Alright. I've heard rumors that authors aren't allowed to reply to reviewers anymore. Can anyone verify this?

Thanks to Moonjava, Fireblade K'Chona, TatsuKitty, (is it just me, or does the spelling of your name keep changing from TastuKitty to TatsuKitty?) and Shadowfax. Another thanks to MischaKitsune, who betaed this when I first wrote it. (A while back. Like two chapters ago)

Shameless plug: If anyone likes stories about romance and fantasy in an urban setting, read A Broken Violin. I know it's in the ML section as a Bedlam's Bard fic, but it really has nothing to do with BB except for a few passing references to the elves involved in that universe.

Tear me off a piece of blanket
Keep me warm and we can make it
Here's my heart, I'll let you break it
Touched your skin and I can't take it

-Yellowcard "October Nights"

Chapter 26: Tear Me Off a Piece of Blanket

"Rowen."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we're going to die?"

"I don't know," the Changechild replied vaguely. "We might."

Julian peered back out through the bars of the prison-wagon that was rolling through the Empire's main camp. Thousands of tents spread out in rows from the road that threaded through the camp, out into the distance and beyond, farther than the eye could see. If the Valdemaran army was comprised of thousands of men and women, the Empiric army must have been almost a half-million strong. And they were all men.

"Can we do this?"

"I- yes. We can." Rowen gave him an unreadable glance and turned back to looking worriedly at Shored and Gaelan. Both were unconscious in the back of the wagon, and had been ever since the Empire's mages had captured them and what passed for a mentor–Shensa and Lihandra. They'd been out having equitation lessons in an empty field some distance from Shonar and the castle, and hadn't been able to call for help.

Julian and Rowen had been "caught" later, in a calculated attempt to rescue them that had two endings. The first–that they could rescue all four captured Valdemarans. If they couldn't, they would let themselves be captured and break out later. There had been no company of guards or mages with them; all spare fighters and mages had been sent to the front lines to counter the Empire's newest assault. Julian and Rowen were the only ones who were ready and available volunteers. Unfortunately, the Changechild and the Bard had gotten themselves caught inbetween the two outcomes; they'd been able to find the sleep-dart and pull it out of Lihandra's neck so she could get her Chosen out of the immediate area and to safety, but there was no dart holding Gaelan captive–instead a very strong magic held the Groveborn, originating from a long, outward-pointing iron spike that had been affixed to his forehead above and between his eyes. Julian had been grabbed by soldiers to be used as a hostage, and Rowen, unwilling to see his friend hurt, had surrendered. Both had been stripped of their weapons, and now they, the Groveborn and the multi-personalitied Empiric boy were in a prison wagon, heading for Melles' tent in the camp after what seemed like weeks of traveling.

They'd passed the front lines and skirted around them to avoid the Allied troops and the battle itself, much to Julian's dismay. If they'd been able to break out then, they'd almost certainly have made it to safety. Without a way to wake Gaelan up, though, it was useless, and Rowen didn't want to reveal his trump card just yet, which Julian understood. The guards didn't know that he was an Empath, which was useful in making sure Shored and Gaelan were alright, even though they were both bespelled.

The wagon rolled over a bump and sent dust clouding into the air, and Julian blinked dust out of his eyes. His eyes. He could see again, but it seemed like a poor reward for being caught. The mages had repaired his eyes- actually, given him new ones from a still-living and aware mercenary from a Hardorn-hired company called Bornam's Bastards. He hadn't understood why, until a leering mage had leaned down to whisper into his ear. "It's so that when the Emperor tortures your lifebonded partner, you can see what happens to him, even after we burn away that part of your brain. The power that will come to him while one of you is in pain and the other one can't do a thing about it—there are times when I wish I were him, especially when he takes your eyes away again, one by one." He'd sneered, and Julian had felt cold terror seep into his bones. They would kill him and Rowen, and the Changechild wouldn't even know why.

Such a bleak reward for their deaths. "I'm sorry," he said quietly to the Shin'a'in.

"For?"

"Getting us into this mess."

"Julian, how many times do I have to tell you not to be sorry? It could have happened to anyone- even Herald-Captain Kerowyn."

"I know, but I still-"

"Stop. You. Are. Not. To. Blame."

Julian subsided into silence for a while.

"What do we do when we get there?"

Rowen seemed about to say something, then faltered. "I. . ."

"You have a plan, don't you?"

Almost a whisper. "Yes."

"And you don't think I'm going to like it, do you?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"It would be better if you didn't know. Not until after, when you're free."

Sadness flowed down the bond between them, and Julian almost cried out with heartache, but kept it to a whisper.

"Rowen. . ."

The other man sounded subdued. "I only have one clue for you: Firestorm."

"No," Julian said, knowing immediately what he meant. Kamikaze attack. Suicide. "Rowen, you can't do that."

