Date: Tue, 27 May 2003 15:53:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Corrinne S <quasito_cat@yahoo.com>
Subject: Dark Wishes Installment 13: Part Three Chapters 1-3

Note:  This is a gay themed fantasy novel about kings
and magic, love and war.  Although I will often allude
to sexual encounters, there are no scenes of sexual
acts for this is, by and large, a love story.  This
author claims exclusive copyright to the characters,
settings, and plot.

Dark Wishes

M.C. Gordon

Part Three: Fanna

Chapter One

     The room was cold.  The servants had built the
fire as high as they dared in the fireplace of the
master apartment in the old fortress castle.  Still,
cold wind managed to creep in from a thousand hidden
cracks and crevices.  It was going to be a very cold
winter.

     Fanna pulled the blanket more snugly around his
shoulders and stirred the fire, hoping to coax a
little more warmth from it.  He had tried to convince
Trelaine to move to a smaller apartment in the castle,
one that would be easier to warm, but Trelaine
insisted on staying in the apartment that he had used
for nearly a hundred years, claiming that the memories
kept him warm.

     Fanna never asked what those memories were.  He
was not sure that he wanted to know.  Trelaine would
have told him, if he had asked.  But Fanna never did
and Trelaine finally stopped sitting in the garden
holding a small box that contained a lock of golden
hair.

     Tears threatened to fall from Fanna's eyes as he
thought about that long ago lover, but he held them
back.  Trelaine needed no tears from him tonight.
Indeed, it seemed that the High King would need a
steady mind and thoughtful conversation.  Fanna
watched his beloved as he stood beside the failing
light from the window and read the message from King
Artilan, grandson of Llewelyn.

      "Is the news bad?" he asked as he sat marveling
at the glow of Trelaine's alabaster skin in the fading
light.

     "Certainly not good," Trelaine replied.  "Artilan
writes to inform me that King Etamere of the nomads
has requested an audience.  I told you of the nomads,
did I not?"

     "Yes," Fanna replied. "You and King Llewelyn
averted a war with them many years ago."

     "Well, it seems that new marauders are
approaching the northern boundary of their kingdom and
Etamere may request aid from Artilan.  He seeks my
council."

     Trelaine looked across the room toward the boy
who sat beside the fireplace.  `No', he thought, `he
is not a boy.  He is a young man and fills my heart
with happiness.'  Crossing the room, he took Fanna's
hands in his own and raised him from the chair.

     "We will discuss it tomorrow over our morning
meal.  The night is chilled.  Come, let me warm you in
our bed."

     The room was still cold when Trelaine woke the
next morning.  The servants had tried to keep the fire
hot in the ancient fireplace to no avail.  Trelaine
once again considered Fanna's request to move to a
different apartment in the castle.

     He gazed warmly at the unruly mop of red hair
that had found a place of its own on his shoulder.
His companion mumbled something incoherent and moved
even closer to him.  Trelaine reveled in the warmth of
the body next to his.

     Fanna had come to the court years earlier, as a
mere lad of twelve.  Trelaine chuckled silently to
himself as he remembered Fanna then.  Such an
abundance of life and enthusiasm he had never seen
before.  The boy was constantly in trouble whether it
was stealing cakes from the kitchen for himself and
the hounds or chasing geese across the courtyard, the
bundle of energy had upset the entire household.
Trelain had finally taken the boy under his own hand
before all of his personal staff rebelled.

     Uneducated and of peasant stock, Fanna was an
enigma.  Everyone complained that the child was
constantly underfoot.  The horsemaster charged the boy
was trying to charm the horses and disturbing their
training; yet the animals responded to him.  The
archivist found him sneaking around, touching fragile
records with the greatest of reverence.

     "Boy," Trelaine said to him one day, "can you
read?"

     "No, Sire," the child answered.

     "And yet you pester my archivist."

     "I could read if I wanted to," had been the
response of the willful child.

     "Then you shall," Trelaine said and found a tutor
for the waif.

     A year passed before Trelaine took notice of the
troublesome scamp again. He had been riding with his
guard when they passed near one of many training
areas.  The land was at peace, but Trelaine had enough
of Miralen's memories to know the value of keeping a
trained military force.

