Disclaimer: Neither the characters nor the places in this story belong to me; and I don't make any money with this.

A/N: If you're interested, I have already written a scene about Rizzen and Dinin in Part Six of Anger, set after Rizzen's death. That scene and this story are independent, although the scene in Anger could take place after this story; they're not inconsistent. But unlike the Anger scene, this story will be clearly slashy.

Thanks to my beta-reader Chi. ^^

Prologue

Rizzen Do'Urden didn't get up from his desk when he heard a knock on the door of his office. He didn't even bother to look up while he whispered a few words to disarm the magical wards on the door before he called, "Come in, it's open!"

The mage tried to look as bored and indifferent as possible when the door was pushed open and the secondboy of House Do'Urden stepped in. Rizzen had only seen Dinin briefly on the previous day in the chapel, when Matron Malice had assigned him to teach the boy the basics of magic before he would start his training to become a fighter. He had been too focused on the high priestess to look at Dinin for more than a few seconds. To look at his son.

Rizzen scolded himself for this thought. It did not mean anything. Nalfein, too, was his son, and he hated the house mage more passionately than anyone else. But then again, Nalfein was himself a wizard and a potential rival while Dinin could hardly gain anything from Rizzen's death.

"Patron?"

A melodic voice, still tainted by the last softness of youth that was mingled already with arrogant cockiness. The boy had obviously his mother's temper, not his father's. Rizzen would never have dared to speak to a superior before he was spoken to.

The house mage finally looked up, and he had to hold back a gasp when he saw Dinin in the faint light of his office, standing only a few steps away from him. The boy didn't just resemble him, he looked exactly like a younger, unburdened version of his father. Rizzen cleared his throat in surprise.

"Ah, Dinin, isn't it?" he stated rather than asked while he got up and straightened his quite elegant robes. Since he rarely felt like insulting someone without reason, as many other drow would have done right now, he simply said, "I'll show you to your room."

He mentioned for the young drow to walk through the door on his left into a big, almost empty hall, and from there into a small, but rather comfortable room. Nothing luxurious, but acceptable. Certainly more than he would get with the Weapon Master and at the Academy.

"I'll only be here for six months," Dinin stated and leant against a wall, apparently quite at ease. Rizzen scowled, but he was still so fascinated by the boy that he overlooked his insolence. He knew that Dinin had been weaned by Briza, but instead of cowering for the rest of his life he had apparently decided to be all the more brazen as soon as he got away from her. When Rizzen didn't answer, Dinin continued, "Then Zaknafein will take over my training."

"I assure you," Rizzen answered, pulling himself together, "there is no reason to look forward to going to Zaknafein. He is about as unpleasant a person and a teacher as Briza. Not to mention that his students have to sleep on the floor."

Dinin frowned, obviously displeased by the prospect of such a treatment that was hardly befitting for a secondboy.

"Oh, and unless you want him to beat it into you, you'd better forget his first name and never use it. He doesn't take it from anyone but the priestesses," Rizzen sighed. He had had more than enough painful encounters with Malice's Weapon Master and former patron.

"He is only a commoner by birth," Dinin snorted, apparently not knowing that it was the same with Rizzen. He ignored, like a true noble, the slave who brought in the bag with his belongings. "I owe him no respect. Soon enough I will take his place anyway."

Rizzen would have laughed if he had been in a better mood. He did not know much about sword fighting, but he knew that Zaknafein was counted among the city's best Weapon Masters, his name usually mentioned alongside those of Dantrag Baenre and Uthegental del'Armgo. Whether this was justified or not, he was certainly not easily disposed of.

But although Rizzen knew that Dinin's youthful arrogance was ridiculous he found it also strangely refreshing. Unlike Nalfein, who constantly radiated hatred whenever he was around his father, and Vierna, who had made it quite clear that she didn't have the slightest interest in his teachings and no respect at all for his person, Dinin did not meet him immediately with contempt or animosity.

"I expect you in my office in half an hour for your first lesson," Rizzen ordered, although his soft voice always lacked the authority a mage of his power should have. Rizzen had got used to the fact that, try as he might, he simply did not manage to appear imposing or dominant. His small, almost fragile frame and his boyish beauty only added up to the impression of a male who would obey orders without hesitation, but who was incapable of giving them.

"Yes, father," Dinin replied with a sly look just as Rizzen was about to leave the room. The mage whipped around and gave him a surprised look. Of course the boy knew - it was too obvious for anyone not to notice - but why did he care? Why did he bother to mention it, when Nalfein had never even hinted at their relation? Dinin had certainly been taught by Briza that it was meaningless who had sired him, that all his qualities came from his mother. So why did he take the risk to be punished for such insolence?

Rizzen quickly reminded himself not to hope for anything. Dinin was cocky, curious, he wanted to see how far he could go. It didn't mean that he would not soon feel the same disdain for his father as everyone else.

And yet Rizzen's voice was unusually gentle when he corrected him, "Patron. For your own good."

Dinin didn't reply, but the smug smile was still on his face when Rizzen walked out. It was good to know that Rizzen, unlike Briza, was apparently not someone who would beat him senseless for the slightest mistake. After sixteen years of almost constant punishment and chastisement, that alone was almost a reason to like him.