"Why? I could buy us peace on the eastern front once and for all- just for the sacrifice of one man who isn't even human."

"You'll die!"

"I know." Rowen gave him a slightly twisted smile. "But I've come to the conclusion that I'm expendable. The Heralds don't need me. I don't fit in among the Shin'a'in, and Nadar can live with Sa'heera and Clopin in Kata'shin'a'in if he wants to." He paused, and it looked as though he was struggling with something.

"And me?" Julian asked bitterly. "What do I do when you're gone?"

Rowen didn't answer.

"What do I do, oh expendable one, when my best friend dies? What do I do when he commits suicide just because he thinks it will work, and no one will miss him?"

'What do I do when the man I love kills himself? What do I do when he's my lifebonded?'

The Changechild wouldn't look at him.

Julian repeated himself softly. "What do I do?"

"I-" an answer died on Rowen's lips.

The Bard slid across the rough floor of the wagon, ignoring the stares of the soldiers that were clearly afraid of the boggle.

"Rowen, tell me what I'm supposed to do if you die. You're all I have," he said pleadingly.

"You have–friends," Rowen said in a choked voice. "When Shored gets out of here, go with him. You have friends among the—"

"No." Julian lifted his face to stare the kneeling centaur in the eyes.

Rowen frowned, puzzled. "What—"

"I'll stay."

Comprehension dawned, and Rowen's look of puzzlement turned to one of horror. "Julian–no. I won't let you die here with me."

Julian was proud that his voice trembled only a little bit. "And I won't let you die here in this godforsaken wasteland. Whatever happens– I'm not going to let you die alone."

"Julian, no!"

"Yes. Where you go, I go. If you die, I die." 'Literally.'

"Julian. . ."

Rowen might have said more, were it not for the guards that began banging their swords against the bars of the prison wagon. "We are here. All out," one said in halting Valdemaran.

With little care, the guards hauled the limp bodies of Shored and Gaelan out of the wagon. Rowen and Julian followed, landing on the ground ungracefully, muscles unused to being stretched after so many days of being cooped up in the wagon, save for when they were allowed out to relieve themselves.

A guard prodded Julian in much better Valdemaran than his cohort. "On your feet."

He lurched to his feet, hanging unsteadily off of Rowen's offered arm.

"Do you know what's keeping them asleep?" he asked the Changechild out of the side of his mouth.

"I think it's one of the mages. If I can kill him, I think the spell will wear off. I don't know what good it will do since we're in the middle of an enemy camp, but if I can kill the mage before I unleash the firestorm, they'll have a chance to escape in the confusion. Go with them."

"I already told you, Rowen. My place is by your side." 'Even if it means dying. I would follow you to Hell and back.'

"But–"

"No."

"Then so be it. We die together."

'Even if I never got to tell you I loved you,' Julian thought wistfully, and looked back out at the deepening twilight over the rapidly approaching keep.

§

A pair of guards flanked the large doors at the end of the cold stone hallway. Rowen's hooves clapped on the tiles, echoed into the high ceilings and disappeared among what looked like ancient, captured weaponry hanging from the ceiling, only to reappear as phantoms, echoing back at them in long, drawn-out syllables.

A shushing noise followed them as more of the guards dragged the prone forms of Gaelan and Shored behind them, making no indication that the boy and the stallion were a burden.

The guards escorting them didn't look at them; didn't look anywhere but straight ahead at the doors, and Julian felt fear snake into him for the first time since they'd entered the newly-captured castle on the edge of Hardorn. If the guards were this well trained. . . what chance did they have to assassinate the Emperor and take out a huge chunk of the surrounding army?

The doors opened. Darkness lay on the other side. Julian tried to see through it with his new eyes, but everything was shrouded in gloom.

"Can you-" he tried to ask Rowen if he could see anything, but a guard noticed and used a short stick made of ironwood to hit Julian on the side of the head.

"Quiet!" he barked.

Julian nodded in acquiescence, and the cavalcade continued walking down the silent hallway until they passed through the doors and into complete darkness.

No noise pierced the shadows, but it felt like the room was crowded. Julian extended his Empathy into the familiar darkness and felt–people! Dozens–no, scores of silent people, inches from him. He extended an arm, assuming that the guard couldn't see it, and was rewarded by the sensation of cloth under his fingertips as he brushed past one of the unseen observers. Reaching farther on the next pass, he touched bare skin and drew a gasp from his victim and growls from the guards. He withdrew his hand to his side, tightening his fingers in the grimy scarlet cloth that was his shirt.

Suddenly they stopped short, and Julian stumbled and almost lost his balance. Rowen grabbed him by the shoulder and righted him, keeping the hand tight on Julian's shoulder even when the Bard was standing on his own again.