     He sat easily upon his black steed and watched a
group of young boys being put through their paces with
lance and sword by one of his captains.  Curious about
one of the lads, he summoned Captain Twillan to him.

     "Who is the energetic boy with the red hair?" he
asked.

     "That one is Fanna, Majesty," Twillan responded,
"the boy you sent to me last year."

     Trelain tried, but could not recall the lad.
"How does he progress?"

     "The boy will never be a soldier, Majesty.  He
tries, indeed he does, and would fight like a
whirlwind if need be.  But the art of war is too
foreign to his nature."

     "See that he does his best then," Trelaine said
and rode away, the boy once again forgotten.

     Time seemed to move slowly for Trelaine.  He
busied himself with concern for every part of his
realm and spent as little time in Elanen's capital as
possible.  Memories of Karandal echoed through the
castle although he had slipped quietly from life forty
years earlier.

     King Riedel, the son of his old friend Llewelyn,
died peacefully and Trelaine attended the formal rites
of the funeral.  Riedel had ruled Endril for nearly
fifty years following the death of his father.  At the
coronation of his son, Artilan, Trelaine pledged his
loyalty and friendship to the new king, already a
middle-aged man.

     He returned to Elanen in reduced spirits.  None
were now alive from the days when Trelaine, Karandal,
and Llewelyn had joined together to fight the
resurgence of the evil nature of the old Qell Lords.

     It was dark when the High King and his retinue
arrived in Aolane, the capital of his kingdom.  He
dismissed his guard and entered the castle just as a
streak of lightning forked across the sky.  A loud
thunderclap followed and the heavens opened.  Trelaine
was drenched before he could gain access to his
castle, his lonely home.

     The head of his personal household, Egbert,
greeted him at the door, taking the sodden cloak from
his shoulders.  "A warm bath awaits, M'Lord.  The fire
is warm and the candles lit in your apartment.  Make
haste, Sire, before you catch your death of a cold.

     "Would that such could overcome me," Trelaine
replied, so deeply despondent was he.  Still, to spare
his household any further worry, he hurried up the
stairs to his chambers and allowed his personal
servants to strip away his wet clothing and assist him
into the tub of hot water near the crackling fire.

     Egbert gathered the wet things and took them to
the laundress, who was waiting in the enormous kitchen
with the rest of the servants.  "He is tired," Egbert
told them.  "Our Lord is but weary.  Tomorrow will see
him greet each of you and ease your concerns."

     His eyes landed on a quiet, studious lad sitting
at one of the large tables in the room.  "You have not
asked about your King, boy," Egbert said.

     Eyes the deep green color of the forest gazed
placidly back at him.  "You said that my Lord is
returned, Egbert," a soft baritone voice replied.  "It
pleases me to know that he is safely home."

     Egbert judged that the time was right for this
changeling to assume his duties in the royal
household.  From dull peasant, to adventurous and
troublesome scamp, to refined dignity: the
transformation still amazed Egbert.  "Here, boy, take
this tankard of warmed ale to the King."

     "Yes, oh Master of my Life," Fanna replied,
smiling as the used the affectionate name he called
Egbert.  "Your wish is my command."

     Trelaine had finished his bath and sat in front
of an open window.  That rain blew in through the
window, he seemed not to notice.

     "Sire?" he heard a soft voice inquire.  "Majesty?
 Egbert bade me fetch this to you," the voice
continued as the tankard of ale was placed on a nearby
table.

     Trelaine slowly opened his eyes.  The figure that
stood before him was a lad not long past puberty.  The
short sleeved tunic revealed arms that, while not
greatly muscled, were well toned.  A face that bore a
strong jaw, prominent cheekbones, and lively eyes
topped a well-corded neck.

     "Are you well, My Lord?" the young man inquired.
"Perhaps your journey was more taxing than any
realized.  I could work the ache from your muscles if
you wish.  Perhaps I could play my harp and sing for
you.  Or, if you prefer, I could read to you.  There
are many scrolls in the royal archives that contain
pleasant tales."

     All the while, a buried memory niggled at
Trelaine's mind until he focused on the dark auburn
hair of the lad who tended him.  "Can you read, boy?"
he asked.

