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Chapter Text

The singing drew Delenn from her sleep, as it had for the last two nights. Two voices, low and intertwining, chanting ancient prayers and making music of one another.  The young acolyte dressed silently, taking care not to disturb her sleeping roommate, and slipped from the female dormitory.

Barefoot, she shivered through the cold stone passages, following the music made by the two voices--they were male, she realized--to the door of the Fal'Min Fi, the Star Temple, with its roof open to the night sky. The double doors were heavily carved stone, balanced to swing at the slightest whisper. Peeking in, Delenn saw who had infiltrated her slumbers, those past nights.

She was a little surprised to see Branmer sitting on the little platform under the stars, and even more surprised to see a young man in Warrior's dress sitting beside the priest and chanting the counterpoint.

She could not say that she did not mean to intrude. She did mean to intrude--she was intruding. But she did not wish to disturb them. So she stood quietly, motionless and small just inside the entrance to the tiny space, and listened.

Branmer, tall and broad even when he was sitting, chanting the ancient invocation to the stars in a voice as pure as the winter wind. The stranger, smaller and leaner even beneath his bulky uniform coat, stumbled a little over the unfamiliar language, but his voice was strong and rich, and stirred something within Delenn's soul that she had never examined before.

The song ended, but the music seemed to linger in the air.

As the two men rose, Branmer spied her. Delenn braced herself for a scolding, but instead the priest came to her with a wide smile and outstretched hands.

The stranger was called Neroon. He was a clan-brother of Branmer's, come on a private, unobtrusive visit. Though not so tall as the priest, he still seemed to tower over the young acolyte, and he made a small obeisance to her that was so full of arrogant amusement that Delenn feared she might strike him. His dark, dark eyes laughed at her, and so annoyed was she, and so intent upon hiding her discomfort, that she did not also see how they traced her form and admired her courage. "Do you know the songs?"

"I--yes."

Neroon's lips twitched. "Sing with us."

He was laughing at her, she was certain of it. "No."

Branmer touched her shoulder. "Do not mind my young friend's lack of manners," he said, his eyes twinkling. "His spirits are too high, but he means well."

"Master, I should return to the dormitory--"

"You got up to find us out; the least you can do is gift us with your company."

She looked up at the priest ruefully. "You are trying to get me in trouble."

Branmer laughed. "Delenn, you do not need anyone's help to get you into trouble."

Neroon's smile broadened, and Delenn blushed. But she obeyed, staying and singing with the Star Riders until the first hue of morning came to dim the glittering canopy overhead. "Are you tired, Delenn?" the warrior asked.

"No," she had to answer truthfully. "I am... alive."

His dark eyes were thoughtful under their caste superiority as she bade farewell and returned to slip back to the dormitory before the first of the morning bells, and for many days, her meditations were disturbed by the memory of them.

Finally, she sought out Branmer. "I am confused, Master."

He listened to her halting explanation patiently. "There is only one cure for such distractions, you know."

"I must forget him."

Branmer's smile was always gentle and often mischievous, but now there was something more to it. "If that is your wish."

Chapter Text

The Falmin'Fi was cold. Delenn drew her blanket more closely around her shoulders and wished, not for the first time, that the keeper of the Star Temple would have the old space connected to the school's central heating system. Even during daily offices the circular chamber was cold; even when the astronomy classes met for midnight lessons during the summer, the students could see their breath as they huddled around portable heaters.

Now it was nearly winter, and Delenn was supposed to be in bed in the female dormitory. Instead she sat on the circular platform in the center of the little temple, her back firmly against the altar, looking up through the skylight at the stars wheeling overhead.

An extra blanket was laid over her knees, and Delenn tore her gaze from the sky to see the strong face and viridian eyes of Branmer, the astronomy master and the keeper of the Star Temple. He crouched beside her and spread the blanket up to her chin. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Are you missing Rathenn?"

"A little." Her friend Rathenn, two years her senior, had graduated the year before and left a small void in her life.

She shook her head.

Master Branmer's expression was kind. "Do you want to tell me?"

"It was nothing. I said something foolish in my history class. The other students... well, they laughed at me."

"Again? You know they don't mean anything by it, child."

"I know. And Master Firell was very kind and explained my error, but..." Delenn's face grew very hot, and she shrugged uncomfortably. "They did not need to laugh."

"No, but if you hold your tongue until the world stops laughing, you may never speak at all."

"I have nothing to say, Master. Certainly nothing worth listening to... or laughing at."

Branmer pursed his lips, and Delenn braced herself for the inevitable order to return to her room. "Come," he said instead, rising and offering her his hand. To Delenn's surprise, he led her instead into the Star Temple's small annex, where Branmer lived.

"You must forgive me, Master," Delenn said, taking the rich, spicy tea he offered her. "I did not mean to wake you."

"I always know when you visit my sanctuary."

"I do try to be quiet..."

"As quiet as falling snow," he smiled slightly. "But I was awake, in any case. I've had a message from my clan that has given me... pause for thought." He sipped his tea and contemplated her over his cup. "Do you remember my clan-brother, Neroon, who visited last year?"

Delenn lowered her eyes shyly. "Yes, Master. I do. He was... He had a lovely voice."

"Hmph. He has a lovely temper as well, it seems. My young friend is having some trouble at his training camp, and his mother has appealed to me for help." Branmer leaned forward. "Tell me, child... what would you think, if Neroon were to spend the rest of the year here?"

"Here?" Delenn squeaked. She took a gulp of tea and tried again. "Here? But why? Neroon is a Warrior, why would he want..."

"Oh, he wouldn't want. And if I can get permision from the school elders to have him here, he is going to be livid. But I want him here. If he can learn to control his temper here, then I shall have no further fear of his behavior on the battlefield. So. What do you think?"

"I..." She hesitated. "Master, what I think does not matter."

"It matters because I am asking you. You have met Neroon, you know a little of him--and if he comes here, he will need a friend his own age, to make his exile a little more bearable. Would you be willing to be that for him?"

Delenn stared into her cup. She wanted to say no, but she had neither the words nor the courage to say so to the enigmatic temple priest. He was not one of her own teachers, but she had always been drawn to him. There was an air of strangeness to him, a sense of contented isolation. He was not an outsider; he was born to the temple, and that was the home of his heart. But his father was Warrior caste, and a part of Branmer still ached for the stars. It was why he was caretaker of the Star Temple, the poky and cold little chamber that was open to the sky even in the depths of winter... Her brief encounter with the Star Rider boy had left her with inexplicable feelings of embarrassment and confusion for weeks afterward. Neroon was a handsome male, with snapping black eyes... and he did have a lovely voice. He was also arrogant, teasing, disdainful... Warrior-caste. She did not want to see him again, let alone be friends with him. But Branmer did her great honor by asking her to look after his clan-brother, and... "Yes, Master," she said at last. "Because you have been kind to me, I will be kind to Neroon."

The tall priest smiled. "That is all I can ask." As she turned to leave, Branmer caught her by the hand.

"Master?"

"Neroon is a good boy," he told her. "You have nothing to fear by calling yourself his friend. Or by calling me friend," he added. His green eyes were like stained glass, and crinkled at the corners.

***

Doing his best not to look nervous as he marched under escort to the commandant's office, Neroon's mind raced to intuit the reason for his summoning. His team had still managed to come out victorious during the last scrimmage--their 'casualties' had been grievous but acceptable, according to the mission and simulated terrain--the leader of the other team might be in the infirmary but he was surely in no imminent danger... If anything, Neroon felt he should be commended for his handling of the assignment. But the attitude of his escorts was not exactly calculated to inspire confidence.

The two Warriors stopped abruptly outside the commandant's office, leaving the young battle-acolyte to open the door and enter on his own.

Commandant Nashenn was seated behind his desk, his seamed, weathered face and ice-blue eyes intent upon a hand-written letter. Neroon saluted respectfully and waited, staring at the opposite wall, for his head-master to acknowledge him. "I hear your team won today's simulation."

"Yes, Commandant."

"Did you find the mission difficult?"

"No, Commandant."

Nashenn glanced up at him briefly. "I thought not. You seem to have cultivated a talent for ground combat."

"Thank you, Commandant."

"It was not a compliment." Nashenn laid the letter flat on the desk before him. "You have a fine mind, Neroon. Your teachers have tried for many years to direct your interests in more productive directions, but you seem determined to waste your abilities in hand-to-hand blood matches."

Neroon pressed his lips together in a thin line, but said nothing.

"Do not misunderstand me, boy: they have many good things to say about you. Things that would swell the ego of a lesser trainee..." Nashenn looked at him keenly, but Neroon did not flinch. "But they lament your lack of focus and your fiery temper." The commandant stood slowly. "I have read your captain's report of the scrimmage today. You rushed into the thick of the battle and attacked the opposing force's leader, with complete disregard for your safety or that of your team."

"My teachers have taught me not to fear battle."

"Obviously," Nashenn snapped. "And failed to teach you much caution or sense."

"We accomplished our directive--"

"You lost half your team!" The pale blue eyes cracked like a glacier in spring. "Your boyish inability to wait threatens to ferment into full-blown recklessness, and we cannot let this be. You are one of the finest students here--as you know damned well. The other trainees will follow you unto death. No doubt grown soldiers will do the same. But it is not your task to lead them straight to the slaughter." The commandant's voice was hard and final. "You are a danger to your fellow acolytes, Neroon ra'Fisularae. And I cannot allow you to remain here."

His words were like a blow to the solar plexus; Neroon was suddenly unable to breathe. "But--Commandant! I cannot--I have only three years of study left!"

Nashenn shook his head. "The decision is final. You must go." He took the letter he had been reading from his desk. "It is not too late in your education for a change to take hold. A year away will be good for you."

Neroon's black eyes shot to the elderly Warrior's bearded face. "A year... You are not expelling me?"

The commandant snorted. "Expel you? The prize of your year? The pride of our camp? Of course not. You haven't killed anyone." He held up his hand. "Yet. But you came close today. It was uncertain at first whether Tirell would survive. If he had not, I would have had no choice but to send you back to your clan--and I would not like to speculate what the Star Rider elders would have done with you then. But he will recover, in time."

Neroon let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "I... I did not know, sir."

Nashenn was glad to see that his prize student was suitably shaken by how close he had come to snuffing out the life of one of his fellows. "You are a quick, intelligent, courageous boy. You are also arrogant and angry. You charm the other students without thinking and then hurl them into battle with as little concern as you show for your own life. You must learn empathy, Neroon, and above all, patience."

His young pride was badly brusied by the chastisement, and his first instinct was to scoff, to argue--to fight back. But the thought of Tirell lying motionless beneath his feet in the snow... "Yes, Commandant." He nodded tightly. "Where must I go?"

"To temple."

"To... to temple?"

"A temple school. For a year," Nashenn confirmed. "Such an exile would test the patience of the greatest hero of our caste, so it will be more than appropriate for a firebrand like you."

A whole year in a Religious school, surrounded on all sides by soft priests and disapproving priestesses, but at all times alone. "What school?"

Nashenn named a temple, a forgettable name in a non-descript town. But Neroon's heart leapt. "My foster-father teaches at that school," he said slowly, struggling not to show the hope welling up in his chest.

"I know," said Nashenn dryly. "It was Branmer's suggestion we send you to him. He is vastly disappointed in you, boy." Neroon winced. "But he is also very pleased that he will have you to himself for a year."

That, Neroon thought as he went to pack his clothes and strip his bunk, was small consolation.

An hour later, with his bunk stripped and his things packed, he knew that it was nearly time for him to go. But... there was one thing left that he needed to do. He sat down in front of the communications sytem and requested to be put through toAlyt Sinolin of the warcruiser Ava'gati. A moment, and then the image of a short, dour Warrior with icy eyes appeared. "I was wondering when you would work up the nerve to call me."

Neroon gritted his teeth. "Mother."

Sinolin glared at her son. "So? What have you to say for yourself?"

"I..." His jaw tightened. "I am sorry to have disappointed you."

"Sorry." Her stern, strong face was impassive, but her blue-black eyes glittered with some suppressed emotion. "Is that all?"

"What more can I say?"

"Suppose you say that you've been an idiot, that you've let a strong body and a handsome face swell your head until you think that your fellows are nothing more than cannon fodder compared to you?"

"No—"

"Or perhaps you could say that you've taken all those ridiculous tales so seriously that you really believe that the greatest glory a Warrior can attain is to wash your hands in another's blood?"

"No! No, Mother..." He would not cry in front of an alyt, even if she was his own mother. He hadn't cried since he was nine years old. "I've made a terrible mistake and I am sorry, but I swear to you, it was not intentional. I never meant to hurt anyone, let alone Tirell—a friend!"

"Do you have any idea what would have happened to you, if you had killed that boy?" Sinolin demanded. "Have you given any thought to what your future would have been if Tirell had died?" Neroon could not speak; he had never in his life seen his mother so coldly furious. "Our clan would have given you to his family, to take his place in his parents' home. You would no longer be Neroon! You would be Tirell. Every day for the rest of your life, you would have to answer to his name and remember who he was, remember that you ended him. You would have to call his parents 'mother' and 'father,' and I would have lost you!"

Out of her line of sight, Neroon's hands were shaking. He accepted her anger as only right—he was all she had left of his father... He hung his head, thinking of how his actions had dishonored that father's memory. "Forgive me, va'sala," he whispered hoarsely.

"Let your clan-brother handle you for a year," was Sinolin's short reply. "Ask me again when he's done with you." She ended the transmission abruptly.

***

It was so rare for the students to be called together in the middle of the day, that the smallest boys and girls stood worriedly beside nearly-grown men and women, hoping to be cuddled and reassured by their elders. But even the older students were confused by the assembly that had taken them from their midday meal and prayers and lessons. They gathered in the temple school's great main chamber, a cavernous space that normally only saw such numbers on the most solemn of holy days, and murmured to one another, rumors starting, spreading, flying out of all proportion in a matter of minutes.

Delenn pushed and nudged her way through the crowd until she found her best friend and roommate, Mayan, standing amid a cluster of mutual friends. "This is so strange!" Mayan exclaimed, taking her hand. "All of us here, and all the masters and staff, even the groundskeepers--" They were both too short to see over the heads of many of the other students, but between the bodies they could just make out the form of Master Branmer, standing on the altar platform beside the head of the school, Master Midiri, which was very unusual. "Have you heard what the others are saying?"

"No, what?"

"That someone has died! Or that someone has been sent home in disgrace, which is infinitely worse."

Delenn was too used to her poetical friend's dramatic embellishments to pay too much attention. "I do not think it is anything so grave as that. The teachers do not look nearly solemn enough."

"They certainly look put out enough," retorted Mayan. "All except Master Branmer--he almost looks excited."

Without quite knowing why, Delenn blushed.

The noise within the great chamber had coalesced into an eager, nervous cloud of indistinguishable words, but the students fell silent at once when Master Midiri stepped forward to speak. "My children," she began, her soft and well-modulated voice carrying easily into even the farthest corners of the enormous stone chamber, "in the coming weeks, you may begin to notice an unfamiliar face among your friends and fellow students. We have been asked by the Warrior's training camp in the city of Kannor to host one of their battle-acolytes for the summer and winter terms." She did not react to the sudden wave of surprised whispers and uneasy murmurs that swept through the students; indeed, she seemed to expect it, and let it run for a minute or two before raising her hands for silence, and getting it.

"The youth in question is a member of the Star Rider clan," Midiri continued, "and as such he is Master Branmer's clan-brother." She gestured briefly to the massive astronomy teacher. "He will be in Master Branmer's care during his time here, and will live in the Star Temple while he is learning some of our ways, in the hope that the company of the young people of the Religious caste may have a soothing effect on him." The students giggled. Nearby, Delenn heard Avaier, a male year-mate, say something about that being a lost cause. Mayan's hands had flown to her mouth in a gesture of supreme shock.

"Neroon ra'Fisularae will arrive in three days. Now, when he arrives, you are to be civil and polite, even if he seems to be behaving rudely. Remember, the ways of the Warrior caste are somewhat different from our own." Master Branmer's eyes narrowed at that, but he made no attempt to comment. "He is currently in his eighteenth year of study, so he will be attending history, philosophy and theology classes with the other students of that year."

"But that's our year!" Mayan squeaked.

"While he is here," said Midiri, a note of firmness entering her tone, "you should give the Warrior his space. He is here to learn peace, serenity, and above all, self-control. It is in all your best interests to treat the Warrior as a common and indifferent acquaintance, and not pester or antagonize him. He has a fierce temper, like all his caste, and it would be unproductive and unkind to provoke him." Midiri smiled serenely at her assembled students. "You will all now return to your classes, and at evening meditation, you will please contemplate how you will behave to this guest in our school."

She bowed to the youths, and as one, all the students both young and old bowed to her in return. Midiri swept from the platform, followed by the rest of the teachers and staff. None of them looked pleased, not even Branmer. The assembled students slowly shuffled back to their interrupted studies, glancing uncertainly at their peers and conversing rapidly in low, hushed tones.

"Can you imagine such a thing?" said Mayan, gripping Delenn's arm so they would not be separated in the crowd. "A Warrior, here?"

"Afraid, Mayan?" Avaier teased her. He was a big, well-fed boy who liked to hear himself talk. "Worried that this Star Rider might spirit you and Delenn from your bed?" His grin was bright and mocking. "Well, have no fear--no mere Warrior is a match for a male of the Isaal clan. I shall protect you both."

Delenn colored up and turned away, and Avaier laughed at her. Mayan put a protective arm around her friend's shoulders. "I'm sure you would crush this bad-tempered Warrior, Avaier--all you would have to do is sit on him." She and Delenn walked away from the obnoxious boy. "He thinks very much of himself these days... But do not worry, Delenn," Mayan reassured her, squeezing her hand before departing to run back to her studies, "we probably won't see anything of this Star Rider boy."

Watching her friend go, with a nervous expression Delenn turned to resume her theology class.

By supper that evening, Delenn expected everyone to be through discussing the news of the Warrior boy, but this turned out to be far from the truth.  All through the dining hall she could hear whispers of other students discussing their coming guest, speculating on what might be bringing him to their temple, theorizing about what wild behaviors he might show, telling stories of Warriors they had known or claimed to have known, or even just seen.  Their temple was a small one, far from any major city, and most of the children at the temple were from quiet communities of Religious and Worker caste families.  Even for those like Delenn who had grown up in cities, Warriors were a distant exotic - seen in the streets going about their business, but rarely interacted with or spoken to.  The rumors that whirled around the dining hall mirrored this mystery.

"People are saying he must have done something really horrible at his training camp," Mayan told Delenn as she sat down with her bowl of soup and a heavy chunk of bread.  "That, or that he's a coward and they don't know what to do with him.  Why else would Warriors send one of their own to live with us?"

"Maybe it's like Master Midiri said, and they just want him to learn from us," Delenn suggested, trying to keep her voice steady.  It would not do to betray the trust that Branmer had placed in her.

Mayan, fortunately, was too distracted by the dramatic rumors in her mind to notice if her friend showed any sign of not telling the entire truth.  She glanced sideways at her, smirked, and shook her head.  "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I'm sure our teachers wouldn't bring him here if he was a danger to us...  Maybe... maybe he just wanted a change.  Or maybe it has something to do with Branmer being his clan-brother.  Branmer is Religious caste, after all, even though his father was a Warrior.  Maybe he wants his clan brother to understand both castes."

"Midiri was at pains to emphasize his temper.  She wanted us to be sure not to provoke him, so it cannot be that he is a coward."  Mayan soaked her bread in her soup, pursing her lips thoughtfully.  "Besides, I expect they still expose children who are cowards, like people did in the ancient songs.  Leave them out on some cold rock outcrop to die, or give them to the river, or at the margin of the sea."

"No one does that anymore!  Valen forbade that, and it was hardly practiced even in his day!"

Mayan shook her head.  "You just don't know, with Warriors.  I haven't heard of anyone doing it for a thousand years, but we don't see everything they do.  My parents told me about a tomb they found once, from before we burned our dead.  There was a queen buried in this hill, piled with broken swords and knives and bows all around her - the weapons of her enemies.  And there were other bodies, too - Mother said some people thought they were her servants, that they'd gone to death with her out of loyalty, but they'd all been strangled, and some of their skulls had been crushed in the front, and some of the others were curled around themselves, or stretched out with their hands grasping the walls of the cave, as if they'd changed their minds, woken from a torpor and struggled to find their way out of the tomb before they died."

Delenn shuddered.  "But that was a thousand years ago or more, Mayan."

"More," her friend agreed.  "But with Warriors, people say the difference isn't that great.  They just haven't learned from those years in the same way we have, Delenn.  It's not the same for them.  And now we'll have one living with us, taking classes with us?"  Mayan shook her head and chewed the crust of her bread.  "We'll all have to take great care, not to anger him or be caught alone with him."

Delenn thought of the Warrior's dark eyes and his haughty smile, and kept her mouth shut.  The rest of the evening passed quietly between them in their usual routine of studying and prayers, after which they returned to their little room in the female dormitory.  Walking past the younger girls as they settled into bed in the open dorm, Delenn was pleased to note that none of them seemed disturbed any longer by the news of the coming visitor.  Consoled by their elders out of the initial shock, surely they would all accept him with equanimity, now, as would the others.  Mayan would surely be the same.

Inside their on comfortable little private room, the two girls studied a bit more - Mayan was all nerves about a test in history the following morning, and begged Delenn to review a few last things with her - and then settled into their little bed.  

"I'm so nervous," Mayan sighed as she snuggled ino the thick blankets.

"The test will be fine," Delenn assured her.  "And you're not specializing in history, anyway.  I don't see why you should be this worried."

"I don't mean the test."

"What, then?"

"It's this Warrior."  Mayan shuddered and slid closer to Delenn.  "Imagine having one of them here among us, Delenn.  I don't know how we'll feel safe.  The whole time, it will be like the temple isn't even ours anymore."

"He's a Warrior, Mayan, not an alien or a monster."

"How would you know?"

Delenn blushed.  "There are Warriors living in Yedor, along with the Religious and Workers.  We've never had any troubles."

"But those are Warriors used to living among other castes, surely.  This one...  From the way Master Midiri describes him, he sounds positively savage."

"He was, a bit," Delenn admitted before she could stop herself.

Mayan squeaked.  "You've met him?  Delenn!  How?  Why didn't you say something?"  

"I wasn't supposed to, and it was only briefly, and months ago.  He was visiting Master Branmer, and I... couldn't sleep, so I went walking and ended up at the Star Temple.  I had heard them singing, though I didn't know what it was, then."

"Singing?"  Mayan screwed up her face in thought.  "I wouldn't imagine Warriors as much for music.  It sounds almost artistic of them.  But I suppose there are songs for marching, songs of war and such, like the ancient poets sometimes wrote."

"This was not a song like that..."

But Mayan seemed not even to have heard her protest.  "Well, I can understand now why you were so quiet earlier, if you've already seen this boy.  And I suppose that if he was with Master Branmer, he must have been on what passes for best behavior with their kind.  Still, you must have been so frightened, Delenn!"

Delenn remembered the fitful jumping of her heart when the boy looked at her, the way her hands had trembled and how she had felt smaller even than she was used to under his black gaze.  "I... I was, yes.  But..."

"Well, don't worry.  We'll keep well away from him while he's here, and you needn't spend any more time with him."

"But... I promised Master Branmer that I would help him to feel comfortable here.  He will have no friends here, and--"

"Then he will return all the more quickly to his proper place, Delenn.  How can Branmer expect you to be friendly to a boy who frightens you, Delenn?  He presumes too much if he thinks that is right."  Mayan stroked her friend's arm, and pressed her hand to her heart.  "Don't worry.  Just ignore this Warrior boy, when he gets here."

"But I promised," Delenn insisted.

"Well, then... say hello to him once or twice if you must, or... I don't know, help him to find his classes or something.  But you needn't spend any more time with him than you feel comfortable with.  That will be plenty to fulfil your agreement with Master Branmer."

Delenn wanted to argue, but she also wanted to sleep, and Mayan was clearly not willing to concede to her, nor to let her point go if Delenn did not relent.  So she nodded vaguely and snuggled into the blankets.  She tried to feel comforted by Mayan's warmth beside her, and to put out of her mind the confusion that continually set on her concerning Master Branmer's young friend and his impending visit, and all the upset that seemed to surround him even before his arrival.  I will do as Mayan suggests, she told herself - only enough be with him enough to satisfy my promise, and no more.  She felt relieved at the thought, and that told her it must be the right thing to do.  But it still worried her somewhat that her classmates, and even her own best friend, seemed so determined to fear the strange boy even before they had met him.  If even a good-spirited girl like Mayan was inclined to hate him sight unseen, what kind of life would the boy have for the next year?


***

Neroon was bound and determined not to disgrace himself any further, but when he stepped off the transport onto the tiny local platform and saw the tall, looming presence of his clan-brother waiting for him, he almost started to cry. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat, tightened his grip on the strap of his rucksack, and strode up to Branmer, saluting smartly, afraid to see the disappointment in his surrogate father's sharp green eyes.

A heavy, steady hand on his shoulder made him look up. "All will be well, my son," he said quietly, a resolute expression on his handsome face. Neroon nodded once, tears stinging his eyes. "Come."

The walk to the temple school was a short one, and Neroon was too busy trying to keep up with Branmer's long, purposeful strides to ponder on his exile too much. Instead of entering through the great main door as Neroon feared, they slipped round to the side and went directly into the Star Temple. The smells of old stone and lingering incense were a small comfort.

Inside the annex, Branmer showed him the small storage room he had cleared out and turned into a bedroom for his unwilling guest. "It's bigger than what you have at the camp, I think."

"Yes." Neroon set his bag down on the floor. "Bigger and private."

Branmer leaned against the frame of the door. "Would you prefer to sleep in my room?"

Yes, Neroon nearly said. "No. I'm here to be punished. I will learn to be lonely."

His clan-brother let out a sigh. "You are not here to be punished, Neroon. You are here to learn a lesson your mother and I should have taught you years ago." Neroon turned with a questioning look on his face. "We did not, I'm afraid. So you will simply have to make the best of it. As to you being lonely, that is entirely up to you." Branmer stepped into the room and laid an arm around Neroon's shoulders. "You're good at making friends, and just because you're here against your will is no reason to be melodramatic. It doesn't suit you."

The boy shrugged gloomily. "Who here would I wish to be friends with? Pale, limp, bloodless Religious--" He stopped short, too late to prevent Branmer's big hand from smacking the back of his crest. It didn't hurt, but it rattled his teeth and got his attention.

"Perhaps the better question is, who would wish to be friends with you, if you're going to behave that badly in the home of your host."

Chastened, Neroon bowed his head. "Forgive me, sir. I am... not myself this evening."

"Small wonder. Come and have something to eat."

There was bread and butter and cold meat and hot tea; Neroon ate hungrily but nothing seemed to have any taste. Branmer nursed a cup of something that smelled intense and spicy. "Do you remember when you visited a year or two ago? The girl who stumbled into our singing?"

He had not thought of her in a very long time, but as soon as Branmer mentioned her, Neroon's mind was flooded with the memory of the young female, her prettiness and her pale eyes and her quaking boldness, and he smiled without realizing it. "Her name was Delenn."

"It was, and is. I've asked her to look after you during your stay, at least until you can find your bearings among us."

Neroon's head snapped up. "You--you didn't tell her why I'm here, did you?"

"You mean, did I tell her that in your negligence, you nearly killed one of your classmates?" Branmer glared coldly at his clan-brother until Neroon gulped and lowered his eyes in shame. "No, that I did not tell her. I merely said that you were having some troubles at your training camp that made it advisable for you to spend some time away, under more calming influences."

"Thank you, Master," the boy whispered.

Quietly, Branmer took the stoneware cup from Neroon's unresisting fingers. He refilled it with the thick, spicy tea of his own blending and pushed it back into the boy's hands. "Drink that," he said kindly. The liquid slid rich and smooth down Neroon's throat, sending the blood back into his cheeks. "Now get yourself to bed."

"But the evening prayers--"

"The universe will forgive you for neglecting it for a night, and you need the rest. Get some sleep, Neroon. What the night condemns, the day befriends." They rose from the table, and the boy bowed respectfully. To his surprise, Branmer pulled him forward and embraced him tightly, and Neroon clung a little to his robes.

His small room was simple and clean and warm, with a narrow, slit-like window looking out onto the frost-covered garden outside. Slowly, Neroon stripped down to his skin, murmuring the armor prayer, laying each piece of clothing away with the utmost reverence. He pulled on his nightclothes and extinguished all the candles but one, and lay back on the bed, staring at the rough stone ceiling.

The silence thundered in his brain. He turned this way and that, half-expecting to see someone in the next bed over and finding only a wall to greet him. He missed the low hum of his age-mates, breathing softly as they slept. He missed the warmth exuded by many bodies in a small space. Most of all, he missed the security of his skin knowing that there were people nearby. Here, there was only Branmer, and even then there were walls between them.

Finally he could stand it no longer. Taking his denn'bok and tucking it into the belt of his robe, and grabbing the blanket from his bed, Neroon softly slipped into the living space. His bare feet were light and silent on the  old wooden floor as he settled down outside Branmer's bedroom door. He drew his knees to his chest, pillowed his head on his folded arms, and let the faint sound of his clan-brother's breathing lull him to sleep.

He dreamed of his father that night, the father he had know for the first three months of his life, before the man had died in space. He dreamed that his father came and picked him up in his strong arms and brought him to his own bed, kissing his son's head, and standing beside the bed and softly singing to him back to sleep.

It was a sweet dream, one that Neroon tried to hold on for as long as he could.

When he woke in the dark morning, he was in Branmer's bed, and the priest was kneeling before a small altar on the wall. "Thank you, va'malid," said Neroon softly. Branmer said nothing, but his green eyes flickered to the son of his favorite cousin, and his lips quirked up in a brief smile.

***

This time her footsteps were steady and sure on the cold stones. This time, the two men were waiting for her, and she joined them on the platform with only a little of her previous hesitation. Neroon had grown taller. Within a or two year he would be an adult, when the torrakhon fell away from his crest and left only bone.

Delenn suddenly felt small and young beside such maturity. "Have you come for another quiet, unobtrusive visit?" she asked.

Neroon's smile turned a little sour; Branmer put a hand on each of their shoulders. "A longer, less obtrusive and probably very much noisier visit. Neroon's teachers have sent this young battle-acolyte to us to learn." The green eyes were amused , but there was also flint beneath the fondness. "He is to study such difficult arts as 'patience,' and 'calm,' and 'keeping one's temper.' Is that not so, ah'malier?"

The younger man was visibly annoyed; Delenn had to stifle a giggle. "That is so, Master."

"Good." Then, to her surprise, Branmer turned to her. "He is also here to teach." Neroon's irritation turned to perplexity. "He will instruct you, Delenn, in equally important subjects, such as 'confidence,' 'assertion,' and 'trusting in oneself,' a skill as valuable to a Religious as to a Warrior." It was her turn to wilt slightly under his stern gaze. "Is that not so, shaimira?"

Delenn bowed her head. "That is so, Master."

Branmer nodded. "Good." He stepped back, and without another word, returned to his quarters.

On the platform, Delenn and Neroon stared at one another warily.

***

The first few weeks of his stay were, without exaggeration, an exile. The students ignored him and avoided him like a contagious pariah, the priests slid lofty gazes at him from the corners of their eyes wherever he went, and he felt as though the only thing that anyone besides Branmer expected of him was to damage books and steal their cutlery.

His somber grey coat stood out from among the pale-robed priests and acolytes like a dead tree in a snowbank. No one spoke to him, not even in the calm, bland Religious tongue, save the teachers of the few classes he was required to attend: history, philosophy, theology. In his own school, he had relished his history lessons, but here they were lifeless, without vigor or excitement; he memorized important dates and facts to reel off when he was called and forgot everything else. Philosophical and theological studies were a closed book to him. He spent his days more or less in silence, contemplating only the injustice to which he was being subjected. His dark eyes glowered at everything and everyone, he was impatient in study, and he fidgeted constantly in temple, unable to keep his limbs still.

When he was not in class, he hung around the Star Temple, helping Branmer to prepare the chamber for offices and astronomy classes and trying, in his groping way, to follow the course of meditation and reflection that Branmer had laid out for him. Glad as he was to be with his clan-brother again, the older man's disapproval was hard to bear, far harder than the unfriendly atmosphere he had been plunged into. The highlight of his day was to go into the grounds after evening prayers to practice his denn'bok, a consideration for which Neroon was grateful. He had always been more comfortable outdoors than in, and the last thing he wanted was for his skills to wane while he was in exile.

The girl Delenn watched him sometimes, from the edge of the courtyard. She never said anything, never tried to talk to him, just sat on the low wall with a book in her hands, and watched. Her grey-green eyes were veiled and shy, and just the tiniest bit afraid of him, but sometimes their eyes met, and in the instant before she looked away, he would see a sharp, piercing expression in their clear depths that always made him stumble. After a few times, he would find himself waiting to catch that expression, and in disgust he would growl loudly at her and demand that she leave him alone.

And she would... until the next day.

"Go away," he snarled one evening, after making a fifth misstep in his form.

She drew back instinctively at his harsh tone, and for a moment, she looked as though she would turn and run as she usually did. Instead, to his surprise, she lifted her chin defiantly. "I am doing you no harm."

"You are distracting me."

"That is not my fault. It is you who cannot keep your mind on your weapon."

"Shai'mira Delenn, if you do not leave me alone, I will—"

"You will what?" He could almost hear her heart pounding against her ribs, as though it would break loose and fly away, but to his amazement, her voice was calm and steady. "Tell Branmer that his clan-brother cannot concentrate on the simplest of exercises? Tell my teachers? Attack me?"

"I would never attack a Religious. My caste is sworn to protect yours."

"Then why is your pike raised as though ready to strike?"

Aghast, Neroon collapsed the weapon quickly. "You are learning confidence in plenty," he remarked gruffly, shaken and staring at his hands.

"You are a good teacher in that respect." Now that the danger was past, Delenn was shivering. Without a word, Neroon swept off his heavy cloak and put it about her shoulders. "But I have not taught you patience."

"Yes, you have," he said quietly. He turned and walked away as quickly as he could without running, trying to escape her pale eyes.

He went into the Fal'min Fi and, finding Branmer in the middle of a lesson with a group of young students, hid himself behind a pillar. He slid to the floor with his back against the stones, hid his face in his gloved hands and tried to focus on the deep, calm voice of his clan-brother as he patiently guided the children through the motions of a rudimentary star chart--they must be very young, Neroon realized dimly, to be having astronomy lessons during the day.

The lesson was familiar to him; he had sat through a similar one in his eleventh or twelfth year. But while his teacher had made much of the old stories behind the constellations and the old names of travelers using the stars to guide their way home, that man had not possessed Branmer's lyric quality of voice, of turning the names and legends into prayers without even trying. Like a burst in his mind, Neroon could see the stars wheeling overhead in the night sky, dancing together like a living hymn, written in light.

Those stars, the symbols of his people, were almost the only familiar thing in this strange, alien world of prayers and monks and disturbingly fascinating acolytes. Delenn's wide-eyed expression rose up before his face like a phantom, her measuring admiration... her fear.

A hot ball of shame exploded in Neroon's chest. He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and buried his face in his knees, shaking.

It seemed like a very long time before the young boys and girls left the temple, trying and failing to walk decoriously now that they were free to do as they liked until bed. But at last, the temple was silent, save for the sound of Master Branmer's robes rustling gently as he closed books and picked up discarded papers. Neroon gritted his teeth as hard as he could, but it was no good.

At the sound of the quiet sob, Branmer was at his side almost at once, his tall frame sinking down beside his young friend. "Are you ill, ah'malier? Or injured?"

Neroon shook his head. He wiped his face messily on the backs of his gloves and moved to rise, to run away and hide himself in his room. To his surprise, Branmer caught him by the shoulders, pulled him against his broad chest, and simply held him. "Let it go, boy," said the priest softly.

The young Star Rider didn't think he had ever wept so painfully; his lungs and throat burned with the force of it, and his tears soaked through the front of Branmer's robe as he clutched at the fabric as though afraid of falling. His clan-brother only held him tightly, silently, giving Neroon what strength he could with the sheer force of his presence, until the boy had cried himself out. "Do you want to tell me?"

