Much thanks to both q-sama and Kirsty, both of whom got roped into reading this for me, and both of whom I adore! This chapter is also for AlmightyChrissy, as anything Naxen inevitably is.

"It's humiliating," Douglass complained. "You wouldn't understand."

Sacherell pursed his lips, collapsing on the bed next to his friend. "Well, no, you're entirely right there," he agreed. "Because, if I'm not mistaken, it was your idea to get Alan involved in the first place."

A grunt from Douglass confirmed this was the case.

"And you accept that his advice was, unusually, quite useful."

A second grunt suggested Douglass wasn't up to providing his customary verbal delights.

"And earlier you agreed that we should follow it."

Douglass gave Sacherell a baleful look, which the latter took to be affirmation.

"Then why in the name of Mithros's sword are you now balking at it? Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about the whole thing at this stage?"

Douglass shoved at Sacherell, nearly succeeding in pushing the other boy off the bed. "No," he said. "Raoul had me up before dawn this morning. You know midday suits my complexion much better. I'm sure you'll look perfectly lovely at sunrise; you have the eyes for it."

Sacherell rolled said dawn-appropriate eyes, and waited.

Predictably, Douglass cracked. "Oh, you know. It's just the thought of having to go to Alan for advice, and then having to take it. It would have been fine if he'd come up with something useless, but now I feel... displaced."

Sacherell snorted. "One good suggestion from Alan does not discount all the solid years of pranks that we have put in. Besides." He lowered his voice, though his mouth was close to Douglass's ear anyway. "No one needs to know."

Douglass brightened at this. "No, I suppose they don't, do they? But it wouldn't hurt, just to try a few other things out first? I mean, it's Alan. We convinced him for months that you were Alex's squire, and Geoffrey was Gary's."

"I'll give you a day to come up with something else," Sacherell said, sounding resigned.

"Maybe I should tell Raoul that I'm in love with him," Douglass mused over breakfast. "I could say that I'm no longer comfortable being in such close proximity to him all the time – and if forced to stay under such conditions, I should not be held accountable for my actions."

Sacherell threw half of a bread roll at him, managing, "I think you'd get a well-deserved clip around the ear," around a mouthful of the other half.

"You're right," said Douglass, deflating, and chucking the roll at Alan. "Ooh, maybe I could tell Gary that I'm in love with him, and-"

"No, Dougy. None of your ridiculous knight-and-squire fantasies at the breakfast table, please."

Douglass raised an eyebrow at Sacherell, looking suspicious. "That was awfully touchy. Are you having a torrid affair with Raoul?" He pressed a hand to his chest, and Sacherell had the horrible feeling that this was going to get worse. "Goddess's skirts, it's Gary, isn't it? You've been sleeping with Gareth the Not Getting Any Younger, and he's finally seen sense! That's why you've concocted this whole knight-swapping affair! Well, my dear boy, we can't all expect to catch and hold a Naxen's fancy-"

Alan supplied Sacherell with the remainder of the roll, which, with careful aim, the latter was able to bounce off Douglass's nose.

"I think we should stop this before you pair up Jonathan and the lovely Alan here, and our sweetest-tempered squire offers to grind your nose into pig-muck," Sacherell said wisely.

"Oh, I could probably come up with something a little more inventive," Alan said with a grin, though his voice cracked somewhere in the middle.

Douglass considered mocking Alan's voice for finally breaking (Alan might sprout a chest-hair or two soon if he was really lucky), but decided not to encourage this new-found creative streak.

"I give in."

"What?"

Douglass scowled at Sacherell. "I surrender, admit defeat, submit to Alan's superior ideas."

Sacherell grinned, reaching across to ruffle the other squire's hair. "It's all right. You know, no matter how many new concepts our resident redhead comes up with, you'll always be my favourite."

A beat passed, and Douglass ducked out of the way of Sacherell's hand.

Sacherell cleared his throat. "So, ah, I'll talk to Gwynnen, then. I think she'd be most receptive to the idea, and I know Raoul would listen to her."

Douglass kicked at the wall, leaving Sacherell staring at him in surprise. "No, that's fine," he answered in a tight voice. "Perfect. Gwynnen. Right. Well, it's not exactly hard to figure out which lovely Court rose it is that Sir Gary would most like to prick." He gave Sacherell a winning smile.

"That's not really the best language to approach Cythera with," Sacherell said cautiously. "Fortunately, she probably wouldn't understand it, but she'd ask you to explain – not that I imagine that would be a problem for you."

"I don't use such language amongst delicate Court flowers," Douglass replied archly.

"Delia."

Douglass rolled his eyes. "I'm more delicate than Delia. Besides, it was a wonderful pun, and if you'd have thought of it, you would have done the same. It's the jealousy making you talk, Sachy, but don't worry. I forgive you."