     The smile that graced the handsome face caught at
the King's heart.  "I can now, My Lord," he replied,
"thanks to your own graciousness."

     "Your name?"  Trelaine asked.

     "I am Fanna," the lad replied.

     "How old are you now?" Trelaine asked as the boy
began to massage the ache from his shoulders.

     "The healers believe I am in my nineteenth year,
Sire," Fanna answered.

     "It does not seem that long ago since first you
came to Aolane."  Trelaine laughed at a sudden memory.
 "Cook almost left because of your antics, Fanna.  Do
you know how many times she came to me to complain
that you stole pies when she set them to cool?  Oh,
rub harder there -- just below the shoulder blade."

     Fanna complied and worked his thumbs into the
tight muscles, willing them to relax.  " `Twas Cook's
fault, My Lord.  She made most excellent pies.  Had
they not been so good I would not have stolen past the
first one."

     "You were an impudent rascal."

     "I was, My Lord."

     "Now you are impertinent."

     "Indeed, my King.  I can but hope that I am
better mannered now.  It would not speak well of my
tutors through the years if I were still the rough
peasant I once was."

     The boy was working his own magic on Trelaine's
aching muscles and the voice was pleasant to his ears.
 The light, almost irreverant tone of the conversation
was welcome.  Trelaine had not been spoken to in such
a manner since the early years of his life with
Llewelyn, Octo, and Karandal.

     Not wanting to lose himself further in a feeling
of sadness and loss, he sought to encourage light
banter from this unusual young man.  "What else have
you learned?" he asked.

     "I can sit a horse reasonably well," the boy
replied, "although they prefer me standing on the
ground speaking to them than riding on their backs."

     "Do you ride often?"

     "When I must, Sire.  I find that my feet are
usually sufficient to carry me where I must go."

     "You said you can read now," Trelain remarked.

     "That is perhaps the greatest gift you have given
me, My Lord.  And I can work numbers.  Egbert often
asks me to check the household accounts.  And I have
learned to read the heavens.  Shipmaster Sondal might
ask you to send me to him that I may become the
captain of one of his ships."

     "Is that what you wish to do, Fanna?"

     "I don't think so, Sire.  I would prefer to
remain here in Aolane.  I can better serve my King
here, I believe."

     "What would you choose to do to serve your king
and kingdom, Fanna?"

     Trelaine was totally unprepared for the answer he
saw in Fanna's eyes.  "I will do whatever my King
commands me to do."

     Trelaine was at an unaccustomed loss.  Many men
had been available through the years to grant him
pleasure for a night or a week.  But he was not
Ilafrain to take pleasure where he found it.  The
memories of his love for Xoachin and Karandal were
strong, and it was not in his nature to separate
physical pleasure from love.

     The youth who gazed at him with such longing
stirred him as no other had in a very long time.
Still, he had never commanded any man to his bed.

     "Leave me, Fanna," he ordered.

     "Sire?" the boy asked, "have I offended you?"

     "No," Trelaine responded.  "You have not.  I am
weary and need to sleep.  Return to me on the morrow
and we will speak more.  Go now, for I am tired."

     Fanna did as ordered and left the room.  He
stopped just outside the King's chambers, sat on a
small stool, and took up the harp that he had leaned
against the stone wall when he brought the ale.
Taking the harp onto his lap, he began to play softly.
 His nimble fingers, the tips callused from hours of
practice, played a gentle melody that he had heard
mothers humming to their babes.

     The heavy oak doors to the chamber muted the
sound of the song but Trelaine could hear the boy and
shook his head in disbelief.  The lad had done as told
and left the room, but that was as far as he obeyed.
The King thought of going to the door and telling
Fanna to go to his own sleeping quarters but the song
was pleasant and eased his spirit.  Instead, he lay on
his bed and let himself go to the magic of the music.

     Mindful of the knowledge that his King never
slept in the dark, Fanna waited a time and then opened
the door a crack.  The ever-present candles were
burning down and the King seemed to be sleeping.
Fanna quietly entered the room and set about lighting
fresh candles.  He added wood to the fireplace and
crossed to the bed.