"I..." Neroon squeezed his eyes shut against another flood of tears. "Don't abandon me, va'malid."

Branmer snorted softly, though his heart bled, and in the safety of the empty and darkened temple, he pressed a kiss to the crown of Neroon's head. "Never." The boy's story spilled out, everything that had happened at the training camp, which Branmer already knew, and what had passed between Neroon and Delenn in the courtyard. "You wanted to hurt her?"

"No! I didn't want... anything! I didn't think about it at all... but the pike was in my hand and I was ready to strike her. It was..." Neroon swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Monstrous. I don't want to be a monster, Branmer."

He looked up fearfully at the priest, but Branmer's green eyes were calm. "My son, you relieve my mind unspeakably." He wiped Neroon's tear-stained face with a fold of his wide sleeve. "Come into the Annex, child."

Chapter Text

"But I don't need to study second-century poetry!" Mayan protested. 

"You do if you want to specialize in poetry," Master Firell informed Mayan calmly. "Especially if you want to go to the conservatory I've heard you talk about, Mayan, you must have a general background in the poetry of all major eras. You do want to apply to that conservatory, don't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"Then I recommend you begin a study of the works of the second century masters." Firell smiled. "I'm not without sympathy, Mayan - I realize the second century is not so... exciting, perhaps, as some of the areas you favor. The ancient poets, for instance. But in this temple, a serious scholar of poetry cannot simply pick and choose."

"But I have less than a year left, and the poetry of the second century is so... dense and unemotional. I can't make any sense of it!"

"I've assigned one of our senior tutors to assist you." Firell dug around in the piles of paperwork and scrolls on her desk, and eventually found what she was looking for - a small scroll marked with Mayan's name. "He left his initial studies and came here four years ago from a temple in the eastern continent. Ever since then, he's made it his business to know practically everything in our libraries, with a particular eye to the histories and writings of the early post-Valen era. He will help you find the recommended texts listed here, and assist you in interpreting them until you feel comfortable handling the subject on your own. He is expecting you this afternoon, as soon as I dismiss you," Firell added, anticipating her student's protest that she would deal with the second century when she had finished with her other - and more interesting - studies. " I am sure you will not be so rude as to keep him waiting."

So there was nothing for it - Mayan tucked the little scroll into her sash, picked up her books, and wended her way to the library, feeling very ill-used. Everyone who knew anything about poetry knew that the works of the second century after Valen were nothing compared to those before or after that era - they lacked emotion, vitality - their language and imagery were so cold as to be nearly clinical. And if this senior tutor was a specialist in those eras, he would no doubt be just as dull. But when she arrived in the library, she couldn't find anyone but a handful of students younger than herself whispering over some project or other. How perfect. The tutor must have left, and Firell would blame her for not arriving promptly for her appointment. And she still wouldn't get out of reading the second-century boredom. Well, that wouldn't do at all. She walked toward the back of the library, scanning the aisles as she went.

"Hello? Master... er..." Mayan frowned, realizing Firell had never given her the tutor's name, and changed tactics. "Master Firell said someone here could help me with my poetry study?"

"Ah! So sorry, I must have lost track of time!" A tall young man who looked like he'd been cobbled together out of too many limbs and joints and too little substance emerged from the stacks at the back of the library with an armload of scrolls and books. He wore the white and tan robes traditional to an acolyte priest, but his own were smudged on the sleeves and chest with dust, and another grey streak had been rubbed across his cheek. He had a long, slightly flat face, and hands that seemed too large for his bony wrists, and he spoke with a slight stutter. Mayan suppressed the uncharitable - but highly accurate - thought that it was not much surprise that this young man had chosen to lock himself away with ancient books for his life. He seemed almost stunned to be talking to someone alive. "You... you must be Mayan." 

Mayan bowed, and had to bite the inside of her cheek so as not to giggle when the tutor bowed back, nearly spilling some of the scrolls balanced precariously atop the pile in his arms.

"Ah... I-I'm Ashan. You, er... you wanted to study second-century poetry, then? Very interesting, a very... interesting, period. One of my favorites, actually." He smiled.

"I... am sure it has many good qualities. But it is not a period I would chose for study myself. Master Firell requires me to study all the major periods."

"Oh. I see. Well, that's.... that's quite good then. Very thorough. Yes, good. Ah... won't you sit down?"

Mayan suppressed a sigh, and sat.

"We'll start with the basics." Ashan awkwardly levered his pile of texts onto the table and sat down across from her. "What have you read before now, from the era?"

"I've read Dirshak's 'On Absence,' 'The Songs of Winter and Want,' and the first three chapters of Nattar's 'Fifteen Meditations on Salvation.'"

"Good, good..." Ashan smiled. "'On Absence' is rather a good one, don't you think?"

Mayan stared at him. "Are you asking my honest opinion, or is this part of my tutoring?"

"Oh, honest opinion. I think it's very important that you have opinions about the works you study, and that you feel comfortable expressing them openly. It builds academic confidence, and a dialogue that--"

"I hated it."

"Ah. Well. That... is not precisely the most academic expression of..." Ashan frowned and started over. "If you could perhaps explain why you... 'hated' it...?"

"It was dull. Pointless. Unemotional and utterly unfeeling. It... left me feeling as though Dirshak either had never felt loneliness and sorrow at a loss, or that she was so callous and insensitive to true depths of feeling that she simply couldn't express what she had felt."

"Mmm." Ashan nodded slowly. "That's... slightly more for us to work with. Here. Let's... return to the text, here, and..." He fumbled through the old pages of one of the books until he found the correct poem, and then pushed it out to the middle of the table where they both could read it. "This, then, the first stanza. Read it again, and look carefully at the language Dirshak uses."

Mayan did so, casting a quick eye over the words. "It's cold. It's... she's not even writing feelings, she's just talking about them. The words sit there on the page, and nothing comes out of them. I feel nothing in my heart from them!"

"And, if you'll forgive me, if Dirshak were writing a song to evoke the memory of suffering in her listeners, that would be a great shame. But this is not teela. This is... a contemplation. Have you read any of the history of the poem, of the author's life?"

"No."

Ashan nodded, as if this was precisely what he had expected. "Dirshak was old when she wrote this poem. Her two children had grown, and one of them had died in childbirth and the other on a winter hunting expedition. Her husband, a man she had loved very dearly, died many years before, in a fairly pointless skirmish with another clan. Dirshak outlived all her contemporaries, and eventually retreated to temple for the end of her days, studying with one of Valen's own disciples and learning to overcome the anger she felt, the feeling of betrayal, that the universe had taken all she loved from her. By this time of her life," he tapped the paper with a blunt, ink-stained finger, "she had given up her anger. She no longer blamed the universe for her losses. But still wrote from the sorrow that filled her."

"I shouldn't have to be told the author's life in order to understand her poetry," Mayan scoffed, though some of the fire seemed to have burned out of her belly at the story.

"No, but until you learn to look for the signs of it on your own, you may need to in order to know what you are looking at. Read the first stanza again."

Mayan did as he asked... and was surprised to discover that the words were not as dry as she had remembered. "But they're still so cold," she said. "It's like... like words carved in ice. They don't reach out to me. They stand aloof, as if they don't want me to know them."

"If I may make the point, shaimira Mayan... you are young. And... I hope you have not suffered in your life more than a tenth what Dirshak had by this time. I told you before, this is not teela. This is a newer form, one that was highly in vogue in the first centuries after Valen. This poetry doesn't seek to reach out and bring forth strong, passionate emotion in its audience. It is a work of restraint - of intense emotions held tightly under the author's control, and held out as an example of the way that suffering wears down our strength. Dirshak does not need to wail her pain - she whispers it, and that is enough to be heard by others who have truly suffered great loss... or who know how to look closely enough."

Mayan reread the first stanza again. This time, she felt as if she could nearly hear the old woman's low voice, whispering as her tutor had said, like wind through ice crystals. "It is cold," she repeated again, her own voice suddenly hollow. "It cuts like ice."

"Yes." Ashan smiled at her. "That is precisely what I have often thought."

***

Neroon set himself to his evening pike practice with decided ill grace, moving through the familiar forms with uncharacteristic mechanical motions. Strange, he reflected, to go from so disliking Delenn's company in the dusky hours to disliking when her attention was diverted away from him, even if only by a letter from home. "I hope your parents are well," he ventured, speaking solely so that she would have to answer. 

Delenn looked up with a surprised little smile. "My father is in excellent health, thank you."

"Does he write of anything in particular?"

"This and that. Nothing special... the same things your mother writes about, I expect."

"My mother," replied Neroon blandly, "has not written me since I arrived here."

"Oh." Delenn quietly folded up her letter and stowed it away. "Is she... very busy?"

"Very. She is captain of a warcruiser, the Ava'gati, and is rarely on Minbar, so she has little time for recorded messages—and she's always been disinclined to write." He spoke with the lofty pride of a boastful son, and manage to keep most of the worry from his voice. "What of your parents? What do they do?"

"My mother is a Sister of Valeria. I have not seen her since I was small. But my father is a priest at a temple in Yedor."

"You are from the capital?" Neroon's black eyes lit up. "It must have been exciting for you, growing up in such a place."

"In some ways, perhaps. But my father's home is in a very quiet section of the city." Delenn smiled, remembering. "But it is a beautiful place, and I miss it."

"Why did your father send you to this poky little place? Surely there must be larger teaching temples closer to Yedor, or within the city itself."

"Larger and closer, certainly, but none quite so well-regarded. And we are not so very far from Yedor, you know. I used to visit my father very often when I was younger, and the journey there takes only a few hours."

Neroon stowed his pike away and sat down beside her. "You are very fortunate. After I went to the training camp, my mother took command of her ship. I see her in person perhaps once or twice a year. I used to spend breaks and holy days with my grandparents, but they have all passed on." He grinned a little. "My mother has often threatened to have me on the Ava'gati when I am fully trained, so that she can undo all the 'bad habits' the camp has fostered. I think she just misses me."

Delenn touched his hand gently. "Do you miss your mother?"

He searched her face for any hint of taunting, but found none. "Yes. I do. But please, do not tell her that. She would never live down the embarrassment."

***

Second century poetry was still hard going for Mayan - it was neither the free, expressive modern poetry whose style she favored for her own writing, nor possessed of the rhythmic, heartbeat-like wildness of the ancient pre-Valen songsmiths who warmed her heart and made her dream of open skies and rough, black mountains against the white glaciers and blue sky. Its pacing was sedate, its language obscure, and its grammar often incredibly complex. But Ashan, despite himself, was not a bad teacher. When he could get past his nervousness and awkwardness with speech, he was often overcome with enthusiasm over the subject at hand, and even if that meant she occasionally had to wait through a soliloquy of information she didn't understand before dragging him back to the last bit she'd followed and forcing him to go more slowly, it was oddly engaging having someone to go through the texts with. Delenn was always too busy with her own studies, having abandoned poetry and other literary studies for the deeper examination of theology and ethics as she progressed toward her chosen field, and none of Mayan's other friends were willing to engage with her on the subject, either. So, without meaning to, Mayan began to find herself spending more and more time with the awkward librarian and tutor.

They moved easily through the rest of "On Absence," and into "Songs of Winter and Want," an anonymous piece written early in the second century, and generally understood to have been written after the winter of the 205th year after Valen, one of the longest and worst winters in Minbar's history. The poem described, at great length and in excruciating, distanced detail, the slow and painful annihilation of an entire village in the southern mountains. Mayan did not pretend to find it anything but desperately depressing.

"Can't we read something else?" she begged on the third day that she met with Ashan to discuss the piece. "Anything else, I promise you. I'll happily read every other poem Dirshak ever wrote, if you'll let me leave off this."

"Only thirty-four stanzas to go," Ashan told her.

"In a hundred and sixty-seven pages."

"Yes, well... What about this - if you finish this, I'll give you a rest before we start Nattar. We can read Burli, first. I think you'll approve of him. There is an energy to his writing that borrows from the old epic poets of the pre-Valen era. I know you are fond of them."

“I am, but…” Mayan broke off and moaned. “I don’t think I can take any more of this, Ashan. Isn’t there suffering enough in the universe without reading so much about it?”

“I have always thought,” her friend replied in a stolid but gentle manner, “that reading of sorrows reminds us that the difficulties we ourselves face are not solitary or shocking. We do not suffer alone, but only continue through the same trials that our ancestors and others shared for thousands of years. And we, after all, are here, to prove that they managed.”

“But none of these people managed! They’re all dying around Dirshak’s feet! Old people, children, pregnant women - everyone!” None of those people have descendents now, because they all died off in a single, horrible winter!”

“I know, Mayan. But life goes on. Do you not believe, as we are taught, that the dead are reborn into the succeeding generation, to continue the universe’s exploration of itself?”

“Of course, but… that doesn’t make it any better for these people, does it?”

Ashan smiled sadly at her, and reached out and took the book from her hand. “Perhaps you are right. We will continue Dirshak another time.”

Mayan hung her head. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you? You think that if I were a real scholar, I would be able to put aside my feelings and read the worst of Dirshak’s writing without complaints or tears, because it is enlightening.”

“No.” Ashan’s fingers brushed lightly over her hand as he sat beside her, having returned “Songs of Winter and Want” to the shelves. “I think you are a very feeling soul, who cares deeply about people. Even people who have been dead nearly a thousand years.”

“It’s foolish, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. I find it highly commendable.”

***

Branmer looked curiously at the small package in his hand. It was not the first such that had arrived at the school, addressed to Neroon in a plain, unadorned hand, but Branmer had no notion of what they contained. They were light for their size, as though they contained no more than parchment. He carried the parcel into the Annex and laid it down on the table next to Neroon's right hand, where it rested as the boy studied. Neroon took no notice of it. "That is the fourth such parcel you've received since you arrived here," said Branmer, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

"It's nothing," Neroon muttered, his cheekbones flushing slightly. "Just letters from school."

"Letters, eh?" Branmer sat down opposite his foster-son. "From your legions of female admirers, no doubt."

The boy dropped his eyes. "Not exactly," he chuckled, reaching for the package. "Although some of them are female..."

"You do not have to show them to me--I did not mean to pry."

"It is not what you think." Neroon folded back the covering of the small parcel and extracted a sheaf of small folded pieces of parchment. He glanced through the top one, grinned, and handed it to his clan-brother. 

Whatever Branmer had imagined, the childishly scrawl missive in his hand was not it. "'Hello Neroon. I miss you very much. When are you coming home?' How old was the girl who wrote this?"

"Eleven or twelve."

"Are they all like this?" the big man asked softly.

"More or less." Neroon passed over the letters as he read through them. They were all the same: bad penmanship, poor spelling, some with drawings or little trinkets tucked in the folds of the parchment, and all from children no older than thirteen--second- and third-years badly missing their best friend and tutor. "And body pillow," Neroon added, grinning. "I'm usually the go-to person in the barracks when it's storming out and the young ones can't sleep."

"All of them?" Branmer coughed. "How do you fit fifteen or twenty first-years into a student's bunk?"

"I don't. We usually end up on the floor, and they all claim a section of limb to use as a pillow." Neroon grinned. "I don't get much sleep on those nights."

"I'm not surprised."

The boy's smile faded as he collected the small slips of parchment. "I miss them as well," he murmured. "My teachers write to me sometimes as well, and some of my friends..." He tucked the letters back into their covering, to put with all the others he had received. "I'll answer them later." He hesitated. "Have... have you heard from my mother recently?"

"A day or two ago, yes." 

"She did not... wish to speak with me?"

"It was just briefly. She was in something of a hurry... something about border incursions near Centauri space." Branmer touched his foster-son's arm lightly. "She has not abandoned you."

Neroon shrugged off his hand. "Perhaps not, but she certainly has better things to do than be bothered with me." He looked down at his book; he felt the tears behind his eyes, but refused to give way. "Do you think she will ever forgive me, va'malid? For shaming my father's memory?"

A muscle in Branmer's cheek spasmed, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and soft. "It is not you," he said, with forlorn patience, "that she is ashamed of."

"That why won't she write back to me?" Neroon demanded? "Why won't she answer any of my messages or ask to speak with me? I know I did a terrible thing--and I am being punished for it! Am I not contrite enough? Is this exile not enough for her? What more does my mother want?"

"What she cannot have."

"She wants me to be my father."

Branmer looked at Neroon with a steady green gaze. "No," he said firmly. "Not that."

"Then what?"

Slowly, the older man shook his head. "You would not understand."

Neroon slammed his book and stood abruptly. "Of course not," he all but sneered, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. "After all, I am only a stupid Warrior. I couldn't possibly understand the words of a wise priest, not even one who choses to waste his life in a dusty temple." His black eyes were anguished, and angry. "And nor would I want to." He stalked from the Annex, making for the outer door of the temple. 

Branmer sighed. He took the sheaf of letters from its cover and began to read through them again, as though they might hold the answers to dealing with the troubled son of his dead cousin.

He went through the motions of the afternoon offices, but Neroon did not come. A message arrived from Master Velier, saying that Neroon had not gone to his philosophy class, and finally after supper, a very worried Delenn appeared. "I have not seen Neroon all day. Has something happened?"

Branmer concentrated on lighting the candles that decked the altar atop the circular platform. "I expect he's out on the grounds somewhere. We had a disagreement." He set down the last taper and found himself faced with a very surprised young woman.

"But Neroon--forgive me, Master. But... he adores you."

"I know. Though I frequently find myself wondering why." Then Branmer forced a smile onto his face. "We are family, he and I," he reminded Delenn, laying reassuring hands on her shoulders. "It would be unnatural if we did not argue once in a while. Now, be about your business, and do not trouble yourself. All will be well by morning."

She went, as she was bidden, but she did not look convinced, anymore than Branmer felt at his own words.

The evening prayers complete, he turned his eyes towards the outside. For a hour, he walked the grounds in search of his wayward charge, and found no sign of him. Now very worried, Branmer turned back to the school... and as he came closer to the buildings he saw Neroon, a huddle of black and gray, sitting on the roof of the Star Temple, staring out over the city. Branmer offered up a silent prayer, and then went hand-over-hand up the trellis, as Neroon must have done. The boy looked reluctantly impressed at his teacher's strength, but Branmer only smiled serenely. "There is a stairway leading up here, you know."

Neroon shrugged, and looked away. 

Settling himself beside the boy, Branmer too looked out over the city. He took a deep breath. "I was beginning to be afraid that you might have run away," he said, "as you used to when you were small. You were always trying to run away from the training camp, in your first years--to your grandparents, to your mother. But never to me. As though even at that age, you knew that I was not what you needed."

"That is nonsense."

"Is it?"

Neroon gritted his teeth. "I am... sorry for what I said to you, this afternoon. It was rude and unkind, and disrespectful."

"Yes. Yes, it was... It was also very likely true." Branmer bent one leg up to rest his clasped hands on, and let the other swing freely over the edge of the roof. His voice was calm, introspective and not even the slightest bit angry. If anything, it sounded mildly reproachful, but only a little and only of himself. "I have been a poor substitute father to you, and for that I apologize."

"But... that is not your fault! My mother would not--"

"That should not have stopped me. I have a legal responsibility to you and a moral one, and I have my cousin's memory to uphold. In all of these things, I have failed. I should not have let Sinolin stop me from doing what I knew was right. But I did. I did. And gladly!" Branmer's smile was wide and mirthless. "I was ridiculously grateful that she wanted me to mind my own affairs and stay out of your upbringing."

The Star Rider boy looked sideways at his cousin, chewing his lower lip nervously. "Was I so much trouble, even as an infant?"

"No. Well, you were, but we were all glad of it--you were a fine healthy boy. No... I was only terrified. Nerahel was always the brave one, and the dutiful one. He could see his duties clearly and then do them, with no questions or hesitation. Marriage, fatherhood, soldiering... At least he'd had time to get used to the notion of being a father. I had it thrust upon me, and then just as suddenly taken away. Slothful and indolent as I am, I do not take kindly to change. You know that."

In spite of himself, Neroon smiled. To him, it was a ridiculous notion. "But you are not like that."

Branmer looked him over with a strange expression. "You must be the only one in the world who thinks that. Nevertheless, it is the truth, at least as far as you are concerned. Sinolin dropped an enormous responsibility on my hands and then said I did not have to fulfill it. I was too confused to be anything but grateful. And yet... I was disappointed. Nerahel was like my own brother, and I wanted to have some role to play in his son's life. But you had your mother and your grandparents, and then you went to the camp and began garnering all sorts of accolades... and I wondered if perhaps you'd outgrown the need of a father."

"I..." Neroon groped for words, but none would come. He scrambled to his feet, turning away and locking his hands behind his back. "I tried to, sometimes. When the other parents would come to visit and I had no one, I tried very hard to not want a father or a mother. But it never worked. I tried not to be ungrateful for the mother I do have, for the father whose memory I honor... for you, Master. But it..."

"But it never worked." Branmer smiled sadly. "Perhaps it is a blessing that no one would have me as husband. If I've done so poorly with you, I'd hate to do worse to a child of my own getting."

"You haven't done poorly!" Neroon burst out, whirling on him. "But you haven't... You haven't done anything! You've been friend, and teacher, and brother, but not father."

"I'm sorry, Neroon, but I... don't know how."

The boy stared at him in naked disgust, then sat down heavily, quite close beside him. "Well, we're two of a pair, then, since I clearly do not know how to be a good son."

The priest put a comforting arm around Neroon's shoulders. "All right, now who's talking nonsense?"

"Then what have I done wrong?" Neroon demanded sulkily. "And do not tell me I will not understand. I am not a mental deficient."

"That was not what I meant, ah'malier. It is simply that your mother's behavior is difficult for a person of your age and condition to understand."

"But you clearly understand her."

"I do, in a way. I don't agree with her, but I understand."

"Then enlighten me."

Branmer smiled against the side of Neroon's crest. "She and I are responsible for you to your father. It is as simple as that. We have a duty to Nerahel to see that you are raised well. Your only duty is to yourself, to your soul and your future. And so long as we each remember that, I think we may rub along the rest of this year quite well." He squeezed Neroon's shoulder. "Come along now, boy, you must be starving."

***

There was a surprise holiday declared at the temple school, and the students spilled out into the grounds and into the town like water during the spring floods. Delenn was rushing to meet Mayan and some of their friends by the front gates, when she saw Neroon, standing awkwardly by himself as the rest of the youths flowed by, intent upon making the most of their short spell of freedom. His black eyes lit up a bit as she approached, and fell again when he saw the bag slung over her shoulder. "You are going into the city?"

"Yes, with Mayan and some others." Someone passing by jostled her, and without thinking Delenn shrank against the Warrior boy. She blushed hotly. "Umm... aren't you going out?"

"I wouldn't know where to go." A spasm of loneliness flashed across his face. "It's all right. I'll enjoy the quiet. I'll have the practice rooms to myself."

Delenn gripped the shoulder strap of her bag thoughtfully. "Would you... would you like to come with us?"

Neroon snorted. "I doubt any of your friends would be pleased to have me in your little party. But," he added, his sardonic voice softening, "thank you. I wouldn't wish to cause any trouble for you, but... thank you. Go. Enjoy yourself."

She took a step back, turned... and turned back to him. "Would you like to come with me? Just the two of us?" She took his sudden astonishment for a good sign. "I could show you the city. It is small, but it has its beauties."

"I--what about your friends?"

"I have had many outings with them, and they with me. We can easily do without one another." Delenn didn't realize it, but her grey-green eyes were sparkling as she laid a light hand on his wrist. "Please say you'll accompany me."

It took Neroon a moment to find his voice, but when he did, it was in the form of a soft, rich laugh. "Then I shall."

"Wait here," Delenn told him, and ran through the halls and out the great front door to where Mayan and the others waited for her. 

Most of them were males and females whom she and Mayan had entered the school with as small children, and though they had grown apart in studies, all were the same age and on friendly terms with one another. "Where have you been?" asked Mayan brightly, reaching for Delenn's hand. "We've been waiting for you for ages."

"You will all have to go without me this time," Delenn said. "I've promised the Star Rider that I would show him the city."

"'Show him the city?'" repeated Avaier, an expression of extreme displeasure on his haughty face. "He can see the entire city from the second story balcony. You're very forbearing to spend so much time with the barbarian, but surely you deserve some reward for your good behavior."

"Yes, and I will decide what that reward is to be," Delenn retorted, not liking his lofty attitude. Avaier had been a nice enough little boy, if somewhat pompous, but now that they were all nearly grown, whatever good qualities he had once possessed had been completely subsumed by his awareness of his own good position in the world. "If I choose to show Neroon the city, I do not see that it is any business of yours, Avaier."

Some of the others sniggered behind their hands; most just looked surprised that small, timid Delenn ra'Mir had cut off the most high-ranking boy in their year at the knees. 

"Come along, Avaier," said one of the other boys, trying to smother his broad grin. "Her time is her business and ours is our business." 

Her friends moved off, all but Mayan. The young poet stared at Delenn, not even bothering to conceal her dismay. "Was this Master Branmer's idea?"

"No, it was mine. I offered to take Neroon around the city."

"Why?"

"Because he is lonely, Mayan! Because I enjoy his company. Why is that so difficult for you to accept?" Delenn felt her cheeks begin to redden in anger and embarrassment. "You go and have a good time, and Neroon and I will do the same."

"But, Delenn..." Mayan hesitated. "I want to go with you."

Delenn's lips tightened. "Then I am sorry, because I am going with Neroon. Good day, Mayan." She turned and walked away from her friend, but had to try very hard not to look back.

"Tell me the truth," Neroon said as they walked out. "Why did you want to go with me instead of with your friends?"

She hesitated, then took the arm he offered her. "I did not want you to spend the day alone... and I would rather go with you." Delenn lowered her eyes then, so she did not see his look of wonder. "So. What would you like to see first?"

"I'm not sure. I had not thought that so small and obscure a city as this could possess much in the way of amusements."

"Then why did you agree to come with me?"

"Because you asked me to," he replied quietly. Delenn looked up at that, saw his expression, and quickly looked away again, warmed and confused. "Are there any historical sites? Any monuments, honored places, things of that sort?"

She thought for a moment. "There is a small shrine dedicated to Turann, the explorer, near the heart of the city."

"That will do."

When they arrived at the elaborate shrine, though, Neroon was less than impressed by the desperate grandeur of the place. "But... this makes it seem as though Turann lived and died in this town." Neroon shook his head in disgust, but remembered to keep his voice down. "Turann lived in the east. He explored some sites near this place but he would have spent, at most, six hours here. This is appalling."

Delenn tried not to grin too much. "It is a little... tawdry."

"It is cheap and misleading. And all this... stuff... for sale..."

"I have seen far worse places in the capital city. I believe the council of elders here is trying to make their city a tourist destination."

Neroon snorted. "They would do better to highlight their school, and leave history to the historians. You said this city had its beauties? Then I sincerely hope you have something more interesting to show me."

She took his hand. "If there is one thing that living in Yedor taught me, it was that the most interesting places are the hardest to find." She led him out of the shrine and on a long, winding route that cut through the Worker district and looped back around to the outskirts of the western quarter.

"Please tell me this isn't a temple," Neroon pleaded, looking up at the carved, forbidding facade. 

"It is not. It's the city museum."

The Warrior boy's face brightened considerably. 

The museum was almost empty; most of the other students did not consider a visit to the only local museum to be an amusing excursion, not when they had all already been through the exhibits enough times to memorize them. The sleepy curator was clearly surprised to see a pair of young students in her museum on a school holiday, especially when one was Religious and one was a Warrior, but she hid her curiosity as best she could. 

Delenn bowed respectfully to the elderly woman. Neroon's bow was more perfunctory; his attention had been drawn by a display of antique armor off to the right of the entrance. Delenn reached out and took his arm. "The museum is arranged in two chronological parts," she explained, "and the Religious caste comes first."

He grimaced and opened his mouth to protest. 

"If we were to explore the Warrior side of the museum first, you would become so excited that you would end up spending most of the day there, ignoring half of the exhibits, and then make us late for curfew. This way," Delenn smiled, steering him towards the left side of the museum, "you shall save the best for last. It is very prudent of you," she teased. 

At her all-too-amused smirk, Neroon could do nothing but swallow and press his thin lips together. "Lead the way, shai'mira," he sighed.

Her hand firmly on his arm, Delenn half-led, half-dragged her reluctant friend through the museum. She did not linger too long beside any one display, but nor did she rush through. It had been some time since she had been able to visit the hushed, quiet hall and marvel and wonder at the physical remnants of centuries gone by. Neroon was obviously bored, and Delenn saw that while her teasing might be trying his patience, she had wanted to find something that he would enjoy. She began pointing out some of the artifacts and ancient tomes and drawings that she thought he might find especially interesting, becoming more animated and talkative as she warmed to her subject. 

She broke off once when she realized Neroon was staring at her. "Is something wrong?" she asked, blushing.

"N-no, no! Nothing." Neroon blinked his black eyes and grinned a little. "You are... I do not often see you so excited about your field of expertise."

"It is more of a hobby," said Delenn, with a shy smile. She turned to touch the glass cover of a small statue, talking easily about its discovery and doctrinal import, watching Neroon out of the corners of her eyes and trying not to think about the significance of the soft and steady gaze that the Star Rider boy rested on her. 

It seemed to her that he followed her more docilely after that, attending to her every word, listening but not actually hearing what she was saying about the collection of crystal carvings meant to symbolize the original nine members of the Grey Council, and watching her with an expression she had never seen in him before. She might almost have attributed it to admiration of her intellectual gifts, but she knew he put little store by the subjects she preferred, and besides, it was too warm and gentle an expression for that. 

She pondered it intently as they moved from one side of the museum to the other. It was easy for Delenn to subside into thought then, as Neroon took over the duties of being impromptu tour guide. She had slightly more interest in his preferred areas of history than he had in hers, but for the most part only about half of his words made any impression on her. 

His black eyes were alive with excitement as he pressed his gloved hand to the glass case of a particular set of time-worn armor. He caught sight of an ancient weapon of unfamiliar pattern, explaining in great and loving detail its good and bad points and how he had once tried to teach himself to wield it. His angular features were more relaxed than she had ever seen them before. His smile was brilliant, and his white teeth and thin lips looked friendly and inviting instead of threatening, the way his usual expression made him seem. 

"Delenn?"

She jumped, and her cheeks flushed at being caught with her thoughts wandering. "Yes?"

"Now you were staring at me."

"No, no, I..."

"And I was trying to be so interesting in my historical accounts, too..." he teased. "Come now, what it is?"

A fist seemed to close around her chest and throat, cutting off her ability to speak, but instead of shrinking into herself, Delenn pushed through her embarrassment and found the words. "I was only thinking of how much more handsome you look when you smile." 

For a moment, he seemed dumbfounded, and she held her breath and silently prayed that he would not be offended. And then to her shock, he lifted a hand to her cheek. "How strange," he said softly, with a hesitation in his voice that she could only describe as shyness. "When I was thinking of how much more beautiful you look when you are..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "No, that would be an untruth. You are always beautiful. If you were more so, you could not be real."

Delenn's cheeks flushed afresh, but she barely felt it; her skin was too intent upon the feel of his smooth, leather-covered fingers on her face. She pressed a tentative hand to Neroon's sternum, and gazed up into his dark, dark eyes. His free hand curled around hers, and there they stood for who knows how long, surrounded by the relics of the past, heedless of the future, caught up in the wonder of the unexpected moment. 

"When I was sent here," Neroon murmured, stroking her cheek, "I never thought..."

Delenn squeezed his hand tightly. 

They walked very slowly through the rest of the museum, barely noticing the relics or the artwork or the fact that they had not encountered any other visitors. When they finally emerged from the museum, blinking in the sharp late winter air, Neroon looked to the sky in some surprise. "It's later than I realized. The first sun's already set."

"We should head back," said Delenn, rather reluctantly. "We do not wish to be out after dark." She shivered badly; without a word, Neroon swept off his heavy cloak as he often did and put it about her shoulders. But this time, his hands lingered a bit longer than necessary as he fastened the thick dark fabric around her throat. "We've already missed supper... Are you hungry?"

He grinned. "Delenn. I am always hungry."

Neither of them had much money, but in a town all but supported by its student population, there were always inexpensive places to find food. They stopped at a stall selling fried vegetable dumplings, and Neroon paid for a bag of the greasy street snacks. "Very polite," said the old stall-keeper, winking at Neroon. "Makes a good impression on the lady."

The Star Rider boy scowled and looked anywhere but at Delenn, who was trying hard not to blush. 

They wandered slowly back through the streets in the general direction of the school, talking and munching contentedly, licking their fingers and paying no further attention to the time. The bag had long since been crumpled up on Neroon's pocket when they finally got back to the school, and the front gate was locked and cold. "Around this way," the Warrior tugged at her sleeve, and they slipped around to the side. Neroon helped Delenn over the low garden wall that separated the school grounds from the side street, and then they went inside through the Star Temple's door. 

The temple itself was dusty, cold, and empty, and the door to the Annex was closed, meaning Branmer had chosen to retire early. The two students kept their voices low out of respect. "I'll sleep out here tonight," Neroon said. "It wouldn't be the first time, and I wouldn't wish to wake him."

"Are you sure you'll be warm enough? Surely there is room in the males' dormitory--"

"I'll be fine. It's not often I get to sleep out under the stars anymore."

"I had meant to show you more of the city," Delenn apologized, handing Neroon back his cloak. "Not that there is very much to see, but there is more than a museum and a sorry excuse for a historical shrine."

"I don't know," said Neroon with a warm smile, "I thought it was a very interesting museum. I certainly learned more about the Religious caste than I'd expected to."

"About our history?"

He rolled his eyes a bit at her teasing, as he spread the cloak out on the circular platform in the center of the temple. "Not exactly." He dropped easily to the floor and held out his hand. "Don't go just yet." Delenn spared a thought for her warm bed and her doubtlessly disapproving roommate, and gladly sat down with him, rubbing her aching calves. 

"I can't remember the last time I walked that much... and you probably don't hurt at all."

"Hurt? No... no, that's not what I'm feeling." 

Delenn's mouth went dry, but before she could think of anything to say--indeed, before she could remember how to speak--Neroon leaned back on his hands, looking up through the open dome of the ceiling. Delenn curled up beside him while he sang, a long and lyrical poem about the first Star Riders, how they had conquered the skies and ridden across them in blazing waves. 

"Are there many such songs in the Star Riders clan?" Delenn asked, after the last words had faded into the air.

"More than I know, as yet. Enough for a lifetime." He smiled at her, a wide sudden flash that took her breath away. "I mean to learn them all." 

Perhaps it was the smile, fierce and alive, or perhaps it was the brash fervor in his voice. Either way, she gathered her courage in her heart, pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him.

She was not sure what to expect—she half-thought he would push her away, or at least be startled. Instead, his tall frame relaxed into a grateful, easy slouch, and his arms were snug and warm against her back. When Delenn pulled away, his dark eyes were... she had no words. He touched her lips with his leather-clad fingers; until the end of her days, she would always associate that smell with him, and with that night. "I've wanted to do that," he confessed, "since the first time I saw you."

"Neroon. The first time you saw me, you thought I was a timid child."

He smiled, and kissed her again. "No, Delenn. I did not."

In spite of herself, she was surprised at how gentle and soft his lips were, and at how easy it was to burrow into his embrace and let him wrap her in his cloak and hold her against his chest, and talk about everything and nothing in between kisses that were as sweet as they were shy. And she was amazed at how reluctant she was to leave his company when he finally sighed and told her she should go. 

"You want your sleep, I suppose."

His heart did strange things inside his chest at the sight of her forlorn expression. "I have never felt more awake in my life. But you do have lessons tomorrow. And," he added, "your curfew was nearly an hour ago."

Delenn's hands flew to her mouth as she stared at him in shock. 

"Run, girl," Neroon said, pressing a fleeting kiss to her lips as his laughter threatened to bubble over. "I'll see you in the morning."

Watching her run out of the temple was like watching a fiber fly from his body. Sighing, Neroon went to his hard bed and slept.