"I'm not sure anybody else appreciated the irony of her wearing her riding gloves when leaving Jon's rooms, even though, yes, she probably was riding Jon. And I still haven't forgiven you for stealing one, which meant I got sent on border patrol!"

That subdued Douglass, but not enough to prevent him from attempting a defence. "It's not like I anticipated Gary and Raoul starting a war over it!"

Sacherell let out a sigh. "All right. Enough. Go find Cythera. And be nice."

"Have you ever known me any other way?" Douglass asked, batting his eyelashes.

"Yes."

"Squire? Sacherell, are you listening to me?"

Sacherell managed a nod, gulping. He wished he'd sent Douglass to talk to Gwynnen. Douglass always found the right things to say, and had no concept of embarrassment. Sacherell was caught in a shame spiral, and his face kept getting hotter and hotter.

And he hadn't made it past 'hello' yet.

Gwynnen placed a hand on his arm, smiling up at him. "What was it you wanted, then, Squire?"

"Raoul," he said. Then, horrified, he shook his head. "No, that's not – oh, dear."

Gwynnen was looking alarmed by this point, and her hand was now hovering a few inches above his arm, as though she were planning on withdrawing it slowly.

Right.

It worked with other girls; he couldn't understand what happened to his tongue when Gwynnen was around. It appeared to thicken, and he had no hope of making the slightest bit of sense.

But he couldn't let Douglass down.

She was pulling her arm back slowly – it was like a countdown. Before it reached her body, he had forced a smile onto his face.

"Lady Gwynnen, I was wondering if you would deign to bestow a favour upon me," he said, using his previously rehearsed lines.

She inclined her head gracefully, looking intrigued, or possibly just thankful that he had pulled himself together.

"I suffer," Sacherell continued, unsure whether he was laying it on too thickly, but too delighted that words were leaving his mouth fully-formed to be overly concerned, "from the hardship of having a desk knight for a knight-master." He gave her a pitiful look. Gary wasn't precisely a desk knight, though he certainly was heading that way, but Gwynnen wouldn't know that.

Gwynnen folded her arms over her chest – eyes on her face, Sacherell, keep your eyes on her face – and fixed him with a scrutinising look. "I see. What have I to do with this?"

"Well. There is a knight-master I'd prefer, but these things aren't a squire's place, you see. I know that Sir Raoul listens to you-" This was definitely an exaggeration, because Raoul became more flustered than Sacherell did around Gwynnen, if that were possible. "-and respects your opinion. If it's not too much to ask, I was hoping you might put in a good word for me with him."

Sacherell exhaled, not quite able to believe how many words he'd managed to utter in front of Gwynnen without stumbling once.

Her face was thoughtful, and then, suddenly, she smiled. "This is Squire Douglass's doing, isn't it?"

"I can think of things independently," Sacherell objected.

The way she wrinkled her nose at him was certainly very distracting. "Nothing like this. This is a regular revolution. Knight-swapping. How unconventional."

"Would my lady care to help us?"

Gwynnen tilted her head on one side, raising an eyebrow. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Squire."

He thought it would probably be wise to leave it there, in case a marriage proposal slipped out.

"Sir Gareth?"

Gary turned, and choked. "Lady Cythera," he spluttered, bowing. "May I help you?"

"If it isn't too much trouble," Cythera replied, looking as lovely as ever. Privately, Gary wondered if even the Goddess would be able to match Cythera. He held back a response that nothing would be too much trouble for her - counting the grains of sand in the Southern Desert would be fine, for example, but he wouldn't be so keen on talking to that sister of hers. "I fancied a turn around the gardens, and wondered if you would trouble yourself to accompany me."

Praising every deity he could think of whilst Cythera's eyes were fixed on his, Gary offered his arm to her. "I would be delighted to, my lady."

Cythera took his arm, and began walking in the direction of the Queen's gardens. "I ran across your delightful squire today, Sir Gareth."

Gary wasn't sure there were enough words for 'sorry', just then. "Really?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, yes. He kept Lady Gwynnen and myself amused for much of the late morning."

He forced his hands not to clench, reminding himself that she would be able to tell if he tensed up. "Is that so?"

"Did I get him into trouble?" Cythera asked, bringing their walk to a halt, as she gave Gary an alarmed look. "Was he supposed to be doing work for you?"

Gary shook his head. "No," he replied. "Not that tasks usually stop Sacherell from amusing ladies."

"Sacherell?" she repeated, her brows drawing together in a delicate frown. "I thought he was Sir Raoul's squire? How peculiar. They seem suited to one another, don't you think?"

Gary matched her frown. "Ah, I – I suppose," he said, caught off guard. "Whom did you think was my squire, then?"

