Has anyone noticed the recent drop in Valdemar fics? I don't know whether to attribute that to the recent release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and the fact that a lot of authors have quite possibly #coughs# abandoned #coughs# this section for that of The Boy Who Would Not Die.

Captain Kurt Hoffman: I understand that it's polite to refer to the Presidency and most political positions with respect, and I did have respect for him. I really did, even though I was voting for Kerry. But I figured, hey, his dad was an okay president. What could go wrong? Respect goes up to a certain point. He crossed the point of no return when he invaded Iraq on little grounds with no evidence and put America into a war we can't get out of.

Shadowfax: Speculation and the fact that once I realized that this was going to involve a lot of Empire, I went back to the Storms books and read them obsessively until I could almost quote word for word everything that was going on in the Empire. And there's always that wonderful book called The Valdemar Companion, which has a bunch of nicely rendered maps, which, if you rip them (carefully) out of the book, scan them, and then match up the edges (down to the words that were split in the middle), you get a nice, big map of Valdemar and pretty much every other country ever mentioned, except for the Haighlei Empire and White Gryphon. Oh, and Predain. (But don't take anything in this story as canonical. I put my own twist on some stuff, and I can't exactly quote what's canon and what's not unless you ask me specifically and I think really hard about it.)

Thanks to: TastuKitty, Moonjava, and Fireblade K'Chona. And my lord and master, Mischa Kitsune.

Notes: I'm going to try for a chapter without quotation marks around 'thoughts,' and I'd like your input on if it's more or less confusing than with them. Ms. Lackey goes without, but I don't know if my writing would be more or less confusing.

And if anyone can spot the legendary reference here, you get a cookie.

Warnings: This chapter contains . . .um . . . child seduction. Just thought I'd warn you. If you object to that sort of thing, you don't have to read. It only does stuff for the Romance part of the story, so I guess you can skip it. Believe me, I was horrified when I wrote it.

Under the winter moon's pale light,
across the cold and starry night,
from snowy mountains soaring high
to ocean shores echoes the cry.
From barren sands to verdant fields,
from city street to lonely wealds,
cries the tortured human heart,
seeking solace, wisdom, a chart
by which to understand its plight
under the winter moon's pale light.
Dawn is unable to fade the night.
Must we live ever in the blight
under the winter moon's cold light,
lost in loneliness, hate, and fright,
last night, tonight, tomorrow night
under the winter moon's bleak light?

The Book of Counted Sorrows

Chapter 25: What You Know and I Don't

Jaron held his hands palm-down above Tremane's forehead, jewel nestled in the space between his forefingers and thumbs. Wary guards watched from the corners of the room and Rowen watched from the door as the jewel briefly glowed very bright, chasing away the shadows in the room and heightening the pallor of the dying King's face, and then it faded, leaving the room shrouded in darkness again. Rowen looked at Tremane's face; he seemed to have a bit more color in his cheeks now, and when the Healer standing on the other side of the bed pried open one of the comatose man's eyelids, there was a depth there that had previously been absent.

He did it, Rowen thought triumphantly as the Healer's face blossomed into a grin, and he beckoned the head mage forth so they could begin feeding Tremane.

The boy just stood there, watching the Healers and mages swarm around the King. He looked very, very tired suddenly, and the jewel dangled limply on its chain, his lax fingers being the only thing keeping it from slipping from his grasp onto the wood floor.

Cautiously, Rowen walked forward and leaned down. "Er—Jaron, are you alright?"

It wasn't Jaron that responded, however.

Tenri's sing-song tone answered him, and his violet eyes looked ebullient but fatigued. "Jaron not here," he piped up in broken Valdemaran. "I, though. He left body to me. To me. All to me." He smiled, and reached up to tug at Rowen's hand. "We go somewhere?" he asked casually.

"Where?" Rowen asked.

"You room?" asked the boy. "I very lonely. Very lonely. We go your room now, yes?"

"Yes," Rowen said, wondering why he felt like that was a bad idea.

§

Once they were back in his quarters, and Tenri had taken his boots off, he ran over and jumped on the unused bed, bouncing up and down. When he looked back at Rowen—apparently to see why the Changechild wasn't joining him—the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. He abandoned the childlike pretenses and shoved himself back off the bed, onto the floor, where he sat for a moment, apparently thinking while he absently fiddled with his shirt laces, seemingly unaware that he was unlacing it. Then he slowly rose up, infinitely more graceful than he had been before. He put each foot down consideringly–seductively, and moved with ponderous slowness across the room to where Rowen was lying down.

The Changechild didn't think it was his imagination that Tenri's hands were brushing back and forth ever so slightly across his hips as he walked. Tenri stopped just in front of Rowen so that he was standing nearly flush with his torso and looking up at the Shin'a'in; even lying down with his legs folded under him, Rowen was at least a head or two taller than the boy. Violet eyes looked almost sultry as they glanced up from under lowered black eyelashes at Rowen, and the boy abandoned all pretense of being a boy.

"I very lonely," he purred, reaching one small hand up to place it on Rowen's bare shoulder.

Tenri's palm felt very warm and moist on Rowen's deltoid, and the boy's mouth was parted just so, and his lips glistened. Just as Rowen started to understand what the boy was about, his hand tightened on Rowen's shoulder and his other hand reached up and dragged Rowen's unresisting head down.

Tiny lips touched his own, the hand that had been on his shoulder slid down to his bare waist, and Tenri's breath was ragged against the Changechild's shut lips before Rowen realized exactly what the boy wanted and nearly sent him flying across the room.

