckets of warm water, and start scrubbing me all over.

After what must be at least a good half candlemark of concerted effort, I come back to reality to find that they are just finishing towelling me dry and that, amazingly, I'm white again.

"Well, at least you don't look like a pile of leavings." I swing my head around to find that Bethan has reappeared and is tapping one foot on the ground as she looks me up and down.

"Leave over, Beth," Garth says in an easy tone. "It's obvious they've not had a good time of it."

"Quite. I've seen toast racks with more meat on their bones." Bethan gestures imperiously in the direction of the stables. "Come on then, Garth. I'm not doing this out in the yard."

Garth shakes his head, an amused expression on his face, and gestures for me to follow him. Lind, I notice, has already vanished, carrying off the filthy buckets and brushes with her. Thankfully, the large—very large—loose box that has been set up for me is a short way inside the door, and shares as wall with a large porcelain heater, making it pleasantly warm.

I shuffle to a halt in the thick straw lining the box and turn around, braced for whatever Healer Bethan has to throw at me. Once Garth has assured himself that I'm well supplied with food and water, he spirits himself away.

"Well, it's quite easy to judge your condition just by looking at you," Bethan sighs. "And you can hold off with that expression of injured duty; your Herald has just spent the better part of a mark giving me just the same.

"He also told me where you've been and what you were doing, so I'm going to hold off on lecturing you on learning to pace yourself—for now. That'll change if you don't eat well and start putting weight back on quickly."

I eye Bethan in a sideways fashion. Her expression indicates that if I don't display an appetite that she approves of, I'm likely to find her shovelling hot mash down my throat, with or without my co-operation. I wonder if she's any relative of Daska's?

"Now, apart from feeling like a chewed up boot, do you have any particular pains or injuries that I should know about? Your Herald seemed to think not, but I am wise to the ways of you creatures, and I'm fully aware that if there was a funeral pyre to martyrdom going up you'd all be queuing for the chance to jump on."

I can't hide my flinch at the mention of fire, and Bethan curses under her breath. "Sorry. If you lot are for martyrdom, then I'm up for abysmal bedside manner."

I snort in an amused fashion and produce a skin-ripple shrug.

"That's a no to injuries, I take it?" Bethan purses her lips and nods once, sharply. "Very well: as your Healer, I'm prescribing you at least a week of solid bed rest. Depending on how you look at the end of that, I might consider letting you amble back to Haven. Slowly. Very slowly."

I nod in agreement and then begin ostensibly nosing around at the straw. Bethan lets out a pleased-sounding hum and quietly removes herself from the stables.

Although I'm tired—and I may have mentioned a few times that I am completely and utterly wrung out—and would like nothing more to fall over sideways, my mind is damnably restless and refuses to let me settle.

"Um, hello?" Lind is standing at the entrance to the loose box, scuffing one foot nervously on the ground. Her arms are filled to overflowing with branches covered in extravagant sprays of purple flowers.

I am puzzled. No, scratch that: I am completely and utterly confused.

"I thought you might—they smell nice." Lind takes a hesitant step forwards and abortively tries to wave some of the flowers in my direction.

Oh, well, that's actually kind of sweet.

"I could put them up for you, if you want?" Lind flashes a smile as I nod and gesture to one side with my nose. I watch her with interest as she picks her way carefully around the edge of the box, threading the branches through the utilitarian wood work and making a kind of garland to hang above the hayrack.

"I've not been here long," she confesses to me after a moment. "I mean, I've been doing horsework since I were little; m'Da's head groom for Lord Bredesley, but I've not seen Companions much. Um." Lind suddenly seem to realise what she's said and flushes bright red. "I hope you don't mind me chattering and all."

"Heyla!" I swing my head around at Alex's cheerful greeting. The sight of him, dressed in cast-off guard kit that is all at least three sizes too big for him, with an armful of blankets, makes something unclench in my stomach, and I suddenly feel more relaxed. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Sorry, sir," Lind flushes an even brighter red and waves her now empty hands around in a helpless fashion. I was just, um—"

:Now look what you've done,: I say with mock severity. :She was being all nice and adoring me and you've gone and made her embarrassed.:

Alex aims a mental jab at me and holds up his own hands in a placating fashion. "Didn't mean to startle you," he says. "The flowers look very nice."

"Thankee, sir." Lind bobs her head and begins to sidle past him, out of the loose box. "I should go and—work. Garth'll want me helping with fixing your tack."

:Fixing? They'd be better off pitching it down a well and having done with it.:

Alex clears his throat and smiles. "Teva's off the opinion that not much of it is going to be salvageable and, frankly, I'm inclined to agree with her—"

:That'd be a first.:

"—so don't go to too much trouble over it. We'd be getting all-new kit once we got back to Haven anyway. I'm sure we can stand to make the journey there in something borrowed from here."

"Yes sir, no sir, yes sir." Lind bobs her head several times and then vanishes at a speed I quite frankly envy.

:You scared her away.:

"Whoops?" Alex scrunches up his face and tries to rub it on one of his shoulders. "I hope you're thinking of laying down soon."

I eye the bedding he's holding. :hoping for a back rest, are we?: There's no real heat to my words, and I fold my legs underneath myself as I speak. As soon as I'm vaguely settled, Alex drops next to me and fidgets around until he's propped against my side and both of us are covered with blankets.

"The flowers smell nice."

:Yes.:

"You know," Alex stifles a yawn. "I think that if I don't display what Healer Bethan deems to be sufficient appetite, she's going to sit on me and pour food down my throat."

:You and me both, boyo.: I nudge Alex with my nose.

"So, what was all that talk about legends before?"

I shake my head. :Just that we looked fit to be part of one.:

"Really?" The scepticism positively drips from that single word. "I'm not entirely sure that one spavined old nag and a probable beggar are exactly the stuff of Valdemaran legend."

:Who said anything about Valdemaran legend?: I sniff. :Personally, I think that I make a creditable Hellhorse and you were a very passable White Demon. With that tattered uniform, you even had the 'freshly dug up corpse's shroud' thing down pat.:

Alex sniggers tiredly as he sags further into my side. "Okay, I'll give you that one. Hey—where did they come from?"

I blink at the three brightly coloured butterflies that are flitting around above our heads. :I'm not entirely—oh dear.:

The 'oh dear' is because three butterflies has suddenly become more—and is continuing to increase by the moment. Within the space of a few short minutes, the air above our heads is a veritable blizzard of dancing colour. From the stamps and whinnies of the stable's equine occupants, I'm guessing there's more butterflies out there.

"It must be the flowers," Alex says, after a mesmerised period of watching the butterflies.

:I hope Lind doesn't get into trouble over this.:

"Hey, if anyone tries, the Hellhorse and the White Demon'll ride to her aid, right?"

:Limp. Slowly, slowly limp. But, yes; we will.:

That decided, both Alex and I fall silent, content to bask in the warmth and the sweet smell of the flowers, and to watch the shifting and changing beauty flying above our heads.