November 4

Word Count: 1710

Lynah was utterly and completely bored. Trevelyn had finally abandoned her to the vast emptiness of the city. Her every footstep seemed to echo a haunting and mocking emptiness. There was no one to help her dress, no one to admire her new hat, and worst of all, no one to tell her how to get back to the great hall. Somewhere along the way, she had gotten lost.

Lynah never thought she'd miss the suitors following in her every footstep, but here in Tamarin she actually wished for company. The silence was beginning to ring in her ears. Everyone else had something to do. Even Trevie, who always forgave her, seemed to be less inclined to follow her on an adventure, and more inclined to talk about boring things with Brother Ettu.

Perhaps she'd been a bit moody lately, but Lynah couldn't help it. The others were just as much to blame. They were as disagreeable as she was. Trevelyn had practically shouted at her when she'd made the slip of the Great Mages deaths. How was she supposed to know they were all lying to the Brothers. And it turned out all right in the end. Now the brothers were enthusiastically helping add more people to the city. Lynah was tired at the looks the others kept giving each other when she was around. It wasn't her doing. Lynah was good at one thing, and one thing only. Commanding. Give her an army of servants or suitors and she would have them under control in an hour. And they would like it. The problem was, in Tamarin, there was no one to command.

Trevvie was constantly reminding her that Iber, Mitty and the rest were no longer subordinate. They were equals, and Lynah thought she treated them equally. No one was giving her special treatment.

Lynah turned down another corridor and looked both ways at the cross section. Surely it couldn't be that difficult to find a city where the entire thing was just one huge circle. Perhaps running off without Trevelyn after their slight tiff this morning had not been such a good idea. What bothered Lynah was that Trevelyn hadn't followed. She always used to follow.

"I couldn't help but notice, your highness, that you look a bit lost," a voice called out.

Lynah swiveled around to see one of the brothers standing in the center of the corridor. He was the tall one who didn't speak very often.

"Well, perhaps a little," she replied.

"Perhaps I may escort you to luncheon?" he asked.

Lynah's stomach grumbled on cue. She had skipped breakfast.

"Thank you, brother..."

"Ilden, Your Highness." He bowed. Lynah smiled and followed him out of the maze she'd managed to lose herself in.

"I couldn't help but notice, Your Highness, that you have yet to choose a staff for yourself. I understand that the pickings are quite pitiful as of now, but I assure you if you have any needs, I would be happy to be of service."

"A staff?" Yes, she did remember hearing that every mage used to have their own legions of brothers that catered to their whims. Why hadn't she thought of that before? The brothers were waiting to be commanded, and she was their ruler. "Yes, Saratin has asked Brother Chau to be his head of staff, and Trevelyn has asked Brother Ettu." Trevie had chosen a brother to serve her? Which choices were left? Pickings Pogle, the fat one, Sheeps the old one, or Ilden, the one who stood beside her now. He must obviously prefer her, as this had been a thinly veiled attempt to solicit her. He was really the best choice anyway, and if she didn't ask him, she might be stuck with an alternative.

"Brother Ilden, I would love if you would accept the position as my chief of staff," she stated.

"I graciously accept the position your highness. If it would please you, I will draw up a roster of other brothers willing to serve you and their qualifications. I shall also supervise your agenda and assist in setting your protocols."

Lynah nodded regally. Finally someone who knew what she needed. Perhaps getting lost was the best idea she'd had all month.

Riding the direction of dangerous fire breathing, tree climbing creatures was not a good idea in Malek's opinion. Even clad from neck to ankle in hopefully dragon proof long underwear was not smart... especially when "hopefully" was the operative word... but Mitty would have no arguments. Malek had been able to argue about very little since his marriage to Mitty several months ago. It seemed to surprise everyone when he went to Saratin and asked him to officiate.

"But I'm only an apprentice. Usually marriages are officiated by the heads of the monastery," Saratin had stated wide eyed.

"Yeah, but you're also a Great Mage. And I'd rather you did it. At least you’re a Brother... I don't want to be married by a princess or a ranger."

Saratin stuttered a bit. "Well, marriage is a big commitment and well, what does Mitty think?"