***

After slipping through the darkened silence of the open dormitory, Delenn was surprised to push open the door to her own little room and find a lamp still lit. Mayan, who was seated on the floor in a posture of prayer, flew to her feet before Delenn could speak, and threw her arms around her friend.

"Delenn! Where have you been? I was so worried for you, I couldn't sleep, but I didn't know whether I should tell anyone. I didn't want you to get in trouble, but I was so frightened, Delenn! What were you thinking of, staying out so late?"

Delenn hugged her friend back, breathless and giddy. "I'm so sorry to have frightened you, Mayan. I lost track of time. But I was perfectly safe, I was with Neroon the whole time."

"Neroon." Mayan did not seem at all comforted by this.

"Yes, of course. I told you I was going into the city with him."

"I didn't realize you meant to stay out with him all day and night! What were you thinking? Anything could have happened, he could have done... anything to you, don't you understand?” Mayan’s brown eyes were wide and her face pale. “Alone in the city like that--"

"You and I have been alone in the city a hundred times or more."

"But that was you and I, Delenn, not some savage Warrior boy you hardly know! He could have hurt you."

Delenn gritted her teeth and pulled back from her friend's embrace. "He would not have hurt me, Mayan. I trust Neroon. He... is a friend." 

"A better friend than the ones you've had all your life, apparently."

"No. Not better. Different."

"Then why spend the day alone with him? Why leave me to be with him? I thought I was your dearest friend!"

"You are! But he..." Delenn trailed off, helpless, trying to sort out what had been said and what only implied, and what she could safely and honestly say about the strange feelings she'd held in her heart ever since Neroon's arrival among them. "You are my dearest friend, always, Mayan. But he is... also becoming dear to my heart, in a very different way."

Mayan, her brown eyes wide and aghast, covered her mouth and turned away. A high moan escaped her lips nonetheless, and her body twisted in something like silent agony. "You cannot mean this," she hissed. "You cannot. Delenn, it's too dangerous - he's too dangerous."

"He is not."

"Then you are deluding yourself."

"I don't want to argue, Mayan..."

"Then be sensible! I've never known you to miss curfew before, I've never known you to take unnecessary risks... I don't know what to think, anymore."

"I won't miss curfew again," Delenn muttered. "But if by 'unnecessary risks' you mean spending time with someone I consider a friend, then yes, I will do that again. I am sorry, though. I didn't mean to be out so late, and I didn't mean to frighten you." She reached out a hand to her friend. "Forgive me?"

Mayan regarded her suspiciously, and then, after a moment, sighed and relented. She clasped Delenn's hand to her heart and squeezed it, pulling her friend back toward the bed. "Of course. I forgive you, Delenn. But please - do be more careful. And come to bed. I already feel as if I might fall asleep in prayers tomorrow morning."


*** 

The next morning Mayan didn't mention the curfew-breaking or her concern about Delenn's time alone with the Warrior boy - her friend's shadowed eyes, stifled yawns and shamefaced looks indicated that she was regretting enough, and Mayan considered that it would be cruel to push her under such circumstances. Perhaps by light of day Delenn would see that the boy was a bad influence on her, and back off on her own. And as the day went by, Delenn gave all indication of genuine remorse for their fight, sitting and chatting with Mayan as they had always done before, and spending only a little time with the Warrior, and that public.

Consequently, Mayan was in a good mood that afternoon when she made her way into the depths of the library archives to meet with her tutor, and it took her several moments to realize that her tutor did not seem to share her cheerful outlook. The tall young man was waiting at their customary table in the library when she arrived, and the change to the dim interior of the building from the growing brightness of the sunlight outside fooled Mayan into thinking that perhaps it was only her own unwillingness to be indoors that made her think he looked tired and that a frown weighed his normally calm features downward. 

"I was hoping we could go over the thirteenth stanza of Burli's Epistle to the North Wind, first," Mayan began. "I'm having some difficulty following the devices he's using. The footnotes don't indicate whether the letter was actually intended for someone that he might be using the North Wind as a cipher for, or..." It occurred to Mayan suddenly that Ashan had not yet lifted his eyes from the table, and that his hand resting upon the table was clenched in a fist. "...Or we could start with whatever you like," she suggested weakly 

Still nothing.

"...Ashan?" Mayan tentatively reached out and touched the dusty sleeve of the librarian's robe.

He looked at her, his eyes slightly narrowed and his jaw extremely tight. He seemed to recognize her, then, and his features loosened back to their usual mildness. "Mayan. I'm sorry, I... am distracted, this afternoon."

"Is something wrong?"

He made a slight huffing noise. "One of your year-mates. I am not a man given to violence, but thought I might strangle him if he stayed longer here."

"Who?"

"A young man named Avaier."

"Oh." Mayan laughed and patted Ashan's arm fondly. "That's normal. Everybody feels that way about Avaier. Even Delenn hates him, and she even likes that Warrior boy. It takes a lot to be more of an arrogant pain than a Warrior. What did he do?"

"He said," Ashan relayed in a tone in which fury was tightly controlled but clearly raging just below the surface, "a great many insulting things."

Mayan winced. "Like what?"

To her shock, Ashan actually growled. The sound was soft, but low, and... oddly charming. "A great many unpleasant things. He said that poetry was a dull and unworthy subject of study, that he had no interest in reading the dry ramblings of women and men long dead, and that only a socially inept stone pillar like myself would waste their time on such idiocy when there are more important matters to attend to."

"Did you point out to him that he would be studying that idiocy whether he wanted to or not, if his adviser sent him to you?"

"I, er, started to. And he interrupted and told me that if he told Master Midiri I was doing a poor job of teaching him, she would give him an exception and... put a highly unfavorable note in my transfer when I finish my research here. Young Avaier, it turns out, is the beloved scion of his clan, of which Master Midiri - and you did not hear this from me - is the matriarch."

"How did you find that out?" Mayan whispered.

Ashan looked almost insulted. "I checked the archives."

"So he's really... but just because he's of her clan..."

"Not just of her clan, Mayan. He is the last of her clan. Avaier is of an ancient and noble line that can be traced back to a dynasty of powerful queens in the eleventh century before Valen. Once, they were numerous and immensely powerful. The clan has dwindled over the last seven or eight centuries, however, and in the current generation, Avaier is the sole offspring. He is the child of Midiri's distant cousin, but..." He paused and glanced around the library, as though afraid one of the two would appear from behind a shelf to spy on them. "With no other chance for the clan to continue, I have no doubt he is not lying about Midiri's partiality, or about the potential consequences if he were to manipulate her into believing that I had misused her clan-child."

"So what will you do?" Mayan asked, enthralled. Who knew that such excitement could be found in the dry and dusty librarian?

"What can I do? I will push him as gently as I can toward actual study, and... where I cannot, I must make it appear as though he has succeeded. I cannot risk the possibility of a poor review at the end of my work in this temple. It would ruin my career, such as it is."

"So... you don't always want to work in the library?"

"Not this library," Ashan corrected. "I want always to be a librarian and archivist. But here... no. I would prefer to go elsewhere, somewhere where fewer scholars have had their hands in the records - the trouble with large teaching temple like this is that every scroll and slip of parchment has been examined, documented, interpreted, and categorized a hundred times already. There are no surprises to be found, no discoveries to be made. What I wish for... when I have completed my training, what I would like best is a small temple somewhere obscure, where the archives have been relatively unexamined and I might find things out for myself. Truly contribute to historical thought, and to the preservation of our history. I... suppose it sounds very boring, but that is my hope for my future."

"What sorts of discoveries could one make in a library?" Mayan asked. "Surely everything even in the greatest library is known - that's why it's in a library! If it weren't known, it wouldn't be there."

"Known at one time, certainly." Ashan smiled. "But not necessarily to this generation. For example, some years ago there was a scholar in the east who found records in his archive of an ancient city, long lost to the light of the suns. He gathered all the information he could on that city, but very few people believed him - they thought the records no more than legends, and believed that he was foolish and gullible to be so taken in by them. But the scholar persevered, and eventually convinced a few others to continue the search with him, including a few archaeologists, and eventually, with their help, the original and ancient city of Kan'oore was found."

Mayan's eyes went wide. "Kan'oore?"

"The jeweled city, yes. I can find books for you about its history and discovery, if you like..."

"No, no. You don't need to do that." Mayan laughed. "I know all about Kan'oore - all except the story of how it was discovered, it seems! My parents were part of the archaeological team that excavated it."

Now it was Ashan's turn to stare at her, stunned. "Your parents worked with Darenn and Baraia? That's astonishing! I have read all their papers and books, studied all their excavations - they're among the best archaeologists and historians of the last century!"

Mayan blushed under the brilliance of his sudden admiration. "Actually, my parents are Darenn and Baraia. And I thank you for your kind words," she added with a bow. "I will tell them, next time we speak, that I have met a great admirer of their work."

For the next hour, Mayan was obliged to answer questions about her parents and their studies, eventually admitting that she had herself accompanied them on a few digs when she was a child, or while at home with them on holidays from her temple studies. "Archeology doesn't suit me," she admitted when he pressed her about why she had not mentioned this before, "but I enjoy hearing the stories my father tells me of what they find, and I love to walk through the ruins and place my feet where the ancients did, see the same walls that protected them from the winter storms."

Ashan smiled - a true, brilliant smile that she had rarely seen from him before. "I understand. I have visited a few such sites, while I'm at leisure from my own work, and... it is a remarkable feeling."

"That isn't something many people seem to understand." Mayan regarded the librarian with no little amazement. He seemed to have come to life over the course of their conversation that day - his brown eyes were bright, and he had hardly stumbled over his words at all as they talked. More than anything, she realized, they had been conversing not as student and teacher or as tutor and pupil, but as friends with a shared interest. It seemed strange to think of him as such, at first, but as they gathered their books and papers and walked to evening prayers in the pale purple light of the setting suns, Mayan was pleased to think of their new-found companionship... particularly when she saw Delenn once again walking with the Star Rider boy. If Delenn insisted on making friends with the Warrior, at least Mayan herself had a new friend to distract her somewhat from her best friend's lack of attention. 

*** 

The dormitory was still dark and silent as Delenn slipped in from the hall outiside. She counted beds and alcoves until she reached the door to the tiny room she and Mayan shared, and pushed it open, pushing up slightly on the old stone so it wouldn't grind. Mayan lay tightly curled in the middle of their bed, the blankets wrapped around her. Delenn sighed, and pushed at her, tugging at one end of the blanket as she did.

"Delenn?" Mayan's voice was a sleepy murmur.

"Who else? Move, I need to get into bed." Satisfied that her friend was at least awake enough to give her space, Delenn peeled off her outer robe and folded it as neatly as muzzy fingers allowed, and toed off her shoes before crawling into the covers next to Mayan. 

"You're freezing," Mayan grumbled, scooting away. "And you smell of that Warrior boy."

"Don't be stupid, Mayan. I don't smell of anyone, just the Star Temple."

"Leather and blood." Mayan sniffed disapprovingly, and wrinkled her nose. "I don't know how you tolerate it. I should make you get up and wash."

"You wouldn't." Delenn pulled the blankets up over her head. "I have only two hours until--"

"And whose fault is that? Not mine. His. Really, Delenn, I never thought you the type. Out at all hours, neglecting your studies, skipping lectures... all for an oafish boy who can't sit still in temple?"

"He's got better."

"Hmm. Remember, Delenn, I didn't grow up cosseted in the city like you. I know Warriors - real Warriors, not the tame ones they keep in Yedor. They're all the same. Brutish, arrogant, thick-headed, half-illiterate--"

"Not true. And I'm not listening, either."

"You'd better listen, if you're going to waste your time on this boy. I'm older than you--"

"By six months," Delenn muttered.

"And I'm telling you," Mayan continued right over her, "that this boy is trouble. Look at him. Hard little black eyes, thin hard lips that look like they were carved from stone purely to scowl--"

"They're not."

"...Not what?"

Grateful for the darkness, Delenn blushed furiously. "Scowling. You've only seen him scowling because you only see him when he's frustrated or trying to concentrate."

Mayan scooted closer suddenly, one pale hand reaching out to turn Delenn's face toward her. "I don't think that's what you meant at all, Delenn. I think you meant they aren't hard. Didn't you?"

"What if I did? Just because someone has thin lips--"

"And how would you know, hmm?"

Silence. Mayan snorted, and when she spoke again her voice was torn between friendly mockery and horror. "You did. You kissed him. Delenn! My beautiful friend, always so delicate and refined, caught up in the brutish embrace of a Warrior. I can hardly believe it. Rough as he is, as... as coarse as he is..." She fell silent, shaking her head. "He didn't hurt you--"

"Oh, by Valen, Mayan! He is a Star Rider, not a monster from some old story. Of course he hasn't hurt me!" 

"If you say so. There's not that much difference, from what I've seen... I'm just joking, you don't have to get so mad!"

Delenn sat up, and pulled the blanket with her to wrap around her shoulders. When she grew cold out on the grounds with him, Neroon often gave her his cloak, draping the heavy black over her small shoulders. Feeling the heavy weight of the fabric now made her feel more confident, somehow, as if some of the boldness she found with him rubbed off from the memory of his closeness. "I'm glad you're joking, Mayan. Because I am very fond of him."

Mayan stared, and then shook her head and rolled over, turning her back to her friend and wrapping herself tightly in her side of the blankets. Delenn followed suit, but sleep took a long time to claim either of them that night.

Chapter Text

There was no such thing as a gradual spring in the northern part of the continent, not really--one day the temperature outside would be deadly cold, and the next the snow would be visibly melting as the hours of daylight lengthened and the suns shone more warmly. Delenn rejoiced as always to see the snow and ice receding, but she was less frantically eager to get outside than she normally was. For her, the winter seemed to have flown by.

For Neroon, though, accustomed to physical activity outdoors and in all kinds of weather, she knew it had been an eternity. Even before the snow had completely disappeared and revealed the temple school's extensive parkland, he had climbed over the low garden walls to take long, slow tramps over through the fields and brush-woods, always returning very muddy and exhausted, but refreshed and calmer than she was used to seeing him. As the days passed and the ground dried, he spent more and more of his time outside, exploring the school grounds, clambering among the low rock formations that formed the farthest boundaries between the school and the city beyond, and running footraces with himself to build up all the muscle he had lost during the winter. Once the other students were allowed onto the grounds in their free time, some of the braver boys of his own age would challenge him to a race or a wrestling match, but Neroon would only agree if Master Branmer was available to act as referee. Her schoolmates grumbled that the Warrior slandered his challengers by not trusting them to play fair. Delenn knew better. Neroon had confided in her the true reason for his exile, and she knew that he wanted his clan-brother nearby because he did not trust himself. 

When he did race or wrestle, he was always the winner. He never gloated, nor teased the loser as the spectators often did. He would merely offer them a Warrior's salute, turn, and walk away, tossing his heavy coat over one shoulder. As the days grew progressively warmer, it was more common to see him without the grey uniform coat, at least when he was outside, and more than once Delenn had to hide first angry words and then amused smirks, when she saw girls of her own age sneaking appreciative glances at the well-formed Star Rider boy in his simple undyed shirt. 

Most of the students gladly abandoned the halls and libraries and dormitories in order to study in their favorite spots around the school buildings, and if lessons became a bit neglected in those first few days of glorious sunshine, the teachers knew from experience that studies would recover soon. They were as glad as their students to bring the books out in the sun for a little while. 

Delenn did not mind studying outside, but only one sort of reading could truly do justice to the joy that came when the wind was warm through the grasses and the ground was dry. She put away her theology texts and took from her things an old, old book. Hiding in the folds of her outer robe, she went in search of Neroon. 

She found him in his usual spot outside the library, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the crowd of students. He looked completely foreboding and irritable, but Delenn had come to realize that it was only a facade; he liked to watch people. She approached him, and was rewarded with a smile. 

"I thought..." Delenn hesitated. "My friend Mayan is a poet and a singer of poems, and she and I sometimes sit out on the grounds to read the old songs together." She paused, tense under the expressionless scrutiny of Neroon's dark eyes. "I thought perhaps you and I... I think you would like this." She held out the book to him.

"The songs of Heefa?" He looked incredulous.

Embarrassed, Delenn tried to explain. "They're very old stories, but--"

"I know what they are." A little smile played at his lips. "I didn't think you would, though. What is a quiet, proper little priestess doing reading songs of war and the old ways?"

"I am not so proper I cannot appreciate history. Mayan introduced me to them. She reads poems and songs from all through history, for her studies." 

"Your poet friend, yes." He traced the tip of a gloved finger over the old carved bindings of the book. "Have you heard it, or only read the words?"

"Mostly read. Mayan sings me the parts she likes, sometimes, but we have to be careful not to be caught ignoring our true studies..."

He nodded, and handed the book back to her, then held out his hand. "You have some time free now?"

"Until evening prayers..."

"Then come with me. There's an old tree out on the grounds. I'll read to you." His lip curled upward. "I am perhaps not so fine a singer as your friend, but you don't seem to hate the sound of my voice."

"Not at all--"

"Delenn!" Mayan raced up to them, and looped her arm tightly in her friend's. "Where are you going?"

"Onto the grounds..." Delenn winced at the vehemence of her friend's grip. 

"It's a fine day to be out," Mayan continued as if she hadn't spoken, glaring up at Neroon. "I'll come with you." 

This was not at all the day Delenn had planned in her mind. When they reached the stout old tree Neroon had picked out for their goal, she settled herself on the ground only to have Mayan sit down close at her side. Neroon, alert to the undercurrents in the day's outing, sat at her other side, a very respectable distance away. Likewise, her friend insisted on claiming the book first, and while Delenn normally took great pleasure in Mayan's readings, with all the emotion her friend pulled into the rising and falling of her voice, this time she found herself resenting the intrusion. She had brought the book for something she and Neroon could appreciate together, and now... Delenn sighed. 

After about an hour, Mayan admitted she needed a rest, and handed the book to Delenn, who read as confidently as she could, trying to make her soft voice sound like her friend's, while Mayan drank some of the tea she had brought in an insulated container. When Mayan held out her hand for the book again, though, Neroon held his out as well. 

"We should each take our turn, so none of us tires our voice too much," Delenn said firmly. "Especially you, Mayan - you are to recite in temple this evening, remember?" She clambered to her feet to give the book to the young Warrior, and who could fault her, now that she was standing, if she sat down again close to his side? Mayan frowned, but the quirk of a smile and the proud warmth of the look she received from Neroon more than made up for her friend's irritation.

"In the heat of summer that year," Neroon read, continuing from where Delenn had left off, "when life was on the hillsides and the breezes blew gentle and warm, Valash came down from the mountains to a valley where the males had gathered. They gathered together in the growing warmth, and the stones moved with the sound of their thrumming."

Delenn blushed, and turned her head downward to pretend interest in the small plants growing at their feet. Some years before, when she and Mayan had first discovered the songs of Heefa, she had been utterly bemused by this part of the song. Now that she was older, she of course knew about the rhythmic rumble of males signaling readiness to mate, but it was all very different to think of while sitting a scant hands-breadth from a boy of whom she was desperately fond, listening to his smooth, rich voice describe these things. 

"They gathered in the green," Neroon continued, apparently oblivious to her embarrassment or the glare that Mayan focused on him, "and waited for the women of the land to come to them. They gathered, and the women came, and listened to the rumbling of their desire. The women came, and Valash walked among them. The thrumming of the males filled the valley. The women walked over the grasses that trembled with the sound, and they looked on the males and judged them, and to all their eyes one was the best. His crest was sharp, his eyes bright, and the scales on his back smooth. All the women saw him, and agreed that he was the most pleasant to look on. Valash saw him, and said that he would be hers." 

"We should read another section," Mayan interrupted.

"Why?" Delenn frowned at her friend. "You started the reading, and you chose the section. Why do you want to stop now?"

"Because--"

"Mayan! There you are!" All three young people started at the sound of an adult voice as Branmer, the guardian of the Star Temple, stepped into view from a copse of young trees. "I've been looking for you. Master Tannier has told me you wanted assistance applying for a period of study with the Ze'fann conservatory temple on the southern coast. It so happens I have a friend there - I thought perhaps we could speak to him, you and I, before prayers this evening."

Mayan looked clearly torn. "Thank you, Master, that would be very helpful, but--"

"Your friends will forgive you for abandoning them for a while, I think," Branmer assured her. "Won't you, Delenn?"

"Yes, Master. We will be just fine. Really," she added solemnly to her friend, "you needn't worry about us."

Unconvinced, Mayan stood, frozen, until Branmer gently took her arm. "Come, Mayan. We will speak to my friend in the south for you, and as for Delenn... I give you my word as a Star Rider she has nothing to fear from my clan-brother."

Mayan still seemed unsure, but she could hardly question the honesty and honor of one of the temple priests by refusing to accept his word like that without good cause. "I'll see you at evening prayer, Delenn," she said - it was an order, Delenn noticed, more than a farewell.

"I'll see you then," she agreed, and watched Mayan leave with Branmer.

"Your friend disapproves of me," Neroon said when they had passed out of sight.

"My friend thinks everything in life is like an old song," Delenn agreed, feeling tired. "She means well, but she has strange ideas sometimes." 

Neroon nodded slowly. "Shall we continue?"

"If you want." Delenn felt heat rise on her face. She knew all too well why Mayan had suggested they skip to a new passage in the song - after a short battle with the women of the local clan, Valash claimed the best of the males, a man named Tulann, and following that was a section whose words had always made Mayan and Delenn giggle when they read them - the joining of Valash with her new husband, Tulann. 

Neroon read the battle with some interest, Delenn noted - a piece of the writing that Mayan and Delenn had never quite skipped over, but had never paid much attention to when they read together. But it was not that part that he spoke with the greatest care.

"'When the last had yielded to her,'" he read, "'Valash walked up to the cluster of men, and the handsome clansman stood forth for her. "If you will have me," he said, "then I am yours, scarred stranger. My name is Tulann.""

"'Tulann and Valash went away together into the trees, and found a place in a green grove where none would bother them. They found a place where the ground was thick with sweet herbs, and the smell of them filled the air as Valash and Tulann laid down their cloaks. They found a place of quiet peace, and Tulann's thrumming filled the air, shaking the branches above them.'" He paused and made an exasperated noise. "And then there is a passage about Tulann, which I think we can skip."

"Why?" 

"Because... because it is all about how beautiful he is."

"What if I approve of a passage about a beautiful man?" Delenn reached out and took the book from his hands, and read. She was grateful, now, that Mayan was gone - her voice was quiet and awkward enough without comparison to her friend's confident clarity, and her cheeks blazed with embarrassment, but it seemed important somehow to speak the words, anyway.

"'Most beautiful of men, Tulann, whose crest was like the mountain peaks and his eyes were grey like the morning. Most beautiful of men, Tulann, whose scales were smooth beneath Valash's fingers, like the petals of a flower. Most beautiful of men, Tulann, whose ren'helasae were blue as the sky at midday, and... hot to the touch. He laid Valash down on the grass, and...' um..." A soft, rhythmic sound, deep and penetrating, filled the air between them, and she stopped reading. For a moment she was unsure where it came from, and then an earlier passage came into her mind. 'Tulann's thrumming filled the air, shaking the branches above them.' Her fingers holding the book trembled, and she thought her face might glow with the heat of her blushing. All her newfound boldness evaporated, and she was suddenly left the same small, frightened acolyte she had been that first night in the Star Temple, weirdly terrified by the thought of the young Warrior at her side. Her heart raced, but she didn't want to run, she wanted... she...

The sound stopped, and Neroon, tense beside her, coughed awkwardly. "I... forgive me. I'm sorry, I--"

"It's all right..."

"It isn't. It was inappropriate, I..." He breathed a hiss of embarrassment and frustration. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"What?"

"Don't be sorry." Delenn swallowed, but when she looked up at Neroon the look of surprise on his face somehow gave her courage. "I brought the book, and I asked you to read. If either of us is at fault... but I'm glad." Her eyes fluttered down again. "That you... I mean, I'm flattered that I... am appealing to you."

"Delenn..." He took the book gently from her hands, and read from it, a few lines down from where she had been, in a slow voice that wavered slightly as the words passed through him. "'I have seen the beauty of your movement, and my body longed to move in harmony with yours... The face I see, shadowed by leaves that move above us, is bright with beauty, with eyes that shine like the evening--'" He broke off, blushing again at the soft sound of his chest's thrumming as it moved the still summer air. "To me, you are more than appealing," he added softly. 

***

As gratifying as it was for Master Branmer to take such an interest in her, when was more Delenn's friend than her own, and to go out of his way to arrange for her to speak with his friend at the coveted conservatory, when she had left his little office, she was more put out than ever. She went back tot he tree where Delenn had been sitting with the Star Rider boy, but they were gone. Out on the grounds somewhere, Mayan thought darkly, as she went back inside and decided, for no particular reason, to go down to the library. "Out on the grounds again," she fumed to Ashan, "alone together, and I wouldn't like to speculate as to what they are doing there."

"Walking about, I expect," said Ashan, carefully concealing a smile, "enjoying the weather."

Mayan huffed and threw herself into a chair. 

"I have met the Star Rider. He has been in here on a number of occasions. He seems a decent sort--a bit brusque in his ways, but well-read in his subjects and very respectful."

"You can't mean you let him touch the books!" She was aghast. "Why, he--he might have damaged them!"

"Your concern is admirable, but I suggest it is misplaced." Ashan looked up from his task of minutely collating a worn brown folio. "He is as tender of my charges as though they were newborn infants, and as his hands are always gloved, I have no fears of him smudging the illuminations. Were I Head Archivist here, I would require all the students to wear gloves."

"They are only books, Ashan."

"They are past, present and future," he retorted calmly, marking his place with a slip of paper and closing the old book with his habitual care. "Now be frank, Mayan: what do you think they are doing?"

A thousand vague scenes flashed through Mayan's brain, muted and fuzzy and bringing a blush to her cheek without her quite understanding why... but honestly? "Reading," she had to admit. "We were all reading aloud before I left them."

"Reading," said Ashan, "is a singularly harmless pastime, in itself. Unless you three were reading something... improper?"

Mayan lowered her eyes. "Not exactly improper... We were reading aloud from The Songs of Heefa." She braced herself for the usual censure she and Delenn endured from the other teachers for their taste in literature, but all Ashan said was "Ahh." He rose and disappeared into the stacks, returning after a few minutes to lay a book before Mayan's bewildered face.

"I didn't think our library held a copy of this..." 

"We do not. This is my personal copy. And very well-thumbed, I assure you."

"I brought my father's from home when I was ten years old. He was very angry when it was confiscated by Master Nafeel." She looked up and studied Ashan's plain, faintly amused face. "Most of the others think these tales are, well... inappropriate. Delenn and I used to always get in trouble for reading them during study. I'm surprised, that you read them. They are not nearly as--" Mayan searched frantically for polite descriptives. "--as contemplative as the poetry of the second century."

Ashan chuckled. "My father is also an archivist, so I practically grew up in his library. And I too used to get into trouble for reading The Songs of Heefa when I was meant to be studying... but I read them at home, so I usually got off with only a light scolding. My parents are a little over-fond of me."

Mayan felt a sudden warm surge of friendship for the tall, awkward librarian. "I am sure they have a reason to be."

He blushed and fumbled with his book. "W-where, um, where had you left off before Master Branmer came for you?"

"We had just reached the section in 'The Courtship of Valash and Tulann' where Tulann agrees to be Valash's mate."

"Ah. Well, I, er, I think we can skip that part..."

Ashan turned the worn pages carefully until he found a less inflammatory passage. "'Valash and Tulann took their swords and set off into the wilderness. They took their sharp swords and their warm cloaks and their water skins. They took their bows and their arrows and their slings. They took their weapons and their good blue beasts and set off into the wild. 

"'Valash rode, and Tulann followed. Her beast knew her well, as the mother knows its child, and sped across the ground. It ran across the ground like wind in the summer, and the wind was in Valash's veins. She rode, and her mate followed. Tulann's mount was tall and sleek, as slender glass in summer, and pounded across the land. It thundered across the land like the thrum of an eager male, and the thrum was in Valash's blood. So Valash knew that her mate was a fine rider.'"

Mayan knew the words of the timeless poem nearly by heart, and had spoken them and heard them spoken countless times. But Ashan's voice took her by surprise. His stutter had vanished as though it had never existed, replaced by an instinctive rhythm for the wave-like cadence of the old song--rolling, rising, crashing, falling, lingering gently on the sweet details.

"'They came upon a down of enan'dun, great beasts of the north, whose coats were patched and mottled like old tents. Their summer coats were mottled and their flesh was fat, and Valash and Tulann were hungry. Valash aimed her bow and shot. The arrow sang through the air and wounded one of the frilled beasts. Its bellows and groans were as ice, cracking in the ocean, and the smell of its blood was in the air. The scent of blood was carried on the air, and Tulann was proud of his mate. The smell of their brother's blood maddened the down, and the beasts fled. Tulann rode after them, his crest blinding in the sunlight. His body moved with his mount, and their bodies shined in the sunlight. He aimed his bow and shot, and killed the beast with his arrow. He gave the arrow to Valash, in token of her first shot. He gave the meat and blood to Valash, that she might be strong and in time bear strong children. He gave the bones and skin to Valash, that she might build a shelter of them, and be warm and safe from other hunters. So Valash knew that her mate was a great hunter.'"

In her mind's eye, Mayan saw the scene as never before. She felt the kiss of the summer wind on her skin, and heard the twang of the arrow and the cries of the enan'dun, smelled the sharpness of fresh blood on the air. She saw the beauty of Tulann's body in the warm depths of Ashan's voice, and felt the sight and sound as strongly as a pair of fists chenched against her solar plexus. 

"'Valash built a fire and cooked and ate of the beast's flesh. She gave back of the flesh and blood to her mate, that he would be strong and give her strong children. She made a shelter of the bones and skin, and shared it with Tulann, to keep him warm and safe from hunters and the chill of the short summer nights. Valash and Tulann held one another and slept in the shadow of the enan'dun carcase. They wrapped themselves in the white-brown fur and pressed close to one another and to their riding beasts. Valash rested her scarred cheek on Tulann's breast, and heard the strong beat of his heart, and slept. So Valash knew that she had chosen a good mate.'"

Ashan fell into one of his customary thoughtful silences, his head bowed over the text. Mayan blinked and suddenly she was back in the library. She felt strangely out of breath.

***

Spring's warmth settled into the earth, breaking the hard frost into water that woke and nourished the roots of plants and shrubs all around the temple gardens. And inside the temple walls, the same growing impulse settled in and warmed the blood and bones of the students. Which was why, on a fine day when the sun was bright and the winds heavy with the early smell of flowers from the gardens, Mayan and Delenn found themselves and their other female year-mates excused from their normal morning classes and ushered, instead, into Master Firell's classroom.

Firell's calm, slightly amused voice cut through the whispers and chatter as the students filed in. "Everyone sit, please. We have a great deal of material to go over, and I'm sure we'd all like to be finished quickly so we can enjoy the sunshine, hmm?" She smiled as the her charges sat down and quieted. "Good. Now. You will have noticed, I'm sure, that your male year-mates are not here. Some of you may have remembered previous sessions that were divided in this way and guessed the cause for this. Put simply, you are all in your eighteenth year of study in this temple, and will soon be leaving us to enter the service of Minbar as a whole. You will also soon be undergoing the second stage of your transition into physical adulthood. As such, this is the time for us to give you some instruction on what you may encounter in your adult lives."

Firell quickly reiterated the matters of basic physiology that she had already covered in previous discussions with the girls - the differences, external and internal, between male and female bodies, and the ways those bodies changed over time. "Over the next few years, the velvet that has provided blood and nutrition to your crests while they grew will begin to die off. It's normal for it to itch during this process." Unconsciously, Delenn reached up to scratch the soft, vascular covering on her own crest, and then lowered her hand, embarrassed, when she noticed that many of the other girls were doing the same. "Eventually," Firell continued, "it will fall off on its own. Don't be surprised if it takes a while, and don't be in a hurry to scrape it off before its time. As long as its there, your crest is getting food and oxygen from it, and that's necessary for the growth of a strong and healthy crest. You're stuck with what you get, for the most part, so you might as well give it as good a chance to be healthy as possible. And if you do scrape it off before it's ready," she added with a sigh, "you might cause a little bleeding. If that happens, go to the temple physicians and they will care for you."

Mayan nudged Delenn's side and made a face. "Like Helenn," she whispered - the name of a girl in the year above them, who, two years prior, had developed a nervous habit of scratching at her crest while studying, and had gone into something of a panic when she overdid it one day and bled right onto her history essay.

"Many of you have already experienced an attraction to another young person," Firell continued with a wry, smiling glance around the room. Immediately, irresistably, Delenn thought of Neroon, and felt herself blush. The only solace to her embarrassment was that she saw the same expression repeated around her. Even Mayan, to Delenn's surprise, looked a little bit perturbed... and not just because she had seen her friend's face, Delenn thought. She made a mental note to ask Mayan about that, later. "Once you are adults, some of you may wish to formalize your bond with this other person. For the record, I recommend caution. Marriage is intended as a bond that ties two people throughout this life, and will link you to them until the universe's end. Think carefully on this, meditate and pray for guidance, and take serious consideration before you make such a move."

One of the girls raised her hand. "Is that why you haven't married, Master Firell?"

Delenn winced, expecting their teacher to be insulted. Instead, Firell only nodded crisply. "Yes, it is. You have all your lives to make these decisions - do not rush them. And on that subject, another matter which I'm sure all of you will not rush into - sexual intercourse." Firell cast another long look over her students, her eyes amused even as her lips curved into a severe frown. "I am sure that all of you here think your teachers too foolish and staid to notice what goes on under our noses. I assure you, this is not the case. Whatever we say about the act of sex being best experienced as the culmination of a carefully-considered spiritual process that leads to the rituals of courtship, we all know that at least some of you will take all of that into consideration and then flat-out ignore us. I would prefer that not be the case. But even if it is, there are things you must know."

With patient care - as well as diagrams that made the girls all giggle uncomfortably - Firell explained the mechanics of the sexual act in calm, clinical detail. She described the thrumming produced by the male's lungs when he experienced arousal, a biological function intended to signal his willingness to mate with female before him, and that, if the female's feelings were appropriately engaged, produced a hormonal rejoinder in her that lubricated the vaginal walls and incited feelings of excitement and passion. Again, Delenn blushed brilliantly. While most of the girls around her looked, from the glances she shot out of the corner of her eyes, as if they could hardly imagine this feeling, Delenn remembered it all too vividly. Even the dry description Firell offered conjured memories in her mind - the heady smells of crushed grasses and herbs where she and Neroon had sat in the sun to read the old epic, and of leather and wool from his clothes, and the strange feeling of wanting to run, wanting to... do something, she hadn't known what, when she heard the rumbling rise up in his chest. This, then, was what her body had been urging her to.

The rest of Firell's explanations were laid over the mental image of Neroon in Delenn's mind. She pictured in him the smoothing and softening of the scales that guarded the spine in response to the hormones released by sexual awakening, and the heat of the cerulean patches that surrounded those scales, warmed by the rising of blood to the skin and the arousal of millions of nerve-endings in those bright areas, yearning to be touched. Quickened heartbeat, shallowed breath, dilated pupils. And the smooth, unfeatured mound between the legs of the male, with its nearly invisible slit from which the penile shaft had to be coaxed by a gentle hand before he could...

Delenn blushed so hard she thought her cheeks might actually catch fire.

She felt sure - absolutely certain - that the other girls around her would all be staring at her, aware of the thoughts in her mind and the fact that they had a very particular and, to them, highly unusual object. But when she glanced quickly around, no one was looking at her. Not even Mayan. Everyone, all the young women around her, were so caught up in their own feelings, their own concerns, that no one even considered casting a laughing eye on Delenn and her embarrassment. Relieved, Delenn returned her attention to the lecture.

"The other responses you must know are those of the third sex, the helasae'dar." This caused a quiet murmur to ripple through the assembled girls. While most if not quite all of them knew of the existence of the third sex, those born to it were kept apart from other children, safe in their own temples, studying with their own kind mysteries and knowledge that were largely unknown to the rest of the population. Delenn herself, having grown up in the big and bustling city of Yedor, had seen a few helasae'dar going about their business, and her father had responded to her childish questions about their different crests and the quietness of their ways by explaining that they were very special people who had an important duty to Minbar and its people, and thus kept themselves away from the rest of the population. She knew nothing else, and strained with curiosity to absorb all that Master Firell would tell. 

