"Chavdar! Hey, Chavdar!"

The brunet young man turned around to see a little boy around half his height jumping up and down. He groaned.

"All right, Peter, what is it? And this is a school hallway, be quiet." He really shouldn't have hung around waiting for some teacher to catch him.

The blond boy grinned, his blue eyes sparkling – his blue eyes were the bane of the green-eyed Kirkland family, they always did wonder where he got them from – and said, "When are you leaving?"

Chavdar put a hand to his forehead. "Tomorrow, actually," he said. "I have a sick aunt in the City and Charlotte needs me to come there anyway. That little girl's plotting something again, I'll bet."

"Huh? Don't call Charlotte little! Then what does that make me?" Peter jumped higher and Chavdar felt the urge to hit him. But, he thought to himself, this is just Peter Kirkland. He's just a little boy and he doesn't know any better. And besides, his brother will be after my head if I do anything. Man, it must be sweet to be related to the Royal Mage, huh.

"Just kidding, squirt." He patted the younger boy's head almost affectionately. "You're going home tomorrow, too, right? It's the last day for leaving for summer break, ya know. Otherwise you're stuck here for the next two months."

Peter looked down, and all of a sudden Chavdar softened. "Peter," he said, bending down, "You are going home, right?"

"I don't think so," he said softly. "Big sister Erin and big brothers Lloyd and Scott are off in other countries, and that jerk Arthur is too busy to bother himself with his fancy Royal Mage duties to bother with me. Cousin Mary doesn't really care. One day, when I become Royal Mage, I'm going to kick his ass and I'm gonna send him to some school in the middle of nowhere and never come to get him ever!"

Okay, okay, I take it back. Not so sweet being related to the Royal Mage.

Chavdar sighed. "Okay, kid. You grew up in the City, right?" When Peter nodded, he continued, "When was the last time you've been to the City?"

"Two years ago."

Chavdar paused. "Well, now." He was about to say something else when a booming voice interrupted him.

"Angelov! Kirkland!"

Peter turned and started waving. "Sadiq~!"

The masked teacher groaned. "That's Professor Adnan to you, young man," he growled. "What are you two doing loitering around on the premises, anyway? It's after hours, you two should be in the dormitory by now!" He made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go on, boys. Shoo before I send both of you to the principal's office."

Chavdar grinned and stepped up to the professor. "I'm sorry, Prof. I understand that being a professor of fire magic is very tiring, and I know that it must be taxing for you to be hanging out around the school on the onset of summer break, and Mr. Kirkland and I know that you would rather be relaxing at home listening to the radio than hanging around, so we offer you our sincerest apologies, and would you like us to walk you back to the faculty center? Perhaps Professor Hassan would like your company."

Sadiq seemed to soften at this, but frowned and retained his hardened expression.

"Those smooth-talking tricks of yours won't work on me, young man, now get out before I fry both your asses–" was what he would have said had Chavdar not cut in smoothly.

"Perhaps we can get you a cup of coffee to go with that? It is getting late, after all."

"But Chavdar, I wanna go back to the dorm…"

Chavdar glared at the boy with a look that clearly said shut it before we get sent to the principal's office, boy.

Sadiq held up his hands. "You know what? You're right, Angelov. It's getting late, and I do want to go home. And taking you brats to the principal's office is going to take time and I do not want to waste time that could be better used in a nice, long, hot bath and reading the paper in front of the fire." He looked pointedly at both boys. "Now get moving before I change my mind."

"Yes sir!"

Sadiq watched them go. "And Hassan's not even here," he grumbled.

It wasn't that the Southern Academy for Sword and Sorcery was a bad school per se, on the contrary, it had a splendid system. It was just that the facilities could have used a little makeover. It was an old school, but prestigious for producing some of the kingdom's most talented people: Roma Vargas, for example, an esteemed Royal Knight, along with Mr. Hassan's mother, rumored to be a strikingly beautiful woman. Mr. Adnan and Mr. Hassan had also gone to the Academy, and they'd both turned out fairly well (despite Mr. Adnan being older by at least twelve years, they were good friends). Chavdar had a great roommate once: a certain Heracles Karpouzi, whose mother was Mr. Hassan's mother's best friend, and who was such a talented wind mage user that he'd skipped a grade and was now walking the East honing his skills.

Or something.

In any case, the dormitories needed serious help. The beds were squeaky, the windows wouldn't lock, and the paint was peeling off some of the walls. Chavdar swore he'd seen a rat in the bathroom once.

