(a/n: PLEASE r/r! also, I just realized that some of my "tenses" are different. Ah well, life with it)
King Jonathan rubbed his temples and stood up. Recently, he always became exhausted after communing with the Bazhir every night. He assumed that the responsibility of being the King of Tortall and Voice of the Tribes was starting to take its toll. Slowly he stumbled into his study, where Thayet was waiting with tea.
"How did it go tonight, Jon?" She poured him a cup of the red liquid.
He murmured something that she couldn't comprehend and sipped at the hot drink, nodding his thanks. Thayet waited for him to finish the tea before she sat down next to him.
"Jon…Do you think you should consider finding a replacement Voice? I think it would be best for the Bazhir, and you."
He frowned at her, brow creased. Of course he had considered it, but worried that the proud Bazhir may be offended, not knowing his reasoning for abandoning their most revered and holy position.
"That would be difficult," he said hesitantly. "Each voice is granted with the knowledge of knowing who their successor should be, but not until the time has come for them to pass on, as Ali Mukhtab did. For me to find a new Voice right now would mean a great deal of searching, unless the Gods mean for a new Voice to be found." He grinned. "Listen to me! This kind of talk makes me feel old."
Thayet patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I think you can do it, Jon."
He sighed. "I'll have to talk about it with the Bazhir tomorrow…" He cringed at the thought, "…and see that they think."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning Jon, Gary, Alanna, and the Lord Provost went for their weekly ride through the city. The usual hustle-and-bustle awaited them: merchants vying to sell their goods, street urchins weaving around people and vendors. Everyone made way for the King and his advisors. Jon and the others nodded their greetings to the people of the city and rode blandly through the dusty streets.
As they came near the Dancing Dove, and young boy ran in front of Gary and Jon, making Gary's mount jerk. Jon calmly steadied his own steed and signaled for his party to stop. With a disarming expression he dismounted and approached the boy. He noticed that the child looked to be about 10 years old, though he was very haggard. He had very dark brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and tanned, dirty skin. The boy also sported dilapidated blue breeches and a tattered sleeveless-shirt.
"Hello, young man. What's your name?" Jon asked warmly. The people looking on started whispering amongst themselves that King Jonathan would talk to a street boy.
The boy glared at Jon, meeting the King's gaze, displaying no intimidation.
"Warren," the boy said stoutly.
"Are your parents around?" Gary called from atop his horse.
"Don't got any," Warren replied.
"Where do you live?" Jon inquired with concern.
"Anywhere," Warren said. His face betrayed none of his emotions.
Jon made a quick decision. "How would you like to come with me back to the palace? My son Roald is about your age, I think." Jon held out a hand to Warren, which the boy promptly shook. Jon lifted Warren onto his saddle and mounted behind him. The group of nobles rode back towards Palace Way, with the cheers of the commoners following them.