"When you and your mate are ready to have children, you will go to one of their temples. There you will be instructed by one of the temple guardians - an older helas'dar who has passed sexual receptivity - and helped to put on ceremonial robes that never leave the grounds of that temple, and that are blessed for that purpose. You will return then to the main hall of the temple, and pray in the company of your mate for a third to come to you and assist with the creation of new life. When one does, you must be very polite and quiet. The helasae'dar are not used to life outside the temple, and the peace and serenity of that space and its inhabitants are to be respected with great care. The helas'dar will lead you to a private room, where he will join with you, and then leave you in seclusion so that your mate may do the likewise. There are some physiological differences between a male and a helas'dar, but you don't need to concern yourself with them apart from knowing that their joining with you directly prior to a male brings about physiological changes in a female's body that are necessary to produce a child."

"The other thing that it is necessary to know about the helasae'dar is that they are different from males, and from females." Firell looked very solemnly at her charges. "You must not touch them in any way that they do not specifically and directly invite or begin - it may make them very uncomfortable. You must not expect emotional involvement from them. If conception is successful, the helas'dar will come to you and help you through pregnancy and birth, and then return to his temple shortly after the naming ceremony and welcoming of the child. His time with you is a solemn duty to the future of Minbar, not a personal attachment, and you must remember that and honor him for it. And you should know that if the child you bear is a third as well, the helas'dar will take it away with him to be raised."

One of the girls raised her hand tentatively. "But... shouldn't the child stay with its parents, Master? No matter its gender?"

Firell shook her head. "If the child is helas'dar, Kadroni, his parents are the helasae'dar in the temple where he will live. It isn't right for male and female to try to raise one of the third - they would not know what to teach it or how to raise it to its duty, and it would be forever uncomfortable and disturbed by the world outside the temple."

Kadroni nodded solemnly, though her eyes looked a bit scared, and Delenn wondered what it was that had caused the other girl to think of such a question.

"You all have many years until the details of the ritual of conception should be of concern to you but that is the basic information you will need," Firell assured them. "As for the rest, what I will say is that although it all sounds very distant and strange at the moment, you will find it much less so if you follow the proper course of rituals when the time comes. Ritual and ceremony lead us from one step to the next in a comfortable, controlled manner, and give us a frame in which to understand each step along the way. As worried as you and your lover may be about pleasing one another, you will be less concerned if you know them well and are closely familiar with their mind and soul before you begin, and if you take care to separately examine and explore all the many varieties and areas of pleasure that are in you both during the shan'fal. If you are patient and careful, and willing to speak openly with your partner about what you feel and think, you will have less trouble, and be happier for it." She folded her hands carefully. "Now. Questions?"

A long silence fell between the girls. When one girl finally raised her hand, it was with a shy and worried expression. "What about, Master, if our heart... if we are drawn to another girl?" With a sudden realization, Delenn noticed that the girl next to her, one who she had always thought the closest of friends, as she was to Mayan, blushed brilliantly, but held the first girl's hand with a quiet determination.

Firell smiled. "That is nothing to worry about, Vadenn. Some females' hearts are called together, as are some males'. The only differences are that you will be more easily aware of what each other's bodies desire, because your own is structured similarly, and that your own hearts or the desires of your families may call on one or the other of you to choose a male friend with whom you can have a child. Be certain if you do that you have a conversation before, including the male as well as your families, as to where and with whom the child should best be raised. The male will probably want to be involved at least a little in his child's life, so be sure you choose one you like and trust. Beyond that, my advice is all the same. Anyone else?"

Another girl raised her hand. "When... when a male is..." She flushed and looked down at her hands, but managed at least to force out the words, "Does it hurt?"

Firell's smile was mild and gentle. "Not if you're both careful. Penetration should not be uncomfortable - the female body lubricates itself, and the lead-up to intercourse should ensure that process is well underway by the time you get to that point. Take your time, be patient, don't be afraid, and if it does hurt, talk to a physician. It does feel strange, but if you and your partner take your time, you'll get used to that, and get past it to thinking about other things, fairly quickly."

"She said it like she knew," Mayan said later as she and Delenn walked out on the grounds before lunch.

"And?"

"Well, she's not married, that's all."

Delenn frowned at her friend. "Everyone knows it's not strictly necessary. Maybe there was someone, at some point. An understanding, and then..."

"He died? Or left her?" Mayan considered this, clearly weighing the dramatic possibilities for a poem. "Maybe. Still, it seemed like a strange thing for her to admit to."

"You're not really disapproving of her for that, are you?"

"Of course not. It just... surprises me, I guess. I can't see any of our other teachers saying something like that accidentally." Mayan scrunched up her face in sudden thought. "...And I think I prefer it that way, now that I think of it. If Master Midiri does any of that sort of thing, I'd rather not know about it. And I'd rather not think about it, too."

"So it wasn't her you were thinking of," Delenn teased.

"No!"

"Well, then who? I wasn't aware you had anybody in particular, but you certainly looked as if you were thinking of someone..." Just as the words came out of her mouth it occurred to Delenn that she probably didn't really want Mayan thinking in that direction, for fear her friend would turn the question around on her.

Fortunately, Mayan appeared too confused by the workings of her own mind to consider Delenn's. "I don't, you know that. But... it was strange. As she was talking about... that... my mind just seemed to sort of... leap. To Ashan."

"Who?"

"Ashan." But Mayan neither looked nor spoke like a girl in love. She looked... perplexed, more than anything else. "My poetry tutor."

"Oh. I didn't know... You haven't said much about him." 

Mayan shook her head. "I haven't thought much about him until very recently. I mean, he's very kind, and helpful, and very knowledgeable. And he actually has a lovely voice, when he can stop himself stuttering all the time. He knows everything about history and poetry, and there's a sort of sadness in his eyes sometimes that... But it's still strange." She shook her head. "I just never thought of him that way before. And I'm not entirely sure I like that I did, now."

"Why not?" 

"Because he's my tutor? Because he has a body like a tree in the middle of winter, all stick-out-y points and angles? And did I mention that he stutters?"

Delenn smiled. "My father looks a little like a tree in winter. He's always been thin, he can't help it. But I've seen a few pictures of him as a young man, and he did fill out a bit."

"Well, maybe he would be right for you, then," Mayan grumbled.

"But you're the one who thought of him," Delenn pointed out quickly.

"I know. I just don't know why."

"Maybe because you like him."

A blush crept over Mayan's cheeks again. "He... he read a bit of the Song of Heefa to me the other day. After I talked with Branmer about the conservatory, I went to the library, and we were talking about..." She bit her lip. "About what I'd been doing earlier in the day."

Delenn glanced away, down at her hands. "You mean you were talking about going out with Neroon and I onto the grounds."

"Well, yes, but only because--"

"Branmer was right, Mayan. Neroon doesn't mean me any harm. I know it."

"I want to believe you." Mayan took her hand, pressing it to her own heart. "I do, truly. But... you've only known him a few months. And he's a Warrior. They do things differently. You just can't be sure of what he's thinking about all of this."

As if the sound of his name has summoned him from nothing, Neroon appeared at the end of the corridor, wearing an expression of utter consternation. He hardly seemed to see where he was going, but as he approached he suddenly noticed them. Delenn flushed crimson, to her annoyance, but to her surprise so did Neroon. Mayan narrowed her eyes at the Warrior and tightened her grip on Delenn's hand.

Neroon tore his gaze away and focused on a stone sconce about a foot above the girls' heads. "Master Branmer sent me to find you. Shaimir Ashan came to the Star Temple. He was concerned that Shaimira Mayan had missed her tutoring session. I can only assume that he was not aware of today's..." The boy coughed into his glove. "Today's lesson."

It was Mayan's turn for a red face. "I, um..." Torn as she was between the safety of her friend and her obedience to her teacher, her natural curiosity over the feelings she was experiencing won out over her confusion. "I think I should go to Ashan and explain my absence. Delenn, you--?"

"I will be fine, Mayan," said Delenn, as firmly as she could manage. She watched Mayan hurry away, and a smile tugged at her lips. "I think our resident romantic may be falling in love without realizing it."

"At least now she'll know what to do about it, if she is." Neroon's embarrassed color did not fade; if anything, it grew more pronounced.

"Yes," said Delenn, looking down at the books clutched in her hands. "It was... a very enlightening class. Who was the male instructor?"

"I believe it was Master Nafeel. I was not present."

Delenn blinked. "Why ever not?"

"Because I didn't need to repeat that lesson."

"You mean you already...? Oh..."

"Some years ago, yes."

"Oh." A memory, a very recent and warm memory, tugged at her. "Then... that was what you meant, that afternoon under the tree, when you said you..." Her heart began to race. "You found me more than appealing." Neroon nodded. "Now I know what you meant."

"Yes, now you know," said the Warrior boy in a rather strangled voice. "Where I've been making advances to a girl who had no idea what I was talking about! I--Delenn, my behavior has been grossly inappropriate." He stood very straight, his cheeks still burning, his black eyes still fixed on the wall sconce. "If you wish I will withdraw my attentions and leave you in peace."

Her surprise was replaced by a considering frame of mind. "It bothers you that much, that I was ignorant of your desires?"

"Yes! If I had known... well, I would have kept my mouth shut until--"

"Until today." Delenn took two steps forward, reached up and touched Neroon's face. "I do not wish you to withdraw your attentions." A tiny smile, that shocked her with its coyness, curled the ends of her lips. "How could I wish such a thing, now that I know what I have to look forward to in the future?"

A small sound, reluctant but definite, rumbled up from Neroon's chest, sending delicious shivers through Delenn's blood, and his dark, dark eyes were warm and soft.

He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly at first, but with increasing warmth and urgency. Delenn closed her eyes, molding her body against his as he deepened the kiss...

"Ahem."

They broke apart at once, coloring up with embarrassment. Master Branmer glared at them with subdued amusement, and a good deal of annoyance. "Neroon was so aghast at his breach of protocol that he is late for supper. I came to make sure he hadn't found a sword to fall on in disgrace. I'm glad to see I was mistaken." The viridian eyes glittered, and Delenn and Neroon bowed their heads. "A little more decorum in future, please, my children." 

"Yes, Master," they mumbled in unison. Delenn had blushed so many times that day, she wondered if her face would ever return to its normal color. She snuck a glance at Neroon, worried that he might feel even more shame at being scolded by his foster-parent, but instead he looked strangely pleased.

"Hmph. Well, since Delenn is already here--and I suspect Mayan will be some time in explaining her absence to her tutor--she may as well come and eat with us." He turned back towards the Star Temple, leaving the two students to hurry and catch up.

"I don't think I've ever seen Master Branmer cross before," Delenn ventured to whisper

Neroon grinned. "He isn't cross. It is his job to disapprove of egregious displays of public affection among his students. Once we get to the Annex, he'll be himself again."

"Everyone is acting unlike themselves today! Mayan is all out of sorts, Master Branmer is pretending to be cross, and Master Firell was saying all kinds of strange things."

"...During the lesson?"

"In a way... when she was answering questions, it sounded very much like she was speaking out of, well, personal experience!" Neroon's face suddenly went blank. "It is strange," she continued, misinterpreting his silence as disapproval, "for I have never heard of her being married or betrothed, or even that she had someone in her life, but the way she spoke, as though she were trying to reassure us through her own knowledge..." She frowned, not seeing Neroon's pained expression, and then shrugged. "Whoever he is, she certainly seems pleased with him."

Neroon coughed loudly; Delenn stared at him. His black eyes flickered to the tall man walking in front of them, and then Delenn managed to barely see the slow red flush staining Branmer's cheeks. 

She stopped dead in her tracks, just over the threshold of the temple. Neroon halted as well, to let Branmer escape into the Annex and regain his composure. "Sorry," he said with an uneasy grin. "But I wasn't sure how to stop you."

Delenn let her books fall to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Every time she thought this day could not possibly get more embarrassing, the universe stepped up to prove her wrong. "You should have picked me up and tossed me out the nearest window," she muttered, her voice muffled. "Did you know?"

"Not really. I suspected something--I have done for years."

"Why? You'd never met Firell before this year."

"No, but Branmer used to talk about her often in his letters. Only daily happenings, things of that sort. And then when I turned up here, he never mentioned her. It wasn't difficult to guess."

"He is never going to speak to me again." And what Master Firell might say... Delenn was suddenly horrified to attend classes with her tomorrow.

Carefully hiding his smile, Neroon put a comforting arm about her shoulders and drew her against his chest. "He has nothing to reproach you for. He knows you didn't mean to say anything improper."

"But... why are they hiding? Why do they not simply marry and have done with it? Then there would be no need for secrecy."

Neroon was silent for a moment. "Knowing Branmer... he's probably content with what he has already." He kissed her cheek softly. "Now. Come in and have something to eat. He will let it pass if you will."

Delenn nodded, but waited until the heat had faded from her face before she dared enter the Annex. 

*** 

Mayan arrived at the library to find Ashan seated at a table near the front, far away from his usual retreats deep in the archives. He looked strangely worried. The strange thing was not that Ashan looked worried - he usually seemed to be worried about something, as if a furrowed brow and air of hesitation were simply part of his nature - but, Mayan realized, the way he was dealing with it. Typically when he worried, Ashan made himself busy with something. He would be up and about, tidying shelves or rearranging obscure bits of paperwork, or making notes in a slightly ratty old notebook that he seemed to carry everywhere. Instead, he was still. He slumped in his chair like a root over a stone, and one long arm draped onto the table. His head hung as if his neck was too weak, suddenly, to hold it up.

“Ashan?”

He looked up. “Ah... Mayan. Master Branmer said you, ah...” Ashan blushed. “He said you had a class today.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have thought to send a message when we were told this morning.”

“No, no. No... no trouble.” Ashan winced at his repetition. “No trouble at all. These things happen.”

“I really am sorry, though. If I’d known in advance--”

“I’m sure you would have notified me, Mayan. Temple administrations do like to spring... these, um, sorts of instructions, on students with minimal warning. It allows less time for speculation and gossip. At least, I’m told that was the logic when I was at temple.”

Mayan regarded him closely. “You make it sound as if that was centuries ago. You can’t be more than a decade older than me... and I think it’s much less. How long have you been out of temple?”

Ashan coughed awkwardly and looked away. “Two years.” His cheeks colored a little as he said it, and his hands... Mayan wasn’t even quite sure what he’d done, precisely - some sort of complicated fidgeting gesture with the pen he’d been holding, as if he was writing something in the air with it. But she felt suddenly enthralled by his hands. Specifically his fingers, which were long and thin, like everything about him, but blunt-tipped and faintly callused under the ink-stains. They were oddly elegant hands, and something about the shape of his wrist bones jutting weirdly out of them into the flat plane of his forearm... What a strange thing to notice, she thought. What a strange thing to focus on. But it all somehow brought back the sensation she’d had earlier, when Master Firell had been talking and all of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, she’d thought of Ashan. Pictured him, as Master Firell described... things. 

Mayan shook herself mentally, and forced her eyes up to Ashan’s face. He looked away, at his pen, and she thought she saw a hint of a flush on his cheeks. “So you’re three and a half years older than me.”

“Er. Yes. Roughly.” Definitely flushing. “Possibly four.”

“That’s not much.”

“Not... not really, but it can... feel like quite a bit, at times.”

“But it isn’t,” Mayan insisted. “Not really.”

“Well, no, not in terms of the, er, complete life cycle, or in an historical sense, but--”

If she’d been asked to explain herself, Mayan could never have really said why she did what she did then. It was curiosity, mostly. Honest, perhaps even slightly idle, curiosity. So much had been said that morning, and Delenn had worn a strangely familiar, recognizing look through some of it, and Mayan supposed later that she must have felt just slightly jealous of her friend. She’d wondered about so many of the things that were said, and more about the things she’d thought and felt, and here was a chance to explore those things more. Mayan leaned across the table and kissed Ashan on the lips. They were the one part of him, it seemed, that wasn’t at all dusty or inky, but pleasantly soft and warm. 

She had just enough time to think that she quite liked this new experience before those same long fingers were holding onto her shoulders, pushing her gently but firmly away.

“Mayan... stop, please. Stop. We cannot do this.” Ashan’s expression was calm and regretful, almost sad, and there was a distance in his light brown eyes that she’d never seen before.

Something twisted in Mayan’s stomach. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you like--”

“Mayan.” Ashan held up his hand for silence. “You are my student, and I am your tutor, and you... you are still very young. This... isn’t right.”

“But I just wanted...” She trailed off and frowned, then pulled herself together and bowed to the older boy. “I’m sorry. Please forgive my presumption, Tutor Ashan.”

The formality of the apology seemed to recall Ashan to himself somewhat. “There’s no need for all that. You didn’t mean anything by it. You were just curious, and that’s entirely understandable at your age. I, er... would like you to feel safe and comfortable with me, Mayan. But... there must be limits.”

Mayan bowed her head. “Yes, Ashan.”

“Good. Er. Now. Let’s see if we can’t get through a bit of Bhurli’s work before you have to go to supper, shall we?”

***

Their lesson was short, but Mayan was quick to assure Ashan that she would have more time the next afternoon to make up for it. What made him less happy was noticing how quiet and distant his normally enthusiastic student was for the rest of their session.

It was necessary, Ashan told himself. He had done the right thing by stopping her, and the right thing by being a little stern with her, much as it hurt him. She had meant nothing by the kiss, only a young girl’s enthusiasm and curiosity to explore a new idea that she had just heard about. He should have felt pleased that she trusted him, regarded him as harmless and a safe outlet for her exploration... and he should have felt even more pleased at how dutifully and apologetically she had accepted his insistence that it not happen again.

Now if only his own mind would accept that moral lesson as well.

In truth, he had allowed his mind to go off-track before that day. He had known Mayan was young, but he had been so drawn to her quick wit and intelligence, her sweet voice and the lively beauty of the verse drafts she had read to him with earnest excitement over her own budding skill, that he had allowed himself to forget her age. There were, after all, only a few years between them. But when Branmer told him that his lovely student was away receiving the lectures that went with second puberty, the significance of those years had crashed down upon him again with the heavy shame of centuries. Clever and talented and beautiful as she was, Mayan was still very young, with a child’s understanding of the world. It was wrong for him, an adult even though still a student, and a tutor even though only a few years older than her, to regard her with anything but professional care.

Of course, barely had he inured himself to that idea before she kissed him. And, weak and stupid with thwarted affection, he had allowed it.

It must not happen again. 

***

On the other side of the temple grounds, Avaier breezed into the master's office. "You wanted to see me, av'sala?"

Master Midiri laid down her stylus and smiled benevolently at the young male. He was not her grandson in truth, but everyone in their small clan now referred to her as 'grandmother,' even those who were nearly her age, and Avaier was the youngest of them all. "Sit down, child."

The tall, husky boy took the chair she indicated, and crossed his arms. There was something distinctly haughty in his bearing and manner, as if he was master here instead of his clan-mother, and had any other student acted so in front of Midiri, the chastisement would have been swift. But she looked upon Avaier's pride as no more than was his due. "There is something of great importance that I must speak of with you."

He looked vaguely worried. "Is this about my poetry project? Because I must tell you, grandmother, that tutor--"

"No, no. Shaimir Ashan's reports on your progress have been quite favorable."

"Ah." Avaier sat back with a self-satisfied little smile. "Of course. It's a simple enough subject, for one who understands."

"Bright boy," said Midiri proudly. "No, I wanted to speak to you of your future after you leave us--your personal future." Avaier began to look uncomfortable again. "As the last son of our clan, you have a very important duty ahead of you."

"Yes, I know..."

"Now, obviously you're too young for such a responsibility now," said Midiri, in what was meant to be a soothing voice, as the boy blushed. After all, he had only just reached final puberty and learned what awaited him once he found a mate. "But it is always prudent to think ahead."

"Think ahead...?"

"You have always been exceptionally popular among your female year-mates. Many of them are from very good families and populous clans. You could do far worse than choosing a wife from among them."

Avaier shrugged and looked bored. "What would be the point? It will be years until I am able to marry."

"To marry," said Midiri, quite deliberately, "yes. But there are other things a handsome boy may do with the female of his choosing, while they are waiting to marry. Such intimacies," she continued, now that she had his full attention, "bind the hearts, as well as serving as one of the greatest pleasures of the universe."

Her clan-child seemed slightly stunned, but he was listening closely. "There is one female, that I've long been partial to. Delenn ra'Mir."

Midiri nodded. "An excellent choice. A very good family, quiet, docile... and very pretty."

"But she won't be bothered with me!" he groused. "She spends all of her time with that Star Rider brat."

"If Delenn is who you want, then you shall have her."

Avaier frowned. "How, exactly?"

"That is your business, child. She is quite timid, but I think she can be stubborn. She may require more vigorous courting efforts." Midiri smiled fondly at Avaier. "No matter, whatever methods you choose will be acceptable. Press your suit,av'ierma. I will see to the Star Rider, somehow."

Chapter Text

Delenn had no objections to spending a fine summer day outside with the young man most of the other acolytes called 'that Star Rider boy,' but she had to admit that today she was confused. "You seem like you have a distinct purpose today," she ventured. "You are walking very fast."

"A Warrior always walks with a purpose," Neroon declared over his shoulder, but he courteously slackened his pace so that she could keep up.

"Where are we going, Neroon?"

He pointed to a small grove of trees at the furthest edge of the temple grounds. "I think that will be best."

"Best? For what?"

"You'll see."

Delenn knew what Mayan would say to that.

The little grove was cool and secluded, and the ground underfoot was carpeted with layers of grass and leaves. Neroon poked at the ground with the toe of his boot. "This should do nicely." Delenn watched, perplexed, while Neroon produced a small utility knife and cut two young, straight saplings. He measured one against Delenn and cut it to match her height. "I'm going to teach you something of the pike," he said, trimming the leaves from the makeshift staffs. 

Delenn laughed. "Why would a simple priestess need to know the denn'bok?"

Neroon did not smile as he rounded the ends of the wood with his knife. "My father died when I was three months old. I have spent my life among women who could put me flat on my back with a flick of their wrists. But there is almost nothing to you. I'm always afraid that I may break you if I once touch you ungently by accident." He held out the shorter of the two staffs. "Besides, even a simple priestess should know how to defend herself." His lips curved upwards. "Just another lesson to broaden the mind."

Delenn scowled playfully at his challenge, and took the staff.

He showed her first how to stand properly, correcting her stance and posture with light touches on her shoulders and back, nudging her feet with his own. "How does it feel?"

The nearness of him was intensely distracting. "Tiresome," she admitted. Her arms ached already, and they had so far done nothing.

"That is because you use your muscles for nothing more strenuous than lifting books." Neroon took up a stand opposite her, and raised his weapon. "Mirror my movements as best you can."

Slowly, he walked her through a practice spar, explaining each stroke and step in the manner of an intricate dance, correcting her blows and the placement of her feet. After an hour, he finally allowed her to rest.

"I think," she said, sitting down to rub her strained calves, "that my body has grown new muscles for the express purpose of making them hurt."

"You should more properly have begun learning this art when you were ten years old." Neroon relaxed easily against a tree. He had taken off his heavy coat and laid it on the grass, and his muscles were lean and tight under his thin shirt. "But it's never too late to start."

Delenn's expression was thoughtful. "I didn't know your father had passed beyond the veil."

"He was killed in a border skirmish with the Dilgar shortly after I was born. My mother taught me my first denn'bok forms. She is shorter than you, but she can fight circles around me."

"Ah. Then I suppose I should not be complaining about your teaching techniques." Delenn leaned heavily on her staff and rose to her feet. "I must make a poor showing against your clan-sisters."

"Immensely poor. But they were born to the life—it is their business to fight. I will simply sleep better when I eventually leave the temple, knowing that you can protect yourself against whatever may come."

"Until you can return to protect me yourself, I suppose." 

He offered her a slight bow. "I would never presume so far." Delenn took his arm to walk gingerly back to the temple. "Will you be willing to keep learning?"

The young priestess considered her aches and pains, and opened her mouth to say no. Then she recalled the feather-light touches of his hands on her body, and the snapping energy in his black eyes as he showed her his art. "I would like to continue," she said, and then added, "after I have had a few days to recover. And a visit to the wris'nemin would not be amiss," she added, thinking wistfully of the little steam-room attached to the female dormitory.

She distinctly heard a soft, appreciative growl from her companion. She blushed, but only a little, and tucked her arm more tightly into his.

*** 

As summer drew toward its height, the glorious hot days increasingly drove everyone in the temple out of doors. Summer was not long enough to waste. On one particularly bright and welcoming day, Delenn and Neroon decamped immediately after their afternoon classes to retreat with books and snacks to their hidden grove at the edge of the temple grounds. 

Casting off his unseasonably heavy armored coat, Neroon threw himself down on his stomach on the soft, springy grass, and opened his book. Delenn sat back against a smooth-skinned tree and closed her eyes, letting his rich voice wash over her. She slipped away into sleep, and when she was lulled back into wakefulness, Neroon's arm was around her shoulders. 

His smile down at her was as drowsy as she felt, and it seemed a natural thing for Delenn to run a finger over the top of his crest, to feel the sun-bleached velvet against her skin, and to tilt her head up for a kiss.

His lips were warm, warmer than the clear air around them, and his hands were as light as ever as they moved over her back; she could feel them through her thin summer robe, almost as though she were wearing nothing... 

Delenn gasped and shuddered as his fingers made contact with the sensitive ren'helasae along her spine, and Neroon drew back at once. They stared at each other, she flushed and he blushing furiously. "Forgive me," he said gruffly, unable to meet her eyes. "I did not--"

Without either of them knowing quite how it happened, Neroon was suddenly flat on his back against the rustling grass, and Delenn was astride him. 

"You did say you were used to women who could put you on your back," she smirked, and kissed him deeply, stretching her slim body along his lean one.

Once again, soft, rhythmic sound thrummed up from Neroon's chest, intoxicating and sweet to Delenn's ears. She wanted to hear more. Tentatively she touched his lips with her tongue, and he let her in willingly. He tasted like the spice tea he drank every morning; now she could feel the humming in her own bones. 

His hands were firm against her lower back, but when she moved to unfasten the throat of his shirt, he broke away. "Delenn," he gasped softly, "stop."

"But you want this, as much as I do." His eyes were like obsidian, gazing up at her; his heart and lungs thundered against her sternum. "You want me."

"Oh," he breathed. "I do. As much as you want me." Neroon sat up, so that Delenn was half in his lap. "But I am not ready. Not yet." He caught her cheek in his hand as she tried to turn away. "Ah'fel--" They both blushed at the endearment. "One day, priestess," he whispered, his fingers trembling against her face, "I will be yours to command. But not yet."

When she could breathe normally, Delenn folded his gloved hand between her own and pressed it to her heart. "Then I shall wait for you."

*** 

His coat thrown carelessly over his shoulder, Neroon walked Delenn back to her room in preparation for saying good night, and let out a wistful little sigh as they walked through the unusually empty corridors. "Is something wrong?" Delenn asked.

"The solstice is nearly upon us," said Neroon softly. "Almost everyone has gone home for the celebration, or is getting ready to go home." He did not trouble to hide the longing in his voice. "You will be leaving soon."

"Only for a week." She squeezed his arm and leaned against him as they slowed. "There is no chance that your mother will be on Minbar for the summer solstice?" Neroon shook his head. "At least... as least you have Branmer to mark the day with."

"Yes... that is a comfort." He sighed. They had come to Delenn's small room in the female dormitory. "You should go in. Your poet friend must be wondering why you're late again."

Delenn shook her head with a smile. "No, Mayan left for home early this morning." She laid her hand upon the latch, a friendly 'Good night' ready on her lips... "Neroon," she said, in a voice that was both bold and hesitant, "would you... would you like to sleep here tonight?"

His black eyes opened wide. "Delenn..."

"Not to... do anything. Just... to sleep. With me."

Both their faces flushed red, and Neroon coughed sharply, cutting off the gentle rumble coming from his chest. "But what if someone should find us?"

"There's no reason why they should, so long as you're not seen."

He grinned a little. "No one sees me unless I want them to." He followed her into her bedroom.

Neroon hung his coat neatly on a peg on the wall, and stayed staring at the rough stone until Delenn had finished changing for bed. Then he pulled off his boots and gingerly laid down beside her. The bed she usually shared with Mayan was certainly large enough to hold a lean boy instead, especially when that boy's arms had drawn Delenn snug against his chest. 

Her nightclothes were even thinner than the robes she had worn that day, and he could feel the scales of her spine through his gloves, ruffling and flattening softly under his hand as she breathed. Unable to help himself, Neroon let his fingers drift a few inches down the line of scales; Delenn made a sound that was half gasp and half pleasurable hum. "Neroon?"

"Yes?"

"...Do that again."

Very gently, he did so, trailing the very tips of his fingers down her spine and back up over the blue splashes surrounding them, making airy circling motions that tickled her left shoulder blade but seemed to tease everywhere else. She curled her hands into his shirt, muffling her gasps in his chest as they grew louder. "Too much?"

Delenn managed to shake her head. It was not enough, not nearly enough, but she knew now that this was as far as he would go. Her skin blazed, and she wondered through a strange fog how it was that her nightclothes had not burst into flames. "Please... don't stop."

Only when she was shuddering uncontrollably did Neroon finally lay his hands flat on her shoulders, holding her tightly until she could breathe without moaning. "You asked me once," he rumbled low in his throat, "if I found you appealing. Have I answered that question?"

"I am convinced," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a fervent kiss to his throat. 

"Delenn..." 

She looked up into his black eyes, large and liquid and soft in the low light, and brushed her fingers across his lips. He caught her hand gently; twisting onto his side, he put her hand on the muscles of his back. 

Her fingers seemed to know what to do all on their own, as they stroked and probed his back through the fabric of his shirt. He trembled and flinched under her touched, and his thrums and soft growls were almost intolerably sweet. She tugged at the cool cloth. "I want to touch you..."

He jerked his head once, his lips barely leaving hers. "No."

"Please..."

"Delenn, no."

Desperate to feel something, Delenn pressed her hand to the base of his crest, and dipped her fingers briefly beneath his high collar to brush over the bare scales there. Neroon gasped sharply and caught her hand. "Stop, ah'fel," he said hoarsely. He dropped his head to hers, staring into her eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. 

Delenn bit her lip hard. "I--I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just..."

"I know. Delenn, I know." He squeezed her hand tightly. "But we cannot. I cannot. I want to, more than you know... There are times when I am tempted almost beyond all reason... But I cannot, not yet."

Lowering her eyes, Delenn nodded. "Do you... wish to leave?"

"I would much rather stay... if I can trust you?" 

"You can. I promise." 

They snuggled down chastely together, with Neroon curled around Delenn, her head pillowed on his chest. There was no need for a blanket in the early summer heat; their two bodies together, still enflamed, were almost too warm for comfort, and neither one slept until their skins had cooled. For Neroon, at least, it was the most restful sleep he'd had all year. 

*** 

The bright, cold light of early morning woke Delenn very early, but Neroon was already awake, his black eyes watching her with a warm attention.

"Could you not sleep?" Delenn asked.

"I slept well. But I should leave, before the others wake."

"There aren't many people left in the dormitory, now..."

Neroon laughed softly. "Trying to keep me here? Will you keep me entranced until I am captured by the enemy, cunning priestess, or are you only hungry to see if I really can escape this place unseen while your confederates walk everywhere around us?"

"You're the one who made that boast. But I won't make you prove it." Delenn sat up and stretched, watching with some amusement as Neroon's glittering black eyes traced the shape of her body through her nightclothes. "Mayan would choke on her tongue to hear you speak that way. Like a hero from an old story. I think sometimes she is still surprised to be reminded that you can read."

Neroon snorted. "It is not my fault if your friend believes every lie spoken about my caste. As for speaking, I'm only comfortable with words around people I know well."

"I know. And I'm glad you count me among those."

"Of course. But... I really should leave." He leaned forward and kissed her quickly, first on her lips, then on her forehead. "You leave today for home?"

Delenn nodded. "Soon. I should dress, finish packing, and go to the transport station."

"Then I will not see you again before you leave." He pressed a gloved hand to her heart, and kissed her one last time. "Be well, Delenn. I will watch the suns, and think of you." And with that, he stood, grabbed up his coat, and slipped noiselessly out the door. Long after he was gone, even on the transport home to Yedor, Delenn felt the touch of his hand and his lips, and for the first time wished that she could have stayed at temple as well, rather than returning to her beloved home.

*** 

Morning did not dawn on the solstice, as far north as Yedor - the suns simply continued their low loop, climbing back into the sky after their dip toward the horizon the night before. After that, the day only grew brighter and warmer. By the time Delenn and her father went out for the celebrations, the suns were high in the deep blue sky and the day was warm enough that Delenn was immediately glad she'd worn only her lightest summer robes. 

Yedor bustled on a normal day - on a festival day, it fairly boomed with activity. Everywhere crowds of people milled and talked and laughed, bright red and yellow banners fluttered from buildings and spires, and a thousand different smells and sights and sounds warred for Delenn's attention. A troupe of dancers in bright yellow robes whirled and pirouetted only a few feet away from a pavilion with banners advertising fortunes told and omens interpreted. Every temple door they walked by was cast open, the smell of incense pouring out and the sound of chanting or singing or bells on the air. Every shrine was decked in red and yellow ribbons for the occasion.

"Do you have anything particular you want to do?" Clarenn asked his daughter.

Delenn blushed. "I want to buy a present for a friend."

"For Mayan?" Clarenn asked.

"No, another... a boy. He is studying with us this year."

"The Warrior you've mentioned. Yes, I have heard some mutterings about that. So he is a friend to you?"

Delenn looked away, embarrassed, and pretended interest in a group of performers walking by, their faces thick with paint that exaggerated their features and gave them a wild, exotic look. "He's very lonely," she mumbled. "His mother is far away off-planet, and his father has gone beyond the veil... he lives with his clan-brother who works at our temple, so he didn't have anywhere to go for the holiday. I thought I should bring something back for him, so that he feels less forgotten."

"He stayed at the temple, then?" 

Delenn nodded. 

"Hmm. Perhaps next year you should invite him and his clan-brother both to stay with us. We don't have much room, but they would be welcome..."

Delenn's heart ached at the thought, but she shook her head. "Neroon will be leaving us after this year. He has his own training to complete."

"Ah, I see. Well... There will be time, I'm sure, in the future, if you remain in contact.. What kind of gift are you looking for?"

"Something small." Delenn stood on her toes to look around them, unaware of the fond smile her father was regarding her with. "Just something to say... to say..."

"That you were thinking of him?" Clarenn suggested gently.

"Yes. I know!" Delenn caught her father's hand, tugging him toward a vendor's stall on the other side of the crowded street. Thick red buvah'ja clustered, glimmering like dew, on every surface in the vendor's trays. 

"Is this is a treat for your friend, Delenn, or for you?" Clarenn asked, laughing. 

"For Neroon." Delenn cast a serious little glare at her father. "He loves buvah'ja. His clan-brother gave him some, once, and he shared it with me."

"Then it is a memory of a pleasant moment between you?"

Delenn blushed, thinking of how embarrassed she had been several times that night, but also how happy. "Yes."

"Then it is a good gift." Clarenn reached for the purse tucked into his robe, but before he could remove it Delenn was counting out her own coins onto the vendor's table. "Delenn..."

"It is not a good gift if I don't buy it myself," Delenn told him softly.

"You were to use that money for yourself, ah'iersa..."

"I am." Delenn accepted the bag of spice candy from the merchant with a polite little salute and bow, tucked it into the bag she carried on her shoulder, and turned back to her father. "It will please me to give them to him."

"Making him happy... makes you happy?" Clarenn asked. 

Delenn nodded, though the heat on her cheeks was not all from the suns. 

Clarenn sighed, and tucked her small hand into his as they walked on. "I remember feeling the same, twice in my life." 

"Twice?" 

"Twice. Once, when a very clever and very beautiful young woman I met in temple walked with me. And once with a very shy and pretty little girl who has now grown too big to need her father's help with things."