     Trelain lay on his side, his long black hair
fallen over his face.  Fanna gently brushed the hair
back and gazed at the face of the man he so desired to
love.  Had, in fact, loved since the first time he had
been hauled kicking and screaming before the High
King.  His crime had been stealing food.  He did not
remember what, most likely a loaf of freshly baked
bread.  He had expected to be thrown into prison but
the King had smile kindly on him and given him to
Egbert to be bathed and fed.

     Trelaine summoned Egbert early the next morning.
"I want the boy sent away."

     Egbert stated at him.  "Why, Your Majesty?  Fanna
is a good boy who shows much promise.  I had hoped you
would allow me to train him to assume my position when
the time comes for me to step down."

     "I do not want the boy near me," Trelaine
replied.

     "Where would you have me send him?  Back to a
hovel in the forest to be a woodcutter?  If that is
what you planned for his future then why did you have
him educated?"  Egbert was deeply upset at the thought
of sending the tender hearted lad back to live as a
peasant.  "Do you realize what this will do to him?"

     Fanna approached the King's apartment pleased
that his music had helped his lord to sleep the night
before.  He had no doubt that Trelaine would one day
look upon him with favor; he need only do everything
he could to please his lord and bring him happiness.

     He heard the raised voices as Trelaine and Egbert
argued and stopped outside the door, troubled.  It was
unlike Egbert to raise his voice to anyone, most
especially the King.  He was turning to leave when he
heard his name mentioned.

     His heart sank when he heard the King say that he
was to be sent away.  He ran back down the long
hallway, up the stairs to the servant's quarters, and
threw himself down on his small pallet.  Burying his
head in his arms, he began to cry.  How foolish he had
been to think that the High King would even want to
look upon such an uncultured person as himself.

     He longed to run away; to lose himself in some
dark and foreboding part of the deepest forest.  He
wanted to take his pain and humiliation far from
Aolane and curl himself into so small a ball that he
could be crushed beneath the hooves of one of the
great war-horses.  No one would miss him and the man
he loved would be free of him.

     But he knew those thoughts to be childish and he
was no longer a child.  He was a man and would act as
one.  The High King did not want his heart therefore
his loyalty would have to suffice.  He would go where
Trelaine bade him go and show naught but gratitude for
the decision regarding his future.  Still, his heart
hurt and he let himself go to the tears.

     "I have no intention of sending him back to
peasantry, Egbert.  Send him to Endril.  I should have
fostered him years ago.  Perhaps a year or more at
Artilan's court will mature him."

     "Why do you wish to send him away, Majesty?" the
steward asked.

     "Because I do not wish to fall in love again,"
Trelaine replied.

Chapter Two:

     "I am sending you Fanna, a member of my
household.  Treat him kindly; keep his safe.  Help him
find someone to love for I do not wish him to love
me," King Artilan read from the message his visitor
from Elanen handed to a royal page.

     Artilan signaled the guards to admit their guest
and watched as the figure, cloaked and hooded in
black, approached him.  He noted the deep bow and bade
the young man to rise.  Studying the dark form before
him, he told the page to assist their guest in
removing his cloak.

     Artilan stared at the magnificent creature and
wondered if Trelaine had become taken of a fever that
had scrambled his brain.  The young man that stood
before him was all the colors of autumn, from the
magnificent dark auburn hair and deep green eyes to
the golden tunic, he was the color of the forest as
the leaves turn.  Had Artilan been so inclined he
would have had the lad in his bed before the hour was
over.

     "Do you know why you are here, Fanna?" he asked.

     "No, Majesty," he replied softly.  "I believe
that I must have offended my gracious lord in some
way."

     "What am I to do with you?"

     "I know not, Sire.  I will do whatever is
required of me.  I can read and write, do well with
numbers, and can sing and play the harp.  I do not
ride very well but have been trained in weaponry.  I
will serve you as I would have served my own king for
that is his wish."  His voice broke and he could not
stop the tears from forming.

     "Come with me, young Fanna," a gentle voice said
as Fanna felt a hand touch his shoulder.  He turned to
look up at the stranger who addressed him.  A smile
greeted him from a friendly face.  "The King has
assigned you to my care until we can decide where you
will best serve the household.  My name is Grislen."