Still shocked, he dragged his wrist across his mouth, trying to rub away the blatantly sexual gesture that the who-knew-how-old boy had made. From where he had been thrown across the floor, Tenri raised his head and glared hard at Rowen once before the accusing stare faded to be replaced by one of bemused shock from Jaron.

"What did you do?" he hissed in nearly perfect Hardornen. "I heard a wail from one of Them, and then I looked out through the eyes to find you pressed up against me—us like that, and then you threw us across the floor—what the hell do you think you are doing, horse-man?"

There was an agitated whinny from the other side of the door, and Rowen shakily rose and opened the door to let Gaelan in.

:Changechild—: the Companion's Mindvoice was a mixture of accusation and apology as he regally stalked toward Jaron, who was still glaring daggers at Rowen. :I am sorry for my Chosen's behavior, but did you have to throw him like that?:

Unrepentant, Rowen glared at the Companion. "I think you would panic too if a ten year old boy just tried to make a sexual overture that he shouldn't even know exists on you. He's your Chosen, sir. Why did he just do that?"

Gaelan sounded hesitant. :I do not know. I can only assume that all of the sexual abuse that has been heaped upon him has warped his view of what is appropriate behavior and what is not.:

There was a flash of lust in Jaron's eyes that was definitely Tenri, and Gaelan whuffled.

:Lust is not a good thing in a ten-year-old. Especially not lust for someone who is probably incapable of intercourse.:

Rowen bristled at the offhand comment but refrained from making an acerbic reply about idiot Groveborn Companions not knowing who they're Choosing. Respect for Companions was one thing. Respect for Companions who Choose a seemingly normal child who turns out to be a toddler, a nymphomaniac and a psychotic mage was another. Especially when the nymphomaniac part just tried to proposition you.

"Oh," Jaron said out loud after having gone into a 'listening' pose. "Sorry, horse-man. I didn't know Tenri was that . . . disturbed."

"It's all right," Rowen said. "Just please—don't let him do it again. It was . . . disturbing, to say the least."

:He blocked me out. There wasn't much I could do except try to figure out what he was doing from the emotions I was receiving. He can only block direct thoughts, and when I felt the lust, I knew I had to come,: said Gaelan. :You could have rejected him a bit easier, though.:

Annoyed, Rowen retorted with, "It's wrong to do that with any child. I was merely reacting the way any adult would if a child tried to initiate intercourse with them. And I've got no impulses of that sort whatsoever, so the point of a physical or romantic relationship is moot."

Gaelan abruptly made a choking noise, and Rowen looked over at him curiously. "Don't mock me, horse. There is no point to a relationship with me, since you'll never get anything out of it." Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to Rowen. "Y-you aren't considering me as—"

Now it was Jaron's turn to choke, and Rowen glared at the wall. "No, sir. Not happening, sorry."

:That's not what that noise was for,: said Gaelan in an aggrieved tone. :I just realized that you were—oh. You don't know.:

Interested in this unnamed thing that could make a Companion choke, Rowen asked, "Know what?"

:I don't suppose you'd forget I said anything,: Gaelan offered.

"No, I wouldn't." His curiosity was up now, and he wanted to know what it was.

Gaelan sighed. :All I can say is that you should ask the Bard.:

"Julian?"

:Yes. But before you do, I want you to do some soul searching.:

"Why?"

:Just trust me; you're going to need it.:

§

Rowen stared blankly at the retreating night sky and the dimming stars. More than a year ago in the Pelagirs Forest southeast of Valdemar, he'd tried to uncover some divine meaning in their placement but had found none.

Now they were pulling the same trick, and he wasn't happy. What exactly was he supposed to be soul searching for? He'd deduced that it had to do with Julian, since Gaelan had said to ask him about it, but so far he hadn't come up with any obvious answers. He'd come up here sometime during the night, and now it was dawn–he had no more answers.

What could Julian know that he didn't? It couldn't be the fact that the Bard was shaych–Rowen had deduced that from some comments he'd overheard from various people around Valdemar and the fact that Julian had never mentioned a lover of any sort; Bards were supposed to be promiscuous, and a Bard without any known lover was either a eunuch–which Julian was not–or someone who didn't want to draw attention to their lovers. Despite a recent rise in publicly shaych couples, many people were still leery of men or women that were shay'a'chern, and Julian was exactly the kind of person who wouldn't want to be singled out. It might seem like a long-winded suspicion, but Rowen was certain it would hold water.

So it couldn't be that Julian was shaych. . . .

He glared back out at the sky. Night wasn't gone yet–far from it; there was only a bare lightening of the east, and dawn was a long ways off. Rowen sighed and leaned his arms on the battlements. There had to be something!

A scuff of boot on stone behind him alerted him to a presence, and he knew without turning that it was the subject of his confusion.

He turned.

"Julian, would you happen to know what, exactly it is that you know and I don't?"

A comment and probably a FWQ (Frequently Wondered Question): Originally I was going to end it at the point where Gaelan told Rowen he was gonna have to do some soul searching, but then I figured that it would look kind of stupid if the only point of the chapter was for Rowen to refuse the advances of a ten year old boy, even if all of his ages combined make him older than Rowen is. (Which he's not. The max age of the body is like 13-14. Some experiences are just shared out, which explains why Shored is like five, Jaron is twelvish, and Tenri is ten (no pun intended).

. . . I just thought of something. How interesting would it be if Shored/Jaron/Tenri turned out to be the reincarnated Stefan/Tylendel/Vanyel? Ooh. I sense a future AU fanfic of a fanfic.