Delenn squeezed his hand and smiled. "Mother... Mother was very beautiful?"

"As beautiful as summer," Clarenn agreed. "You are very like her, Delenn. You have her grace about you, and her green eyes."

As they walked on through the streets, Delenn felt as light as if her feet walked on the thin, wispy clouds that dotted the sky above them. She could not have been happier... but maybe for the presence of her Warrior boy. Still, there was nothing to regret - he would be happy with Branmer, and she would see him again in just a few days, and time with her father was just as precious a gift to her, after so many months away. She and her father ate a simple lunch of grilled vegetables and bread, watched as performers dramatized scenes from the ancient histories, and sat on the temple steps to listen to a poet perform teela.

"Someday," Delenn said as the man moved away to repeat his performance in another part of the market, "that is what Mayan wants to do."

"Perform in the market?" Clarenn asked. His face was serious, but his eyes glittered with amusement, and Delenn poked him fondly in retaliation.

"No, no. She wants to be a poet, a composer and singer of teela. She's very good already. I wish I had as clear an idea of what I want to do..."

"Destiny is a thing we can't force, Delenn. Whatever you are meant to do, you will find it in your own time. And if you are as wise as I think you are, you will make it something that pleases and fulfills you."

"A quiet temple somewhere..."

"And a man? Or woman," he added casually, though his eyes on Delenn told her he suspected it was the former.

Delenn blushed. "Perhaps..."

Even as they spoke, a new performance began on the square. Delenn looked up... and immediately blushed even brighter than before. A phalanx of Yedor's Warriors, stripped to the waist and marked all over in fierce red and yellow paint, set up a... well, she supposed it could be called a dance? Several off to the side beat on drums and chanted - nothing like the hauntingly beautiful songs she had sung with Neroon and his clan-brother, but a rough, hard litany that was more rhythm than melody. As for the movements, there was a great deal more stamping of bare feet and clapping of gloved hands and clashing of sticks than she had ever associated with dance before... and then there was the fire. One man - tall and broad, with what seemed like all his exposed skin painted red, strode into the midst of the group with a flaming brand held aloft... and each other warrior lit the ends of the stave he himself carried from that one flame, until all of them whirled and leaped and mimed frighteningly realistic pike battles with each other's fiery staffs.

"I remember," Clarenn said, close to her ear so as to be heard over their drumming and singing and shouting, "not so many years ago, when you were so afraid of the fire dancers that you would hide your face against my shoulder until they were gone." He laughed. "I think your opinion of them may have changed, now?"

Delenn did hide her face, then, but only for a moment, and when she lifted her head again she was laughing with him. 

*** 

The break for the summer solstice was sadly short, but even without much time, Delenn found that she became used to being at home again with her father. All her old childhood habits returned, and she fell into a comfortable routine of waking up with him for morning prayers, and seeing him off for his work after a bit of breakfast, then reading or studying for part of the day and spending the rest, perhaps, out in the city visiting museums and parks, or calling on family friends who she did not often have the chance to visit with anymore. In the afternoons she returned to their apartment and made a simple dinner, or at least started it so that her father would not have to do all the work when he returned from the temple.

Two days after the solstice, with only one full day left before she returned to her studies, Delenn took care to return home early in the afternoon and make as good and as put-together a meal as she was able. It wasn’t much - bread and a vegetable stew, with fruit to finish - but it was plenty for their purposes, and Clarenn was pleasantly surprised by the effort his daughter had put in.

“Is there something I should know about?” he teased gently as she made tea after the meal. 

“Can a daughter not be conscientious of her father, when she is soon to go back to temple for another half of a year?”

“Of course.” Clarenn smiled at her. “And she can also avoid saying something by asking rhetorical questions. Out with it, Delenn. You are nearly a grown woman, you needn’t fear bringing up serious matters to me, particularly when our time together is so short.”

Delenn frowned over the steaming cups of tea as she carried them to the table. As she spoke, she stared fixedly into the steaming, sweetly-scented water. “The friend that I mentioned on the solstice - Neroon, the Warrior who is studying with us this year... I did not tell you the whole truth of that. I didn’t mean to deceive you - nothing formal has been said. But I wanted you to know... I see him as more than a friend. And he says he feels the same for me. I know he is a Warrior, but...” She trailed off, lost, and looked up at her father. His expression was very distant, and, she thought, also very sad.

“I wondered if that might not be the case,” he said softly. “It’s in your eyes when you speak of him.”

“Are you... are you unhappy?”

Clarenn offered his daughter a wan smile. “I would be a poor father, ah’hiersa, if I did not worry where this will lead you. A life between castes is a hard one, and I fear your training and work will always draw you in opposing directions. But I would also be a poor father if I didn’t see how happy the thought of him makes you, or understand that, in ways I cannot always anticipate, my little girl will grow up soon enough whether or not you choose a mate immediately. You love the boy?”

Delenn felt her cheeks burn. “I do.”

“And you trust him?”

“I do, yes. He is...” She struggled to think of a way to explain. “He is rough in his ways and words sometimes, but always kind to me, and he respects me a great deal despite our differences. He… he is teaching me to fight with a pike.” She laughed softly at the memory of their lessons and how awkward and foolish she felt holding the weapon, particularly in comparison to Neroon’s practiced and elegant displays. “He says he will feel better, when he leaves our temple, knowing that I can defend myself.”

“And do you teach him anything in return?” 

“I help him to understand our philosophy assignments sometimes,” Delenn admitted. “He is very clever, and knows more about history than anyone I know, but he is unused to philosophy and writing essays about it. He has already grown quicker with the subject,” she added, eager to reassure her father if he got the idea that the boy was not intelligent. 

“And what about your time outside of classes? Do you only study together?”

Delenn blushed. “I showed him the museum, and we shared our favorite subjects there… and we read together, and spend time in the Star Temple. Neroon’s clan-brother is the keeper of the temple, and Neroon knows the names and stories of many of the constellations, and songs of his clan about them. I watch him practice his fighting forms, and we walk in the gardens and the city. Nothing very exciting - the same things I do with Mayan, I suppose. But I like being with him. He… gives me his cloak when we walk and it grows cold.” All of it, everything they had done, spoken together suddenly felt poor and little, but Delenn still felt oddly proud, particularly to share these little moments with her father.

Clarenn’s smile became a good deal more honest as he listened to his daughter list the little joys of her courtship. He bent over her and kissed her forehead, then leaned his cheek against the top of her crest. “He sounds to me like a fine young man.”

*** 

The next day was the last of the holiday rest period, and Delenn packed up her belongings into her little satchel again, and walked in the warm shadow of her father’s tall shape to the transport station after breakfast. 

“You will keep me up to date on what happens with your friends, Delenn? And with this young Warrior of yours, too?”

“Yes, Father.” 

“Good. If there is another chance before he leaves, think about inviting him home with you.” Clarenn smiled down at his daughter as her eyes lit up at the idea. “If you think he would not be too bored by our quiet life.”

“Oh, no! He was excited when he heard that I grew up in Yedor. I think he would be pleased to be invited.”

“Good. Then do so, if you wish.” Clarenn pressed his hand to his daughter’s heart, and clasped hers to his with his free hand, then bent and kissed the top of her head again. “Be well, Delenn. Take care of yourself, and write me often. My days are too quiet here without my little girl’s voice to fill them. But I am proud of the way you are growing, even if you are doing so too far away.”

The transport was quiet - most travelers were returning from the countryside to the capitol, rather than the other way around - so Delenn had plenty of time to finish her holiday reading and then relax into quiet contemplation of the countryside as it hurried by outside the windows. Bright flowers and leaves colored the landscape during the heat of summer, and the rivers rushed high with water melted from the snowy peaks above the valley. The temple, when she arrived back, was full already with her fellow students, exuberant from their time at home, and all eager to talk to each other about the times they had passed over the holiday. 

Delenn met up with Mayan sitting on the steps outside the library with a tall, gawky young man in the robes of an acolyte priest, his lap piled high with books. This, then, was Ashan - the young man Mayan had not wanted to think of herself as desiring. Delenn supposed she could see why. Even in repose, he looked awkward - limbs everywhere and seeming too long and sharp for his body, and large, long-fingered hands that he didn’t seem to know what to do with. His eyes pale brown eyes sparkled almost amber in the sunlight, though, and seemed to follow Mayan’s every move with a quiet warmth that made Delenn wonder if perhaps the feelings Mayan disregarded so easily might be returned, and held far more closely, in the young librarian’s heart.

Mayan greeted her friend with a cry of delight, scrambling to her feet and hugging Delenn as if she’d been gone months, not merely a week. Once introductions had been made the three students sat comfortably for a while, talking about their holidays. Mayan had visited her parents at a new dig in the far eastern peninsula, and was full of exciting descriptions of all that they had found there, which Ashan encouraged with interested and well-informed questions. Delenn was happy to let their talk wash over them, putting in only an occasional question or remark of her own, and enjoyed the cheery chatter until suddenly she noticed a straight, grey-clad shape leaning against one of the nearby buildings, watching them.

Mayan followed her gaze and growled softly. “Not now, Delenn, please. I haven’t seen you in a whole week. You can talk to the Star Rider later, can’t you?”

“He’s alone. And was alone the whole week.”

“Well, that’s his decision, and his problem, then, isn’t it? He could have gone home like everyone else.”

Delenn pressed her lips together, knowing full well that he could not, but not sure whether that information was something Neroon would be ashamed to have others in the temple knowing. 

“And Master Branmer was here with him, anyway,” Mayan continued. “So he wasn’t really alone. He’s always so grumpy about people being around, anyway. He probably enjoyed having the temple grounds to himself. He could stalk around and scowl to himself, and practice his fighting moves wherever he wanted, without bothering any of us or us bothering him.”

“I could bring him over here. We could all talk.”

Mayan made a face. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Delenn sighed. There was no arguing with Mayan when she got like this, she had learned. “I’ll talk to you later, I promise.”

Mayan muttered something to Ashan as Delenn stood, but she didn’t care. The wry half-smile that bloomed on Neroon’s stark, solemn face as she walked over to him was more than enough in exchange for Mayan’s annoyance. “How was your solstice?” she asked brightly. 

“Quiet. But peaceful,” he added, seeming not to want her to feel sorry for leaving him. “I was able to practice a lot more than usual, and I got through all the reading for our philosophy class without any trouble.”

“Good!”

“How was your father?”

Delenn smiled. “Very well. We went out into the city for the solstice celebration. I… got you this.” She dug around in her satchel for a moment, and retrieved the little sack of buvah’jah. The fat little red droplets glistened in the sunlight as she handed the bag over to him. 

“Delenn…”

“I wanted to. You shared yours with me, and I… was thinking of you. There was a display of fire-dancing in the city while we were out - the Warriors of Yedor dress in red and yellow and paint themselves all over, and fight… well, mock-fight, at least, with burning staves instead of denn’bok.” Delenn blushed, remembering the bare backs and chests of the dancers and her father’s gentle teasing. 

“I saw something like that in Kannor, many years ago,” Neroon agreed. “It’s a traditional way to welcome and honor the sun’s strength. I… wish I could have seen it with you, though.” He opened up the bag and held it out to her, then took one himself after she had popped one of the sweets in her mouth. He looked about to say something else, but got distracted suddenly by something behind her. “Your friends are waiting for you,” he said softly.

Mayan had stood up, too, now, and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched them. Ashan was watching her with a slightly worried expression.

Delenn sighed and shook her head. “I told her I would talk to her later.”

“Do you want to go back now?”

Delenn thought for a moment. She wanted to believe that if she led Neroon back to the steps they could all talk together - there was no reason they should not. Neroon’s love of history would make the story of Mayan’s parents’ dig interesting to him, and Ashan seemed like a polite enough young man that he would make no trouble. But Mayan, on the other hand… “No. If she cannot be polite and social, she can wait. I wish… But she will not listen.”

Neroon touched her arm lightly. “I’m sorry, Delenn.”

“It’s not your fault.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and turned away, walking toward the poky little herb gardens behind the Star Temple. They were not attractive, or open enough for games, so the two of them often found peace there from the other students. After a moment’s silent walk, they found a quiet area under an ancient tree where they sat down, and Delenn curled up against Neroon’s side, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Does he know about me?” Neroon asked suddenly. “Your father, I mean. Did you… have you told him about… us?”

Delenn tilted her head to look at him, surprised. "Of course. That is not a secret I could imagine keeping from him."

"And... what does he think?" Neroon seemed to steel himself for the worst, at this question, as if he was afraid Delenn would be admitting that her father had forbade her to speak with him any further. She could feel tension in the muscles of his side and stomach, as if he prepared himself not just for words but for a physical blow, and was relieved that she could soothe him on that point, at least.

Delenn smiled sadly. "He is sorry that his child is grown up enough to consider courting, but pleased that she is happy."

"He is not... displeased by the idea of his daughter being one day courted by a Warrior?"

"My father is a very simple man, Neroon. He does not possess the same opinions of Warriors that so many seem to. He is a little displeased by the idea of his daughter being one day courted by any male. But he trusts my judgment. If I say you are the one, then he will accept you." Delenn shifted around so that she was sitting in Neroon's lap, with her arms around his neck. "Unlike what you have told me about your mother," she teased. “I think that is where we may expect some parental anger, once you have told her about me.”

A muscle in Neroon’s jaw twitched as he clenched it. “That may be. But she will get used to it.”

“Do you think?”

“She’ll have to.” He leaned his cheek against Delenn’s crest as she nestled against him. “My mother is a stubborn woman, but I am her son, and no less stubborn. She will be unhappy, and may even be angry. Until she meets you. Then, I think, she will see what I have seen, even if it takes some time for her to admit to seeing it.”

Chapter Text

The Star Rider had lived at their temple for about a third of a year when Mayan's misgivings about Delenn's friendship with the boy slid into genuine concern. It had been amusing at first to tease Delenn about the boy, but as time wore on Mayan became more and more certain that her friend not only trusted this Warrior, but was becoming more and more dangerously fond of him.

"You must be careful, Delenn," Mayan warned. "He's dangerous. They all are."

Delenn rolled her eyes, but didn't look up from her book. "He's not dangerous, Mayan. He's a friend."

"He obviously is, if he's disrupting your studies this much," Mayan pointed out bitterly. "I've never seen you have to rush this much to be up-to-date on your readings." Delenn had come in late the night before - out with the Star Rider again, Mayan knew, and now had to scramble to catch up on her reading before her philosophy class. 

"I have time," Delenn insisted. "Or at least I will if you stop haranguing me about this."

Later, after class, Mayan tried again. "Did I ever tell you about the historical site I went to with my parents?"

"Which one?" Delenn asked, smiling fondly. "You've told me about at least five separate ones."

"This was a very old site, from before the time of Valen. A great battle was fought there. My parents and their people were investigating the conditions of the time and of the battle, and, since I was too young to be in temple yet, they brought me along. When we arrived at the site on the first day, a cadre of Warriors was waiting, standing on top of the ground my parents had marked for the excavation. They told us we could not dig - that they refused permission on the basis that the bones of their ancestors rested their. Mother and Father argued with their alyt for hours - they had already been granted permission by the local councils, but these Warriors wouldn't stand down. They said... horrible things, Delenn. Insulted my parents, threatened them. And when at last the local councils arrived and forced them to give way, my father told me never to trust a Warrior. All the things they've done in the past - horrible things, Delenn--"

"But that was in the time before Valen! We all did terrible things in those days - there was war between the castes, between the clans... We all did those things, and we all repented and gave up those ways at Valen's direction. You can't blame one caste--and anyway, those Warriors who your parents met didn't do anything. They just tried to scare you away from disrupting their ancestors’ bones."

"It doesn't matter! This boy is no good for you, Delenn. I recognize that in the city you are used to Warriors being nearby, but most places aren't like that, and most Warriors aren't used to being near other castes, and... Delenn, it makes me worried."

"There's nothing to worry about," Delenn assured her, squeezing her hand. "Trust me. I'm as safe with Neroon as I am with you. Now, I have to go - I promised I'd help him through some of the philosophy reading for tomorrow. I'll see you at evening prayer!"

"And then that's it," Mayan complained to Ashan later, in the library. "She's gone and off with him again, and I don't know what to do! I hate it! Thinking of them alone together, of Delenn of all people with a Warrior..." She dropped her face into her hands. "What am I going to do, Ashan?" 

Ashan frowned. "This is your roommate and friend we're talking about, yes?" 

"Delenn ra'Mir, yes. We've been the closest of friends as long as we've been at temple," Mayan told him. "As long as I've known her, nothing has come between us until now, and... I just don't know what to do. I can't stop thinking about this!"

"Do you... Do you love her?" 

Mayan gave him an odd look. "Of course I love her, she is the dearest friend in my life."

"I meant... in a romantic sense, Mayan. Do you... desire her?"

Mayan blinked, and then blushed brilliantly. "No, no. Not like that. I can't imagine... I mean, I love Delenn, but I wouldn't want... No."

"It's all right if you do, Mayan. There's no shame in it. Your family may still wish for you to have a child with a male when you are older, but--"

"I understand that," Mayan said, though the high color on her cheeks spoke another story to Ashan's eyes at least.

"I myself am attracted to both men and women. Er. Not that that matters right now,” he continued, looking away from her abruply as a bright flush spread across his face. “I'm only trying to tell you... it's all right if you do, as well. You shouldn't be afraid to talk about it."

"I know. It's just... not the way I feel. I have thought about it," she added with some embarrassment. "When we were a little younger, I thought maybe... but I really just can't imagine doing that kind of thing with her. It just wouldn't feel right."

"Ah. Well then." Ashan seemed to pull himself together, gather his thoughts... and come up short. "Then why, if you don't mind my asking, are you so concerned that Delenn is apparently involved in a relationship with this boy?"

"Because he's a Warrior!" Mayan wailed. "He's rough and coarse and he can't hold still in temple, and Delenn... she's so sheltered. She lived alone with her father until she came here to temple, and she's never traveled or done anything like that - never been further from home than the temple, never been anywhere else to speak of... She wilts in on herself when the other students laugh at her, or when a teacher tells her she's given the wrong answer, no matter how gently they say it. And now she's disappearing at all hours - at night even! - to be alone with this boy? I've had to make excuses for her when she arrives late to classes! It's not like her. She's changed, she's... not herself."

"Perhaps... Mayan, I don't wish to suggest you don't know your friend, but are you sure... are you sure it's this boy causing the change? The age you two are at, people may change on their own..."

"Of course I am sure it's him," Mayan sniffed. "She's my very dearest friend. I know Delenn better than anyone except maybe her father, and I see more of her than he does, these past years. It's utterly unlike her to disregard her lessons, which she has, or to flout our curfew, which she also has. It's unlike her to come back to our room smelling of leather and night. And it's unlike her to do anything untoward, which I'm very afraid she may if this boy continues to influence her. He's only here for the year, but she acts as if they'll always be together, and what's going to happen to her when he leaves and forgets about her?" 

"Do you truly believe he might hurt her, Mayan? And that this could be intentional conduct on his part?" Ashan asked.

"Yes! But Delenn won't listen to me. She's completely blinded by her feelings for this Warrior boy. When I try to bring it up, she either ignores me or tells me I'm being silly, so I don't know what to do!"

Ashan's face grew very grave, and he nodded slowly as if coming to a decision. "Will you come with me, then?"

"Where?"

"To speak with the temple elders. I must report your concerns to them, and it would be far better if you were to come with me, so that they may take your testimony directly rather than second-hand, trusting on my memory of your words."

"Of course... yes. Thank you, Ashan." Mayan stood and bowed deeply to her tutor - and, she realized, her friend. "I'm very grateful for your help in this."

"You're welcome. I only hope your friend will forgive you, when she realizes where the concern is rooted. The council will need to examine Neroon's presence in her life, and see if it causes legitimate danger to her... but if it is as you say, it is better that she be disappointed now than later, after matters have gone farther. I'm sure she will understand that in time," he added with a faint smile, when he saw how nervous Mayan suddenly looked.

"I'm sure," Mayan agreed, but, in truth, she did wonder how long ‘in time' might be, in this case. 

*** 

The note, delivered by one of the temple's administrative staff, gave no details, no idea of what it pertained to or whether the matter was to be considered good or bad - it only ordered her to report to the head priest's office immediately after her morning classes. Such a summons was rare but not unheard-of, particularly for a student approaching the later years of her studies from which she would in a relatively short time be sent away from the home temple onto various outside assignments that would test her skills. The priesthood usually arranged for interviews with students about her age to begin to feel out what sort of assignments might be appropriate for them in the coming years, and Delenn assumed nothing more sinister than this as she walked from her classroom to the administrative building on the other side of the temple compound. Later, she would wonder if her recent happiness had made her over-confident, perhaps even arrogant. At the time, she was concerned only with the beauty of the spring day, and with wondering whether she and Neroon might be able to slip off alone for a while to enjoy the sunshine between her afternoon classes and evening prayer.

Those thoughts washed immediately from her mind when she saw the solemn faces of the senior priests who awaited her within the office... and, across from them, Neroon and Branmer. Branmer's arms were crossed over his chest, his green eyes unreadable, and Neroon stood stiffly by his clan-brother's side, his eyes focused on the floor. He lifted his head when he saw Delenn enter, and for a brief instant she saw joy in his black eyes... followed quickly by suspicion, and something that in anyone else she would have called fear. Pressing her lips tightly together, Delenn forced herself only to nod politely to the two Star Riders, though her eyes held Neroon's the whole time, and then turned and bowed deeply to the three priests. Only Master Nafeel, the youngest of the three, nodded slightly in return.

"Sit down, Delenn," Nafeel said in what he probably thought was a kind voice. "Master Branmer, Neroon, you as well, please. We need to ask you some questions. Neroon, you were allowed to stay at this temple under the patronage of your clan-brother with the understanding that our ways might temper your youthful high spirits, and in hopes that the influence of our students would be a good one on you. Whether or not this has been the case is yet to be seen, but concern has been raised that you have had precisely the reverse effect on one of our own students. It has also been suggested that your relationship with Delenn ra'Mir is more intimate than is proper, and that your intentions toward her may not take her feelings into consideration."

"This is foolish." Branmer stepped forward. "If you will know whether my clan-brother takes Delenn's feelings into consideration, you have only to ask her. Delenn--"

"Delenn's feelings are not what is in question here, Branmer. It is the boy's intentions which concern us, and the results of those intentions on Delenn." Master Midiri stepped forward and bent over Delenn, her rumpled-silk face folded into a tight frown. "There is concern, Delenn, that your relationship with this Warrior boy is too intimate, and that he may not have your best interests at heart. As the guardians of your body and soul while you stay in this temple, we are concerned for you. We wish to protect you from the influence of those who would lead you astray. Distract you from your studies, take advantage of your innocence and the openness of your feelings. Do you understand this?"

Delenn's head spun, but she struggled to speak slowly and calmly. "Understand... No, Master, forgive me, but I do not." The spinning turned to outright nausea. Her fingers cold and trembling, her stomach suddenly weak, Delenn stared back into the old woman's pale brown eyes, forcing herself not to turn toward Neroon even though she was sure she could feel his gaze on her, waiting to hear what she would say. "Neroon is my very dear friend. I care deeply for him, and... and I have never had cause to believe he feels otherwise for me. Whoever made these complaints... I believe they were sorely mistaken, Master."

Midiri nodded sharply, and turned to Neroon. "And you, boy?"

"This is ridiculous--"

"Let the boy speak, Branmer. Speak."

Delenn closed her eyes tightly. To look at Neroon now, she sensed, would only increase his shame.

"She is... I..." Neroon's voice tightened, and he fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, it was in a low tone that sent shivers down Delenn's spine. "I would never willingly hurt Delenn ra'Mir. I would die rather than cause her pain."

"There, you see? Now let this foolishness be ended, Midiri. You have no evidence, no reason to question my brother's motives or intentions. Delenn says Neroon is her friend, and he swears he would not hurt her. Your informant was wrong."

"The one who brought these concerns to us was not alone in noticing or worrying about Delenn's... closeness, with the boy," Midiri said, frowning even deeper if possible. "Several of her teachers have remarked that her studies have suffered in the last months - that her attention appears to wander, and that she is frequently seen to arrive late to her classes, or slip out early. Many have noticed that much of her free time is spent on the grounds with the boy. There is concern among many here that she has given undue trust to this boy, and that he may intend to misuse that trust, and her, with cruel intention. I do not consider the testimony of one love-struck girl and her would-be seducer to be sufficient against these charges." 

Delenn's face felt as if it had been pressed against a brazier, and her hands, folded in her lap, trembled no matter how hard she tried to keep them still. To think that this elder could take the tentative words of feeling she had exchanged with Neroon and so casually cast them to the floor, turn them into something shameful and humiliating... it turned her stomach and made her want to melt into the stones beneath her. 

"Tell me, Delenn," Midiri's voice continued over her head, "precisely what has passed between you and this boy."

Delenn gritted her teeth, and tears traced cool lines down the heat on her cheeks. "We have walked outside, on the grounds. We have talked, about... about our families, our friends, our studies... We have kissed..." She swallowed, though the tightness in her throat made it hurt to do so and it did nothing to dissipate the thickness of emotion in her voice. "And we have... touched, through our clothes. Nothing more. I swear it. At that point, always, we have stopped. He stopped, even though I, I..." She trailed off, overtaken by embarrassment. 

"The girl is clearly confused, humiliated by what has happened. Humiliated by the manipulations of this boy who has convinced her that she is the aggressor in their encounters--"

"Are we hearing the same words, the same voice?" Branmer interrupted angrily. "The girl is humiliated, yes, because you are making her speak of private matters in this way, and shaming her for them!"

"Master Branmer, if you cannot be silent during this inquiry we will be forced to send you away," Midiri snapped.

"So that you can blame Neroon for every ill the Warrior caste has ever done? Heap shame and dishonor on him until your vitriol against his caste is satisfied? No, Midiri. If you send me away, you will have a call in moments from the head of the Star Rider clan, and I do not believe the head of the Warrior caste would be far behind him. If you will maintain any pretense at all that this is a fair inquiry, I stay as Neroon's advocate before a hostile council."

"He is correct, Midiri," the third high priestess, Firell, pointed out. "The boy is allowed an advocate who will speak for him, as he is a stranger here, and not yet an adult."

"Very well," Midiri growled. "Now, boy, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Neroon's voice was tight, as if he spoke through gritted teeth and muscles that he held still only by a great effort. "Delenn speaks the truth. And I swear in Valen's name, I have never intended harm to her, in body or heart. What more can I say?" 

"And yet there are concerns, and concerns of this nature must be heeded. Some care must be taken, to ensure that our charges are kept safe." Firell stepped forward, now, and bent down to speak gently to Delenn alone, first. "We are not asking you to cut off all contact with this boy, Delenn. He is a guest here in this temple, and we are quite willing for cordial friendship to be fostered between young people of our caste and his. That is entirely appropriate. It is the intimacy of your contact with him that concerns those who care about you. The social worlds that you both come from are very different. He has been raised to hard words, hard ways - some things that are done for the joining of hearts and souls among the Religious caste are... done with less feeling by the Warriors. What is right for them is right for them, but, misunderstood by one of us, might cause great suffering. What we ask is that you take care, and be mindful of the difference between our castes, and know that matters of the personal must be handled with great care with such a gap between us."

Off to the side, Delenn heard an angry snort that she suspected came from Branmer, but none of the elder priests paid it any notice.

"In order to ensure that you take proper consideration of this," Midiri continued from where Firell had left off, "you shall both be under observation. From now on, until we are convinced that his intentions toward you are honorable, you are not allowed to see the Warrior boy alone. You may see him in public, when you are with other students and teachers, but you may never go out of sight of others with him, and you may never allow him to follow you where you will be unseen by others. If one of you comes upon the other alone in any place, indoors or out, the Warrior boy must leave that place so that you may continue to go about your daily routine here, as is necessary to your studies."

"He has a name." Immediately after the words left her mouth, Delenn wished she could recall them - she did not need the narrowing of the older woman's eyes and the tightening of her lips to tell her that she had spoken out of turn, and imprudently.

"He does," Midiri agreed in a quiet, dangerous voice. "And for you, that name is Fi'sulara, Star Rider. It is Zha'den, Warrior. Anything else is unnecessary and inappropriate to your age and condition. Is that clear, Delenn ra'Mir?"

Delenn bowed her head, and, through gritted teeth, murmured, "Yes, Master." No other answer could possibly be appropriate, whether or not she agreed in the slightest.

"Further to what I have said, for you to be together with the boy in the presence only of Master Branmer is also not allowed for the length of this restriction. Given your connection to the boy and your statements here in this inquiry, Branmer, you cannot be considered an impartial witness. If the children are discovered in your company only, it shall be dealt with as if they were found alone."

"This is for your safety, Delenn," Nafeel put in, his sickly-sweet voice oily and oozing against her ears. "Your well-being is very important to your teachers and friends here, and we want only to keep you safe from those who would misuse your innocence. If the boy can prove by adherence to these restrictions that his intentions toward you are in line with those concerns, and if your studies return to their former levels and remain there, then we will lift this restriction on you, and there will be no need for further censure on either of you."

"Censure?" Branmer repeated in a tone of barely-restrained fury.

Delenn felt as if her heart was trying to hide in her stomach to avoid any more hurt.
"There must be consequences, if these concerns are found to be merited. Delenn, the penalty for you will be mild - we know you bore no ill-will in this matter, and were led astray by outside forces you could not anticipate or understand. If the judgment falls against you both, the worst you will suffer is three years added to your training here, to be spent making up the studies you have neglected in your time with this boy, and contemplating the importance of discretion and obedience to those who know better than you."

"And for Neroon? If we are judged guilty--" Delenn faltered.

"The guilt is not yours, child," Nafeel told her. "You need not worry."

"But if judgment falls against us, what punishment would be given to him?" Delenn pressed on, determined to hear the worst.
"Yes, Nafeel." Branmer stood forth again, as if he would put himself between the priests and his clan-brother to protect him. "Tell us."

"The boy will be sent back to his clan in disgrace, as is appropriate to the indecency of his behavior." Nafeel folded his hands in his sleeves. "His presence here was protested from the beginning, and only your direct patronage gave us the confidence to bring him here, Branmer. If he has broken that trust, the Warriors must deal with their own... but we will make clear to them that his behavior has been unacceptable, and that he has brought shame on his clan and caste while among us. That is all you need to know."

Delenn felt tears welling up in her eyes. Neroon valued his and his clan's honor above all things, she knew - he would prefer to suffer the punishments meted out in the old stories, the lashings and physical trials and the battles against great monsters or impossible odds, rather than go home with dishonor to his family. And Branmer... if his patronage had allowed Neroon to be brought to the temple, then Neroon's disgrace would fall just as heavily on him, if not harder still.

"That is not quite all that must be said, however," Branmer said softly. "The children's parents must be notified of what has happened and what has been decided for them. That is only right - either may wish to remove their children from this temple before the matter goes any further, considering the risks to family honor should this continue."

"Very well." Firell brushed a tapestry aside to reveal a communications panel. "As a member of the family, I trust you will wish to contact Neroon's parents yourself, Branmer?"

"His mother. My cousin, Neroon's father, passed beyond many years ago." Branmer nodded and grimly punched in the correct routing information, then stood, shoulders back and feet shoulder-width apart, as he waited for the call to go through. He spoke briefly with the young Warrior who answered the summons first, then the whole room waited in tense silence for a long moment until the screen flicked to life again with the image of a dour, stoutly-built female Warrior in black and silver armor.

"I take it this is important, Branmer. So. What has happened to my son?"

"Alyt Sinolin, my apologies for disturbing you from your responsibilities. Nothing has happened physically, but there has been some... difficulty, here today." Branmer quickly outlined the subject and content of the inquiry for the woman, who nodded tersely a few times, her black eyes narrowed. 

"This girl he is accused of misleading, what does she say to this?" she finally asked.

"The girl, Delenn, is here," Branmer replied, indicating her. Delenn stepped tentatively forward into the view of the communication screen's camera. The look Neroon's mother cast over her was quick, measuring, and cold.

"All the trouble you describe, for this little wisp?" Sinolin snorted. "Well, girl? What do you say to these accusations? Or can you speak at all?"

For the second time in the day, Delenn swallowed her fear and tried to speak as calmly as she could, though it was hard to pick her voice up from a whisper in the chill of the dark gaze that pierced her from the screen. "I have told the elders the truth, Alyt - that I trust in my friendship with Neroon, and in his honor, and believe with all my heart that his intentions toward me are good." 

"Hmph." Sinolin released Delenn's gaze and sought out her son in the background. "And you, Neroon? You are meant to be learning patience with your clan-brother's people, but from what I can see here you are learning frustration, ignorance, and some questionable taste in companionship. Perhaps you would be better returning to the training camp, after all."

Neroon stood before his mother as straight as his pike, his arms rigid at his side. "With respect, Mother, I ask that you allow me to remain here, assuming Delenn's father allows the same. While I have found frustration here, I have also found loyal friendship, and I would be shamed not to return that loyalty in kind." 

"Indeed." Sinolin regarded her son thoughtfully, and threw another sideways glance over Delenn, as if to double-check her initial impressions and weigh them against her son's words. No doubt she still found her impression wanting, but Delenn was too relieved to care. Neroon would stay, if only she could convince her father to let her stay as well, and if he stayed that meant they would still have some time together, even if it could not be alone. "Well, if Neroon would keep to his training, then I remand him to your authority once again, Branmer. Take care, boy, that I do not have cause to regret this decision." With that, and a swift Warrior's salute, Sinolin cut off the communication. 

"And now you, Delenn." Midiri gestured her forward. "Let us contact your father, and I will explain matters to him."

There was no subordinate officer or aide to answer Delenn's father's messages for him - Clarenn answered himself, after a brief delay, and regarded the scene before him with a slightly worried expression. "Delenn? Is everything all right?"

The sound of her father's voice and the quiet concern in his grey eyes were enough to take away Delenn's voice altogether - after all she had been through in the past short while, it seemed that it took only his presence, distant as it was, to turn her into a child again. A large part of her wanted to fall into his arms and cry out all her sorrow and anger at the injustices of the day onto his shoulder. She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyelids tight against the tears as Midiri gave her version of events. She emphasized to Clarenn that his daughter was accused of nothing more than being taken in through her innocence by bad company, and that the priesthood were doing their best to protect her, but that she refused to listen to them. With every word Delenn grew more angry, until she was biting her lip to keep from interrupting the old priestess rather than to prevent herself from crying like a child.

When at last Midiri had finished, Delenn opened her eyes again to meet her father's grave, worried eyes, and spoke calmly, and without hesitation. "The accusations against my friend are lies and false rumors, Father. Master Midiri and Master Nafeel have taken them to heart, and I understand they do so out of concern for me, but these concerns are entirely unwarranted. My friend is honorable, and I trust in him. If you ask me to come home to you, I will be forced to obey, but it would bring shame and dishonor to my friend, because it would say to everyone that these lies are the truth, and that he cannot be trusted. Please, let me stay."

"Delenn..." Clarenn reached out toward the screen, as if he would touch her, and then lowered his hand with an effort. "Are you certain this is what you want, ah'iersa?"

"Yes, Father. I am certain."

"And you believe in your mind as well as your heart that this boy is worthy of your trust?"

"Yes, Father."

Clarenn smiled sadly. "Then you have my permission to stay. Is this your... friend, then?" he asked, glancing at Neroon. Out of the corner of her eye, Delenn saw Neroon tense and straighten again, as if he feared an inspection like the one Delenn had experienced under his mother's eye. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, Delenn had to smother a smile.

"Yes, Father. This is Neroon ra'Fi'sularae. Neroon, this is my father, Clarenn ra'Mir."

Neroon moved to Delenn's side, made a crisp Warrior's salute, and bowed deeply. Clarenn saluted in the Religious fashion and bowed in return. 

"It seems that your path with my daughter will not run smooth, Neroon of the Star Riders," Clarenn said in a slow, considering tone. "Any father would fear to hear these things that have been said today. But Delenn says she trusts you and this is... not the first time we have spoken of that trust. And I, in turn, must trust the judgment of her good heart and mind. You look to me like an honorable young man. I pray you will keep that honor in mind, and be worthy of the trust Delenn places in you."

