A/N: This installment contains a bit of dialogue lovingly stolen from Patrick Rothfuss. Namely, the facts (of which the last is not true), and the last scene, altered.

Voice Lessons
Chapter Three

The first time Zahir saw evidence that Jonathan actually had special Voice powers, he nearly rejected it straight out. It seemed ridiculous at the time, but as he learned more about the king, he came to the reluctant conclusion that there wassomething about being Voice that required innate potential. Zahir wasn't sure whether he possessed that special something, but he hoped so. If he didn't, it would make this strange partnership with the king much more useless.

Jonathan was strange, of that there was no doubt. The only question was whether he was always slightly mad, or if becoming the Voice had overloaded his mind to some extent. Most times, he acted quite normally, especially in public fulfilling his kingly duties, but as soon as he was alone, Jonathan was downright weird.

Take for instance the one day he had summoned Zahir to his chambers, thrust a handful of fluffy seeds under his nose, and ordered him to say how many there were. Without counting.

Zahir had been quite flustered, understandably, and had stammered something about 'a lot.' Jon had rolled his eyes and sighed, to which Zahir had demanded, slightly petulantly, how many actually actually were in his hand.

Then the odd part happened. Jonathan had looked at the pile of seeds, then looked inward, and intoned in a strange voice, 'thirty-seven main stems, with a total of two thousand, eight hundred and four individual seeds.'

Zahir stood flabbergasted until Jonathan happened to inhale one of the fluffy bits and proceeded to cough and hack for five straight minutes. It was likely more than that, as Zahir had simply left when the king managed to get the seed out only to inhale one of the ones floating around the air.

"Squire."

By now, months into their loose partnership they called 'squire' and 'knight-master,' Zahir didn't jump anymore when Jonathan gave his customary greeting. The Bazhir thought the lack of reaction rather disappointed the king.

"Jonathan," he acknowledged without opening his eyes. He was performing a very slow practice dance with the sword, one that required intense concentration and muscle control, and the sweat trickling down his back was an unwelcome irritant. As was the king, for that matter, as if that ever stopped the man.

"I'm bored, squire. Name me a fact."

That was another new game of Jonathan's. At any time, at any moment, Zahir would be pressed to divulge an interesting fact that the king didn't know. If he was successful, the man would go off and ponder it for a while. If he wasn't, or couldn't think of any unique bits of trivial knowledge, the king might pester him for an hour before getting bored.

After a month of this, however, Zahir knew to keep a stock of facts just in case.

"It is physically impossible to lick your elbow."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, licked one finger, and touched it to his elbow. "False. Try again."

"The loose flap of skin at the tip of your elbow is called the wenis."

"Did you think I was never a boy, squire?"

"In 410 BHE, a Scanran warlord demanded three thousand pounds of pepper to ransom a city."

Jonathan paused at that one. "Interes- nope. History bores me, squire."

Moving into the most difficult part of his routine, Zahir used his last resort, a bizarre fact positively ensured to entertain the king.

"There's a type of dog in the desert that gives birth through a vestigal penis."

Zahir peeked through his closed eyes to see the flabbergasted expression on Jonathan's face. He couldn't help but smirk slightly.

"Really? How did I not know this one? Great work, squire! I have to lord this over Gary." With a firm slap on the back, Jonathan strode hastily into the palace.

Unfortunately for Zahir, that slap had occurred when he was balanced just on the toes of one foot, and it nearly knocked him to the ground. He scowled, sighed, and started over. Such was the life of the Voice's squire.

"There are many mysteries in the world, squire. Name one."

Zahir bit back his first reaction - how a crazy man managed to become both Voice and King- and thought for a second. "The existence of immortals."

Jonathan shook his head and perched himself on the table Zahir was using for his books. "Nothing so concrete. Try a theoretical concept. How would you explain the unexplainable?"

Zahir accepted the rapid change in topic. After so many months, such a small thing barely warranted a second thought. "Is nothing unexplainable, with enough time?"

"Explain to me Gary's joke last night. The terrible one."

Zahir winced. That had been a particularly horrid joke with numerous terrible puns that should never have been contemplated, let alone mashed together. "I can't," he admitted.

Jonathan nodded sagely. "Of course not. How would you explain what you feel when you're tilting, when the horse and you are connected, when you lean forward and extend your arm and lance as one and make one perfect contact..."

Zahir blinked; those words had been oddly hypnotic, especially coming from Jonathan. "It would be difficult, but I think I could put it into words."

"To someone afraid of horses? To someone who has never seen a horse or a lance?"

The squire shook his head. "That wouldn't be easy. I might could, but I could never impart the true feeling to someone incapable of experiencing it."

"And so we make progress, my young squire." Jonathan folded his hands on one leg and grinned happily. "Admitting your ignorance is the first step towards knowledge."

"You could also try teaching for a change," Zahir muttered. "That might work; it'd at least be different."

"And here lies the root of your problem." Jon sighed. "You are like a young boy who first discovers the magic of breasts. Fascinated, you stare at them, obsess over them. You could try to court and woo a lady to feel them, but you're too impatient. That takes too much time and doesn't guarantee success, or perhaps too much success. Instead," he grabbed one of Zahir's hands and pressed it to his chest, "you reach out and grab any passing breasts in the hope that they'll fulfill your need."

Jonathan leaned closer to Zahir and whispered in his ear. "I'm trying to wake up your sleeping mind, squire. You need to stop touching my tits."