Disclaimer: Aphrael, Romalic, Bevier, and the universe in which they dwell all belong to David & Leigh Eddings. I only own Menina, Arda and Gregor.

Technical Notes: In the Elenium and Tamuli trilogies, Aphrael is known as the Child-Goddess. I thought it wasn't fair that she had a nickname while Romalic didn't, so I borrowed Chaldan's (the god of the Arends in the Belgariad and Malloreon) title and dubbed Romalic the Bull-God. I thought it fit him very well.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Iolo, zkat, SweetLee and LKS for reviewing, and thank you for reading :D Sorry about the delay in updating, not that it was my fault *glances sideways at ff.net*

Chapter Four

There was a little Styric girl seated on an overturned bucket in the village that morning. Passersby eyed her suspiciously at first, because Arcians were a rather rigid lot and had certain prejudices regarding "heathen" races, but her winsome smile and the merry song she played on her rude shepherd's pipes quickly put them at ease. Some of them even smiled at her in return, and gave her coins.

A burly workman sat down beside her to escape the oppressively hot day. Despite his massive build and rough clothing, his skin was pale, and not one strand of his curly black hair was out of place. If one looked closer, one would see that this workman had not a single callus on his large hands. "Good morning, little sister," he greeted the child. "How are today's pickings?"

The child lowered her pipes to reply. "Quite all right. I got a few smiles and several coins. No one let me kiss them, though."

The man's impressively beetled brows drew together. "Stop poaching the Elene God's followers, Aphrael. It's supremely bad form."

"And his sending missionaries to try and convert Styrics is not?"

"At least he is overt about it." He watched the little girl translocate her coins into the pocket of a stooped old woman. No one else seemed to notice — indeed, no one seemed to be aware that a workman and a child were seated in the dust, talking about evangelism. "And speaking of which, you still haven't returned the followers I lent you."

"I will soon."

Romalic, Bull-God of Styricum, sighed. For his flighty sister-goddess, "soon" often meant a millennium or two. Sometimes three.

"Flute?"

Aphrael, Child-Goddess of Styricum, looked up at the sound of the nickname the Church Knights had given her. Her little face lit up at the sight of Bevier sitting atop his horse just a few feet away. "Bevier!" Again, for some reason, passersby did not seem to care that a Styric child was addressing an Elene nobleman by his first name. They did not seem to have heard her at all.

They did, however, still make way for Bevier as he dismounted and walked toward the pair. The knight was smiling — nervously, because he was not supposed to admit the existence of other gods besides the one he worshipped — but smiling nevertheless, because the little girl he called Flute was also a friend. "It's wonderful to see you," he asked after she had scrambled up into his arms and kissed him several times. Please, you must visit my home, you and, er…" He glanced at the roughly dressed character still lounging beside the overturned bucket.

The Child-Goddess smiled sweetly at the huge man. "Ah, I believe I must make some introductions at this point — Bevier, this is my brother Romalic, Bull-God of Styricum; and Romalic, I'm sure you already know Sir Bevier of the Cyrinic Knights of Arcium."

"I most certainly do," Romalic replied, rising to his feet. "Well met, Sir Bevier."

Bevier blanched. He had never known what Romalic looked like, but the Cyrinics' instructor in the Styric arts was a disciple and Bevier learned the name from his teacher. "Well met, uh…"

"Just Romalic will do, thank you."

The knight nodded politely to the burly god, then turned back to Aphrael. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and decided to look in on an old friend," she replied lightly.

"Beware, Sir Knight," Romalic cautioned. "She may say she is just looking in on you, but it really means that she is about to meddle."

The little girl in Bevier's arms gave an offended huff. "I was really only going to look in on him and that woman living in his house. I wasn't planning on her coming into his life and wanted to see if she was acceptable."

"Acceptable?" Bevier repeated, startled.

"Think nothing of it, Bevier," Aphrael replied sweetly.

"What do you mean, 'acceptable'?" the knight demanded as she patted his cheek. "Is she part of some kind of divine plan I don't know about?"

"We all have our role in the scheme of things, my boy," Romalic told him grandly. "And do you find Menina acceptable, my sister?"

"She is rather nice," the Child-Goddess admitted. "I saw her in the village with Bevier's mother this morning. She gave me an apple."

Bevier rounded on Romalic. "How do you know her name?" he asked.

"Like Aphrael, I follow the lives of my Church Knights, too." The Bull-God smiled. "I just don't meddle as much as she does."

"Be nice," his sister-goddess chided. Her rosebud mouth curled into a pout at the wild look that had entered Bevier's eyes. "Why, Bevier, what's wrong? Is she not acceptable?"