A voice came out of the darkness before them, and it was one of the most evil voices that Julian had ever heard. Smooth but laced with cruelty, this voice could melt stone and send the strongest man to his knees, begging for mercy.

"The Valdemarans approach," he said mockingly in unaccented Valdemaran, into the heavy silence that permeated the room.

"Melles, I presume?" Julian asked, knowing that the man who hid in the darkness could only be Tremane's arch-nemesis, the new leader of the Empire, and their target.

"Emperor Melles," the voice corrected with an obvious air of boredom. Apparently he was prepared to play a game of words.

"I'm sorry, was that scullion Melles?" Rowen asked, a hint of taunting in his voice.

"Emperor Melles," the Emperor said. He sounded slightly annoyed now.

"Bedslave Melles?" Julian asked. If they were going to die, they were going to do it with style. Getting back some of their own wouldn't be so difficult, and it might make Julian feel a bit braver.

"Kadessa Melles?"

"Laputa Melles?" asked Rowen, using the Velvaric term for 'diseased whore.'

"Emperor Melles!" Melles yelled, and the vague figure of a man appeared before them, outlined in faint, sickly yellow.

"Right, right, Emperor Melles," Rowen muttered, and said Emperor disappeared into the darkness again.

"Have you anything to say before We sentence you?" he asked, haughty again.

"One question," Rowen said, tightening his grip on Julian's shoulder, and Julian knew that it was almost time.

Time to die.

"Yes?" the Emperor drawled.

"When you were conceived, was your mother just sleeping with the sheep, or was she committing adultery when she slept with the donkeys?"

"When they made you, they broke the mold. Then they dragged the moldmaker into the street and stabbed him. Repeatedly," Julian quipped.

Melles roared inarticulately and a nimbus of red fire outlined him again.

"Not yet," Rowen growled, and the room began to burn. The darkness was chased away by the orange roaring of flames to reveal running shadows and burning tapestries on the stone walls. Julian grabbed Rowen's arm and pointed out a mage that was running for the door; he had a particular look of concentration on his face and a Feel that told Julian that he was the mage that was keeping Gaelan under such a careful lock and key. Julian pointed at him, and the man went up in flames. A few seconds passed in which they looked vainly about for more mages, or more importantly, Melles, then Gaelan surged up off the floor, eyes glowing red. Julian didn't think it was a reflection of the surrounding flames.

:Where is Shored?: he growled. :We must leave. Now.:

"Here." Rowen heaved Shored up into Gaelan's saddle and strapped him in. "Now go."

:You aren't coming?:

"No. We will deal with Melles. Remember the Firestorms," Rowen urged him. What passed for the stallion's eyebrows creased, and Julian would have sworn that the Companion had frowned.

:I understand. Good luck.:

"And you."

:Valdemar will sing your praises. Goodbye, Singer and Warrior.:

With that, he turned and bolted from the burning room, hooves nearly skidding on the tile floor until they found purchase on the rougher stone of the hallway.

"Think they'll get away?"

"They might."

The room burned hotter, and they found an exit in a passageway behind a burned tapestry. It was a tight squeeze for Rowen, but he made it through and up the long flight of stairs that led who-knew-where.

They found out where when they found themselves in a dead end, but the stairs led into the ceiling.

"Are you thinking—" Julian began, but was interrupted when Rowen started twisting around and braced his forelegs on the stairs and his arms on the walls.

From this precarious position, he kicked up with his hind legs. The false ceiling shattered and collapsed into a pile of rubble around them. Julian looked up and saw clean, clear sky, with thousands of stars.

"Let's go." Julian grabbed Rowen's hand and dragged him up and out of the stairwell and across the weathered stone to the parapets.

Far below, past the outer walls, a white horse was visible, dodging men and fallen tents, skillfully making its way out of the camp to freedom. It disappeared into the distance, but Julian followed it for a long while after that with his Empathy.

:We are away.:

After a time, he looked up at Rowen. "They made it."

"Good," Rowen said forcefully, and smiled, but Julian could tell it was fake. "I. . ." he trailed off, looking uncertain.

"I know, Rowen. Any time you're ready we can give our countries peace."

The Changechild nodded and closed his eyes. A long moment passed, and Julian saw two tears slip out from under his closed lashes and fall freely down his bronze face. Rowen opened his emerald green eyes and gave Julian a sad smile, and the Bard knew that Rowen was saying goodbye to the family and friends that he'd lost a long time ago, but had regained. Now he was saying goodbye to them a second time, and Julian knew that it was harder than the first.

He waited patiently for the Changechild to finish, and said some farewells of his own.

'Masaan. . . I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted me to be. Rojer. . . oh, my brother, I hope you've learned to open your heart, and I'm sorry that I never saw you again. Father. . . I know I was never what you wanted, but please, please forgive me. I love you all. . . Goodbye.'

