A/N This story was supposed to be a one-shot, but LunaSphere was particularily evil and managed to coerce me into writing this. Special thanks to Luna for that and for betaing. Thanks also to Sweet Sassy Sarah and Alliriyan for looking this over and encouraging me in my desperate bids for attention. ;)

Charun Lykaen sat at his desk, candles and a lamp lit around him to stave off the coming darkness. He still had a pile of reports to read through for the Intelligence Minister of the King of Olart and was stubborn and prideful enough that he would not go to bed before they were done, even though his head ached and his eyes were beginning to struggle to focus on the pages before him.

One more, he told himself, setting aside papers on the activity of a small fiefdom on the border of their neighbouring country, Anderran. Smuggling was suspected, but it would be up to the Minister to suggest action to the King, not Charun. His suggestion, however, would be to watch the income carefully. No need to share the nation's modest wealth with others.

Now this is interesting… Charun thought, reading the code over quickly. Apparently the Count Albannon fer Yarven had thought of a creative way to combat the recent drought on his lands. Messages had been sent into Summersea for the services of two mages, Briar Moss and Trisana Chandler.

It was an interesting way to get around the King's refusal to allow Temple staff to work unaccompanied by royal supervision and permission within the realm's borders. It was stupid, Charun thought (but never, ever said). But while these mages were linked to the temples and fer Yarven's cousin there, they were undoubtedly not dedicates and the Court could do little more than frown and grumble.

And they were so good at that.

Charun slipped open the reports on the mages, reading the boy's first. Briar Moss, a plant mage of obvious renown. Charun had heard many tales of the boy prodigy a few summers ago, when he had travelled to Namorn and succeeded in thwarting the Empress's will. They had all heard of her fury, and the surprising story of the power of these… children. For no one could deny that they were barely adults.

But he was surprised by the rumours and information his people had been able to collect on the plant mage. Entire theories wound about an experience in an earthquake where four children (and a dog, of all things) survived underground and emerged, not only alive, but miraculously enhanced in their magical capabilities.

Charun read about pirate attacks where plants rioted under his care, killing the attackers, where thorns and packets of seeds were as dangerous as war magic. He shivered at the thought as one of his two candles spluttered out.

The reports from the plague mentioned his abilities as a healer and a medicine-maker, but there were darker rumours only whispered in recent years that perhaps his teacher's illness had been more serious than let on. Whispers that could never be verified, his reports cautioned, but which were from reputable sources.

Charun thought of the power necessary to do what was suggested. The lamp flickered and died and he only leaned closer to the candle, unwilling to drag his eyes from the page.

The following years, leading up to the trip to Namorn, were vague and parts were missing, but even the bones of this mage's story were enough to raise the hair on the back of Charun's neck. An entire estate turned into a forest which no one could tame, standing as a reminder of a noble's cruelty, or so the people of the street said. The war had erased all possibility of gathering information, but rumours had survived even that devastation. Rumours that his vines and thorns had ripped through many soldiers, that his knives had done almost as good a job…

Charun knew all about the Namornese incident, and only skimmed through that section of the report, reading of the way he had charmed the Empress only to defeat her best defence and her great-mage protector when he refused to stay, when he and his sisters had defied the Imperial Will.

He sat back from the report, rubbing his tired eyes. He wasn't sure what his suggestion should be, and was glad it was only to the Intelligence Minister, and not to the King himself, to whom he would have to make it. This boy-mage undoubtedly could help one of their most productive lands prosper again. However, he had proved capable of defying more powerful persons than the King of Olart could hope to produce in a decade, and that would inspire a certain paranoia in the most seasoned ruler.

How does that Duke of Emelan sleep?

He reread the reports quickly, synthesizing them into a condensed set of papers for the Minister to deal with the next day. It was as he was doing this that he noticed the most unremarkable of facts: the boy had been born in Hajra, Sotat.

Charun closed his eyes for a moment, recalling a long-forgotten face with golden-brown skin. She had had large, dark eyes that had seemed to dance with every joy, and fill with tears at every hint of sorrow. Surrounded by black hair, her face had shone in the port city of Hajra and had captivated him from the first moment Charun had seen her. Almost a year, they had had together. Almost a year before he was recalled to the capital, an active agent then, before his injury had moved him to his desk job.

Charun had never seen her again, had not been able to leave a name or address for letters. But she had obviously never left his mind, not completely.

He wondered, briefly, why this boy would bring her to mind, an affair almost twenty years in the past.

But he was tired, truly tired, now and he couldn't think on it long. He organized the left-over paperwork to be completed tomorrow. Then, turning his grey-green eyes toward the light, he blew the candle out.

A/N As always, reviews of all sorts are welcome and deeply appreciated. Thanks for reading!