"No!" the knight replied, putting Aphrael down. "She is not acceptable — at least not in the way you are implying."

"But I wasn't implying anything, Bevier. I just wanted to see if she was nice."

"Ah…well…in that case, yes, she is acceptable. She is a very nice girl," Bevier babbled. "A bit of a hoyden and definitely nothing at all like a proper Arcian woman, perhaps, but she…has a good heart."

"Good," Romalic said. He sounded pleased.

The knight looked from one deity to the other, and then began backing away. "If you will excuse me, I just remembered that I'm going to be late for afternoon services…shall I expect you at my home later today?"

Aphrael smiled at Romalic. "Isn't he a sweet boy? We'll be in the area for a few more days," she told Bevier, "so we might drop in another time, all right?"

"Yes, yes, that's quite all right…now, if you will excuse me, I…goodbye." Bevier mounted his horse, managed a jerky nod, and then rode swiftly away.

"Now, look what you've done," the Child-Goddess admonished Romalic. "You've frightened him away."

"I frightened him away?" the Bull-God protested mildly. "You're the one who mentioned Menina."

"How do you know her name?" Aphrael's dark eyes widened at her brother-god's pleased smile. "You brought her here?"

"It was a bit of a bother getting the Elene God's permission, but he relented as soon as I told him that I was merely helping add followers to his Church." Romalic buffed his nails on his tunic. "He's a reasonable fellow, really. One just has to know how to talk to him."

Aphrael rolled her eyes. He was the only one who was willing to sit next to the Elene God at parties. "Why did you bring her here now?"

The Bull-God shrugged his broad shoulders. "I don't know. I suppose I was bored."

"Bevier's personal life has become rather boring since he joined up with Sparhawk."

"It was boring long before that," Romalic said as he conjured up a wooden harp out of thin air and began to play upon it.

"Well, as we are in agreement that Bevier is in need of some excitement," she said, "what are we going to do about it?"

* * *

The afternoon's encounter with Aphrael and Romalic unsettled Bevier. Not only did he speak to beings whose existence he was duty-bound to deny, but the brief conversation also opened the most disturbing possibilities to his otherwise unsullied mind.

She is unacceptable. She is absolutely unacceptable.

"Bevier, may I have a word?"

He turned to find Gregor standing behind him, looking rather nervous. The baron had been their dinner guest that evening. "Certainly, my Lord," the younger man said. "What is on your mind?"

The baron stepped closer and lowered his voice so that the women, who were listening to a musician on the other end of the hall, could not hear. "It is…it is about your mother."

Bevier stiffened. "What about my mother?"

"I don't know if you've noticed," the older man stammered, his olive skin flushing a deep red, "but I care very deeply for her. My intentions are purely honorable, Bevier; in fact, I proposed marriage to her a few times while you were away. Arda refused me every time."

"Then perhaps she only looks upon you as a friend."

Gregor shook his snowy head. "No, I'm afraid I must disagree. I know that she is…fond of me, and not just as a friend."

"How are you so sure?"

The crimson in the baron's cheeks burned deeper. "She will not marry me," he said in a hushed whisper, "but she has said that she is willing to consider…an affair."

Bevier gasped. "My Lord, I shall have to call you out for that remark!"

"I mean no insult, Bevier. I have told you that I love Arda and want to marry her. I have, of course, rejected the idea of, er, alternate arrangements."

"As well you should." The younger man sighed. "I apologize, my Lord. I'm sure you understand that one does not like to hear about one's parents spoken about that way." He looked reflectively over at where his mother sat, exchanging whispered confidences with Menina. "And I must admit that my mother is actually capable of thinking such things. I would not have believed it before, but now…" Bevier shrugged helplessly. It was as if he had come home to an entirely different woman. Menina's presence had changed the dowager viscountess so drastically that he didn't recognize his own mother anymore.

Bevier's eyes widened as a fresh realization hit him. Menina! This nonsense about having an affair had to be a result of her unwholesome influence over his mother!

Presently, a familiar trill of shepherd's pipes reached his ears. He jumped and spun around to find the child called Flute performing for the women. They were beaming and clapping along as the child danced to her own music, her little grass-stained feet flitting like doves.

Arda and Menina applauded as the little girl finished her performance with a low curtsy, and then scrambled onto the dowager viscountess's lap for kisses. She smiled and gave them willingly and protested when Flute was taken away. "She wasn't doing anything wrong, Bevier!"

"It was highly inappropriate behavior, Mother," he replied as he held the wriggling child out at arm's length.

"Oh, pooh on inappropriate behavior. Put her down."

"No," Bevier insisted as he heard a childish giggle. Flute was laughing and pulling faces at Menina, who was making faces back. He shot the redheaded young woman a stern look and she quickly resumed a decent, normal expression.