     Fanna followed the man, obviously a person of
importance by his dress and bearing, from the great
hall and up a wide staircase.

     "First we must see how far your training has
taken you," the man said as they walked down a long,
wide corridor.  "Tomorrow is a resting day so I will
not test you until the next day past that.  Until then
I will have my son show you the castle and grounds.
The common areas of the castle are open to you.  You
are forbidden only the private apartments of the lords
and ladies who reside within these walls."

     Fanna listened closely as they walked.  This man
would be his new lord and, having resigned himself to
this exile, he would do what he could to avoid
humiliation.

     "Ah, here we are," his companion said as they
approached a large, heavy door.

     The door was guarded by two men dressed in the
black and gold which were the royal colors of Endril.
They stood at attention, their feet braced apart and
one hand resting against the small of their backs.  In
their other hands they held long pikes, crossed to
halt entrance.  As Fanna and his companion approached,
they drew back their pikes and bowed.

     "What manner of man is this?" Fanna wondered to
himself.

     The apartment they entered was large and richly
adorned.  Heavy brocade drapery fell across the
windows, pulled back to admit light.  The furniture
was all of heavy oak and polished so deeply that it
reflected the light.

     "Sigil!" Grislen shouted, "come and meet our
guest."

     Fanna stared at the young man who entered the
room.  He was not much older than Fanna.  Sunlight
caused his hair, the color of winter wheat, to shine
and hazel eyes sparkled with affection for the older
man.

     "Hello, Papa'," he said.  "Have you brought me a
new friend?"

     "In a way.  This is Fanna.  He is being fostered
here from King Trelaine's court at Aolane.  Your uncle
has asked us to see wherein lie his strengths and
weaknesses.  Fanna, this is my son, Sigil."

     "Fostered, Sire?" Fanna asked.  "Then I am not
exiled from Elanen?"  He could hardly believe what he
was hearing.

     "Oh no, lad," Grislen replied.  "If the High King
held court as others do, you would have been fostered
here years ago.  But His Majesty does things in his
own time and his own way."

     Fanna half believed the words Grislen spoke, and
then he remembered Trelaine saying that he did not
want Fanna near him.  His momentary spark of hope was
lost in the memory.

     Sigil crossed to Fanna and took him by the hand.
"We always take our noon meal here in our own
apartments," he said.  " `Tis only the evening meal we
have with the court.  Whilst we wait for the servants
to bring our food I will show you where you will
sleep.  `Tis not a very large room, I fear.  But it is
near mine.  And then we will traverse the wonders that
are the castle.  Oh, there is ever so much to show
you.  If we can escape the guards I will take you to
the tower wherein the old wizard, Menfred, lived.  He
was the one who summoned the High King in the time of
my great-grandfather.  And then we shall prowl the ..."

     Grislen watched as his son linked his arm through
that of their lonely guest and babble endlessly of the
adventures they might have.  The lad might make a good
companion for his son, who was also lonely.

     That night Sigil heard Fanna weeping and entered
the small cubicle across the hall from his own room.
Kneeling down by Fanna's pallet he placed a small
bundle next to him.

     Fanna stilled and looked up at the handsome boy.
"What is it?" he asked, sitting up.

     "Not an `it', silly boy.  This is Remeth, the
only living kitten from a litter I found near the
woods.  Her mother and the rest were killed by a wild
boar.  Handle her gently for her leg is broken, as is
your heart I think."

     Fanna could no longer hold back the pain he felt
and began to sob helplessly.  Sigil sat beside him and
held him in his arms until the sobs began to ease.
"Let Remeth sing to you," he said as he eased Fanna
down onto the pillow.  "The old grandmother who set
her leg for me said that she survived the attack
because magic favors her.  She has a healing magic in
her songs."

     Sigil sat beside his new friend until Fanna
finally drifted off to sleep, Remeth lying contentedly
on his chest.  Sigil could hear the kitten purring
even as he crossed the room.  He certainly hoped that
Remeth's songs did hold magic.

     "Papa'," he said as he approached his father near
the fireplace in the great room of the apartment.

     "Yes?" Grislen asked.

     "If the High King truly does not want Fanna, may
I keep him?" Sigil asked.

