// These characters belong to Tamora Pierce. The plot belongs to me : )

Fairy Tale

Intermezzo

The following morning saw Joren wake with a smile on his face. It lasted for about a minute until he realized the cause for his awakening was not the hourly toll from the bell tower but the sparrows who had decided to move into the other side of the wall and set up nest beside where he placed his skull each night.

"DAMN AVIANS!!" he screamed, pounding against the wall. "One day I'll eat your SOULS and every morning in Hell you'll wake up at the crack of dawn to ME and my BATTERING RAM!"

Joren was not what is considered a morning person.

Unwinding from the sheets and landing with a graceless thud on the cold stone floor (innate grace was only useful for impressing people with), the squire crawled haphazardly to the washbasin and splashed water on his face. He paused a moment...something was off...oh.

Breath.

"ARIOSE!!! I told you, this is NOT a litter box!" A whine sounded from the other side of his bed, and a sleek, black and white Husky dog poked her head around the foot. She whined, approaching Joren with tail tucked between her legs. Joren glared.

"Bad dog! That's gross." He grabbed the basin, walked to the window and flung it wide open with one hand. The boy sloshed the sullied water over the side into the Royal Gardens, ignoring the indignant shriek from below, and closed the glass. Refilling the basin with fresh water from a pitcher sitting by the door, Joren reached out and knocked Ariose lightly on her broad skull. "Next time let yourself outside," he instructed, and set to the task of washing his face vigorously. He was in an astonishingly good mood, considering he hadn't done anything wicked/amusing (they were equal in his thinking) lately.

It wasn't until breakfast, always an adventure, that Joren remembered the cause of his elevated frame of mind. Stabbing a slice of bacon before it managed to crawl away (Sir Paxton meant well, but didn't cook it), he recalled the deal his manager had reached with the miffed Queenscove the day before. Since the lad was from a well-known family ("one of the four major families blah blah blah") and had the identification to prove it, his boss had agreed to let Neal pay the debt the following day to Joren, who would then deliver it to the restaurant. And if Nealan agreed to forget he had ever heard about a certain TASK, Joren would see to it that the money actually arrived there. Having no morals made things so much easier.

Joren stood. "I have to go," he told Sir Paxton, who was dozing facedown in a bowl of whey. The knight stirred and muttered.

"Some more coffee, Kathleen, there's a good girl." Joren blinked.

"What?"

"Mm, then we can go back to bed, hm?" A scowl formed on the squire's face. *Is he mistaking me for a girl AGAIN? This is really quite unacceptable.* Joren liked to think that just as he was gaining an education from his master, his master was gaining one from him as well. Therefore, just as Lord Paxton was permitted to command, punish and occasionally beat Joren, the boy felt completely justified in "disciplining" his beloved knight-master.

"Sure, Paxy-honey!" he chimed cheerfully, lifting the pot of steaming coffee. "Nice and hot, just how you like it..." And carefully, slowly, he poured the piping hot liquid into Sir Paxton's lap.

***

"That man has no sense of humor," muttered Joren to himself, rubbing his hind end. He had run, but not quickly enough. The beating, however, was unable to remove the smile from his face when he thought of the proposal he would make to Nealan. "Where is that smart-ass anyway? Ahh, perfect."

Queenscove was lounging on a wide bench along the paths of the gardens, as were Prince Roald, Cleon and Keladry. *This opportunity is too great to be passed up,* thought Joren with a wicked smile, changing direction and approaching his classmates.

"Good morning," he yawned cheerfully. The four looked up, expressions ranging from shock to puzzlement.

"Good morning, Joren," Roald greeted politely. As a prince he was required to be polite, especially to a son of the wealthiest family in the realm. "Err, won't you sit down?"

"I'll stand, thank you," replied Joren with a sly smile. "My bum is still rather a bit sore--" No lie there. "--and I didn't catch much sleep last night." He allowed his gaze to rove over the teens' surprised faces, and lingered on Queenscove's. His smile widened. "Oh yes, speaking of last night, Nealan..." Queenscove's eyes widened at the use of his first name. Joren leaned closer to the 18-year-old, purring. "I'm sorry to have to bring it up the morning after, but I really do need that money."

"WHAT?!" squeaked Cleon, scooting away. Roald and Mindelan stared at their friend in shock.

"Huh? No, wait! It's not like /that/ or anything--!" Nealan pushed Joren away. "He's twisting it out of proportion!" Joren allowed himself to fall to the ground and lie there. His eyes watered.

"You mean...you're just pushing me away?" he asked in a choked voice. "After that...that intimate discussion we had?" He stared mournfully up at Nealan, who had gone a rather interesting shade of lavender.

"DISCUSSION?" repeated Mindelan, casting a horrified look at her friend. Joren was beginning to enjoy this. Hiding his face in his hands, the blonde wailed piteously.

"He...he asked me who I was taking to the Summer Festival--"

"He *WHAT*?!" Peeking through his fingers, Joren was gratified to see the girl's hair standing out on end and hackles raised. Queenscove had withered under her glare and the twin dagger-shooting gazes from his companions. Apparently Hot-stuff hadn't actually asked the female impersonator to the Festival yet.

"And he said he wanted to get to know me...Really get to know me...and he started tou--"

"Enough!" Kel stood angrily, yanking Cleon and Roald away from the older boy. "I knew you were kind of desperate, Neal, but really--!"

"Yeah, I mean, really." Cleon shook his tousled red hair. "Sure Joren's pretty and everything, but you should go for good personality, not good looks."

Joren took offense. "Oh," the blonde commented airily, "he probably just wanted someone who looked more like a girl than Mindelan. Oh wait, that would be everybody." Queenscove snapped, and with a fearsome growl launched himself upon Joren. Who was prepared.

"Oh! Nealan! We mustn't, not right here in front of everybody!" he cried, writhing and twisting. In a tumble of bodies, no one besides them knew what was /really/ happening. "My clothes! Oh, stop it!"

"Roald! Cleon! Come on, we're leaving. It's obvious they want to be alone!" Kel walked off in the opposite direction, Roald following quickly. Cleon watched the two bodies struggling on the ground with wide eyes until he realized he was alone, and ran to catch up with the others.

With an angry shout, Queenscove detached himself from Joren's limbs and ran after his friends. "Wait! It's a misunderstanding!"

"Hey, what about the money you promised?!" Joren called after him, in a voice loud enough to gain the attention of everyone within the gardens. "MY SERVICE ISN'T FREE, YOU KNOW!!!"

To be continued...

/*  A roast-newt eating bishounen to all reviewers!  Thank you for reading and please give me any questions and comments, or just leave a review saying you liked it or something else.   Please continue to read!  */