"You're such a spoilsport, Bevier," Flute said petulantly as he carried her out of the hall. "I just wanted to meet that man who's in love with your mother."

"Well, you've met him," he replied. "What do you think?"

"I think he's very nice…but he is awfully stodgy, isn't he? He should have jumped at the offer your mother was making."

Bevier reddened and set Flute down. "Please don't make him do that," he pleaded. The little girl laughed and disappeared with a pop.

"Really, Bevier," Arda scolded when he re-entered the hall. "You put that child out like she was a cat! Where is she?"

"I gave her a coin and sent her on her way," he told her, holding up a hand to silence his mother's protests. "She's half-wild, Mother. You wouldn't have been able to keep her here."

Be nice, Aphrael remarked in his mind.

The dowager viscountess eyed him closely. "You seem to know that child very well," she observed.

"I met her during my travels with Sparhawk," Bevier replied casually. He gave a small laugh. "One wonders how she managed to find us, though!"

He turned away before his mother could ask any more questions and returned to the baron, who had been watching the exchange. "I'm sorry about the interruption, my Lord."

"That's quite all right," Gregor assured him. "I'm afraid this conversation did not go as I had planned, but at least I was able to say the important things."

The younger man managed a small smile. "It is tremendously reassuring to know that your intentions toward my mother are honorable, my Lord."

"So do you allow me to pay court to her?" the baron asked. "As head of her family, you do have some say in the matter."

Bevier's small smile twisted wryly. Perhaps Gregor thought his opinion carried some weight, but he was certain his mother would not. "I am sure my mother will not mind your suit. I cannot say whether or not she will receive it favorably, but you are welcome to try your luck."

* * *

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully and Bevier forgot all about Menina's possible role in his mother's desire to have an affair until the next day. He considerately waited until the afternoon, when she had finished exercising Afreet and after they had attended chapel, before summoning her to his study.

She came promptly. "You wanted to see me, Bevier?"

Bevier nodded and gestured for her to be seated. "The baron spoke to me last night," he told her.

Menina smiled. It was like the sun coming up. "Was it about your mother?" she asked eagerly. "Did he say that he loves her?"

"Yes. He said she is…favorably disposed toward him as well." He gave her a baleful stare; her smile faded slightly. "The baron says she wishes to have an affair with him."

She blushed and giggled, as if his mother's wanton behavior was the funniest thing in the world.

Bevier scowled. "The baron has, of course, refused. Intimacy without the sanctity of marriage is an abomination in the eyes of the Church."

"The Church does not have to know, my Lord. I'm sure your mother plans to be discreet."

His cheeks burned and he resolutely pushed the thought of his mother being "discreet" from his mind. "The fact remains, Menina, that it is a sinful and dishonorable enterprise. And while the Church may not know about it, God will."

"Why is it dishonorable?" Menina asked. "They are both unattached and it is certain that there will be no bastard children born of that union."

"There is no union!"

"Not yet."

Bevier glared at her. She looked back at him calmly. "You are not encouraging my mother to do this thing, are you?" he asked her in a low voice.

"Although you do not look like you will believe me, Bevier, the answer to that question is no. I did not know about her plans until you told me about them. However," she added, "I do not plan to say anything to encourage or discourage her. I see nothing foolish in a woman's desire to be loved in her old age."

"It is your duty as a daughter of the Church to ensure that your fellowman — or, in this case, fellow-woman — treads the righteous path."

Menina arched a slender ginger eyebrow. "Are you saying that I can order your mother around?"

"No, just that you must always point her in the right direction."

"Well, I shall try my best, my Lord." Her generous mouth curled in a smile. "But I cannot guarantee that the dowager viscountess will take my advice — we all know what happened the last time someone tried to tell her what to do."

He watched her glide away with a frown. No matter what Aphrael and Romalic said, she was absolutely unacceptable.

She did not sew or play music. Good Lord, she did not even know how to read.

She was given to stealing at night — and to all other sorts of risky behavior, for all he knew. Not only did she sneak out at night like a thief; she rode like a harpy, too.

 All in all she did not behave like a proper Arcian woman should. Absolutely unacceptable.

Just then, Bevier heard his mother's voice in the corridor outside his study. "Menina, my dear!" Arda trilled. "I have been looking all over for you! You must accompany me on a walk through the gardens. My favorite roses are in full bloom!"

He sighed and sat down as the sounds of feminine chatter faded into the distance. He had not heard his mother sound so alive since the early days of his novitiate, before his father had fallen into the long illness that would eventually claim his life.

Perhaps Menina was the most improper woman in the western world, but her presence clearly did his mother good.