A slight tap on the shoulder was all he needed. He looked up into Rowen's understanding eyes, and smiled at what he found there.

"I'm ready."

Across the roof of the keep, there was a small explosion. Bricks and mortar either collapsed inward or went flying as blood magic destroyed the ceiling of a second hidden staircase.

A horribly burned figure arose from the rubble, and a dark aura flared around him, identifying him as Melles.

The mage glared at them from the ruins of his face. His formerly immaculate silk robes fluttered around him in tatters, what could be seen of his arms and face was red and blistered, and his skin was charred black in places.

"I should have killed you when you began insulting me," he rasped. "I shall not make that mistake again. Now die!"

He began chanting, and dark clouds began to gather over the castle, obscuring the night sky.

"Death is not an end. Merely a step in a new direction," Julian quoted from an old novel. He couldn't remember the title.

"Yes. And we will take that step together."

Julian grabbed Rowen's hand and squeezed it one last time, regretting that he dared not tell the Changechild of his feelings. Then he sent a burst of pain, rage, and fear straight at Melles.

While the Emperor was still reeling from that attack, Rowen took a moment to squeeze Julian's hand back, and lace their fingers together.

Across the flagstones, a reeking figure arose, dripping fluid and slabs of skin. It tried to speak, but no sound would come out of its mouth. Rowen stared at the horrifying figure, looked back at Julian, and smiled.

"Goodbye."

And the world disappeared in flames.

§

"Nooooooo!" Julian bolted upright in bed, sweating. A dream. It had all been a dream. He slumped forward, panting, and dropped his head into his waiting hands. It had seemed so real, though, and vivid. And he had been able to see. See the Groveborn stallion, see the sky, see Rowen. The Shin'a'in had seemed so real, and when he'd looked Julian in the eyes for the first time. . . a shiver went up Julian's spine at the remembered contact.

'Green fire. I remember, his eyes crackled with green fire. His hair was like a fall of rain in the night, and his face. . . like the face of a god. It was the same as any other Shin'a'in I've seen, but it was Rowen, and all the more special, somehow. '

He closed his eyes at the remembered heartbreak, when he couldn't tell Rowen that he loved him, and closed his lips against the keen that was trying to force its way out of his throat.

The loneliness that he'd managed to hold at bay for nearly a decade finally broke his barriers, and he curled up into a ball and fought the wail of misery and despair that threatened to tear its way out of his chest.

'I love him,' Julian thought. 'I really do love him. Ah, Gods!' He'd hoped that it had been a fleeting infatuation brought on by the knowledge of the lifebond; after all, who didn't want to love someone they were lifebonded with? But the fleeting thoughts about the Shin'a'in . . . his stomach did acrobatic tricks when they were together just enjoying each other's company. His heart seemed to give a little leap every time he heard Rowen's voice after being bereft of it for only an hour or two. Not only would it double its pace when he was close to the Changechild; it seemed to thump sideways. When he thought about anyone else, he felt a mixture of shame and disgust for ever even doing that. A bad day could be soothed away by a mere moment in Rowen's presence, or a word of praise. It could have been the lifebond, but Julian didn't think so. Back in Valdemar . . . he'd been approached by one or two ex-lovers, but either time they'd attempted to initiate amorous encounters, he'd found himself thinking of a dark-haired man with bronze skin and green eyes. A man who he'd never truly seen.

He couldn't tell Rowen; the knowledge of the lifebond would disgust the Shin'a'in, and even though the Shin'a'in weren't hostile towards shaych people, there was no telling how Rowen would react to being told that he was lifebonded to a shaych male who was attracted to him.

But everything that he'd seen so far indicated that Rowen had no interest toward females whatsoever. Even Sa'heera, who was as beautiful as she was intelligent, at least by Shin'a'in standards, had evidently never found herself at the end of any attraction from Rowen.

And. . . . even if Rowen couldn't return the feelings, just to know that he knew would take a great weight off of Julian's chest. It might change the friendship between them, but this half-lie and all the skidding around subjects that would give away the fact that Julian was shaych was putting too much pressure on the Bard.

He raised a hand and traced the tear scar on his cheek, almost like it was a reassurance. It wasn't. He was suddenly stricken with a horrifying thought. What if Rowen found the scars ugly?

'He won't. He's your best friend, and he already coached you that they aren't ugly and that the scars are attractive, in a way. '

It didn't give him much hope, but it was a start.

He'd gotten enough sleep, and decided to take a walk to clear his mind. Tomorrow. He would find Rowen tomorrow, bring him to a secluded place, and tell him. Hopefully Rowen wouldn't break his heart.

'To know that he knew. . . would be better than never telling him at all, for to die without him knowing. . . is lonelier than the death he wanted.'