     "Fanna is a person, Sigil, not a thing.  He is
not yours to keep as if he were a pet or a tunic."

     "I know that, Papa'.  What I meant was, if the
king he loves does not love him in return, may I try
to win his heart?

     "You may try, Sigil.  If he wishes to stay with
you then I will speak with my brother and find a
permanent position for him here.  But, if you cannot
win his love then he is free to make his own choices.
Do you understand?"

     "Yes, Papa'.  And I will do my best to win his
love.  Thank you."

     Grislen shook his head.  "At least he is better
than the stable boy you dallied with."

 . . .

     "I ache in places unknown to mankind," Fanna said
as Sigil smeared a smelly concoction on his tired
muscles.  "Phew!  What is that; horse linament?"

     "Almost," Sigil replied laughing.  "The master
healer had nothing that would work on my sore muscles
so I went to the horsemaster.  He gave me this to use.
 It may smell, but it works."

     Sigil was right and Fanna could feel the heat
seeping into his aches.  He had been Sigil's training
partner for more than a fortnight.  Strenuous as his
training had been in Aolane, it was nothing compared
to the brutal sessions he now faced.  Each day saw
them with the arms master for two hours, the horse
master for two hours.  They were allowed to rest only
during the time they spent copying fading scrolls in
the archives.  The dance master claimed them, as did
the blacksmith, the master healer, and the alchemist.
Fanna's brain was as worn and tired as his body.  He
spent his evenings learning to serve the king's table
and cleaning when the rest of the royal household had
gone to bed.

     "Can you rub a litter harder down the center of
my back?  Right ... oh, there.  No, a little more up ...
to the right.  There!"

     Sigil worked the tired muscles, kneading the
knots away.  As Fanna began to relax beneath his
ministration, Sigil's hands changed from tense to a
silky and sensuous touch, running gently along the
back and arms of his new friend.  Fanna sighed deeply
and enjoyed the feeling momentarily before he felt
Sigil's hands roam further down his back.

     Fanna did not resist when Sigil eased him onto
his back and leaned down to kiss him.  His first feel
of another's lips against his own caused his heart to
leap and his lips to moan.

     "Come with me," Sigil whispered.  "My bed is
softer than your pallet."

 . . .

     Trelaine, the High King of Elanen, cried out and
sat up in his bed.  Egbert burst through the door at
the outcry.  "What is amiss, My Lord?" he asked,
concern written across his face.

     "Nothing, Egbert.  All is well.  Merely a dream,
nothing more."

     Egbert checked the candles and replaced the ones
that had burned down.  "Good night, My Lord," he said.

     "Good night, Egbert," Trelaine replied.  When
Egbert left, he thought about what had just happened.
Why should he feel the rapture of Fanna's first
knowledge of how it is with men?  He had no bond with
the boy.  He had, in fact, sent the boy away because
he desired no bond with any man.  Still, he had known
and felt Fanna's passion.

     "I will not love him!" he announced to an empty
room; empty save for a small furry beast who had
sneaked unnoticed into the room and curled near the
fireplace.

Chapter Three

     Two years passed quickly for Fanna.  His days
were filled with study and training, his nights with
gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, passion with
Sigil.  The two had grown in their friendship as well
as love.

     "Fanna," King Artilan said to him as they passed
each other in one of the castle corridors one morning,
"tend to me after the evening meal."

     Fanna spent the day in curiosity over the
summons.  He found it difficult to concentrate which
resulted in an ugly, but shallow, cut on his left
shoulder during arms training and a pot of ink spilled
on a scroll he was copying in the archive.  The master
healer had tended his would with a simple reminder to
be more careful.  The master archivist was not as kind
and Fanna was told he would spend the next resting day
working in the archives to learn the value of the
written word.

     Fanna was nervous as he approached the King's
apartments for he seldom saw Artilan.  The guards at
the door lifted their pikes and granted him admission
into the royal presence.  Fanna gave his best bow.  He
had practiced it several times before the dressing
mirror in Sigil's room to be sure he would make no
mistakes: an action that had sent Sigil into fits of
laughter.