"How do you do that, Chavdar?"

Peter sat on the bed opposite Chavdar, the latter's roommate having left for his home in the West earlier that day.

"Do what?" The dark-haired boy looked up from the book he was reading.

"That! Talk your way out of everything!" Peter grinned widely. "Every time I try that with Jerk Arthur it never works. I always got sent to my room. Well, when I was at home, of course. Now I'm just stuck here and Jerk Arthur has to visit me once every month, even if he never comes down here. Ha!"

Chavdar glanced at the boy, who seemed to be all right with his present situation. Nevertheless, he asked the boy, "Peter, you do realize that we're the only two students left in school, right?"

"Duh."

"And that when I leave tomorrow, you'll be left alone here for the next two months? And they're not going to let you out without a written consent from your guardian?"

Peter's face suddenly fell. "I know. But that's all right. I did it last year. And the year before that. I can handle it. And Jerk Arthur's always too busy to handle me anyway."

Chavdar frowned. "Do you feel like going home?"

"I guess. Why?"

The older boy smirked. "I have a large suitcase there," he said. "Well, not large, but it's big enough to fit a twelve-year-old boy. How 'bout you try sitting in it?"

Peter frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Peter, you're going home."

Peter didn't know what was more uncomfortable: the fact that he was crouched uncomfortably, clutching his things, in Chavdar's big, black suitcase that smelled like moth balls, or the guilt hammering in his chest at the fact that Chavdar had smuggled him out of the Academy and that he was going home.

He was going home!

He'd gotten really nervous, once, when some officer guy asked to check his bag because Chavdar was suspiciously carrying a lot of things for someone just going home for the summer.

(It wasn't too much, he'd tell himself, Chavdar's only carrying two duffel bags, a backpack, and this suitcase thing, Peter reassured himself, but then again, that is kind of a lot of stuff, huh.)

But as usual, Chavdar had managed to smooth-talk his way out of it.

("Oh, Mr. Officer. I've been away from home all year, I go to the Southern Academy, perhaps you've heard of it? In any case, the duffel is full of presents for my handicapped sister and my poor mother, who's working her back off in one of the City's factories…")

Looking back, the story was absolutely ridiculous. Chavdar came from a wealthy, affluent family (but then again, didn't most of the people in the Southern Academy), his mother was the owner of their oil company, his father was successful in politics, and he was an only child. But from inside the suitcase, Peter could almost see Chavdar's face: absolutely, totally convincing – so convincing that the officer believed every word of it.

He should have gone into theatre. Perhaps there would be a use for his fire magic there. One never knew.

Peter hadn't remembered the train ride to the City being quite this long. But then again, it was easy to consider a ride short when one was in a comfortable first-class train seat than in a dusty, old suitcase in the dark luggage compartment.

For a second Peter's heart hammered in excitement. What would Jerk Arthur say now, huh? Now he'd have no choice except to keep Peter with him. Served him right for just abandoning his (only!) little brother in some dumb school in the middle of the South. If only Jerk Arthur knew what it felt to be the youngest kid.

Oh, wait. He had been the youngest kid. He had been for twelve years. Then Peter came along. A delightful mistake to surprise their parents in their middle ages, Lloyd had said sarcastically. Peter had been kind of hurt. Delightful, yes. But mistake?

It wasn't that Peter's life there at the Southern Academy had been unhappy. For the most part. He'd known a little girl once, a darling brunette thing named Emily, who'd also gone to the Southern Academy, with one big side ponytail and a million freckles and a big smile that was like the sun. They'd been, for the most part, friends. She was the only kid in his class he could talk to, and she'd tell him about her awful older brother and how he was always blathering about adventure, and he'd tell her about his awful older brothers and sister, about how they were always ignoring him, and so on and so forth. Then he heard somewhere that her family had fallen into disgrace, and one day she'd just…disappeared.

He never did find out what had happened to her.

After that he'd befriended an older boy, a friend of Emily's, named Giuseppe Vargas, a womanizing young man with a bright smile and a signature way of speaking. He was reportedly a grandkid of the Roma Vargas, and never hesitated to rub it in Peter's face (at which point he'd shoot back that he was the Arthur Kirkland's brother, but that never seemed to work). Giuseppe had then transferred to the City, presumably. That had been last year, and Peter had spent a lot of the current year alone. (On another note, Chavdar had liked bullying that one cousin of Giuseppe's.)