"I... will do everything in my power to do so, sir." Neroon bowed again. "And I thank you."

Clarenn bowed in return, and then hesitated, as if he would say something else, but not in front of such an extensive audience. Then he turned his attention back to Delenn. "Take care, ah'iersa. Remember that you are young, and that there is no shame in waiting for things that will grow better with time. And remember that to me, you are the suns and the moons and all the stars in the sky."

"I will, Father." Delenn pressed her heart to her hand, and reached the other out toward her father, biting her lip to keep from crying. "Take care." 

As the communication clicked off, Delenn swallowed a sudden, welling desire to say she took it all back, that she would prefer to go home to her father... but to what purpose? There would be no future for her if she left temple without finishing her studies, and it would not take away either the ache in her heart for Neroon and his tightly-held honor, or the sharp, painful knowledge that her father had somehow begun to grow old while she was away. What was done, was done. She turned to Neroon, beside her, his face pale and taut, and tried to smile. Her lip trembled, and he lifted a gloved hand to touch her cheek... and then lowered it with a laboured swallow and a clenched jaw. 

"How long?" he asked the room at large. His eyes did not leave Delenn's, and there was no doubt in her mind what he was questioning. The same thought was on her mind - how long did they have to prove themselves, before they could be together again?

"Three months."

"Three..." Neroon closed his mouth, and a muscle in his jaw jumped at the tension in him. Three months took them through the rest of summer and into autumn, far too close for their tastes to the end of his year at the temple, the time when he would return to his own training with his own caste, far away.

"Three months," Midiri repeated. "Surely if your love is so true, you can wait that little time." An obvious sneer in her voice made Delenn glad she was not facing the old priestess - if she could see it as well as hear it, Delenn felt sure she would do something foolish to ruin all their chances.

"And at the end of that time, if I have proven myself honorable...?"

"Then there will be no danger in letting you be alone together, so long as you promise to continue to behave suitably toward each other," Branmer said, as calmly as if it was his decision to make. Delenn turned to look at him, then at Midiri, who scowled bitterly. But Firell nodded, and, after a moment, so did Nafeel.

"Three months, then. There will not be much time left after that, before I must leave..." Neroon's voice made it a question, and Delenn turned back to him.

"Whatever time there is will be worth the wait," she assured him. 

"Then... until then." He swallowed again, saluted and bowed deeply to her, then lifted his head and walked swiftly away. Branmer followed him, and Delenn stood for a moment, shocked and alone in the center of the room, before she could make herself begin the long walk back to her dormitory.

*** 

In tightly-controlled silence, the two Star Riders all but marched back to the temple annex where they shared quarters. Master Branmer muttered meditative prayers under his breath and, in the privacy of his thoughts, cursed the ignorance of his colleagues; beside him, Neroon's dark eyes stood out enormous and staring in his pale face.

The boy held himself together admirably, but when they had reached the safety of their quarters, he broke, dropping into a chair and crying with the rough, tearing sobs of a child struggling desperately to be a man, and finding it just beyond his reach. Branmer abandoned his pretense at calm and knelt by Neroon's side, resting his hand lightly on the back of the boy's gauntleted wrist. 

"I have done nothing," Neroon spat, hating the tears he choked on, "nothing to be deserving of this."

"In their eyes, you have. You made the mistake of falling in love with Delenn ra'Mir."

Neroon froze, darting uncertain glances at his patron. "Mistake?"

"In their eyes," Branmer said again. "Not mine." The eyes that looked on him so forlornly pierced through his soul. "You have been all I will ever have of a son, Neroon, and in Valen's name, I swear to you, I will not allow the petty furies of my caste to destroy the happiness you have found here."

Nodding tightly with the effort of reining in his emotions, Neroon looked down at floor. "I... I miss her, va'malid. I miss her already." 

Branmer pulled the boy's head down on his shoulder, and held him quietly. 

*** 

When she arrived back at her room, Delenn found Mayan already there, waiting for her. The thought of explaining all that had happened was instantly too much for Delenn, and she fell to the bed into her friend's arms, and burst into tears. Mayan held her tight, stroked her arms and shoulders, and murmured meaningless soft words to her, her musical voice like a lullabye, until at last her tears slowed against her friend's shoulder.

"There," Mayan murmured. "There, Delenn. It will be all right. It's for the best, maybe."

Delenn froze. "What?"

"That boy, leaving. Or whatever it is. I thought I heard you say it was about him," Mayan corrected quickly, her eyes suddenly wide as she realized what she had said.

Hot rage filled Delenn's heart. "I never told you what I was crying for," she hissed. "You knew. You were the one who told them! You lied, Mayan!"

"I did not!" Mayan shouted. "I did not lie at all, Delenn! I told Master Midiri that I was afraid for you, and I was. I told her I believed that Star Rider would hurt you, and I do! That is all. There was no lie in it!"

"You lied to me just now, telling me you thought you heard me say--no, I will not argue with you. I have called you my dearest friend since the day we came to this temple, Mayan, and you betrayed me."

"No, Delenn, listen to me. I only spoke to them because--"

"No, Mayan." Delenn stood up, surprising herself with the cold calm of her voice. "No, I will not hear anymore of this. You have hurt me, and hurt someone I care about - someone I love," she corrected. She had not dared to say it earlier in front of the high priests, for fear it would only strengthen their claims, but there and then, she was too furious to be careful. "I am leaving. When I come back after evening prayers, do not speak to me. I will not speak to you. Until we can be moved to other rooms, that is for the best."

"Delenn, please, don't go..." Mayan's sweet voice, thick with tears, cut off as Delenn shut their door behind her.

Outside, the sky was bright and the air warm. Around the grounds, students sat in the sunlight reading and chatting, a few leaning on the arms or shoulders of friends or lovers. Delenn wrapped her arms tightly around herself despite the heat, lowered her head and focused on the worn, stone pathway as she hurried to the library to begin the long work before her.

Three days passed. Although Delenn applied for a change of room, the administration could not allow a change unless some other girl in her age group was willing to trade, and everyone she knew was happy with their placement. So every morning Delenn rose early, dressed and gathered her study materials and slipped out the door without speaking to Mayan. She ate with study companions and lesser friends who, while less intimate and loving than she had once been with Mayan, at least did not comment on her situation with Neroon. And when not in class, in prayers, or in the dining hall, Delenn spent all her time in the library, studying to make up for the delays that her teachers had accused her of. And everywhere, as she walked, she looked for Neroon, but saw him nowhere. She began to fear he might have changed his mind, and returned to his family and his training camp, after all. Finally, late in the afternoon on the third day, she found him standing outside the library. He looked forlorn and awkward in his dark grey coat amid the crowd of white-robed students and priests, but his eyes took on a cautious warmth when he saw her.

Caution, Delenn decided, could be damned. She threw her arms around his neck, and was relieved when he held her tightly in return. "I missed you," she whispered against his neck.

"I know. And I missed you."

"I wanted to send you a note, but I was afraid; I wasn't sure--"

"Nor was I." 

Delenn took a deep breath. "I know who told the high priests they were worried about us. It was Mayan."

"Your friend, the poet?" Neroon let out a soft, angry hiss. "I should have guessed."

"So should I, but she did not make it difficult to discover once I came back to our room after the inquiry."

"And now?" 

"I am trying to get assigned another roommate, but so far I've had no luck. It will be a very long three months, with a roommate I cannot even speak to."

"I'm sorry, Delenn. At least I have had Branmer's friendship these past days. If I had known, I would have found somewhere to wait for you sooner."

"It's all right." Delenn buried her face in the collar of his coat. "It's more important that we not risk breaking the rules, right now."

Neroon growled softly, and pulled back from their embrace, holding her steady so he could look into her eyes. "I know. But... you are well?"

"I am well, I promise you. And you?" 

The corner of his lip quirked up a little. "I will be well," he said softly, "when I can once again see my priestess whenever she wishes to see me. Until then, I am... waiting." He kissed her, quick and chaste, and then pulled back, bowed, and walked away through the crowd, toward the Star Temple. Delenn watched him until the dark of his coat disappeared in the distance.

Chapter Text

The next day at her tutoring session, Mayan was unable to concentrate. She had slept poorly, haunted by bad dreams - some in which the Warrior boy tormented Delenn and hurt her feelings, and others in which they both taunted Mayan together. Sometimes Delenn simply refused to look at her. The last was the worst, as it was much what their daily life had become. 

"Delenn knows I spoke to the elders," Mayan told Ashan. "I accidentally said something when she got back to our rooms, after they spoke with her, and... and now she knows, and she called me a liar for what I told them." She did not mention that she really had lied, just a little bit, when Delenn caught her - that was her own shame, and a shame she didn’t want her tutor to know about. It was bad enough to how sadly he looked at her, already. 

"You did this to protect her, Mayan. If you genuinely believed what you told the council, then you are not at fault."

"I did, of course, but..." Mayan dropped her head onto her arm, leaning over the table. "Now she won’t even speak to me."

"Isn’t it better that she not speak to you than that she be hurt? Mayan, she will forgive you in time. Once she sees that what you did was meant with love, she will forgive. And if you have truly spared her harm--"

"Have I?" Mayan shook her head, burying her face in her sleeve. "You haven’t heard what the other students say. The rest of our year, they know what has happened, but they don’t know why, and the rumors... The things I have heard said about Delenn, when people don’t think I’m listening, or assume I don’t mind anymore because we’re not talking... I only meant for the Warrior boy to get in trouble, not her! But no one seems to understand that it’s just him who caused the trouble!"

"These things often do not work out the way we imagine. So long as you know that you have done the right thing--"

"I don’t know anymore." The fabric of her sleeve muffled Mayan’s voice somewhat, but at least hid the tears that were slipping out between her tightly squeezed eyelids. "What if I was wrong? What if I did all this, and I was wrong?"

Ashan sighed. He had feared this from the beginning - that however certain his young friend had been at the time, she might later discover a great deal less certainty once the consequences of her actions began to fall into place. He had thought that the worst that would happen was a number of uncomfortable questions asked around temple for a time, and a falling-out with her friend if the other girl realized who might be behind the trouble. But the temple elders had moved quickly, and with force that, for himself, Ashan thought far too harsh for the situation.

"You are not the one at fault, here, Mayan. Even if your fears were wrong, you truly believed them - correct?"

"Yes, but..."

He raised a hand for silence. "You truly believed that if you did not speak, your friend might come to harm. It was not your job to know whether those fears were founded. That was the job of the elders. You and I brought them a concern, and it is their responsibility to investigate and act wisely upon what they find. If they have gone about this thing in a wrong way, that is their fault, not yours. You are a student, and not responsible for how your elders act."

"But that won’t matter to Delenn! She blames me, and now that the elders have done all of this..."

"Mayan. Stop. Your friend is adhering to the rules given to her by the elders, correct?"

"Yes."

"And the Star Rider boy, as well?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I have no doubt that eventually they will be able to convince the elders that they were wrong in their initial assessment, and all will go back to the way it was before."

"But in the mean time... she’s so angry with me. And miserable. I’ve never seen Delenn so upset."

"It sounds as if she truly loves the boy," Ashan suggested quietly. "And what about him? What does he act like?"

"He is... grim, and silent. He works very hard in class, speaks to no one, and returns to the Star Temple as soon as our lessons are over. The only other time I see him is when he waits in public to spend a little time with Delenn." Mayan frowned, and then blushed. "He brightens, then, but only for a moment - he turns to stone again when he remembers they cannot be seen to linger together, or go anywhere alone. Sometimes he lifts his hand to touch her arm or her face, but he always pulls away, and... he looks as if his heart tears to do it."

Ashan nodded for a moment, taking this all in, and allowing Mayan to do the same. "That does not sound," he said slowly, "like the actions of a heartless seducer, or of a boy bent on careless fun that would harm your friend."

Mayan squeezed her eyes shut again, and again her head dropped to the table as she covered her face with her sleeves. "I know."

"What’s done is done," Ashan told her gently, and touched her shoulder very lightly. "Now we will see if we cannot ease the burden on them just a little bit, and make the time of their trial a little less painful. Will you help me with that, Mayan?"

The young woman nodded, but it was a long time before she recovered herself enough to lift her head and return to their work.

*** 

Neroon listened sullenly to Ashan's cheerful instructions. Why Branmer had decided that he was the best person to assist the acolyte librarian in his project of rearranging this obscure corner of the archives, Neroon had no idea--actually, he knew perfectly well: it was because Neroon had a decent amount of muscle mass, compared to the poor excuses of male physique that populated the temple school. Ashan was a tall, big fellow, but Neroon's practiced eye summed the young man up as more shape than substance. At least, he thought, helping to empty the free-standing shelves of their burden, Ashan did not watch him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for 'that Warrior boy' to damage one of the ancient books. 

"I will be right back, Neroon," said Ashan after a time. "There is a student waiting near the front. I must see if she needs assistance."

Neroon grunted, and kept working. He did not look up until someone gasped in soft delight. "Neroon!"

His heart nearly leapt from his chest, and he almost dropped the volumes in his hands. "Delenn?" Carefully he set the books down on the floor, just in time for Delenn to throw her arms around his neck. He hugged her tightly, closing his eyes against the upswell of emotion, but he was unable to contain the sudden wave of peace that washed over him at being with his priestess again. "It is very late--shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I have permission from my teachers to study late tonight..." Both of them froze and stepped apart when Ashan came into view. 

"Neroon, I'm going to start working on the shelves in the corner." He pointed amiably at a section that was close enough for him to remain in sight, but far enough away that conversation would not be possible. "Delenn, the books you're looking for should be in this clutter somewhere." He bestowed his usual friendly smile on both of them and moved to the other side of the stacks. 

Neroon blinked. "I sense a conspiracy."

"I begin to sense the same thing." But she was not about to argue with it. Tentatively, Delenn took his hand. "Are you... are you well, Neroon?"

He shrugged, and his lips twitched. "Well enough." He curled his fingers around her small hand, and touched her face lightly. "If nothing else," he said, his voice very low, "I am certainly learning patience." Her pale eyes gazed longingly up at him, and very willingly Neroon bent down and pressed a slow, tender kiss to her lips. They stayed that way for many long moments, glad to simply be in one another's presence again, to feel their nearness and smell the comforting scents of leather and incense. 

Across the room, Ashan smiled to himself, and returned to his task.

*** 

There was a very old and beautiful book on the table when Mayan sat down for her weekly tutoring session. "What's this?" She touched the hand-tooled leather cover gently.

"Chollan's 'Songs from the Wastelands.'" Ashan's pleasant, slightly foolish face was more subdued than usual. "5th-century meditations on wandering and solitude."

Mayan grimaced as she sat. "Charming."

"They're better than they sound, I promise," he smiled. "Master Firell says you're progressing well in your 2nd-century studies, so I thought you deserved a break." 

Warmed by the praise, Mayan reached for the book, then paused. "Tell me about Chollan."

"Ah, you're learning. Good." Ashan leaned back with the absent expression he always assumed when discussing history, but without the enthusiasm that Mayan had grown accustomed to. "Chollan was originally a member of the Worker caste. He joined the Religious caste in the belief that it would help him to better understand his place in the universe, but he was unsatisfied, so he became an outsider, a wanderer. He removed himself from society and lived among the wild, and in his loneliness, found the answers and the peace that he had been seeking."

Something in his quiet voice made Mayan regard her friend with concern. "Are you... Ashan, are you all right?"

He smiled at her, but his eyes seemed sad. "Read the first piece and tell me what you think."

Mayan read the short, simple poem carefully. "It's very... confident," she decided after a moment. "It's as though Chollan has left his worldly concerns as well as the world. He knows he will be confronting hardship and loneliness, but he is almost excited about it."

"Excellent. And the next?"

Patiently as ever, Ashan led her through the old, simple songs, letting Mayan slowly unfold their plain music for herself. She was surprised and delighted by the ancient poet's almost-boyish naiveté and his unquenchable ability to find beauty in the most unlikely of places--in hunger, in the bleached bones of an animal, in the aftermath of an avalanche. But she missed Ashan's eagerness and the way he would wander off on any vaguely-related subject, and the way his cheeks flushed when she had to pull him back to the poem at hand.

She was a quarter of the way through the book before she looked at the clock and realized their time was nearly at an end. "These are wonderful," she smiled at her tutor. "Thank you for sharing them with me." She closed the book carefully and held it out to him. 

Ashan shook his head. "Take it. I've had it for years, and memorized the whole thing."

"This is yours? Ashan, I am honored, but--" His long, ink-stained fingers closed over hers, pressing the book into her hands. 

"Please, take it." 

Without thinking, Mayan reached up to touch his face. "Ashan, what's happened?" 

"Nothing. It is only that Chollan's poetry has helped me through many difficult times in my life. I'd hoped it might do the same for you."

His kindness washed over Mayan until she felt tears stinging her eyes. "My best friend hates the sight of me. I hope you have never had to wrestle with such a hardship as I am going through now."

"Shai’mira Mayan... With respect, I have endured far worse." He sat back in his chair, and Mayan immediately felt the loss of his warm, smooth face and hands. "I am the younger of two children. When I was twelve years old, my older sister became gravely ill. My parents wanted me nearby, so they took me from my school and brought me home. For months, the house was hushed and dim. Physicians came and went, and could offer my parents no hope. My mother and father spent all their time beside my sister's bed, and I was there as well. Her suffering was..." Ashan swallowed and closed his eyes. "I tried to be brave, for my parents. And when I could endure no more, I escaped to my father's library. It was a warm, dusty, cozy place, and with the record of so many wise voices surrounding me, I had no fear of ever being alone. I first discovered Chollan there, as well as Dirshak and Nattar, and all the other 2nd-century poets that you loathe so much." He smiled slightly at his student. "They helped me to be strong when my sister died, and to remain strong for my parents, so now I give them to you, that you may learn to be strong in yourself."

"Thank you, Ashan." It was all she could say; her heart was too heavy with sorrow for her quiet friend. "How... how old was your sister?"

"She was ten years older than me. She died twenty years ago today. This," he leaned forward and touched the book lightly, "is my way of honoring her memory, as well as hopefully helping you." 

"I will treasure it," Mayan vowed. "Thank you." She gathered up her books and bowed to her tutor. Ashan nodded vaguely at her. His long, loose frame slumped in the chair. "Ashan? Would you... You should come for a walk with me."

He looked up in surprise. Then his long, sad face relaxed into a smile. "Yes. I suppose I should."

*** 

Neroon looked up from his book when Branmer strode into the Annex. "Pack your things," said the towering man brusquely.

All the color drained from Neroon's face. "What have I done now?" he whispered.

But Branmer was smiling. "Not a thing, but I am in haste. So pack up. We leave within the hour."

Neroon had little besides the clothes he had brought with him, which were easily tumbled back into his rucksack. "Ah'malier, what's going on?"

"The upper three years are being sent to the western coast for a few days of holiday and exploration of nature. And it just so happens that this will coincide with the Fedurae'Fili."

"Yes, I know. Delenn seems very excited about it." Neroon winced at the bitterness in his own voice. "At least she will be removed from some of this poisonous atmosphere," he muttered. Then he sighed. "But she will be gone for over a week... and she was already gone for the Solstice..."

Branmer recalled what Sinolin had said about her son's affection for the Religious caste girl, and thought to himself that this was a great deal of melancholy for a passing infatuation, but he kept his own counsel, as always. 

"So where are we going, while everyone is away?"

"We’re going with them."

"What? Both of us--I?"

Branmer rolled his broad shoulders in an affirmative shrug. "The students need chaperones, and I am the only other teacher besides Master Firell who can be spared."

"And... Master Midiri is allowed me to go with you?"

"No." Branmer's green eyes snapped. "But I told her that if you were not going, then I was not going. And since if I did not go, then no one could go..." He snorted and dismissed Midiri. "You will still have to behave yourself," he warned.

Neroon straightened smartly. "Yes, Master!" If it meant being away from most of the whispers and most of the judging eyes, if it meant being outside to see the legendary Fedurae'Fili meteor shower, if it meant... "Do you think I will be allowed to see Delenn?"

His foster father's face softened into a smile. "So long as you do not flout the censure laid upon you, I think you may see much of Delenn. Master Firell is a fair woman, and she will have too many other matters to attend to, to let herself be bothered by a harmless pair of young lovers." And he laughed at the blush that spread across the boy's face.

*** 

Of all the senior students, Mayan was by far the most well-traveled, having been to nearly every corner of the continent in the course of visiting her parents at various dig sites over the years, so compared to her fellow novices, the long trip to the F'tach Islands was no trouble at all. Even Delenn, who was more or less used to traveling back and forth between her school and Yedor, had to work hard to conceal her nervousness. She had never been so far away from all that was familiar and safe and loved. At least Mayan was present. As angry as she still was with her roommate, it was reassuring to have her nearby, along with all the other boys and girls they had grown up among. And Delenn had promised Master Firell very solemnly that she would be civil to Mayan during their trip, as the two girls would still have to share quarters at the seashore. In return, the teacher had intimated that Delenn would be allowed to spend time with the Star Rider boy--appropriately chaperoned time, of course.

Delenn liked Master Firell, in spite of the part she had played in her separation from Neroon. She had always preferred her male teachers to her female ones, particularly Draal, master of novices, and Turval, the meditation teacher. All the students adored Draal, and Turval reminded Delenn so greatly of her father that he had soothed much of her early childish homesickness. Firell's subjects of history and literature no longer formed the bulk of Delenn's studies, and Firell herself had always struck Delenn as rather frosty and distant, but also as a decent person. Even during the horrible interrogation in the elders' chamber, Firell had been genuinely concerned for her student.

Looking up briefly from her book, Delenn studied Master Firell as she sat at the front of the compartment. Master Branmer sat across from her. He seemed to be ignoring everything around him, completely lost in thought. Neroon stared out the window. Firell was composed, as usual, but for the first time, Delenn saw a kind of sadness in her face and posture. She never looked at Branmer, but it was plain to Delenn that she wanted to. Neroon's assertion that Branmer and Firell had been lovers before his arrival had always seemed a odd thing to say, but for once, the history professor's guard was down, and Delenn could see that Firell missed her Star Rider as much as Delenn missed Neroon. 

Firell had agreed to the censure laid on the students, but in doing what she judged to be right, Delenn wondered if she had driven away the man she loved. She had not permitted herself to speak to Branmer since the restrictions had been laid upon her, and as close as she was to the astronomy master, to speak of his private affairs was a breach of propriety Delenn would never dare. But she had seen him angry on rare occasions before, and it was a frightening sight. Branmer did not lash out, did not sulk as his foster son did. His wrath was like a creeping winter, slow to reveal itself and even slower to depart. But if he was angry at Firell, Delenn had no way of knowing. 

At his place at the window, Neroon sighed. Delenn wished she could go and sit beside him. 

Mayan was telling the other students a story, about a cruel king in ancient times, cursed to live his life as a beast of the sea, and how he would sometimes change into man-shape to seduce people into the depths of the ocean. Her voice was strong and captivating, as always, but Delenn had no heart to listen to stories about cruelty, and not from Mayan's lips. Doubtless the young poet was merely trying to divert her fellow students' attention, but Delenn could not concentrate on the tale. She chastised herself for thinking such forlorn thoughts, and wished again that she could sit down beside Neroon, not even to speak with him, but perhaps to take his hand for a moment or two and reassure him--and herself--that all would be well. 

Nothing, she told herself firmly, was ever accomplished by merely wishing. 

She frowned, and thought over those words again. She thought carefully about the restrictions that had been placed upon them. Then she rose from her seat, made her way past the rest of the student passengers and into the front compartment, bowed politely to her teachers, and with a strange mixture of defiance and bashfulness that went straight to her cheeks, sat down primly beside the Star Rider boy.

Neroon jumped, slightly startled, and looked at her as though he thought he might be dreaming. Branmer roused himself from his contemplations, eyed the girl for a moment or two, then glanced sideways at his colleague. Delenn smoothed her robes and met Master Firell's appraising gaze steadily. I am doing nothing wrong, she repeated silently. I can do nothing wrong.

After an interminable moment, Firell nodded. Delenn thought she saw a tiny smile at the corner of her lips, but she wasn't sure. She took Neroon's hand and held it firmly in her small fingers. By slow degrees, waiting for the order to stop, Neroon put his arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. Firell saw them plain as daylight, but made no protest. 

All will be well again, Delenn thought, tightening her grip on Neroon's hand and willing him to hear her thoughts with his heart. In time, all must be well again.

***

When they arrived at last at the western coast, the students were eager to leave the transport behind. Most ran ahead, shouting and chatting excitedly with their friends. Delenn held back, staying close to Neroon’s side for as long as she could, and he was not at all inclined to change that. It was an unfamiliar relief, even after so short a separation, to have her close and hold her hand in his again.

Even with the tacit approval of Branmer and Firell, though, it could not last forever. When they arrived - the last of the students to do so - at the little summer huts on the hill that overlooked the beach, Firell caught Delenn’s shoulder in a gentle but implacable hand. "You understand, both of you, that the rules placed on you back at temple still apply in this place? I’m perfectly willing to let you see each other, but there must be not a breath of impropriety, or I will have no choice but to report it back to Master Midiri. Do you understand?"

Delenn stiffened, but didn’t avert her gaze from her teacher’s face. "I do, Master."

"And you, Neroon?"

"I do. But--"

"Your clan brother assures me that he believes you have done nothing wrong, Neroon, and I believe him. But I cannot make decisions alone that countermand the choices of the high council, and I certainly can’t change the will of Master Midiri. No matter how much I might wish to," she added with a wry little smile. 

"What my esteemed colleague means," Branmer intoned from over Neroon’s shoulder, "is that while she may be willing to grant you a few freedoms while we’re here, if you take advantage of that fact you’ll regret it so deeply you’ll still be feeling the hurt in your next life. Now go, Delenn. There will be much to do tomorrow morning, and after you’ve settled your things and eaten, you will want to sleep."

Delenn did not look much as if she agreed with this statement, but she squeezed Neroon’s hand and pressed it to her heart for a moment, and then hurried away toward the huts.

Branmer watched her, and nodded thoughtfully. "Good. Come along, boy. You can help me settle our things, and then we’ll get dinner going."

The rest of the night was calm, quiet, and entirely boring for Neroon. He stayed close to the hut he was to share with Branmer, and ate his meal there and then sat and stared glumly at the other students as they milled about, eating where they pleased and lounging about on the warm sand. Neroon was used to camping, but the Religious acolytes were mostly city- and town-bred, and utterly unused to living outside, no matter how daintily. None of them were forbidden to speak with him, but he was barely noticed by any of the students. Only Delenn glanced his way as often as she could--which was not often; something about the freedom of the setting had released her year-mates from their usual restraints, and she was surrounded by a small cluster of students who, as near as Neroon could tell, were being amiable and friendly to her. Including, he was alarmed to see, a big young man called Avaier.

Branmer followed his charge's line of sight, and bumped his shoulder fondly. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I know that. In my head." Neroon's fingers dug up a clump of sedge and shredded it methodically. "He's had his eye on her."

"Since before you came, yes. She never noticed him looking, or any of the other boys." The tall priest sipped his tea thoughtfully. "She's not going to forget you, you know. Not in two months."

"Yes, Master."

"But you're afraid she might think better of your suit?"

Neroon looked down at the grass in his hand, and said nothing.

Branmer passed him the tea. "Try not to worry. Even if she were to think twice about the wisdom of being involved with a Warrior, she's not going to find a better male amongst those placid infants."

His clan-brother looked sideways at him. "That was a very... un-Religious thing to say."

"Sometimes we have to set caste aside, and uphold the right wherever we find it. Delenn ra'Mir is a fine choice for you, but I think she would prove difficult for any of her male year-mates to keep up with. And compared to you, boy, I know she would find them severely lacking."

The praise straightened Neroon's shoulders and helped him to sleep soundly, but by the mourning he was back to feeling forlorn and neglected. Branmer and Firell were busy with the students, with their prayers and daily rituals and their activities, but there was no place for Neroon in such things, even if he had wanted to take part. 

The next morning was no better. The rest of the students were busy with their prayers and their rituals, but there was no place in the preparations for Neroon, even if he had wanted to take part. Instead, he had turned his back on the cluster of summer huts and walked steadily towards one of the many tiny fishing villages that dotted the coast. He had left his coat behind in his hut, and the warm, strong summer winds, heavy with the scents of salt and algae, blew easily through the thin, undyed weave of his shirt. The sand was smooth with shell and clay, and his boots did not sink here as they did along the grassy dunes of the small encampment, but he still kept above the line of the waves as they lapped against the shore. 

He climbed up an embankment of piled stones that formed the wall of a small harbor, and looked on as the inhabitants of the village went about their business. There were fishing boats coming and going from the small piers, bringing in their catches, unloading them, and then coming about to return to work in the harbor. It was easy enough to see why the fishers had to make so many trips--the fish were enormous, nearly longer than the boats, and the village was small and self-sufficient, with no apparent need or desire for any mechanical apparatus to supplement the strength of their determination or their muscles.

Neroon sat down on the rock wall, chin in hand, and watched the dock workers with a vague sense of longing. They toiled hard, and were no doubt weary and exhausted at the end of a day, but at least they were doing what they were trained to do. And, he noted hungrily, they had the company of their beasts—broad-shouldered, thick-necked sular'nishae, their dull blue fur sparkling with dried sea-spray, plodding patiently as they hauled lines, pulled windlasses, and drew sledges.

The Star Rider boy thought for a little while, weighing the consequences of what Master Firell might say versus what Branmer might say versus what his mother absolutely would say. Then he stood and made his way along the retaining wall to one of the long piers, where men and women worked bare-chested in the warm air, salt and sunlight glittering on their scales and crests as they heaved and pulled at a system of pulleys, simple but effective, moving the fish from ship to sledge in preparation for market. The sular'nishae stood patiently, waiting for the command to walk. When one of the men moved to adjust the load on the sledge, Neroon stepped forward. "Excuse me," he said, in as polite a voice as he could muster, "would you be needing any more help today?"

The Worker, thick-set but all muscle and bone, looked him over with a bland and curious eye. "We can always use an extra set of shoulders," he replied mildly, "if you don't mind being paid in fish."

"Actually... I was hoping to take one of your beasts out for a ride."

"Ehh, they're not much used to riding..." Neroon's face must have shown his disappointment. "You're a fair hand with the beasts, then?"

"A fair hand, sir, yes."

It was the 'sir' that did it, though Neroon didn't realize it. The Worker looked him over again, noting the Warrior's crest and gloves, and then he offered Neroon a faint smile. "But I do think you might shake one of them up to a canter, when the day's done."

He turned back to the boats, the bargain struck. Neroon grinned and hurried to take his place. 

The stocky Worker's name was Irell. He showed Neroon where to stand and where not to stand, what bins and sledges the different ships' catches went into, and how best to haul on the lines so that he would not be jerked head-first into the harbor, then set him to it.

Neroon had never done manual labor of this sort in his life. The only sort of work he had ever done was when his commandant decided his head was getting too big for his own good and made him muck out the camp stables. This was a far different sort of work, and it was back-breaking, particularly for a half-grown boy who had not had proper training in over half a year. Within an hour, his back, arms shoulders--his entire body was screaming for mercy, even his hands, protected in their thick leather gloves, were on fire.

And yet the Worker-caste women and men toiled in the hot sun without pause or complaint.

He gritted his teeth and kept hauling fish. 

Soon his light shirt was soaked with sea water and fish oil, and he was obliged to remove it. For a split second he thought of setting his gloves aside as well, but that would never do; besides, they did serve to protect his hands from the twisted ropes. Still, the icy splashes of water felt immeasurably sharp and strange on his bare arms and torso.

The suns stared down with their heavy gazes. The dockworkers were broiled in the heat and shivered with the sea water. During the short rests when all the boats were off in the bay, the Workers passed around cups of fresh water that tasted like moonlight, and scraps of a strange dried meat that they sucked rather than chewed. "What is this food, Irell?" Neroon asked, almost gagging at the strong iron flavor.

The Worker grinned around his snack and pointed to Neroon's gloves. "You wear them, we eat them."

The irilheen meat was almost too disgusting to swallow, but it was filling, if nothing else, and Neroon found that he needed only a few strips of the tough, fishy-tasting meat to replenish his energy for the rest of the day's work. He gulped down more water and followed where Irell beckoned. The Worker had new tasks for him.

For the remainder of the day, while he pulled ropes and dumped fish into bins and sharpened knives and cleaned tables, Neroon kept one eye on his work and one eye on the standing beasts, unable to help himself after being so long deprived of the sight of them. He missed his mare Harlal; strictly speaking, she was not actually his, she belonged to his training camp in Kannor. But he was her favorite rider and he missed her dearly, like a dart gone from a crossbow. He wiped the fish blood from his face and hoped again that she would not forget him too much.

Irell paused as he passed by; the massive crate on his wide shoulders did not seem to inconvenience him at all. "See any that take your fancy?"

Neroon pointed. "That one."

"Ehh. Why that one especially?"

"He's young--I can still see his ribs, so he's not learned to stand still and overfeed, but he's got muscle. He's spoiling for something to do besides haul fish."

Irell grinned. "Like you, lad?"

Neroon groaned a bit, but he had to nod.

*** 

For Delenn, the first day at the coast was full of study, carefully examining the flora and fauna of the grasslands close to the shore, and keeping a careful eye on the shoreline itself. While Firell and Branmer both assured their charges that there were no dangerous animals in these waters that would dare to cross the water-line, Delenn had never been so close to the sea and found its endless blue flatness deeply unsettling. It was comforting to have work to do, though, particularly since during the times when she was freed she found she had no one to talk to. Neroon had disappeared, and she and Mayan were, at best, in a position of stilted politeness. The first night they had been too tired after all the travel and preparations and the excitement of seeing the sea for the first time to do more than flop into their shared bed and fall immediately to sleep. The morning, however, had been another matter. 

"I saw you on the train," Mayan said quietly as they got out of bed. "With the Warrior."

"Then you saw, too, that Master Firell and Master Branmer could see us both quite clearly. I did nothing wrong."

"I know. I meant..." Mayan made an exasperated noise. "I meant that--"

Delenn fixed her with an uncharacteristically fierce expression. "What has happened between us, Mayan, is your fault. You brought suspicions to the council that were unfair and untrue, and could have been the ruin of both our reputations. They could still be."

"I know. But I didn’t realize--"

"Then you should have asked me, and believed the answer I gave."

"I thought he was tricking you! I thought he had deceived you into trusting him, and that you were too good to see through him, and--"

"No, Mayan. No more. I refuse to listen to you, as you refused to listen to me when I told you that Neroon was no danger to me." Delenn took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, stilling her racing heart. "We are here, and we are roommates. Nothing can be done about that. But until this matter is ended - until I can forgive you for what you’ve done to us both - we are no longer friends. We will be civil, but no more."

Mayan winced, but nodded her head in silent resignation.

All through the day, they were coolly polite to each other. They stayed more or less apart except when necessary, and when they worked together by necessity Delenn found it easiest to pretend as much as she could that Mayan was a stranger to her. Mayan did not do as well at this, but she bore under it with patience that surprised Delenn. 

That afternoon, before supper, Master Firell spoke to Mayan privately. "Is all as well as can be expected, between you and Delenn?" the teacher asked. 

Mayan hung her head, but nodded. "I keep trying to apologize for my actions, but she will not listen to me!"

Firell smiled kindly. "Perhaps she is not yet ready to forgive." She studied the girl's contrite posture. "But why should you apologize, for doing what you judged to be right? You thought Delenn might be in danger and you acted to protect your friend. Surely there is no shame in that."

The girl said nothing, only looked out to where Delenn was helping some of the other students to get the evening meal ready.

"Mayan."

"Master?"

"Did you believe Delenn to be in danger from Neroon? Or is that merely what you wished to be true?"

The girl's dark eyes snapped fiercely. "I was afraid for my friend, Master Firell. If I was wrong--" She stopped short suddenly, remembering whom she was speaking to. "If I was wrong," she continued, with forced calm, "I am sorry for it." She bit her lower lip hard to keep from saying any more, and then frowned. Avaier was with Delenn, smiling in his cocky way and standing just slightly too close for propriety. Mayan wrinkled her nose. "If I had to chose between them, I think I prefer her with the Warrior than with Avaier."

