A/N: This used to be CH 2, but I added the flashback, so if you've read this before nothing has changed.

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Dear Kel,

I hear you have picked up a new stray – that Stone Mountain squire. I trust that those years of flying lessons have not addled your brain, and you have good reason for doing so. Mithros, I would have liked to see the boy's father's face when he found out! Is your young Mater Boon jealous? Though I suppose the lad is too busy with his horse training to think, and you needed someone new to mother. From what I've heard, I must say the boys in the Own feel sorely replaced.

Retirement is not suiting my dear wife – she is bored beyond belief and completely ruining my enjoyment of hiding from Jon. You must come and rectify the situation immediately. Taking a few whacks at someone other than me will do her some good. Also, Alan could use some sensible companionship. It is only for the sake of my greatly misplaced friendship with his mother that keeps me from killing him. Oh for the days of simple uncomplicated girl-squires!

Expecting you within the fortnight,

Yours Raoul

Brecon was not sure if it was generosity or a sincere desire to see him in pain that prompted his knightmistress to arrange for him to tilt with Lord Raoul, the Giantkiller, but as promised she was making every effort to ensure his jousting skills improved. Flying lesson, as both his tormentors affectionately called them, were being held at the manor house of Malorie's Peak.

"Are you trying to be rid of me, m'lady knight Kel?" He slurred one morning while being forced into his armor - before breakfast no less. Her only response was to recheck that his horse was properly saddled and he'd strapped is wrist guards correctly.

The title they had settled on did not sit perfectly well with either of them. She'd given up on convincing him to call her just 'Kel', he felt calling her 'my lady' was uncomfortably close to the phrasing a lady's maid, she though 'Lady Knight Keladry' was to stiff and formal, and Brecon could not manage to say 'yes, knightmistress' without sounding insolent. Even still, their compromise generally came out in awkward garble.

Alan of Pirate's Swoop, Raoul's squire, laughed from where he was saddling his lord's horse. "If she was trying to do that, she wouldn't leave it up to Raoul. Trust me, when these lady knights want something done, they do it themselves." The young man winked at him as he led the horse from the stables.

Minutes later Brecon was atop his horse, practice lance in hand. He was at his best when he was on horseback. Riding had been the only thing he'd outshined Joren in. Not that he'd spent much time with him to know; their age difference was significant, and when all was said and done Joren had spent half his life training for a knighthood he would never claim. From what Brecon could recall, he remembered his brother had disliked any situation where he was made to rely on any being other than himself.

All things are connected. He could still here Brother Weston's voice intone. No man can survive without accepting that – man, nature, gods all must rely on each other. It had been just over six years. He'd been ten when Joren died, and had already spent three years at training in the temple of Mithros. It was Stone Mountain tradition, oldest son becomes a knight, while one of the young siblings enters priesthood. That, along with strategic marriages, had allowed the house to maintain power from all angles for generations.

Luckily, Brecon had no time to dwell on the past. He must focus on the task at hand, namely the six foot four steel clad mountain bent one knocking him from his horse.

"Now remember," Keladry was saying, "Raise your shield just a quarter inch higher, and don't brace so early. I know there's a bit more weight behind him than against me, but relax a bit and mayhap today's the day you'll stay in the saddle."

It wasn't that day. He flew from the saddle several times, and on their ninth pass, Brecon made a serious error in the angle of his lance, taking the impact on his own chin. Brecon's embarrassment would have been significant, had he not been unconscious.

When he came to, Lord Raoul was standing above him grinning. "Ready for another round?"

"Absolutely not, he's got to keep some of his brain intact for his maths lesson." That was Kel's voice, though he couldn't see her through the slits in his helm from his angle on the ground.

Brecon only groaned in response. He took the hand Raoul offered, only to be clapped on the shoulder once righted.

"I see you're done for today. Pity. You fly so much better than my own sorry excuse of a squire." Raoul said, grinning wider. "Though, I can't say he's ever knocked himself from the saddle. You've got good taste in squires, Kel, I think this one will do quite nicely." Brecon did not laugh with him.

"Alan!" the knight yelled over his shoulder. "You're turn."

Two days after this incident, Brecon still had a lovely dark purple splotch on the left side of his face contrasting strongly with his fair complexion. The lady knight had taken pity on him, in her own way at least, and set him at a desk with mathematics and strategic problems for the day. As fate would have it, on that same day the first letters from his parents in months arrived. After several minutes of staring at the blue-grey wax, he finally found the nerve to open them.

Brecon,

Ungrateful child. How dare you disregard your brother's memory in this manner? Surely you could have found someone more suitable with whom to continue your training? Some connection with the less radical of those so called progressives might have aided in restoring our house, but you have gone too far. I demand you to explain your motivations in full. As much I do not wish to see the title pass one of my brother's sons, you may force my hand with your reckless stupidity.

Burchard, Lord of Stone Mountain

At least this missive form his father was short, honest and did not waste too many words on insults. In fact it was his mother's curling script that made him the most uncomfortable.

My Dearest Son, Brecon,

I pray this finds you well. I do wish you would write more often – we all so long for news of you. Your siblings are well, thought the past couple of weeks have been difficult, what with dear Joren's birthday passing us by. …

There wasn't a single letter his mother could write without mention of his late brother. It almost made Brecon glad he was unlikely to be in her presence before he'd gained his shield. The body of the letter contained a mundane description of the daily running of Stone Mountain. Her closing paragraph was that of a desperate woman.

…My sweet boy, I know you must have your reasons, but I implore you to take care. You must prepare yourself for what is coming, and ill luck follows this woman. That chamber of horrors has already stolen my darling first child from me, and I would do anything to prevent you from ever having to enter it, but alas it seems we have no choice. Be brave, Brecon, as I strive to be, and know you are in my thoughts and prayers every moment of every hour.

Return to me safely,

Your mother,

Elianna of Stone Mountain

With an exasperated sigh, Brecon tossed both letter across the room.

"Bad news from some girl?" Alan was leaning against his open door frame.

"No. The usual form my father."

"Ah much worse, though in my case it is usually my ma."

Brecon snorted in response.

"You know, I was just about to go down to the village. There's a couple of pretty little maids who'd said they might…." Alan finished that sentence with a tricky eyebrow maneuver and a broad grin. "I'm sure you could find some to be suitably entertained by as well. Take you mind of family matters a bit."

Brecon was in no mood for the uneducated prattle of country wenches, nor was he in such a large supply of pocket money from his father to risk the expense of whatever fees such an evening may incur.

"Thank you, but no." He said, hoping not exactly to offend, but to discourage any such offers in the future.

"Suit yourself, mate." Alan said, still grinning as he turned to leave. His head poked back a second later. "Oh, and if my lord asks where I am, make my excuses, yes?" With a wink he was gone.

Two hours later, while Kel was reviewing Brecon's work, Lord Raoul stormed into the room. "What is the point in having a squire, if you can never find him?"

After a short pause, came Brecon's straight faced reply; "I believe he mentioned something about checking the attics for wormrot, my lord."

Shocking her young squire, Kel snorted. "Right. And I only ever had philosophical discussions with your brother. Now let me show you where you've went wrong on this problem here…." It was back to business as usual for both pairs of knights and squires; one pair quietly trying to maintain balance, and the other loudly trying to get the better of each other.