13 . 2 . 10

Alright, how many of you remember that story called "Not All Surprises Are Pleasant"? Recall the plot (if you can call it that) and the characters (/cardboard cut-outs) as best you can. Got it? Okay. Now, put that in your pocket. You won't be needing it any more. What we have here is a rewrite of Nasap, expanded, improved, and ready to try again. It even has a new name! You might notice that I renamed Jab and NAPAN too – I decided to go for a different theme in my titles. I hope it doesn't confuse you too much.

Now, about Nasap: I decided not to completely eradicate the somewhat childish air of the story, because I thought it was important to the spirit of the piece, if you will. (In fact, there are large chunks of untouched text.) So those expecting something deep and moving to come out of the silly little tale I posted several years ago will be disappointed. Those who read Jab without reading Nasap might be interested to see where some of the characters in Jab came from. Those who haven't read either... well, you may or may not like it. I guess there's no real way of knowing. --laugh--

I'd be much obliged if all of you would review, though, and tell me what you think.

Disclaimer: Carvin's name was Lobuck's invention. The story is more or less mine.


Greyson estate was at its finest that evening in early spring. The sun was starting to set behind the large hill that shadowed the archery range, but there was still plenty of light to accommodate the lone boy pulling the bowstring taut. The golden light diffused through his dark hair and melted on his tanned skin. He loosed an arrow; it struck close to the center. The boy let out a puff of frustration and pulled another arrow to his bow. He was one of the best archers his age in the town, and he was proud of that fact. When the next arrow hit dead center, he smiled; then he glanced over his shoulder, wondering when his friend would return.

Nearer to the house, a trim stable – well looked after and well used – let out a few whinnies as the stable hands brushed the horses clean of all their daily grime. There were many horses at Greyson, ready to accommodate whatever need the Duke thought up. The horses were especially fine; the Duke was fortunate enough to have made acquaintance with a man who knew what to look for in horses.

A worn path led from the stable to the manor house. It was a familiar sort of house, furnished lushly with rich, comfortable furniture. The small, well kept garden could be seen from the windows in the study, where a teenaged boy was slumped at the table, sweaty from being at the archery range and wondering why his father wanted to see him. The older man began to speak in his usual long winded manner, spreading his hands wide for effect.

"Now, my boy, I have been thinking about your future."

The boy, Carvin, inwardly groaned; his father had been 'thinking about his future' ever since he was eight years old, and it never turned out to be anything enjoyable. School, for instance, had been one of those ideas. While he appreciated education in theory, he was not taken with the concept of being locked indoors during the best daylight hours.

"As you know, I am a duke," the man continued with inflection, obviously enjoying himself. "I believe that the Tiroes can do much better than being dukes, however: much better! With your experience in archery and horsemanship, in addition to your–"

"Father, please get to the point," Carvin interrupted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He was used to his father's loquaciousness, but he was also eager to get back to the range before the light was completely gone.

The man chuckled and leaned forward, his youthful blue eyes twinkling with excitement. He was not in the least perturbed by his son's interruption. As he usually preceded any announcement with at least ten minutes of introduction, he'd grown quite accustomed to being interrupted, and it bothered his buoyant spirit not a whit.

"Ah, my boy, you take this news lightly! This is no mere trinket of information, to be cast by the wayside! No! This is monumental, and I believe you will be thrilled to hear it!"

Carvin's curiosity piqued a little and he sat up.

"Carvin, I've arranged," he paused a little for effect.

Carvin started to smile in anticipation.

"A marriage between you and the Princess Nre!"


"Surely you jest!" cried Nre, dropping her fork with a clatter that echoed throughout the royal dining hall.

"I most certainly do not," frowned her father, the king of Berensia. "Please try to be ladylike, Nre, and do not shout or drop your silverware. Surely Lady … Talin, is it?"

Queen Gloria nodded, but he barely glanced at her.

"Surely Lady Talin has taught you better manners than this. Or do we need to hire a new governess?"

Nre ignored his remarks and pushed her plate away; she had lost her appetite.

"Come, come, my dear," soothed her mother.

She quickly looked at her husband.

"I'm sure the governess is fine, Thomas. She is just a little upset."

Thomas was already busy again with his food and didn't take much notice. Gloria turned back to Nre who was looking stormy.

"I'm sure he is a lovely boy; his father is one of our oldest friends! A duke, you know."

"Yes, mother, I know," Nre said impatiently, vaguely recalling being introduced to the talkative Duke once a long while ago. "But what about—" She stopped herself just in time, blushing hotly. It was useless to bring up Cameron, the man she'd been hoping to court: the prince of Grendath. She switched tacks. "But why? Why must you arrange my marriage? Alphonse was able to choose his own wife. I'm not even an heir to the throne! Why must I marry at all?"