"Indeed. And why is that?"

"Neroon may be rude and arrogant at times, but at least as a Warrior, he has an excuse."

Firell saw what Mayan saw, and made a mental note of it for the future. But all she said just then was a mild, "Mind your tongue, girl. If Delenn can handle the Star Rider boy and convince him to behave, she should have no problems with that princely child."

Mayan bowed her head, chastened again. "Yes, Master Firell."

They heard a sound from behind the dunes, a soft pounding noise of something kicking up the sand. And then the sound of deep, booming laughter. Mayan, Firell, and many of the students clambered their way up the soft mounds to see what was causing the ruckus. 

The laughter was Master Branmer, shouting with delight and unmistakable pride at the sight of Neroon tearing up a flat of sand on the bare back of a borrowed riding beast. Many of the girls and even some of the boys were making low murmurs of approval, to see the handsome Star Rider moving so fluidly with the sular'nishae that they were nearly one creature, and even Mayan had to admit that Neroon and the equid made a surprisingly beautiful sight as they moved together in nearly perfect harmony. It was something she had read about many times but never seen, the Warrior in communion with his riding beast, and she tried to fix the sight in her mind as accurately as she could. She told herself firmly that she would use it in some poem or tale, but in reality, she wanted to remember it so she could tell Ashan, who had been left all unwilling back at the temple, to tutor a few students who were lagging behind in their poetry class, and who had chosen to forego their holiday in place of extra study time. 

The thought of Ashan made Mayan blush, but it also made her look instinctively at Avaier, the headmaster's clan-child, who was causing her tutor so much grief. The big stocky boy was one of the few not cheering for Neroon and calling for him to show off his skills. He wasn't even looking at the Star Rider. Instead, he was glowering in frustration at the back of Delenn's head, for Delenn was ignoring him completely in favor of watching Neroon. Mayan could see her expression, a mix of pride, amusement, possessiveness, a little lust (Mayan gulped at that thought), and something softer. 

No wonder she is not yet ready to forgive me, Mayan thought miserably.

*** 

Branmer was still laughing when Neroon walked stiffly back to camp after returning the winded but willing beast to its village. "You look all done in, boy," he grinned. "And you stink of fish. How do you feel?"

"Stiff!" Neroon groaned, dropping to the sand beside the fire. "And tired, and filthy, and ravenous--"

"I take it you had a fine day, then?"

"Oh, it was marvelous!" And truth to tell, it had been a good many months since Branmer had seen his foster-son grin so brightly. "I'll be regretting it soon enough, though... It's been too long since I took that kind of exercise. My muscles are going to start screaming at me any minute now, and I don't suppose there's a wris'nemen for miles."

Chuckling, Branmer bent down and plucked the water-logged shirt from Neroon's lean frame. He picked up the blanket he had brought just in case the nights grew colder than expected, and had thoughtfully placed to warm before the fire, dropped the hot, heavy fabric onto Neroon's back. The boy's shoulders almost buckled under the weight, but he groaned his thanks nevertheless. "Have a bite to eat and get some sleep, little brother," Branmer smiled. "You'll want some rest before the meteor shower begins."

*** 

Mayan might have been resigned to her fate, but not so much as to not sit up when, late that night, after the evening rituals and the hours of meditation and contemplation that followed and all had gone to their beds, Delenn slipped quietly out of the blankets. The Fedurae'Fili meteor shower was expected that night, and Delenn wanted to see what she could of it.

"Delenn," Mayan ordered sleepily, "come back to bed."

"I'll only be gone a little while," Delenn promised. 

"If you're going to meet that boy, we'll both be in trouble..."

"I swear to you, Mayan, I am not planning to meet with Neroon." She did not bother with an outer robe or with shoes; the summer nights on the southern F'tach Islands were dark and balmy, and Delenn was able to slip out of the slatted little hutch and down the sandy path without a sound to betray her. 

There, wheeling in the skies overhead, was a blazing meteor shower; Delenn hid in the long grass that rustled softly over the dunes, wrapped her arms around her knees and watched them in delight. She knew that somewhere else along the beach, Neroon was likely watching as well. It had been he who had told her of this event, eager and excited. His clan believed that meteor showers were the souls of their departed loved ones, riding across the skies, and that on rare occasions, Star Riders were blessed with visions of their ancestors. 

The colors blazed against the dark sky, so strange to Delenn's far northern eyes. 

Something on the beach made her turn her head, and she gasped silently. 

Neroon stood barefoot and bare-chested on the sand, beside one of the dying fires left from the evening meal. His head was thrown back, and his strong arms were raised to the stars as he gazed upward into infinity. Delenn was not sure which was more beautiful: the sight of a Star Rider in communion with his ancestors, or the sight of Neroon's body, his lean chest and stomach with the splash of blue, and the long sinuous trail of his scaled spine as he turned and faced the sea, following the trail of each star as it disappeared into the water. 

Delenn crouched down, hiding herself more fully in the grass. He would be mortified if he knew she had seen him so unclothed, and besides... she would not want him to think that she had meant to intrude on such a personal ritual. But she could not bring herself to slip away. 

She wondered if he would have a vision of his father this night, and prayed that he might be so favored. And when the last of the stars finally disappeared into the ocean, and the colors faded into the normal blue-black of the southern nights, she watched him walk slowly back to his own shelter, well down the beach, and could not tell from the set of his bare, smooth shoulders whether or not he had seen anything. 

***

With their students asleep or marveling at the meteor shower, Branmer and Firell slipped away from the encampment, glad to take advantage of the few precious hours of darkness and have a quiet walk along the shore. "The local fishers assure me that it is quite safe," Firell teased. "They say the death-lights are only active during cold weather--and besides, the water here is not deep enough."

"Well, as they live here and I do not, I must bow to their expertise, I suppose." Nevertheless, they both stayed well above the waterline. 

Firell looped her arm through Branmer's as they strolled slowly down the beach. The moons were shrouded, and the skies were split only by an occasional shooting star. "Have you missed my company?" she asked after a time.

"I confess," he said, a distinct note of sheepishness in his deep voice, "I have been too preoccupied with my unwieldy foster son to give much thought to anything else." Firell let out a good-natured snort. "But in those rare moments when I had no dire emergencies pressing upon me... yes. I have missed you." He glanced down at his companion, and seeing that she was waiting to be kissed, kissed her gently, lacing his fingers behind her neck and relearning the feel and taste of her lips. "You are a divinely patient woman."

She shrugged off the compliment to her virtue. "The boy is no carrier of tales, but our closeness could hardly have failed to become common knowledge, had we attempted to carry on during his stay." Firell fastened a keen look on the much taller male. "And speaking of carrying-on... tell me plainly: do you believe Neroon is guilty of what he is suspected of? No paternal bias, Branmer--give me your honest opinion."

"Honestly, then?" He shook his head. "Impossible. I know that boy as though he had sprung from my own body--better, for as he is not mine, I am able to be more critical. He would not think himself worth taking as a lover, not yet, and though he fights a hasty temper, he has not the stomach for wanton cruelty, nor for lying--and Delenn is too cunning for falsehood. She has a gift for misdirection that only the greatest minds possess."

He expected Firell to scoff, but instead she nodded her head, as though he had confirmed something she had long suspected. "I agree, the girl has no need to lie; even if she does possess the talent for it, I think she would find it unsporting. Besides, she has not the air of having had a male in her bed on her own terms. She lacks... self-assurance. Though I notice it grows, as does his patience and forbearing."

"They are trying to be worthy of one another," said Branmer simply.

"It is a pleasing notion... but I am glad not to have had to make the effort."

"No," her companion rumbled, grinning. "In fact, I don't know that we ever even bothered to conduct the Duma Ra'Shan. As I recall it, we simply... fell into bed."

"A far more productive use of time, and a ceremony in itself."

"Your pragmatism overwhelms me, as always." He kissed her again, a little more ardently. "May I hope for a demonstration, when this duty to my clan has been discharged?"

"A thorough demonstration," Firell murmured against his lips. "I could happily oblige you now, if you like... the sand is soft enough..."

"Alas no," said Branmer, drawing back a bit. "My boy is struggling to adhere to our caste's proprieties; it would be unspeakably unjust of me to not follow the good example he sets."

They walked chastely back to the encampment, bade one another a pleasant good night, and retired to their separate huts. Branmer laid down beside Neroon, listening to his slow, even breathing. The boy's training had failed him tonight; he had failed to wake on Branmer's return. Better that he never realize his guardian had gone. Branmer put his arms around Neroon, who instinctively turned and curled against his foster father's chest. With eyes now well-accustomed to the dim light, Branmer could see the dried marks of tears on the boy's lean face. With the soft cloth of his sleeve, Branmer gently wiped away the tear tracks. Neroon opened his eyes sleepily and tried to focus on the face hovering above him. "Va'mala?"

Normally, Branmer would have said no. It was not the first time Neroon had talked in his sleep and cried out for his father, and Branmer was always careful to tell him the truth and be there to ease his disappointment. But not tonight. "I'm here, son," he rumbled, stroking the boy's upper back soothingly. "Go to sleep now. I'm here."

Neroon snuggled in close against his chest, as he had as an infant. Branmer lay away for a long while, feeling the accusing eyes of his dead cousin boring into him from the shadows. I'm sorry, Nerahel, he prayed silently to his cousin's soul. I have failed this boy. I have failed you. I will try and do better...

"Master?" asked the boy, low and fully conscious.

"Hmm?"

"...Did Master Firell set you aside because of me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, child. Why do you ask?"

"Delenn... wondered some time ago... why you didn't marry. Won't she have you?"

Branmer chuckled. "What would I do with a wife, Neroon? And what would Firell do with a husband like me?"

"But... you love her."

"Boundlessly. It takes more than love."

Neroon was quiet for so long, Branmer thought he had dropped back to sleep. "Like what?"

"Eh?"

"You said a marriage takes more than love. Like what?"

Branmer had counseled many love-lorn students over the years. He knew all the standard responses to that question. But as he mulled over them in his mind, none of them seemed as true as they once had. "When your mother and father were first married, many of their friends were confused, even worried. What had my handsome, energetic cousin seen in such a plain, dour little female as Sinolin? And what had such a serious, determined woman seen in Nerahel, laughing and playful and joking? Even I, who was closer to Nerahel than anyone else, did not understand." 

In the dark of the little hut, Branmer could almost see his cousin's face--not as he was at his son's name ceremony, the last time Branmer had seen him before his death, but as he had been in their boyhood, blithe and carefree. "I asked him why he had chosen Sinolin. I will never forget his answer. He said, 'When I am with her, it is like meeting her for the first time--and as though we have known one another since the universe was new. In her eyes I see all my futures, all the stupid and glorious things I could ever possibly be. She does not want me for what she can make me into, only for what I am, and what I might become, and when I am with her, there is no other man I can imagine being, and no other woman I could conceive of being that man for.'"

He could feel slow, new tears seeping through the front of his robes, but when Neroon finally spoke, his voice was calm. "My father said all that?"

"He did."

"And you've remembered it for forty years?"

Branmer grinned. "Nerahel was normally a man of very few words. When he made a speech like that, it was worth remembering. And he knew his own heart. He knew what he wanted and what your mother wanted, and knew that they would suit one another. But everything he said?" Branmer made an invisible gesture. "Is not what Firell and I feel for each other."

Neroon was still for a few minutes. Then he let out a long, quiet breath. "Everything my father said... That is what I feel for Delenn."

"I know, nialma." The Star Rider gathered his cousin's son close. "I know."

Chapter Text

Neroon narrowed his eyes at the figure across the courtyard. He knew who the boy was, of course, although they had never spoken to one another; Ashan had mentioned Avaier a few times in passing as someone Delenn was often seen with during meals and study, and Delenn herself had brought his name up as someone who sought out her company... and that she wished the acquaintance to go no further. "He was friendly to me at first, but now..." Neroon had watched Delenn frown over her book, absently tracing patterns on the pages. "He is arrogant," she had said at last, and with great displeasure, during their last meeting in the library, under Ashan's watchful and benevolent eye, "and without cause."

Avaier, he had learned, was well-born and well-liked in addition to being exceptionally well-featured, and that was clearly cause enough for the almost regal presumption with which he moved about the temple and treated his fellow students and cast his eye over the young females like a stallion inspecting a herd of mares and finding them all wanting.

Neroon turned away from the sight, glad that Delenn was not among the students taking the air.

"Fi'sulara!"

He gritted his teeth, hating the way the Religious bandied his clan name about like a taunt, and forced himself to meet the haughty brown gaze of the approaching acolyte. "Avaier." Beside him, Ashan tucked his book under his arm and moved closer.

"That is Shaimir Avaier to you," the other boy corrected, holding his chin high.

"If you say so." Neroon ran an appraising eye over Avaier's tall form--taller than his own, with the backward-sloping crest of the male Religious. "What do you want with me?"

"I wanted to speak to the brave Warrior who has been turning our esteemed temple inside-out," Avaier said, genially enough, but with just a hint of a sneer.

"Obviously you are looking in the wrong place," said Ashan quickly, putting one hand quietly on Neroon's arm. "My friend here is no troublemaker, only a visiting student."

"I do not recall speaking to you, librarian," the acolyte snapped. "This Warrior and I were having a conversation."

"You would do well, Shaimir Avaier," said Neroon tightly, "to show proper respect for your elders."

"As you have shown respect to our temple elders? And to our females? I have heard all about you, Fi'sulara." Avaier took a step closer, a challenging stare upon his face. "The females fear you and the males despise you--a fitting state of affairs. Do you find it thrilling?" he pressed. "Does it please you?"

Neroon bit his tongue until he tasted blood. "You came here to say something to me. Say it, or go. Your conversation bores me."

Their voices carried easily across the courtyard, and now a small crowd had gathered around the tense confrontation; Ashan spotted Mayan in the circle, her face very white.

"Then I will be brief: your presence in this temple offends my caste, my fellow students, and me."

"Well. I am sorry for two of those things."

"I will make you sorry for the third."

Neroon would have grabbed the insolent boy by the front of his spotless white robe and hurled him into the fountain for that, but for Ashan's restraining hand on his arm.

Avaier saw the motion and grinned snidely. "Go home, Star Rider. We don't want you here. Go back to your pikes and your beasts and your bloodletting ways. Leave us to our books and our prayers, and leave our women alone."

Ashan's hand tightened on Neroon's sleeve.

"Despite what you have heard, I have had nothing to do with any of your women, Avaier."

The smile vanished from the handsome boy's face. "Delenn ra'Mir is too fine a female to be wasted on a barbarian like you. Soon you will be gone, and she will be mine."

Neroon's lips curled, and the lust for battle strained in his veins. "Oh," he growled, "I doubt that, priestling..."

"I know the best blood when I see it. I will have her. It's a sacrifice on my part, of course, but I'm not too proud to take possession of used goods if their quality is high enough."

Neroon saw red, and at that same moment, Ashan mysteriously lost hold of his coat. Neroon head-butted Avaier in the face, smashing his nose. "Say what you like about me, you soft little maggot, but leave her alone."

Avaier came at him swinging and the two boys went down on the flagstones together. Neroon had far more experience in fighting but Avaier outweighed him, and he struggled under the other boy's bulk. Thinking quickly, he rammed a knee up into Avaier's stomach, knocking the wind out of him and shoving him away.

Springing to his feet, Neroon was braced for the next onslaught, but as Avaier rushed at him, several priests burst through the crowd and caught the two boys by the arms.

Neroon submitted to the handling without a murmur, but when Nafeel snapped for him and not Avaier to be taken to the elders, he started to panic.

Mayan moved to Ashan's side as Neroon was hauled away, kicking and struggling desperately. "This isn't right," she whispered, nearly frantic. "He was provoked! He was protecting Delenn, he's done nothing wrong--"

"You should have thought of that before you accused him of shadows!" Ashan passed a hand over his face and then took her by the shoulders. "Go to Delenn--she should be in the library. Bring her to the elders' chamber. Drag her if you have to, but she must be there, do you understand?"

"Where are you going?"

"To fetch Master Branmer. We will meet you there." He gave her a shove. "Go, girl!"

***

Delenn stretched her neck from side to side, arching her back to try to rid herself of the cramped feeling from so many hours of study. The priesthood decisions of the early post-Valen period swam in front of her, dates and names and regulations seeming to blend together into a mindless morass. A few more pages, she told herself, and she could get up and find something to eat...

Across the library, she heard her name being called.

The voice was Mayan's, which, after the trials of the last few months, was almost enough to make Delenn ignore the shouting, but there was an edge of panic to her friend's voice that she'd never heard before. Wary but concerned, Delenn stood and gathered her notes and books, and followed the sound toward the front of the building, until she saw Mayan, white-faced and out of breath, racing between the tables with the front of her robes gathered up in her fists so they wouldn't impede her. When she saw Delenn her eyes went wide with relief.

"Delenn! Thank Valen I found you! Hurry, you have to come with me!"

"Mayan, stop! What's going on?"

"There's no time--"

"Tell me," Delenn insisted. "What is it?"

"You have to trust me--" Mayan's face went suddenly from white to red, and she winced visibly. Delenn waited. Mayan took a deep breath and started over. "You have to come with me - Neroon got in a fight with Avaier out on the grounds. Ashan and I saw everything, it wasn't his fault, but Nafeel said to just take him to the elders, not Avaier, and--"

For half an instant, Delenn thought she would faint. Her vision seemed to darken, and all the blood in her body left her head. Then it was gone, and she knew only that she needed to run. "Thank you," she said quickly, and dashed off in the direction of the elders' assembly rooms. She could hear Mayan running behind her, but she didn't care - all that mattered was reaching the elders before they made a decision that couldn't be reversed. If she couldn't convince them to be lenient, at least she could stand with him when they gave their judgment, see him one last time before he was sent away. A sick, distant part of her wondered if she could go with him, if it came to that, or, if not, how they could ever arrange to see each other again...

Rushing past a pair of administrative acolytes, Delenn pushed open the door to the office of the elders. Neroon, his lip split and bleeding and purple-red bruises rising on his face, stood alone against the wall to the right. His black eyes snapped when he saw her, and she saw his shoulders straighten, and his jaw clench for an instant.

Elder Firell stepped between them. "There is no need for you here, Delenn. You will not be punished. This event had nothing to do with you."

"Please, Master, I must stay! Neroon meant no harm - Mayan told me what happened!"

"Avaier started the fight," Mayan agreed quickly. "He confronted Neroon, and kept provoking him even when Neroon tried to leave, or get him to back down."

"I myself saw the Warrior make the first attack." Nafeel frowned. "You girls must understand that to misrepresent the truth in this inquiry would be very wrong indeed."

"I'm not lying," Mayan snapped. "Or misrepresenting anything. I saw the whole thing - Avaier claimed Delenn like she was an object, and he said that he would have her when Neroon is gone. He impugned her honor, and called her 'used goods.' Neroon hit him then, to defend her."

"We cannot accept your testimony alone, Mayan, this is too great an issue--"

"Then it is good that she is not alone in speaking, isn't it?" Branmer pushed into the room, with Ashan directly behind him. Neroon closed his eyes and seemed to let out a slow breath of relief. "This young man with me saw and heard it all as well. And had the good sense to come find me, which is more than I can say for the council of elders here, apparently. I am the boy's guardian in this temple, Nafeel. And I believe we have already discussed the necessity of his having an advocate in these proceedings?"

"In the proceedings, perhaps, but not the judgment." Midiri stepped forward. "This inquest is ready to deliver its verdict, Master Branmer. The boy's time among us is over, so your guardianship over him is completed as well."

"Wait!" Mayan stepped in front of Delenn, her voice high and tight. "I... Please, Masters, I did wrong to say that Neroon could not be trusted. I see that now. I should never have come to you. I didn't understand then, but what I said was false. I was... My friend..." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please, I was wrong to accuse him."

"The proceedings here were based not only on your testimony, Mayan."

"No, but hers began it." Ashan moved to Mayan's side, and it seemed almost as if Mayan leaned into the shadow of the tall young librarian, as if she would hide herself in his larger presence. "And for my part... when I brought this complaint to my superiors, it was with the understanding that an investigation would determine whether or not the charge was warranted. Not assume that it was."

"The investigation has been conducted, and is completed," Midiri snapped. "Mayan, you are dismissed. Ashan, since you have already abandoned your duties this afternoon to involve yourself here, I suppose you may stay if you wish. The last time this little gathering met, it was determined that Delenn and Neroon would have three months to prove by their good behavior that the Warrior boy could remain here and cause no more trouble. This fight today proves that he cannot. By resorting to physical violence, no matter what the provocation--"

"No, Midiri, that is unfair!" Branmer broke in. "Neroon's entire training, his blood, everything in his body has been prepared for thousands of years specifically to fight to defend Minbar and its people against any who threaten them!"

"This temple is not a field of battle."

"No, but it might as well be, for him!" Branmer gestured at his clan brother, who lowered his head and refused to meet anyone's eye. "For all the cold welcome he has had here, for the lack of trust and friendship he has been shown... has any person in this temple spoken to him in friendship, but Delenn? Has anyone else tried to welcome him? And when he returned her kindness by defending her against slander, he was hauled off for punishment, while the boy who maligned her walks free! Is this the wisdom and gentility of our caste? What a shameful show we have made of ourselves to an innocent outsider.

"But children are children, and will be cruel." Branmer made an exaggerated shrug. "What can be done about it? That is how they are. They will misunderstand and fear what is unfamiliar to them, and they will lash out against that fear. That is to be expected. But what is shameful is to see adults showing by their example not how to be patient and learn to understand the unknown, but attacking it. What is shameful is watching adults cause rumors and slander rather than bring them to an honest end. What is shameful, most of all, is to see a few good-hearted children forced to stand up against adults who will not listen to reason. The words that Avaier spoke against Delenn are not of his making. They are of yours, Midiri. If you had not called attention to this affair and pretended it was something to be ashamed of rather than the natural affection of two innocent young souls, that boy would never have slandered Delenn, and the fight would never have occurred."

"But occurred it has," Nafeel pointed out. "No one here questions that. So your little game of supposition is pointless, Branmer."

"That's true, it has happened." There was a shadow in Branmer's eyes, then - a cold resolution that Delenn did not recognize. "And if you send Neroon away, you will be telling the whole temple that Avaier was right to say what he said. You will be saying that it was acceptable for him to claim a female as property the way he did, and you will be saying that what he said of Delenn is true. You and I both know that is not the case, Midiri. Will you really shame her and her clan just in order to be rid of my clan-brother? Neroon only has a few more months before his year of study with us has passed. Let him spend them here, with his friend, and let the slanderous words that have been spoken today be forgotten."

"And if we will not?"

"I'm not making threats, Midiri. None of this would happen by my doing. But I think you know as well as I do that it would happen as I say it would."

Midiri eyed Branmer carefully for a long moment, and then turned her sharp gaze on Neroon. He stared straight ahead of him, neither meeting her eyes, nor looking down at the ground. "I, for one, do not believe for a moment that you are blameless in all this, boy. But Branmer is right about one thing - you will leave us soon no matter what this inquest decides. Perhaps that must be enough. Nafeel, Firell?"

Firell shrugged. "The original complaint has been retracted, and Delenn and Neroon have already served most of their three months without incident. Furthermore, I believe Avaier's language was sufficiently inflammatory to explain the outburst, even if it did not entirely excuse it. I would rather forgive a scuffle than believe we rewarded such talk. I vote to remove the restrictions on both students."

***

Having fled from the assembly, Mayan retreated into the meditation garden, huddling down behind an enormous fragrant bush, beside a murmuring fountain. She wrapped her arms around her bent legs, hid her face in her knees and wept silently. She was not alone for long, however; Ashan found her almost too easily, and lowered his tall body down to the grass beside her. From the path, no one could see them, and the noise of the water was enough to cover their low voices. "It is done, Mayan," he said, touching her shoulder lightly. "They are no longer under any censure or watch, not Delenn nor the Star Rider nor Master Branmer."

"That is good."

There was silence for a moment before Ashan spoke, and Mayan thought she could feel his eyes on the side of her crest, a curious feeling. "Mayan," he said gently, "you believed you were doing what was right."

She turned her face, still resting on her bent knees, to look at him. "I wanted things to go back to the way they were, before he came. Now they will never be that way again."

"Perhaps not. But you are not the only one to blame." His brown eyes, flecked with green, were sorrowful, as though he had suffered some shame on her behalf through this business. "What you told me, what I was compelled by duty to lay before the temple elders... We spoke only of your concerns for your friend, of the fears you felt. What he was suspected of was none of your doing."

"But of my making." Mayan sighed, rocking slightly. "I said I was afraid for Delenn, of what would happen to her if... if they were together, and then he left. What I did not say was that I knew... I know... that he would never intentionally hurt her. I did not say these things to the elders, and so I accused him with my silence."

Ashan hesitated. He knew it was well and proper that his young friend should feel guilt over her part in this messy affair... but he was loathe to let her take more than her fair share. "If you had said nothing, to me or to the temple elders, there would still have been trouble. That you became the engine of it is... regrettable, to say the least. But then something else would have come to mar their happiness." He met Mayan's frown with one of his own. "They did not want him here to begin with, you know. It was Branmer's good word that convinced them."

"Oh," Mayan moaned, and hid her face again. "I never thought to bring any harm to Master Branmer. Never! If nothing else, that you must believe--"

"I have listened to every word you have ever said to me," vowed Ashan, "and believed in it all... although not always perhaps the way you intended." Unseen, Mayan blushed a little at his teasing, mild though it was. "And Branmer is a wiser man than most here give him credit for. He knows you did not mean to cause him mischief--that, too, was all the doing of the elders, and he has been rightfully incensed by it. He says that as teachers of the young, they have the responsibility not to fan the flames of childish rumors, and by so further damage the ties that bind the castes together. He is a priest in his heart," Ashan's voice smiled, tinged with a little awe, "but I think he will always be a warrior in his soul. I would not say it in his presence, but as there was never any doubt in him that Neroon acted with all propriety... I think he enjoyed the ruckus, in a strange way. I could see it in his eyes when he defended his charge, a zest for life. There is a part of him that sings for battle."

Mayan had never heard her friend speak so eloquently before, and wondered greatly at what could have moved him so. With a deep breath, she unfolded herself and sat looked up into Ashan's broad face. "I am glad that Master Branmer will not hold this foolishness against me. But what of Delenn? And the... and Neroon? Do you think they will ever forgive me?"

"I do not know, Mayan. You will have to ask them."

She wept again, but this time for herself, and she was too drained and too weary to do anything more but bury her face in the cloth of Ashan's robes, and be grateful for a while for the arms that held her secure and safe. She would go, and ask Delenn and Neroon for their forgiveness, but not until she had recovered at least a little of her self-restraint.

***

Neroon glared at the bowed head of the young woman before him. He had rarely felt so angry in his young life as he did at this meek, forlorn girl. Beside him, Delenn knelt as still and silent as carved stone. Whether she was as furious as he, Neroon did not know. If she wasn't, she was either mad, or a far better person than he could ever hope to be.

In the shadows behind Mayan, Branmer stood with his arms folded. His green eyes glittered in the gloom.

Mayan swallowed, and when she spoke, her musical voice was little more than a whisper. "You, whom I have called my friends... I have injured you gravely. I saw, and did not understand. I was afraid. I let my ignorance become fear, and my fear has led me astray. Worse, it has caused me to hurt you, Delenn, whom I love as my dearest friend... and you, Neroon, who are undeserving of the accusations leveled against you... and you, Master, who have stood by us all in our troubles. I pray that you can find it within yourselves to forgive me, but if you cannot..." Mayan could not finish. "I'm sorry," she whispered, as her tears dropped from her face to the floor. "I'm sorry."

Over her head, Branmer gave his clan-brother a look that Delenn could not interpret. She glanced at Neroon, but he gave her no more guidance than a minute shrug. In spite of the hurts she had caused him, Mayan was her friend, not his. He would follow her lead.

Delenn took a deep breath. "Mayan, I know that you acted out of care for me, but we are not characters in a poem to be pushed and pulled in whichever way you see fit. I am not the child you insist on treating me as." She barely recognized her own voice, the steel beneath her usual soft tones. "I am no fool, and I know my own mind."

"I understand that now, Delenn. I have overstepped the bounds of our friendship."

"It is because of that friendship that I am willing to forgive you." Mayan looked up, slow hope dawning in her eyes. "What you did, you did for my sake. Not for your own, and not out of malice towards Neroon. And... I do not want to lose you as a friend, Mayan," Delenn finished in a rush, holding out her hands.

Neroon's face was impassive as the two young women embraced gratefully. Then, after another long look from Branmer, he shrugged. "It is a poor Warrior who is not able to accept an admission of fault with good grace." And with as much magnanimity as he could muster, he offered Mayan his hands, and clasped the young scribe's fingers in his own in token of forgiveness.

Branmer let out a long, low sigh. "Thank you, Mayan."

The three acolytes looked at him in confusion. "...Master?" Mayan ventured.

"Thank you. For valuing your friendship and your friend's good opinion over the prejudices of our caste. You have shown yourself capable of great foolishness, these last few months, but you have also shown yourself capable of great wisdom." The smile he bestowed on her was of such warmth that she blushed and bowed her head. "And thank you, Delenn, for standing by my brother during this trial."

"I-I did nothing, Master," Delenn stuttered. "I told the truth."

"You showed immense strength and courage, to withstand the scorn of your peers and elders." His eyes twinkled. "Don't ever let them scold it out of you." Then Branmer turned his piercing gaze on Neroon. "You have conducted yourself with honor and with dignity in the face of a bitter enemy, Neroon. I am very proud of you."

Neroon bowed his head so that no one might see his relief. "Thank you, Master."

***

When Neroon returned from walking Delenn and Mayan to their room, he found his clan-brother waiting for him with a small blue bottle and two cut-crystal glasses. "After the day you've had," Branmer said, pouring out the dark liquid, "I think you've earned this."

Neroon took the small glass of nafe'mora, the soothing cordial of the Warrior caste, and sank gratefully into a chair. His split lip and the bruises on his face throbbed with irritating urgency, but the discomfort had not been enough to prevent him from taking leave of Delenn properly. Though he was regretting it slightly now. He took a sip of the blue-black herbal drink and let the warm calm drift slowly through his nerves. He looked up to see Branmer eying him thoughtfully. "Master?"

"Now that things have settled down," the priest said, sitting down opposite Neroon, "I wanted to talk to you about what happened today." Neroon swallowed and sat up very straight. "Relax, boy," said Branmer gently, a fond smile playing about his lips. "Ashan told me everything that passed between you and Avaier."

The Warrior boy let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. "I tried to walk away, Master. What he said about me... I could have ignored that. He said nothing I have not heard from other lips. But the things he said about Delenn--" His lips curled in a silent snarl, remembering the slanders Avaier had dared to speak. "I could not allow that."

"You hold her honor very highly."

"As highly as my own."

Branmer nodded slowly. "Why?"

Neroon blinked. "What?"

"Her honor matters to you. So much so that you were willing to risk your standing in the clan, your own future, to protect it. Why?"

"I..." His throat tightened, as did his fingers around his glass. "I love her, va'malid," said Neroon, forcing out the words in a soft, hoarse voice.

Branmer smiled. "I know that. But your actions today were not the actions of a boy fathoms deep in love with a gentle and pretty girl." He waited, but Neroon only looked at him in great confusion. "They were the actions of a male protecting his mate."

Neroon paled and shook his head. "Branmer, that is not true! I told you, we have done nothing--you said you believed me..."

"I believe both of you. And both you and Delenn have told me that you have not been together in the manner of husband and wife." He leaned forward. "But you have begun to think of her that way, and your instincts tell the tale that your mind is not yet ready to accept."

"I don't... I didn't think at all. Avaier was a threat; I acted. That was all."

"Avaier is a spoiled rich brat, and Delenn has far more spirit than anyone save you and I give her credit for. You know perfectly well that if you were gone, she would have nothing to do with him. He's no threat to her, and certainly not to you."

Neroon stared at the drink in his hand. Looking back on the fight now, he realized the truth of Branmer's words. There had been no real cause for him to attack Avaier, and when he had, his technique had been loose and sloppy. But when he insulted Delenn... "Just the thought of him trying to touch Delenn... and speaking of her as though she was nothing but a prize mare to be handled and bred at his leisure..."

Branmer said nothing to that; there were many rumors among the students about Delenn's conduct that he refused to repeat to Neroon. It would only anger him, and do no one any good. Better to let such poison seep away on its own. "Take a drink." Neroon did as he was bid. "Now, look at me and tell me plainly: what is Delenn ra'Mir to you?"

"I love her. I want her." Neroon flushed a little at the words, but Branmer only waited, his patient silence urging him on. "I want all of her... and I want her to want me."

His clan-brother chuckled softly. "There's no question that she does, ah'ierma." Neroon took a gulp of his drink to cover the redness spreading across his cheeks. "Go on."

"...Must I?"

"Yes."

Neroon let out an uncomfortable growl, but closed his eyes and reached for words. "She calms me," he said at last. "And to be allowed to walk by her side is all I can ask of this life." Solemn green eyes met his black ones. "Am I wrong to feel so?"

"Better and wiser men than I have spent centuries trying to answer that question, Neroon. I only know that she is a worthy girl, and that I would not have thrown you two together if I had not thought she would treat you well." Branmer toyed with his empty glass. "I am merely... concerned for you both. You are still young. And sometimes even the most ardent lovers can find their lives treading different paths as they age."

He looked up and saw Neroon's dismayed face. "Do not misunderstand me, my boy. If you and Delenn are destined for one another, you will have no more fervent supporter than myself." He grinned. "I take all credit for making the match, of course."

"Then... I don't understand. What are you warning me against?"

"Of... of being too hasty," said Branmer at last. "I am not referring to physical things. I know all my students well enough to realize that neither ritual nor custom will keep apart two youths who are determined to be of one flesh--and I am Warrior enough to be sanguine about the prospect. And I know that one of these days she is going to wear down your resolve, have no doubt of that." He politely paid no attention to Neroon's embarrassment. "I merely caution you against urging her to things she is not ready for. She has a will of iron that she has yet to tap into. You and I have both seen the promise of it. You have always listened to her, respected her. Continue to do that, no matter what the cost... and I believe one day I shall be pleased to conduct the Na'fak Cha for you both."

Nodding, Neroon gulped down the rest of his nafe'mora. A little too fast, and for a moment, his vision swam before his eyes as though he was halfway to sleep.

"For your own sake, ah'ierma..." Branmer hesitated. "We have seen here, these last few months, what happens when fears and assumptions are allowed to fester. If you truly wish to be taken as Delenn's husband in future years... you must make your intentions clear."

"I could not--I have nothing to give in return--"

"I am not suggesting that you offer her marriage, nialma. But do not present her with this news the day of your departure; tell her now. If she accepts your suit, then you may worry about giving a token of that promise." Branmer stood and laid a strong hand on his clan-brother's shoulder. "Go to her tomorrow, and tell her."

***

The freedom to walk with Neroon on the grounds without supervision, to slip her arm through his and touch his face without fear of being scolded--Delenn could hardly believe the feeling of marvelous confidence that coursed through her veins. It was not merely the joy of being with him; it was knowing that together, they had won a battle against a hard enemy. "I feel as though we have been through a long campaign together," she confessed with a smile, hoping to make him laugh as they walked through the garden, now curling in on itself with the coming of winter.

"We may as well have been," Neroon said, his low, rich voice more subdued than usual.

Delenn looked up at him curiously. "You have been very quiet today," she ventured. "Is there something on your mind?"

Neroon nodded.

"May I inquire as to what?"

"You," said Neroon simply. His black eyes rested warmly on her, and Delenn blushed. Although they were more or less alone, Neroon led her behind the largest of the fountains in the garden, and together they sat on the flagstones with their backs against the rough garden wall. She pressed close against his side, well-wrapped against the oncoming cold in his big black cloak. Neroon rested his chin on her head. "Delenn... what happened yesterday..."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around his ribs, nuzzling his grey coat. "Thank you."

"Let me speak, ah'fel." Neroon took a deep breath. "Delenn, what happened between myself and Avaier... It should never have happened. I should have known better. But I could not allow him to continue speaking so of you."

