Hello everyone! Sorry I took a short break but I've been overwhelmed with schoolwork. I've finally decided to rework my Return of Sage fic from a while ago and I hope you like it. I'm going to try to continue Decoration on Their Arm, but idk, life happens. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs and the plot to this fanfic. All credit goes to Jennifer A. Nielsen!

~Goldilocsk06

One: Make A Wish

Jaron stared at his ring. The king's ring. His father's ring. His grandfathers ring. His great-grandmother's ring. A hundred generations of Eckburt royals had worn that ring, had born the role of a king, of a leader, of a slave to the law. A hundred generations had been displayed in splendor, had made the tough decisions, had made their mark on Carthya. Surely, he wasn't the only one who doubted his leadership, his ability to cope with the role.

"Jaron?" Amarinda prompted, waking him from his contemplative state. "What do you think of that?"

The king sat up at his desk, attempting confidence. "Um, yes, er… well…"

"My lord," Harlowe began, "Do you understand what the princess is saying about the trade routes?"

Jaron sighed. "Yes, yes. That's brilliant, Amarinda. Tell Tobias he did his research well." The three of them were having a rather quiet meeting in his office over tea, trying to prepare everything for the coming king of Gelyn. The trade routes had to be right, the food distribution had to be right, the finances had to be well looked after. And it was rather boring. More than boring, in fact- snore worthy.

"Now then," Harlowe turned to the next topic on his list. "Shall we discuss the recent pile up of gangs in the Drylliad and the cities?"

Amarinda nodded, taking a sip of her tea.

"According to last weeks charts…" And they were back at it, talking about stealing and recent disappearances of store owners.

Jaron was just beginning to nod off when Imogen burst into the room, her skirts flowing behind her. The king's fiancée was a whirlwind of frustration and worry, her hair frizzled as she rushed into the office.

"Jaron!" She shrieked, pressing her hands flat on his desk, staring at him.

The king was taken aback. "Wh-at, what is it Imogen?'

"You didn't tell me that tomorrow was your birthday!" Imogen yelled, "I mean come on, Jaron! We're engaged! How am I supposed to throw an epic party if I don't even when to throw it!"

Amarinda patted Imogen comfortingly. "Its okay, Imogen. Shh. See me afterwards and we can speak about a party, alright? Calm down…"

"But Amarinda…" Imogen slowly relented, letting the princess take her arm and lead her out the door, muttering in her ear comforting words.

Harlowe smiled. "Quite the woman you've got there, Jaron."

"I know," Even in the most confusing and frustrating of days could be celebrated with Imogen's face. She didn't have to smile, she didn't even have to look at him. But knowing that she was there, supporting him, cheering him on, was enough. Jaron let a grin escape from his king faces. He couldn't wait to see what Amarinda and Imogen would throw together for a party.

"Happy birthday dear Jaron," The crew sang, "Happy birthday to you…"

Roden piped up, "From good friends and true, from old friends and new, may good luck go with you, and happiness too. How old are you? How old are you? How old, how old, how old are you?"

"Goodness, Roden," Jaron laughed. "Where did that come from?"

Roden shrugged. "An old Gelvin orphanage tradition." Imogen smiled at Jaron, her fury from earlier extinguished by the sight of happiness around her. It was a small party, a secret kept from any boring nobles or adoring fan girls. The ribbons strung from the rafters were gold and blue, Carthyan colors, and the cake was an impressive imitation of Tarblade Bay.

"Jaron," Imogen motioned with her hand. "Blow out the candles and make a wish!" He took a breath, thinking about what he wanted, what he really truly wanted. He wanted to see his family again, it was true, but having Darius not far away in Belland was good enough for now. He wanted to marry Imogen but that would be happening in less then 2 months. He would make it until then. And then, out of nowhere his wish hit him, striking him like a bomb in the chest.

Taking a deep breath and blew out the candles. If only there was a way to make such an impossible wish to come true. And then, suddenly, it did.

"So, Jaron," Roden began, leaning away from his seat next to Harlowe, as if he was scared of what his father would think of what he was about to say. "Tobias and I's present is…"

Tobias filled in. "Different, to say the least. We are willing to offer you about, um-"

"A week?"

Tobias squeezed Amarinda's hand. Here went nothing. "Yeah, a week. A week of freedom. We'll pretend to be you, and you can kind of go out… and be Sage again. Steal and hang in the streets. So um… what do you think?"

"I think," Mott jumped in, his voice an octave higher then usual, "That this is entirely unsafe! I mean, what if he were to get caught?! Or King Aranscot could arrive early from Gelyn? I mean honestly, how rash and…"

Jaron put his hand up. He glanced around at his friends, a signature smile growing on his face. "Woohoo! This is going to be great! I'll cut my hair crazy and rub dirt on my face, slip into some peasant clothing! Yea!"

Tobias looked at Roden. Roden looked at Jaron. Jaron looked at Tobias. It was true, much had changed since that first day the trio met on a bumpy carriage ride to Conner's torture estate, but they were there. Alive, breathing, free to laugh and work and play. And the feeling of it was exhilarating.

Deep in pub at the far end of Drylliad a stocky man sat in a corner, reviewing his plans. His head was cloaked with a hood and despite his rock-like build, he was a rather forgettable figure. The man drank a jug of beer, attempting to forget his unfortunate life in an evening. But the bartender on duty, a proud young woman could see through his mask of toughness. She marched up to him, inconspicuously stealing several garlins from his pockets while clearing away the table.

"Sir?"

The man looked up from his chicken-scratch filled papers. "Yeah?"

"Are you finished?" The woman asked, an eyebrow arched.

The hooded man winced as he nodded, his hood briefly showing a portion of his face. The bartender eyes widened for a moment, a picture of a boy she had once known flashing on red alert in her mind before she dismissed the idea and returned to cleaning tables. The man sat there for some time though and finally a scrawled word peeked out from under his cloak: Sage.