Her older brother, Alphonse, was to be the ruling monarch when her father stepped down, and he was already married to the woman of his choice.

"The Tiroes are of fine stock. It would do us well to have some of their blood in our family," continued her father, looking up as he scooped the last of his potatoes from his plate. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to."

He left the table, leaving Gloria to calm the irate princess. Blood, stock, Nre thought angrily. He makes it sound as if we're dealing with cattle! And she couldn't get Cameron's face out of her head.

"Nre–" Gloria started.

"I, too, will take my leave," Nre said, biting out the words like knives; tears stabbed at her eyes.

She stood up and whirled around, running from the room before Gloria could say another word. Gloria sighed. She did not like forcing her daughter into an arranged marriage. Thomas, however, did not listen to her when she tried to express her opinion to him in private.

"They will do this family well, Gloria, and I will hear no more of it," he had said, giving her a brief smile and a squeeze on the shoulder. "Trust me."

And she did trust him, implicitly. He had worked hard to win her trust, and he deserved it. But trusting Thomas herself and asking Nre to trust him were two different things. Gloria shook her head and stood up. She'd have to have a talk with Nre, and ask Thomas to talk to Nre. If he hadn't been holing himself up in his study so often lately, he might have realized that his daughter was no longer twelve years old and daddy's little girl.

"Thank you," she said to the serving maids who came to clear away the table. "I am sorry that they both left in a hurry."

"Think nothing of it, your highness," a brown haired maid said with a curtsy and a smile. "I hope you enjoy your evening."

"I hope so too," she said with a tired smile, leaving the hall and thinking again of Nre.

What a lady she was growing up to be! If she were only a bit less dramatic– Gloria laughed aloud, knowing fully well where Nre had gotten her flair. She herself had been a bit dramatic when she was younger. She will understand, when Thomas talks to her, Gloria reassured herself, striding down the hallway toward the stairs. If I can get Thomas to talk to her.


Unaware of the recent happenings in Berensia, Cameron ducked low over Aedan's neck, urging her to a canter. The mare was reluctant, but she eventually smoothed her gait and took long strides. The path beneath her hooves was packed dirt, damp with recent rain. The fog of a hot rainfall lingered in the valleys between the trees. Cameron could feel it wick away the warmth in his calves, tight as they were to the body of his horse.

His face was damp with sweat, but the humid air cooled the heat, though it didn't dry his face very much. This path along the outskirts of the castle grounds gave him full view of the beautiful Grendathian mountains, stark on the horizon. The sun was setting, glistening on the everlasting snow at their peaks and throwing their roughness into sharp relief.

Soon the path curved away from the mountains and toward the west, where the sun was hidden by the grove of trees planted by Cameron's forefathers to block the castle from the town. "We have enough scrutiny as it is," they had said, and so the trees had come to be. There were few trees anywhere else near the royal palace. They grew in more abundance further from the mountains, though it didn't seem anyone knew exactly why. People said that all the trees were cut down and burnt long ago in a war of the Magics, but Cameron wasn't so sure about that.

The fog licked his arms as he rode through the shadows, slippery tongues evaporating as soon as they had formed. It blew through his hair: water through flame.

The path curved again, toward the castle, and Cameron began to slow Aedan down for the final stretch. She broke back into a trot as they began to pass his mother's Grey Garden. It was something she had once seen in her travels in the North as a young woman. In the mountains, the people made gardens of stone and dried wood, arranged in patterns. Cameron thought it looked bleak and hopeless, but his mother thought it was simple and soothing.

He lifted a hand to her as he passed; she was sitting on the granite bench – a sliver of color against the garden. She wore a dark colored dress, but her skin was fair and her hair as red as Cameron's. On her, it looked auburn and regal – not fiery or rebellious at all. She was serene. She was perfect. She was always perfect.

She smiled her calm smile at him as he rode by, then looked back to her Grey Garden.

When they returned to the stables, Cameron dismounted and wiped his forehead. Sweat and condensation left a smear on his white sleeve. He called over a stable boy to deal with his horse and started walking back to the castle.

The border patrol meeting was coming up soon, and though he tried to convince himself that he was just looking forward to the political opportunities the meeting offered, he also couldn't get a certain smiling face out of his mind: Nre, the princess of Berensia and his friend, whom he hadn't seen since the meeting last year. He reflected that she would be sixteen now, and he wondered how much she would have changed.

He also thought, cautiously (and not for the first time) that it wouldn't be long before her hand would be sought by the eligible suitors of the surrounding lands. He wasn't sure when appropriate courting age began in Berensia, but he made a note to find out. She had grown to be one of his closest and dearest friends, as much as distance allowed.

He smiled as he opened the door into the castle, and a spring was in his step.


So, people. Can I have some opinions?

Reviewers will get a bowl of snow ice-cream!