Disclaimer: I do not own the works of T. Pierce, nor do I make money by writing these stories.

They had spent their boyhood together. Children of powerful families, it was only expected. Still, you wouldn't have thought they'd have gotten on so well: one quiet and sensitive, the other ambitious and bossy. But regardless of their differences, there had always been a special bond between Arram and Ozorne.

"No, Ozorne, don't hurt it!" Arram cried, and a little ball of sparkling magic rushed to the defense of a long green lizard.

"What's the big deal, Arram? It's just a lizard." Ozorne stopped zapping the animal with green sparks, since the black shield just absorbed them anyway.

"But I like lizards, and I don't want you to hurt it." Arram's large brown eyes were so serious and pleading that Ozorne rolled his own eyes and gave in.

"Alright, I'll leave it alone. You're so dumb sometimes." The shield disappeared, and he was rewarded with his friend's shy smile. "C'mon," Ozorne announced, "Let's go down to the river. We'll play warlords; and don't worry,"he said with a mocking smile, "I won't hurt the precious fish."

"Arram, will you put down that book? I want to go down to the City, but father won't let me go alone!"

"So give him the slip," his dark friend replied wryly, his eyes never leaving the page.

"What's so interesting in there, anyways? Wouldn't you rather be doing something?" As if to demonstrate, a brightly feathered little bird landed on the page, blocking Arram's view; but he knew the bird to be illusion, and ignored it.

Frustrated, Ozorne sighed. But he wasn't about to give up so easily. "Arram, if you don't come with me I'm going to go into the City and visit the University without you, just for spite."

At the word "University", Arram's ears pricked up and his gaze actually leveled with his friend. He loved to visit the libraries there, and the fascinating collections of plants, animals, and fossils that were kept for classroom purposes.

"And where will we be going if I do come?"

"The fountains, of course," Ozorne said smugly. It was the place where the young people went to meet; boys showed off and made dares and pulled pranks, girls (accompanies by their older brothers or chaperones, of course) sat by the cool water talking amongst each other and pretending not to watch.

Arram sighed deeply and dropped his nose back into the book.

"Arram! Are you my friend, or what?"

The taller boy looked up, clearly wounded. But Ozorne sensed the winning strategy, and persisted. "Friends do things together," he emphasized. "And help each other out instead of sitting around ignoring people. Mithros knows why I even bother with you. Any of the other boys would fall over themselves to come with me."

His quiet face twice as solemn as usual, Arram closed the book. He spoke not a word but got up, and gestured to the young Prince to lead the way. Ozorne jumped to his feet, all charming smiles, and took his best friend's hand. He led the way through the castle—announced to a servant where they were going—and spared the time for Arram to put his book away before dragging him off to the city. Through all this he chattered jovially, thinking of the girls he fancied and that boy who'd had the audacity to speak casually with him last time, who he'd be sure to teach a lesson to today! And all the while not seeming to notice that Arram said nothing at all, but followed along in a distracted way. Inside a war was waging. In his mind he called himself a coward for not standing up for himself, and in the next moment taunted himself for ignoring his best friend as though friends were expendable and easily replaced.

"It's just wine for the Gods' sake! I swear by the Hag that I didn't poison it!"

Arram chuckled softly. "I'm not worried about that, Ozorne. I just don't know that I want any. It'll make my head foggy."

"That's the point, stork-brains! It's fun. Not that you'd know anything about fun. But you've always got your head in the clouds anyways, so what's the difference?" Ozorne smirked as Arram grimaced. "Here. We'll share a glass, and if anyone sees us, I'll blame it on you."

Shaking his head with amused exasperation, Arram accepted the glass of red liquid. He took a mouthful and swished it around experimentally; it did taste nice, fruity without being sweet.

He handed the glass back and watched as Ozorne took a sip. He had to admit that he felt delightfully naughty, being all of fourteen years old and sharing a bottle of wine stolen from the royal cellar. Ozorne passed the glass back and he drank some more. He handed it back with a grin; he was starting to feel quite silly as well as foggy, and Ozorne laughed and told him his teeth had turned purple.

Giggling, Arram pointed at his friend and said his teeth were the same!

Unexpected, a little dart of black fire escaped his finger and flew towards Ozorne's teeth. The youth put up a hand to stop it, just barely shielding himself with his own magic. "Watch it, Arram! Mithros and Shakith, you get a little tipsy and you completely lose control!" His voice was edged with real anger.