Despite the fact that Malek had been stealing away from the group with Mitty to steal kisses whenever they didn't think anyone would miss them, Malek didn't think Mitty had a real picture of his current intentions. Malek didn't want to stay there in the dead city, and he definitely wasn't leaving Mitty. She seemed happy enough, sewing up a storm for the other two girls, but Malek knew if he let her, Mitty would fit herself back into the roll of servant. It was the one she'd been trained to perform for her brother and her father. Mitty didn’t deserve that kind of life. Once you got past the plain face, and quiet manner, Mitty had a heart of goal. For some strange reason, she gave Malek a center that he didn’t want to give up.

“She’ll marry me,” he stated assuredly. Even if he had to knock her unconscious and carry her out of the city, he added to himself. He had eventually spent about a week, planning the perfect time to ask her. There was a lush garden set off into the outskirts of the city with a brook that meandered through from pool to pool. He’d taken her on a moonlit walk, and given her his pledge and asked for hers. She scared him when she didn’t answer him right away.

“Well?” he’d asked again.

“Me?” Malek had looked around in the bushes.

“Is there anyone else here?”

“No, but… I never expected anyone to ask me. I mean, even Trevelyn is prettier than I am.”

“You think I want you because you’re pretty? Who do you think I am? Iber? I’m not exactly pretty myself.”

“I think your very pretty,” she’d said, then realized what that sounded like and clapped her hands over her mouth. He’d simply pulled her hands away and kissed her. Finally she answered.

“If you want me.” And Malek knew that he did.

The others had shown an equal portion of shock and respect. Lynah, who seemed so opposed to being married herself, had insisted on arranging most of the wedding herself, dragging Trevelyn along for good measure. Her enthusiasm was laudable, but what Malek had hoped for a short ceremony and exchange of vows in front of a brother turned into a as big affair as one can have with seven people.

Lynah had apparently gone about the city picking every flower in sight, which apparently regrew as soon as broke off the stem. The pavilion of mages was filled with so many flowers that one could hardly walk without squishing one of them. They were married in the circle of the five current mages with the slightly overbearing statues of the twelve former looking on.

Saratin took his position seriously and delivered a nice ceremony that merged his own words with the traditional ceremony. He’d mostly added some hints at how Malek and Mitty couldn’t completely shirk the duties of their new positions.

“Remember, that as a Great Mage, the two of you may live quite beyond a normal age. A marriage is a fluid partnership, and as you change over the centuries, so should your marriage, keeping at its center, your hearts and your love.”

Malek had forgotten most of the rest of the ceremony, as Mitty at that moment had looked deep into his eyes and the rest of the world melted away. He vaguely remembered promising to keep his life clean of impure actions… which was probably Saratin’s way of telling him his thieving days were over. But he had already made that promise to Mitty… so promising Saratin was secondary.

“So you are enjoying married life?” Iber called to him, snapping Malek back to the present. He searched the comment for hidden malice, and decided Iber was simply trying to make conversation.

“It suites me,” he replied.

“Mitty seems to be happy,” Iber continued.

“Yes,” Malek said.

“So.” Iber began, stretching for conversation. Malek remained silent. A glance told him Lasser was suppressing a smile. He also wasn’t much of a talker. The two of them were driving Iber mad.

“Well, do we have a plan of attack when we get to the dragons?” Iber questioned, grabbing onto the hilt of his sword for emphasis.

“Kill them before they kill us,” Lasser said.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Malek added.

“Well, I mean, like one of us goes in with a sword, and another with a bow, and perhaps one takes the left, and another the right,” Iber dodged invisible blows, making his horse slightly skittish.

“Well, since you’re the only one with a sword, I suggest you use it. The rest of us will have to make due with arrows and daggers… or claws and teeth,” Malek said staring down at Pylon, who was trailing along side the horses.

“Right. Right.”

“What I don’t understand, is why we’re doing this at all,” Malek said.

“Well, the villagers are in need of help, and as we’re the Great Mages, we are expected to lend assistance to the less fortunate.”

“That’s a lot of rot, and you know it.”