"Squire Douglass," Cythera answered innocently, though her cheeks turned a shade pinker. "He seems entertaining and charming, just like – well."

Now she was definitely blushing.

Gary tried to swallow, too delighted by what he thought she might mean to actually attempt anything resembling charm.

"Cythera," a voice called from further down the hall. Gary wished he'd thought to start moving; a few more steps and they'd have been safely in the garden. As it was, Gwynnen caught up with them easily.

"Sir Gareth," she greeted, sounding delighted. "Good afternoon."

He bowed; she swept him a graceful curtsy. "Good afternoon, Lady Gwynnen," he said tersely. "I hope you are well?"

"Exceedingly, thank you, Sir Gareth," Gwynnen answered, a smile playing on her lips. "Are you going to the Queen's Gardens?"

Cythera had replied before Gary could think to deny it. "Oh, yes, I forgot you said that you wanted to visit them today, to check on the progress of the roses. Sir Gareth won't mind if you join us."

Which wasn't exactly true. Gary bit back a remark, and offered his other arm to Gwynnen. As she threaded her arm through his, he had to admit that this situation could have been worse.

"Sir Gareth was just informing me that Squire Douglass is not his squire at all!"

Gwynnen nodded. "I know. I've just come from talking to Sir Raoul, and he's thinking of handing Squire Douglass back to Duke Gareth."

Cythera gasped. "But why?"

As they exited the doors of the palace, Gary had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been demoted to the position of leaning post.

"Well, I think he's actually considering asking Sir Myles to take him up. Myles is a desk knight, and that is what Douglass would rather be. Raoul thought he was going to be more of an active squire, you see. He says he's tolerable at all his jobs, but he can tell Douglass's heart is not in it."

"He's going to Sir Myles? Oh, the poor boy," Cythera said mournfully. They lapsed into silence for a moment, before she added, "It is a shame that nobody else can take him on."

"Sir Raoul will be left without a squire as well," Gwynnen pointed out. "He did say he would fancy having the Wellam boy, if given the opportunity."

If Gary had been thinking clearly, warning bells might have sounded at Gwynnen referring to his squire as "the Wellam boy". Gary knew of Sacherell's tendency to hang around Gwynnen like a bad smell. As it was, Cythera clutching at his arm successfully distracted him. "Do you hear that, Gary? What if you were to, say, swap him Sacherell for Douglass?"

Gary moved one of his hands to scratch his chin, but realised there was a lady attached to each. "Er. I'm not sure that is how it is done, really. We already chose our squires."

"Oh, but if anybody could switch, surely it would be you?" Gwynnen pushed, accidentally pressing closer to him. "I mean, you must have a vast amount of influence with your father. I'm sure you could persuade him to do anything."

"Ah, yes," Gary said, a little dazed. "I could."

Cythera removed her arm from his to clap her hands together. "Oh, and you'll be saving that dear boy in the process. How wonderful!"

He could have sworn that Gwynnen winked at Cythera here, but any further thoughts on this were swallowed up by the former's next words. "I'll leave you two here, then. The roses are off this way."

He managed a stiff sort of bow, aware that he was now alone with Cythera. If being surrounded by gardeners counted as being alone.

"Just let me talk," Gary muttered to Raoul, rapping on his father's door.

"Come in," came the response; Gary and Raoul gave each other nervous looks, and obeyed.

"Ah, boys." The Duke was settled at his desk. He set down his quill and gave them a warm smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Er," Gary began eloquently. "Er, Father, you see, the thing is..."

"We have assessed the situation," Raoul picked up, raising an eyebrow at Gary, "and we believe we simply have more to offer each other's squires."

Duke Gareth looked grave at this, and he folded his hands on top of the desk. "Are you proposing an exchange?"

"Yes."

To the boys' bemusement, the Duke began to laugh. "Well, I have to admit, I underestimated that pair. I shall be sure to give them more credit in future, and you two-" Here, he sobered. "-less."

Gary looked awkward. "Father?"

"I would be tempted to invite them to be part of our War Cabinet, if I did not think it would result in the amplification of their mischief. Very well. I suppose they will find their own reward – not that I believe such behaviour merits a reward at all – and I think your decision will result in worse punishment than anything I could devise for you, even if you were still under my care."

The young knights frowned, uncomprehending.

"I had hoped a member of my family would not fall for one of Veldine's schemes. Now. If that was all you wanted, I must get on with drafting this letter to Carthak."

They bowed, and exited.

"What was all that about?" Raoul muttered.

"I think we might have been tricked," Gary sighed, pulling a face and trying to work out how they might have drawn in Cythera.

Raoul's jaw worked for a moment, before he grinned at Gary. "I suppose we don't have to tell them just yet that we went to your father. See what else they try."

Gary clapped Raoul on the back. "What an excellent suggestion."

END OF FIC