Arram's carefree mood suddenly collapsed, and he pulled his hands into his lap, looking remorsefully at the ground. "I'm sorry, Ozorne. You know I didn't mean it." Stupid! he thought. Stupid magic, stupid wine... stupid me.

"Just keep your fingers to yourself. You could've put my teeth out." Still frowning, he took another swig of wine.

"What exactly is going on here?!"

Oh, no.

They looked up to find Arram's tutor frowning sternly down at them. "Where did you two get that wine?"

"He—he took it from the cellars, Master," Ozorne lied. Arram cringed inside, resentful that his friend had indeed placed the blame where it didn't belong, but feeling that he deserved it after losing control.

"Arram, is that true?"The boy stared at the ground and said nothing. "I am appalled. This kind of behavior is completely inappropriate for boys your age—not to mention your royal standing, Ozorne! You should be studying, both of you. Hand me that bottle and go inside, now. Your parents will be informed of this." The two boys stood, and handed the bottle over. Ozorne looked petulant; Arram looked contrite.

"I am particularly disappointed in you, Arram. As such a promising student, I had thought this sort of thing was beneath you." Slouching even further into himself—if that was possible—Arram muttered an apology and fled.

Was it only a couple years later that they had been riding together at sunset, and dismounted to look out over the sea? The evening had been hot, but a breeze coming from over the water gave some relief. They sat together in the short grass, and enjoyed the view. Ozorne talked, his mind wandering from one subject to another—a visit with his kid sister and their mother, the wars his father had won, his dreams to build a great aviary when he was Emperor and could do as he pleased. Arram, as usual, listened. He laughed at his friend's jokes and made quiet remarks, some of them skeptical and others supportive. Only Arram had the privilege of criticizing the young Prince; none of his other friends dared. When Ozorne got angry, unfortunate things seemed to happen to people.

But Arram was special. Privately he thought that it was his personal role to remind Ozorne of what was important: not power and authority, but rather compassion and the small, quiet things that make life good. And Ozorne let his mild remarks slide, often acting as though he had not heard them—but Arram knew, by subtle changes and words, that he had.

"You know we should be getting back," Arram pointed out softly. "They'll be expecting us." Ozorne looked at him with one of his charming smiles.

"We'll stay just a little longer." Acquiescent, Arram couldn't help but smile back. He glanced down, a common habit, expecting the stream of words to flow on. But for once, Ozorne was quiet and still. He looked back up to find his friend watching him with the oddest expression.

Darkness was approaching more quickly now, turning the boys' dark skin even duskier. In the shadows, eyelashes seemed shockingly long, and skin appeared unusually soft.

When had they ended up sitting so close together? Their faces were almost touching—

And then they were touching, and a shocked Arram found his friend's thin lips pressed hesitantly against his own. A softness spread between them, and a warm sensation he had never felt before. Their kiss ended, and in the fading light he saw Ozorne's face: hungry, hard. The face of a boy who knew what he wanted, and took it. Then Ozorne leaned back in, and this time Arram kissed him back.

"Numair," He jerked his head around, startled out of his reverie. "I was just about to—are you alright?"

It was Daine, his Daine. And it was morning, in Tortall, and Ozorne was safely with the Black God. But he couldn't shake that haunted feeling, and he knew it showed in his face.

He cleared his throat. Her sweet blue-gray eyes were crowned with a troubled brow: a face that was all concern, no falsehood, no mocking cruelty. She was waiting for his reply.

"It's nothing. Only... only dreams. Only memories." Abandoning whatever it was she had been just about to do, she came to him, sliding an arm behind his back, nestling her small body into his.

"Do you want to tell me?"

"No! I—no." He blushed, a most endearing quality that made her smile fondly up at him. "It doesn't matter, now. Those memories have no power here," he added firmly. To prove his own point he focused on the present: his love, so beautiful and soft in his arms, trusting him completely. Offering comfort. His life: he was now a free man, free to protect the qualities of the world that he cared about, to trust his friends. To walk down the street without looking over his shoulder.

To love a woman who would love him back, and never betray him, never ever...

He buried his face in her hair, hoping she wouldn't notice his eyes burning with tears.

"Only what's now is what matters," she said. "Aren't you the one who taught me that?"

"Did I?"

"Yes," she said firmly.

He chuckled a little. "Then I must have been right."

Life was good. A beautiful morning such as this didn't warrant such melancholy. If only the dreams would stay away, he thought.

"I love you," he whispered into her curls. Tilting her face up, she kissed him on the mouth, tears and all.