Peter never really liked being alone.

The suitcase was jolted and Peter went "Ow."

Again, he felt that stab of guilt. Would Jerk Arthur even take him? What if he got so mad that Peter snuck his way to the City (even if it was Chavdar's idea) and turned him out on the streets or something? Peter sucked in his breath. Arthur was his brother! Surely he wouldn't?

But then again there was a reason Peter called him 'Jerk.'

The train slowed to a stop and through the thick cloth of the suitcase Peter heard a man announce that they had arrived at the City.

"Hey, Chavdar."

"Hmm?"

"Hey, wasn't Charlotte reading that book? Anyway, could you just leave me a couple of blocks away from the house? I don't think…"

"Peter, I think that your big brother's less likely to turn you out on the streets if you have an adult with you."

"But you're only seventeen, Chavdar. You don't really count as an adult."

"Shut up, squirt."

Peter thanked the stars that it was Charles who had answered the door. It was always Charles who had seen to him, and he knew that the old servant held a special affinity for the boy. Maybe that way he'd be more likely to survive.

He raised a finger to his lips. Charles nodded and smiled with conspiratorial good humor.

Charles opened the door. Peter trotted in, followed by Chavdar. How long had it been since he'd been in the house! It was smaller than he remembered (or perhaps he was just getting bigger) but it was still impressive. They were the freaking Kirklands, after all. Grandness was their specialty.

He turned down the large hallway to the familiar door to the sitting room. Inside, he could hear his brother's voice.

"Liesel, it was your birthday yesterday, wasn't it?"

A female voice, lively and serene. "Yes, it was, wasn't it? I didn't want to greet you during the meeting, so, happy birthday!"

A male voice, this time calmer. "Happy birthday."

This was followed by a chorus of "Happy birthday"s.

Another female voice. "Thank you, guys! I–"

"Don't you want to visit your brother?" someone said. "Berwald said he was really worried about you."

"R-really?" said the girl – at least it sounded like a girl, Peter didn't think this kid was that much older than him – "I-I don't want to show my face. He might get really, horribly angry."

"Ah. I've seen him when he gets angry," said a cheerful male voice. "Horrible. He went around shooting everything in sight with an arrow. Then he slashed all the practice dummies in half. Good thing he paid for them."

"Sunan!" yelled the first female voice. This was followed by a yelp that could only have been somebody's foot being stepped on. "You're not helping!"

"You wouldn't tell, would you?" Peeking through the translucent glass of the door, Peter could see a pretty blonde head staring fixedly at a much taller, bespectacled one. "Berwald?"

"I'm sure he wouldn't," someone interjected. "Don't worry about it, Liesel. We won't tell a soul."

"You do realize that if he finds out that we knew and didn't tell him, we're going to have to cross our fingers and sleep with some sort of self-defense, right?"

"Oh, don't be silly. That is if he finds out–"

"Peter," hissed Chavdar. "Your stuff isn't the lightest thing ever, ya know. If you'd just freaking knock…"

Peter took a deep breath and raised his hand to the large white door.

But before he could do anything, the door swung open and nearly hit Chavdar in the face. His brother stood there, a stunned look on his face. He stared first at Chavdar, then at Peter.

"Peter," he whispered. He hurriedly closed the door, and Peter's heart broke a little. Arthur opened the door again. "Bloody hell, I wasn't dreaming." He raised his hand to his forehead. "What, in the dragons' names, are you doing here?"

"Arthur?" called the first female voice, and Peter looked behind his brother to see a young woman with long dark hair and an intelligent, pretty face. "Is anything wrong?"

"Uh, nothing, Lien," he called. "My little brother who was supposed to be somewhere else just turned up out of nowhere."

"Ah," said Lien, smiling. She turned to the similarly Eastern young man next to her. "Yong Soo did that once. Don't you remember, Sunan? He was supposed to be at a friend's house for the night, but then he went home in the middle of the night. Yao was getting a glass of milk, and he heard Yong Soo's key turning in the lock. He almost killed Yong Soo with a frying pan– he thought he was a robber."

The group laughed and continued their conversation, and Arthur turned to Peter. "What are you doing here?" he muttered in a low tone.

"I wanted to go home," said Peter firmly. "Just sayin', Jerk Arthur, that I haven't seen this house for three years."

Arthur said nothing. "Come in, then," he said, finally, giving his brother a resigned look. "Have some tea. You haven't had the trademark Kirkland tea in a while, have you?"