     "Pour each of us a cup of ale and come sit with
me near the fireplace," Artilan said.  "The night
grows cold and my bones feel a chill.  This is a
bitter winter."

     Fanna did as he was bid and handed the King his
cup before sitting on a stool near the fireplace.

     "How is it with you, Fanna," the King asked.
"Are you happy here in Endril?"

     "Yes, Majesty," Fanna replied.  "I am most
content with my life."

     "I did not ask if you are content, lad.  I asked
if you are happy."

     "Yes, Sire, I am," Fanna said.  "I have more
happiness than I had expected."

     "The masters tell me that you are progressing
quite well," Artilan remarked as he placed his cup on
a nearby table.  "You were not born to be a warrior
but the arms master assures me that you could acquit
yourself well in battle if need be.  He believes that
you would at least kill the enemy instead of yourself.
 And your horsemanship is greatly improved.  Also, the
master archivist advises me that you have the fairest
script of any he has ever seen."

     "He might not speak so highly of me tonight,
Sire."

     "Oh?  And why not?"

     "I spilled an inkpot on a scroll today."

     "Was the scroll saved?"

     "Yes, My Lord.  And I am to give up my resting
day to work in the archives as a result."

     "Do you like working in the archives, young
Fanna?" the King asked.

     "Oh, yes, My Lord.  I like it very much."
Fanna's voice betrayed the thrill he found working
with the scrolls and tomes in the dusty room of the
castle.

     "Would it please you to be assigned to the
archives as your duty in Endril?  Master Craton grows
in age and has asked for you to be apprenticed to
him."

     "Thank you, Your Majesty," Fanna earnestly
replied.

     "I am pleased," Artilan said after a few sips of
his ale, "that you and Sigil are fond of each other.
My nephew was a solitary lad before you joined us.
There are not many who are as the two of you.  I had
hoped once that the High King would show an interest
in Sigil.  He would have made a fitting consort for
King Trelain.  Sigil is, after all, kin to the King's
last lover, Karandal."

     "Kin to him?" Fanna asked in awe.

     "Indeed," Artilan said as he threw more logs onto
the fire.  "My father married Kista, a daughter of
Karandal's sister Selmaris and her husband Danel.  She
was my lady mother as well as Grislen's."

     "Can you tell me more, Sire?" Fanna asked.  He
did love Sigil, but the deepest part of his heart and
soul still belonged to his own High King.

     "My father and grandfather knew both of them very
well.  They were often guests here.  In fact, my
brother's apartments were once reserved for Trelaine
and Karandal alone.  Their love for each other is
legend in the ten kingdoms.  Trelaine once had to be
stopped from mindless slaughter when Karandal was in
danger."

     "I never knew that, My Lord," Fanna replied,
hanging eagerly on each work Artilan spoke.

     "There are detailed accounts of those years in
the archives, lad," Artilan said.  "Craton was a young
man at the time and spent much time in their company.
Perhaps he will tell you things he remembers that are
not written down, if you can refrain from knocking
over any more inkpots."

     Artilan had watched the young man closely as they
talked.  "Fanna, do you love Sigil?"

     "Oh, yes, Majesty," he replied.

     "Enough that you would stay with him if King
Trelaine summoned you back to Elanen.

     Fanna's emotions played across his face.  A few
tears broke loose and slid down his cheeks as he
replied, "I will stay with Sigil as long as he will
have me, Sire, for I do love him.  My King will not
summon me.  He sent me here in exile and has probably
forgotten my existence.  I am not so much a fool that
I will place my dreams in a star so far away in the
heavens that it cannot be reached.  Sigil's love for
me is real and binds me to him."

     "The High King is very aware of your existence,
Fanna," Artilan said, his manner very serious.
"Shortly after your arrival he sent word that he
wished to be kept informed of your progress and your
happiness.  He does not wish lightly for he knows the
power of his wishes.  I send him word of your progress
each I time I have contact with him for any reason.
Of your happiness?  That I could only surmise.
Knowing this, I ask you again.  Would you go if he
summoned you?"

     Fanna raised his chin and summoned as much
dignity as he could before responding.  "I love Sigil.
 I would only leave him if I heard from his own lips
that he wished me gone, or if his voice was silenced
in death."

To be continued.

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