Peter smiled.

"And how about this young gentleman here?" Arthur turned to Chavdar. "Care for some of the famous Kirkland tea?"

"Oh, no," said Chavdar, giving Arthur a winning smile. "I should be on my way. I have other business to take care of. See ya, kid."

He handed Peter's things to Arthur.

"Are you gonna see Charlotte?" said Peter.

Chavdar frowned. "I guess."

"Is Charlotte Beaumont plotting something?" said Arthur, giving Chavdar a probing look.

Chavdar looked at him and shrugged.

It wasn't a very convincing shrug, but then again, Arthur shouldn't have believed him. "Oh, the types of people you hang out with," Peter, he said as Chavdar walked out of the door.

"Don't you want a little quality time with your brother?" said Tino from behind him. He smiled at Arthur.

"Of course," said Lien. "I would want some should one of my brothers go missing." She smiled at Sunan. Across the table, their sibling gagged.

"Don't be like that!" said the Great Mage of the East.

Liesel giggled. The Great Mage of the North started clapping. Berwald was mumbling something about a wedding.

Arthur pretended not to know them. Not that that was possible when they were having tea and biscuits in his house.

"Go to your room," he told Peter. "We will talk later."

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, as far away from Peter as possible. "All right, Peter. I've rung the Academy and told them you had to come home without them knowing because of an emergency. Everything's fine, although Mr. Adnan would like to have a word with you later. Now, would you care to tell me why you ran away from your perfectly nice school?"

"I told you," said Peter. "I wanted to go home! Why don't you try living away from your house without seeing it for three years? Not so sweet now, huh?"

His brother shook his head. "Peter–"

Peter whirled on him, eyes bright. "You try it, why don't you? You think it's all smiles down there? It isn't! I barely have any friends as it is, and the facilities suck!" He was talking really fast now, and Arthur could only barely understand what his brother was saying. "And the teachers all hate me! They keep telling me to haul my guardian's ass over here, and they always tell you, but you never go there! Ever! I only see you once a year at Christmas, and I don't even get to come home then!" He paused and tried to bite back the salty liquid pooling in his eyes. "Do you hate me, Jerk Arthur? Am I that embarrassing as a brother that you can't bear having me around? Is that it? Are you–?"

Arthur struck him.

Peter stood there, silent and glaring despite the red on his cheek.

Suddenly Arthur dropped his hands and started speaking. "Peter, please understand, all right? You're better off in the Academy than you are here. Trust me."

"Why? Would you rather hang out down there rather than the nice comfort of your own house?"

His brother's face softened and he nodded, slowly.

Peter stopped talking. "Arthur?" he probed softly.

"Peter, please understand," Arthur repeated. "The Capital, you see – actually, a lot of the country – it's getting dangerous. Three years ago, it wasn't. Now, it is. The Southern Academy is fraught with spells and charms of protection from whatever this is. It was the safest place I could think for you to go."

"How can they protect us if they don't even know what they're protecting us from?" Peter asked.

Arthur sighed. "Peter, magic is much more complicated than you perceive it to be, okay? There are several very powerful shielding spells I will not go into detail about. Is that enough of an explanation for you?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess."

He thought he saw a hint of a smile on Arthur's mouth. "Good. Now get some sleep, I'm sure you're tired. Wake up early, I'll have Charles whip up some bacon for you."

"Really truly?"

Arthur smiled then. "Really truly. Go to sleep, Peter." With that, he threw his arms around his younger brother.

"Ew! Jerk Arthur, that's gross! Get off me!"

That was the first time Peter had heard Arthur laugh in three years.

A/N: Chavdar is Bulgaria (and his name means 'leader.') I know he has no canon personality besides the fact that he likes beating Italy up (and that he thinks he looks suave in his military uniform) but what I like about these characters is that one can bend their personality while still retaining what they have in canon. My headcanon personality for Bulgaria is a jerk with a heart of gold that is irritatingly good at smooth-talking people. And he still likes hitting Italy.

Emily is Wy. Giuseppe ("Joseph") is Seborga. Lloyd is Wales, Scott is Scotland (oh, I'm so original, aren't I), Erin is Northern Ireland, and Mary is Ireland.

Hah, I'm not even sure of the state of Bulgarian-Monacan relations, let alone Bulgarian-Sealandian (/is that even a word) relations. But for the sake of this story, just…yeah.