"He was not the first," Delenn shrugged. "And he will not be the last, even if the elders have cleared us of wrong-doing. You cannot fight the whole temple, Neroon."

"With you at my side, I could fight the whole world."

Delenn smiled; a warm flush of pleasure rippled over her skin. "Looking back, now that we are safe, I have to confess... it was flattering."

Neroon threw his head back and laughed. "You are a magnificent creature, Delenn ra'Mir," he said, tipping her face up to kiss her. When he pulled back, his mouth still trembled with mirth, but his eyes were full of wonder. "But I mean what I say. I feel as though there is nothing I could not dare to do... so long as you were with me."

It was rare for Neroon to offer so open and honest a compliment... but Delenn sat up quickly, feeling in her soul that this was no ordinary praise. "Neroon?"

He caught her hand and held it tightly. "The elders were right about one thing: I am a Warrior, and used to plain words. So I will speak plainly now, and hope you will forgive me. We are young, and unimportant and foolish. But someday..." He touched her face gently. "I would not say such things before the priests... but what I feel for you, Delenn..." His voice failed him for a moment, and he sought refuge in words older than them both.

"'I beg that you look upon me with admiration, and with regard, and with desire. I hope that you see in me beauty, and valour, and honor. I pray that you find in me courage, and promise, and worth.'" Inexplicably frightened, Neroon broke away, and, kneeling, upon the flagstones, bowed his head before her. "I ask, Delenn, that in the years to come you look upon me favorably. Do me the honor of considering me as husband and mate, and I will ask nothing more of you until the stars fall from the skies, and no more rise to take their place."

Long, agonizing moments passed, and the only sounds were the gently flowing fountain, and the chill breeze rustling the branches over their heads. Finally, Neroon felt Delenn's fingers on his face. "Look at me, Neroon."

Swallowing hard, Neroon dared to raise his eyes, and gently, Delenn kissed him, careful of his bruised face and split lip. "I have always looked upon you favorably, ah'fel," she assured him, the tiniest tremble in her voice. "But... are you sure you want me for your mate? You may rise to do great things. I am only a common acolyte, to become a common priestess. I will never be more than what I am now."

"You are anything but common, Delenn. But yes, I am sure." He drew her close against him, trapping her in his cloak. "I think I have always been sure. I could meet a thousand Warrior females, but I can imagine none so brave, nor so beautiful. I have made my choice."

"Then... I will pray, and wait for the signs. It could be a long time, Neroon."

"I will wait for you, Delenn. And it will be worth the wait." And then he gave her a look that was both amused and irritated. "And please—please--tell Mayan about this."

"Tell her--why? She would never repeat what has happened--"

"I know, I know, but... humor me." His lips twitched. "The last thing I want is for her to go back to thinking of me as a mad seducer in an old melodrama."

Chapter Text

After the crisis with Neroon had passed, Branmer had time to breathe more easily and reflect upon what had happened, upon what had been the unavoidable consequences of one strange person thrown into a hostile world, and what had come to pass solely through his own negligence as a guardian and teacher. The answers he sought were hard ones, and the answers he found, deep within himself, did not please him. He looked up from his somber meditations to find that he was not alone.

The novitiate librarian, Ashan, sat glumly to one side of the circular platform. His tall, awkward body slumped as he knelt. He seemed not to be praying or meditating, merely... sitting. And he looked utterly miserable. "Are you well, Ashan?"

"No, Master." The young man sighed. "But I did not mean to bother you. Forgive me... but I wanted to come to some quiet place."

Branmer's lips twitched. "My temple is certainly a quiet place on most days... but so is your own domain."

"I am intruding." Ashan moved to get up. "I will go..."

"I only meant," said Branmer, rising smoothly and stepping down to put a hand on the tall student's shoulder, nearly level with his own, "that it is unlike you to seek solace outside of your books."

"They do not comfort me much, of late." Ashan shrugged. "And my friend Neroon seems to find peace here, so I thought I might try it."

Branmer's already-fond feelings for the conscientious youth warmed further, to hear him call the young Star Rider a friend. "I will do what I can to help, if you will let me. Come."

Obediently, Ashan followed the priest into the little annex. He sat where directed and remained silent while Branmer made tea. His big, loose-wristed hands dwarfed the stoneware cup that he held, and he stared into the spicy, reddish-brown liquid. "May I... ask you a personal question, Master?"

"You may."

"Did you ever... That is... I do not wish to be impertinent."

Branmer chuckled softly. "Boy, after inserting myself into your private affairs, it would hardly be fair to deny you mine. You may ask any manner of question of me. I even promise to answer plainly."

"Have you... ever been in love?" asked Ashan, rather shamefaced.

"Hmm." Setting his cup down on the low table, Branmer tented his fingers before his lips. "I have fancied myself in love a time or two, yes. But it came to nothing."

"She... he... The object of your affection... Why?"

"I have been keeper of the Fal'min Fi for many years, Ashan," said the priest quietly. "Since before you were born. In all that time, I never looked to climb any higher in my career, but my heart sought out those with far greater ambitions than my own. I simply could not find anyone to tolerate my lassitude."

Ashan looked up, deeply surprised. "But you are not lazy."

"I have been content here all these years, as close as I can get to the stars while still keeping my feet firmly on the ground. For those whom I would have shared my life, it was not enough for me to be a simple temple-keeper." The green eyes narrowed keenly. "Is that your fear? That the girl you love will not want a mere librarian?"

The young man dropped his eyes and nodded.

"Do you have reason to worry? Has she ever given you reason for concern?"

"She is..." Ashan raised his cup to his lips and then set it down again. "She is younger than I am--it would not be right."

Branmer snorted. "Ashan, you are as much a student here as any of the others. Find another reason." The young man's lips tightened. "Ah. Forgive me," said the priest. "I did not mean to mock your feelings. But surely that is not your greatest worry...?"

"No... But I do not think she feels anything but kind regard for me. And... I do not know what to do." He rested his chin in his big hand, mottled with ink and small paper cuts. "After what happened with Avaier... the last thing I want is to overstep my place in her life."

"After what happened with Avaier, we all seem to be rethinking our places in life," Branmer muttered, downing the rest of his spice tea. "This girl... it is Mayan, of course."

Ashan's cheeks flushed. "Y-yes, Master." He gulped, and chewed his lower lip nervously. "I had no thoughts of love at first. I only wanted to help her. And then she was so lonely, after she brought her fears to the elders and Delenn refused to speak with her."

"You felt sorry for her."

"I felt that it was wrong for her to suffer for telling the truth--what she thought was the truth," Ashan corrected. "And I was the one she had confided in at the start... I thought I had a duty to offer her a friendly ear. And then after, when she began to realize that she was wrong... I think she was very brave, to confess as she did."

"She is very brave," Branmer agreed. "Though I do not deny that she is also very young, and with much growing up still ahead of her... but the same can be said of you."

"I know, Master. I know that I am just a child in wisdom compared to the other teachers--"

"I meant, I think you are brave as well." Branmer smiled sadly, and his eyes seemed to slide away from Ashan, as though seeing another time and place. "You had nothing to gain by standing up for Mayan or Neroon. You only did what you judged to be right, because it was a matter of conscience."

The laugh Ashan let out was sudden and shaky. "I do not think I like being brave," he admitted. "I would much rather not have become involved at all! I would have minded my own business and never said a word to anyone. But... I did not have that option. When she confided her fears to me, Mayan became my responsibility. I had to see her safe to the end of her troubles."

Branmer's gaze snapped back to the youth, green eyes ablaze as though seeing him for the first time. Then he laughed, a soft and disbelieving sound. "A child in wisdom, did you say? Those may be the most sensible words I have heard within this school in many a long year. You are a true credit to your vocation, Ashan, because you seek to live by the words that you study. That makes you an honorable person as well as a worthy scholar."

Ashan seemed to sit up a little straighter. "Thank you, Master," he said, with quiet but clearly evident pride. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, much reassured by the teacher's kind words. "But... what should I do about Mayan?"

"The same thing you have been doing: be there for her. In the past months, she has wounded others badly, and been wounded in return. Knowing that there is someone who will never forsake her, no matter how misguided or foolish she may be, she will come to regard you as a vital presence in her life. More than that, I cannot say. In the end, it is her choice. But if you are patient and constant, I think in time you may find your patience rewarded. And if not, you will at least have made a friend for life."

The two men rose and bowed to one another. "Master, may I... come again? If I have need of your advice?"

"I think it more likely that I shall have need of your advice, Ashan," Branmer smiled. "But you are always welcome here."

***

"So... that's the last of it, then." Mayan grinned up at her tutor. "All the second-century poems I'm required to have read for my focus."

"Congratulations are in order." Ashan smiled back at her. "And what will you do now? Never read any of them again, I suppose?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I like Burli, even if he was very derivative, and... " Mayan blushed. "Well, I did come to appreciate Dirshak. I don't think I'll ever really want to revisit the texts I read, but... at least I appreciate them now, in a way. They're lovely, they're just... much darker than I prefer, in reading for pleasure." She shuddered, but there was a warm memory there as well - the little bound volume on her bedside table, given to her by Ashan.

"I understand entirely." Ashan accepted the stack of books and scrolls she proffered. "Well... I suppose, then, that you have other matters of study to be getting on with?"

"I want to focus on the ancient works for a while." Mayan trailed her fingers over a nearby shelf, examining the titles housed in it and casting a sideways glance at Ashan as she did. He didn't seem to notice - too busy looking over the books she had returned to him, she thought. "I think I'll tell Master Firell that I'd like to work on translating some of the older texts myself, so that I can gain a better understanding of their form and word choice," she announced.

That, at least, regained his full attention. "An ambitious project," he acknowledged. "Entirely appropriate for your final year of studies at this temple."

"I hope it will look good to the selection committee at the conservatory I'm applying to, as well. Master Branmer already helped me to speak with a friend of his who works there. Master Firell seems to think that my chances of getting accepted are good. They get a number of applicants wanting to specialize in teela, but she says that few have as complete a background in the various poetic forms and styles as I have." Mayan blushed even as she finished. It was almost indecent to gloat so, but she wanted so badly to have his attention, suddenly. Typical of her, she thought, to cling so desperately to a person as soon as they began to slip out of her grasp.

Ashan didn't seem at all disturbed by her display, though. He just smiled. "On the chance you are not accepted, I'm certain you will find another way to achieve your goals. I would expect nothing less of you. You... are an impressive young woman, Mayan."

"Thank you. I'll... help you put the books away."

Ashan inclined his head in a little half-bow and handed her back half the pile. They moved around each other in silence for a few moments, and all the while Mayan's mind lingered over the past several months and her friendship with Ashan. The patient way he had led her through the poems they studied together and the gentle acceptance he showed of everything that the universe brought him. Most of all, how he had displayed that same quiet fortitude in the face of her foolishness earlier in the summer. How he had endured with her, and, eventually, helped her to undo the damage she had done.

Standing on the stool and helping Ashan to return scrolls to their proper places on the shelves, Mayan suddenly realized that, for the first time, she was at eye-level with her friend. Ever since she had met him, she had been required to look up at Ashan; now she was able to look straight into his broad, gentle face and his intelligent, humorous green-speckled eyes. He put the last tome carefully away and turned to say something to her; Mayan reached out with her hands and her courage, grabbed two fistfuls of Ashan's robes and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

When they parted for breath, Ashan was staring at her in awe. "Why me?" he wondered aloud, clearly dumbfounded.

Mayan smiled. "Because." She kissed him again and this time he responded, cradling her face in his ink-stained hands.

***

Delenn smiled to herself as they walked through the sedate streets to the warm, inexpensive tea shop favored by the temple students. The performance of the traveling company had been very good, and many of her peers were also making their way to the establishment. The chatter in the streets was full of the talent of the actors and the grace of the dancers, but in her own little group, Mayan and Ashan were enthusiastically discussing the poems used in the exhibition and the history behind them. Delenn tucked her hand more snugly under Neroon's arm. "What about you? Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Thoroughly."

"Then why are you being so quiet?"

His black eyes danced. "I'm trying to improve Mayan's opinion of me by being polite. Besides, I think they've forgotten that we're here."

The inside of the tea shop was a soothing patchwork of antique stonework, truly ancient wooden panels, crystal and stone ornaments and cloth hangings, heated by many small fire pits and many young bodies clustered together. The scents of tea, salt, candles, firestones, and moisture filled the air, and Delenn breathed them in deeply as they wended their way through the seating area to a spot in the back. Courteously, Neroon saw that Delenn was settled in her cushions beside the fire pit before seating himself beside her, as gracefully as a dropped twist of silk.

Across the pit, Mayan sat down absently, still talking brightly to Ashan, who was not gifted with grace in the management of his long legs, and clattered to the floor in an unconcerned and ungainly heap. "But you have to admit," he continued without missing a beat, "it was quite bold of the company to include that section from the Songs of Heefa."

"Bold?" Neroon snorted before Mayan could answer. "Nonsense. I've been hearing that work performed since I was seven years old." Ashan just looked at him. "Well, not all of it..."

"He means that it was bold of them to perform those verses here, in this town," Mayan elaborated. "You know perfectly well that the Religious elders do not approve of the Songs."

"He ought to," said Delenn, as the proprietor approached their group. "He has seen us reprimanded for reading them more than once." And she smiled as Neroon nudged her fondly.

Delenn and Mayan had been coming to the shop since they were very young students and the old woman knew them well, and brought them their preferred orders without asking. Ashan hemmed and hawed over the proffered list of choices but finally decided on something new and tongue-twisting. Neroon shrugged and ordered the same as Delenn.

The various pots and cups were accompanied by a variety of finger-food: fresh fruits and vegetables, little dishes of various sauces and spices, twists of salty dough, all accompanied by a quantity of small metal skewers so that they could be comfortably cooked over the glowing fire-pit.

The hungry students fell to the impromptu meal, and for a little while, all was amiable silence, broken only by the soft sounds of chewing and the occasional hiss of burnt fingers. "Perhaps there is something to be said for gloves," Mayan winced, hugging her hand to her chest. Ashan's big hand closed around her small one, tenderly dabbing at the hurt with a wet napkin.

"They have their uses," Neroon said, watching them thoughtfully. "Although I do admit, they get in the way sometimes."

Delenn was glad that her face was already bright with the heat of the fire. But it was not enough to hide her from Mayan's sharp eyes, which darted from her to Neroon and back again with a half-jealous, half-worried expression.

"Is it true," asked Ashan, examining Mayan's hand closely, "that Warriors never remove their gloves except under very strict circumstances?"

Neroon couldn't help but chuckle. "The circumstances are few, certainly, but they are not exactly strict. I wouldn't wear them into a steam-house, for example. That would ruin the leather--to say nothing of looking ridiculous."

Ashan grinned at the mental image; Mayan glared at the Warrior. Delenn blushed harder, but smirked. "This is your idea of being polite?" she murmured to her friend.

"I'm doing my best..."

"Is the tradition a very old one?" Ashan pressed.

"I believe it dates back to the battle of Kah'vron, five thousand years before the time of Valen."

Mayan's expression brightened. "But that is the great battle described by Heefa, where Valash and Tulann lead the charge against the invaders from the sea."

"I have a particular interest in that battle," said Neroon, cradling the small stone cup in his hands. "Shenai, the founder of my family, is said to have fought there. At my family's home temple in Kannor, there are swords in the archives that are supposed to have belonged to him. I believe the story," he smiled, "but I doubt the weapons. The pattern of the blades is from a much later period."

At Ashan's urging, Neroon upended a dish of spices, and used a skewer to push the fine grains into the rough shapes of two different styles of swords as he explained the differences that made him so sure of his assertion. Delenn smiled to hear the animation in his voice, and to see the badly-hidden astonishment on Mayan's face. "I told you he was well-versed in history," she teased, pushing a well-roasted slice of fruit into her friend's mouth.

Mayan wiped the salty-sweet juice from her face. "Yes, you said so, but I've never seen him to eager to demonstrate it." She listened intently to Neroon's careful description of the weapons in the possession of his family and why he believed them to be younger than the elders claimed. "Have you suggested that they examine the blades?"

"Not yet, though I've considered it. Such a proposal would take more research than I've been able to gather so far." He paused, tapping the plate thoughtfully. "Delenn tells me that your parents are archaeologists. Are they familiar with the time period of Kah'vron?"

"I do not believe so," said Mayan, very regretful. "But they no doubt have colleagues who are. I could perhaps inquire...?"

"I would appreciate that." Neroon inclined his head politely. "Thank you."

Delenn's smile widened at how flustered Mayan became at the Warrior's good manners. "Is that why you became so familiar with the Songs of Heefa?" she asked. "Because of your family's connection with the story?"

"Not exactly. My family's involvement in the story is minimal, just the one battle. As I said, I have been hearing the work performed at public festivals and at clan gatherings since I was a small child. The elders of my caste do not disapprove of the ancient tales simply because they are ancient. I was taught to value history and art for their own sake, not merely for their moral content."

"I should hope we do the same," said Ashan in his mild way, before Mayan could work up an indignant outburst.

"You three certainly do," Neroon smiled.

"You never told me you came from such an old family," Delenn said quietly when they were all on their way home, with Mayan and Ashan dawdling being them and trying not to look conspicuous.

"I try not to bring it up, lest I sound incredibly arrogant. Yes, Delenn," he grinned when she looked up at him, "I have at last learned the value of humility and silence. I don't know how long it will last, once I'm back among Warriors every day, but for the moment, I am a model of civility."

"What was that you were saying about humility?" she teased.

Neroon rolled his black eyes and bent to kiss her quickly. "Don't make fun of me," he pretended to growl. "If Branmer's experiment is seen as a failure, I might have to remain here another year."

"Hmm. You should brag more." She snuggled close to him, underneath his cloak. "Still... it must give your family great pride, to come from so ancient a line."

"After a fashion... Does it bother you? That I have never mentioned it?"

"No. I only worry...” Delenn lowered her eyes, and a slight frown tugged at her lips. “Well, my line is not nearly as old. And your mother already does not approve of me."

"Delenn, if you were descended from Valen himself, it would change nothing, neither her feelings nor mine. I am proud to be descended from a hero of Kah'vron, but beyond that? I do not allow that descent to dictate my fate." His arm around her shoulders was solid and comforting. "Although I admit to being glad to have finally impressed Mayan."

***

As the end of the winter term approached, most of the temple’s students were happy to let the scandal fade--they had too much work to do, too many examinations to prepare for to bother re-hashing old rumors about Delenn and the Warrior boy. The only ones who still looked askance at Neroon were the very youngest students, first-and-second years who did not quite understand what their elders had been accused of, but who found a strange little thrill in following the Star Rider in the hallway and running away before he could turn fully around.

To Delenn's surprise, the behavior of the children actually bothered Neroon. "If it were all in good fun, that would be one thing," he complained one evening, as they walked back from the tea shop with Mayan and Ashan. "But those little ones are actually afraid of me."

"They are not," Delenn tried to soothe him.

He would not be persuaded. "They are! As if I would ever hurt a child... No doubt after I leave, they will have nightmares about me for weeks."

Mayan was sympathetic. "They're only slightly afraid of you, I promise."

Neroon looked sideways at her. "'Slightly'?"

"It's a game. Truly. Whoever can walk behind you without you noticing and glaring at them is considered very brave."

"Lovely." Neroon snorted as they entered the school. "I've become a walking test of courage for Religious infants." He paused in the doorway, waiting for the fourth member of their party. "Ashan? Is something wrong?"

The gangly librarian was standing in the courtyard, staring up at the sky. "I think it is g-going to storm," he said, shivering as he came in.

"It can't be!" said Mayan, taking hold of Ashan protectively, as if to warm him. "The winter storms shouldn't be arriving for another two weeks."

"Unf-fortunately, Mayan, I fear n-nature has seen fit to d-disagree with you..."

With a glance at Neroon, Delenn took his heavy cloak from her shoulders and gave it to Ashan. It looked very short and silly on his tall frame, but he thanked them both gratefully.

"You need to read less and eat more," said Neroon, distracted by the clouds roiling overhead. "Yes, those are storm clouds... and they look to be bad ones. We should get inside."

The four of them had been invited to supper with Master Branmer, who had professed a deep interest in all their welfare, not merely his clan-brother’s, and wanted to make certain that they were all still treating one another kindly. "And make sure that Ashan is eating, apparently," said Branmer with a wry grin, as he relieved Ashan of the book he was wont to read at mealtimes. "Concentrate on your food for a change."

"Yes, sir." Obediently, Ashan applied himself to the stew on his plate.

Branmer watched in amused disbelief while his guests chewed silently and enthusiastically for several minutes. "Was today a fast day and no one bothered to inform me? You were out in the city all day -- why didn't any of you children think to stop and get a snack somewhere?"

"We were going to," said Neroon, "but apparently Ashan is on some personal crusade against street food."

"If I don't know where it came from or what's in it, then I am not going to eat it." Ashan was quite adamant. "And it's all so greasy!"

"You could use a little grease, you know," Delenn teased in her friendly way, her pale eyes twinkling at Mayan; "then perhaps you wouldn't creak so much." Ashan, whose extremities appeared but loosely connected to the rest of him, blushed and tried to busy himself with a piece of bread.

"And I can't imagine that all those knees and elbows are very comfortable in bed," added Neroon, unable to resist. "A little fattening up would do you a world of good."

"Best do it now," advised Delenn. "For unless you have skill at cookery, you will fare badly at mealtimes if you and Mayan decide to marry."

Now it was Mayan's turn to blush, but she grinned and nodded. "One a good day, I can make something resembling toast. Usually, though, I have to be reminded how to boil water."

"If I had access to a kitchen," said Ashan, making himself heard over his friend's laughter, "I could feed myself perfectly well. I prefer my own cooking to that of the dining hall. Not that the food at this school is poor, but... It is easy to forget to eat regular meals," he finished, a bit mulishly.

Mayan laid a fond hand on his arm. "I have the same problem."

"I know; you're almost as bad as I am."

Before they could kiss, Branmer reached purposefully between them and served everyone second helpings, whether they needed them or not. "Eat now," he ordered. "Flirt later." Mayan and Ashan both flushed, but their happy eyes made it clear they didn't mind being scolded in the least.

Beneath the table, Delenn sought Neroon's hand. The leather-covered fingers gripped hers firmly. Delenn smiled, a tiny, secretive smile that meant she was inordinately pleased with life (a smile that made something twist in Neroon's stomach), and turned to tell Branmer about the first-years. "Yes, I've noticed," the astronomy master mused. "They are alternately frightened and fascinated by my clan-brother."

"When I first came here, I tried helping with the first-and-second year astronomy lessons, but I was more of a hindrance to learning than anything else. They could not pay attention with me looming nearby." Neroon stared into his tea and sighed.

"It's more fascination than anything else, truly," Mayan tried again.

It took a great effort on his part, but Neroon refrained from rolling his eyes. "And how would you know that?"

"I know because I spend a great deal of time with the little ones," she replied loftily. "They have excellent taste in literature."

"You mean you go to the nursery after curfew and tell them stories," Delenn corrected with a smile.

"And if I do? I like children."

Neroon sighed again, then when everyone looked at him, made a show of pushing his food about on his plate.

Branmer smiled. "At the risk of embarrassing him thoroughly, Neroon is also quite fond of children, and is very much missed among the youngest students at his training camp."

The Star Rider boy squirmed under the weight of so many surprised gazes. "Not that missed, Branmer..."

"No, of course not. Only enough that a packet of childishly-written letters has arrived regularly, every week, for the past year."

"At least someone's been writing to me," Neroon muttered, too low for anyone but Delenn to hear. She squeezed his hand tightly.

Outside the thick stone walls, the wind tore through the city, but the snow held back until after dessert. Then it came down fierce and fast. Branmer's cursory examination of the Star Temple's dome was unpromising. "No stars tonight, my boy," he told Neroon on his return, "inside or out. Like as not, you and I will be up on the roof once this storm breaks; we'll need to get the snow off the dome before it hardens into ice."

Delenn's forehead creased in a frown. "Is that not work for the maintenance staff?"

The sharp green eyes of the astronomy master sparked and danced. "My temple, my rules. Now you had all best get to bed and get warm. I fear it will get far colder before it gets warmer."

As they did nearly every night, Ashan and Neroon escorted Mayan and Delenn to the room the two girls shared in the female dormitory to wish them each a proper good night, before Ashan would seek his own small chamber in the basement archives and Neroon would return to the Star Temple. As they walked slowly through the mostly deserted corridors, they became aware that they were being quietly followed, and by more than one set of small feet.

Neroon rolled his eyes skyward, then caught his friends' attention and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. They all knew the three or four children stalking them were breaking the rules by being out of bed so late, but who among them had not done the same as a ten-year-old? Besides, they were only playing, and the last thing Neroon wanted to do was give the little acolytes any more reason to fear him...

There was a low snap in the air, and then all the lights went out, plunging the school into cold blackness.

The little children yelped in fright, and the one closest to the older students ran forward and latched onto the first pair of legs he bumped into. Neroon reached down in the darkness and picked the child up easily. "Softly, little one, softly," he rumbled. "There's nothing here to hurt you."

"Y-yes, sir," the small boy stammered.

Each linking hands, Ashan and the girls turned slowly around, with Delenn keeping one hand secure on the belt of Neroon's coat. "Walk towards the sound of my voice," she instructed, her firm words sounding strangely loud and hollow in the cold stone hallway. "Slowly."

With much shuffling and sniffling, the other three children found their way to their elders; Ashan hoisted the two girls up to cling to his shoulders while Delenn held the remaining boy, who proved to be Master Nafeel's son Callenn. "W-will you tell Father that I was naughty?" the child asked timidly.

Delenn distinctly heard Neroon snort. "We will talk about that later. First, we must find someplace warm."

Neroon took the lead, and with the others behind him and one hand against the wall, they groped their way back to the Star Temple by sense of touch.

"Master!" Neroon called into the inky depths of the chamber. The snow had completely covered the temple's observation dome, depriving the Warrior's keen eyes of even the starlight. "Master Branmer, bring lights! And blankets!"

A tall, ghostly figured appeared out of the Annex, carrying a lamp. "This way," he beckoned.

Carefully, they picked their way among the pillars and filed one by one into Branmer's home. Candles glinted cheerfully from many surfaces, and the warm, salty smell of firestones from the cooking brazier filled the small space. Ashan set the two girls down on the sofa, between himself and Mayan, where they burrowed into the deep cushions and covers. Branmer draped a thick blanket around Delenn and Callenn; her small clan-brother still clung stubbornly to her, apparently intent upon extracting a promise of silence in return for his continued good behavior.

Neroon sat down in a chair with the small boy who had so dogged his heels still wrapped in his arms, well-draped in the folds of his great cloak. The candlelight revealed the youth of the boy--the two delicate, disparate halves of his crest clung to his temples like a bird's tightly-folded wings, leaving most of his skull bare and unprotected. "Have you a name, little one?"

The boy gulped. "Kernann," he whispered softly, not lifting his eyes though he sat straight and nervous on Neroon's knee.

"Kernann. Hmm." Out of the corner of his eye, Neroon could see the other three children watching him with rapt, frightened faces, while his own friends hid their smiles in their sleeves. "And so you think it a right thing, Kernann, to follow in the tracks of a Warrior, and hunt him like prey?"

"I... I am sorry, Zhaden Neroon," said Kernann, his high voice quavering in spite of his attempt to bravely steady it. "I meant no harm, truly!"

"'Truly'?" Neroon prodded.

Kernann hung his head. "It is just a game."

"Indeed." Neroon bent down to the boy's level. "You seem to me to be very good at it."

Startled, Kernann finally looked up, and saw Neroon's black eyes twinkling.

"I doubt even I could make a better job of tracking."

The little boy squirmed with embarrassed pride, and after a moment, he cuddled closer against the Warrior's warm shoulder, while the two girls whispered amongst themselves, clearly impressed, and Callenn looked on with prim disapproval.

Delenn smiled to herself, inordinately pleased.

Branmer passed around a bowl of buvah'ja for the children. The clear red candies shimmered promisingly, and the blend of spices that flavored the sticky treat warmed the little bodies from the inside out. Their elders drank Branmer's favorite blend of spice tea, more grateful than ever for the thick, subtle heat that slid so smoothly down their throats.

When he had seen all his charges thoroughly warmed both inside and out, Branmer wrapped himself in a cloak and went out with a lantern to see if he could be of help anywhere in the school. "Try and get them to sleep," he murmured to Delenn. "There's no knowing how long we may be without heat, if the generators have collapsed under the weight of the snow--the maintenance workers were not scheduled to reinforce the housing until next week. Keep them warm and put them to sleep--they need to conserve their energy."

In response, Mayan and Ashan tucked another blanket around the two girls between them on the sofa, and wrapped their arms around the children and each other and held them close. Delenn shifted her chair next to Neroon's, so that his cloak and her blanket could cover the four of them. Kernann snuggled happily between Neroon's warmth and Delenn's softness, but Callenn did his best not to let Neroon or Neroon's cloak touch him too much, curling into a tight ball between Delenn's arm and thigh.

After a few moments, Mayan began to sing in her sweet, clear voice, a gentle lullaby that transcended all castes, lulling the little ones towards sleep with the promise of dreams of spring. One by one, her friends joined her, Neroon and Ashan's deep voices rolling underneath Delenn and Mayan's soft, true ones. Already warm and drowsy, now that their fears had been soothed away, the children fell asleep easily.

"I thought Master Branmer might be exaggerating," Delenn said softly, easing her slumbering clan-brother into a more comfortable position. "Clearly I was the one who was mistaken."

Neroon smiled. "Warriors in training are not divided by age or sex. We are all jumbled together in communal barracks, so that our comrades and elders are always nearby, and the young ones seek out the old when they are frightened and trust in us to comfort them." He settled Kernann's head against one shoulder, while Delenn claimed the other.

On the sofa, the two little girls had somehow migrated to Ashan's lap, leaving an arm free for Mayan to snuggle under. "You seem quite enthralled," she murmured.

"It's been years since I spent any time with small children. In my line of work, I don't have much contact with people who have not yet learned to speak the three languages. Or more." He glanced at her shyly. "But... you enjoy the company of children?"

"Mmhmm. I look forward to being a mother one day... when I have found the right male, of course."

"O-of course," Ashan stammered, unable--or unwilling--to interpret her tone as anything other than friendly teasing.

Smiling, and pressing more closely to his ribcage, Mayan began to sing again. None of the others knew the words so they merely listened, enthralled. It was teela, a poem-song of the form Mayan favored most, a story of two pairs of lovers and their many meetings and partings over the course of a year. Poignant and sorrowful, it made Delenn's heart ache, and Ashan's and even Neroon's eyes glistened when the last verse had been sung. "I am not overly familiar with teela," he said, "but that was beautiful."

Mayan smiled lopsidedly. "It is adequate, for the moment."

"You composed that?"

"Yes. But I have not yet found the entire piece."

Though burdened by two small boys and one small woman, Neroon still managed a bow. "You will."

The four friends shared a smile.

There was movement in the temple, the sound of footsteps and of cloak hems on the cold, smooth stone floor. Master Branmer had returned, and with him were Draal, the master of the novices, and Master Nafeel, all of them shivering and grateful to reach the warmth of the Annex. Draal smiled broadly at Delenn and Mayan--he had been their first teacher in the school, nearly twenty years before, and they retained a great fondness for him. "I'm glad to see that you are all keeping sensibly warm," he said, his jovial nature plain even in his low voice. "There is little point in bundling up alone in such weather." Unseen by Nafeel, who was bent over the boy in Delenn's arms, Draal's eyes twinkled brightly, and Neroon had to grin back.

"We must get the little ones back to the dormitory," said Nafeel, picking up his small son.

Delenn touched his arm. "The halls are so cold, Master, and the children are comfortable. Can they not stay here tonight? We will watch over them."

As master of novices, Draal had no objections, so Nafeel could not reasonably object. "Very well," he consented with a sigh. "The other three may stay, but I will take Callenn back to his own bed."

Drowsily, Callenn cuddled against his father's neck. "Can I stay with you tonight, va'mala?"

"No, son, you must go back to the dormitory..." He trailed off at the sight of the disapproving looks he was receiving from teacher and student alike.

"Nafeel..." Branmer chided.

"Oh... all right." He turned to go, paused, and then offered a tiny bow of thanks in Delenn and Neroon's general direction.

Draal shook his head. "That man needs to study less protocol and more paternal feelings." He sighed. "Well, if you are all settled in for tonight, then I shall seek my own bed." He bade them all a cheerful good night and took his leave.

Branmer thought for a moment about how his small home could accommodate an additional three people in accordance with propriety, and then shrugged. "Everyone on the floor, then."

They piled all the blankets in Branmer’s little house together, a layer underneath them to keep the chill of the stone floors from leaking into their flesh, and another atop them as they burrowed together like ice mink kits.

Branmer eyed both pairs of lovers with a fond pretense at sternness as they settled the sleepy first years into the center of the nest. “I hope I can trust the four of you to maintain suitable boundaries, particularly given the presence of our young charges? Or should I insist that the young women take one side, and the young men the other?”

“We will behave with propriety,” Mayan assured him, blushing only a little as she tried and failed not to glance at Ashan.

“Hmm.” Branmer gave each student a long and measuring look, just for added effect, and then nodded. “Then I will retire to my own bed and leave you all to your peace. Don’t stay up all night whispering, though, either — remember that you are meant to be providing a good example to those sleepy little creatures, and that they’re likely to wake and get excited at all this adventure if you give them the slightest reason… and also that I expect Neroon to be up at dawn to help me with the roof.”

He went away, then, and the youths, embarrassed by his insistence and equally pleased by the reason for it, bedded down chastely, each pair snuggled up closely but still in their clothes.

***

A few nights later, Delenn smiled into her pillow as the stone door of her room scraped quietly shut. It was amusing to think that not so long ago, Mayan would have been following her when she tried to sneak out at night. Now it was Mayan who was creeping the hallways of the temple on her own, to spend time in the archives with her novitiate priest.

She waited until she was sure Mayan had turned the corner of the corridor, and rose from her bed. Delenn pulled on her shoes and her heaviest winter robe, and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. Then she crept into the hallway and made her way silently to the Star Temple.

Neroon was waiting there for her, his thick cloak shrouding his tall form in darkness. He held out his hand for her, draping a fold of the heavy cloth around her small frame. Together, they slipped out the little side door and out into the night.

The winter night was bitterly cold but there was not yet snow on the ground. They moved quietly over the frosted grass, nearly to the edge of the temple boundaries, to the secluded grove where he had taught her denn'bok forms during the summer.

Neroon took the blanket and spread it on the ground, and then they lay down together, warmed by his cloak.

Delenn snuggled close against his chest; his arms were firm and solid around her. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of him—heavy cloth, musky leather, and the spice and dust from the Star Temple that clung to him like perfume. "You are leaving in the morning?"

"Yes." His lips were soft on the crown of her head—lips that Mayan had once derided as hard and cruel. "I've learned your lessons in patience well. It's time I returned to my own studies."

Delenn focused on her breathing and the frost it made against his coat, forcing down the tightness behind her eyes. She would not disgrace him with tears. "I shall miss you."

"Shall you?"

She looked up to see a curious expression in his dark, dark eyes, visible under the light of a million winter stars like shards of crystal. "Of course I will! I-I-"

"Yes?"

As bold and confident as she had come to be, Delenn could not bring herself to say the words. She kissed him instead, and hoped he would understand. His leather-clad fingers danced gently over her cheek as they drew apart a few inches. "It is strange," she murmured, touching the back of his hand. "You have been here nearly a year, but I have never seen you without your gloves."

"A Warrior's hands are as precious to us as our souls. We do not bear them to just anyone." He swallowed. "Only to our closest kin, our most trusted comrades-in-arms... and to our mates."

Delenn's wide eyes were full of him, and she barely noticed as he reached inside her coat and pulled out something wrapped in white. "I do not know what the future holds for me, Delenn. But I want you to take this--" He pressed the cloth into her hands. "--as a Star Rider's promise."

They were so closely pressed together that Delenn almost could not bring the bundle up from between them. Intrigued, she pulled back the folds. In her hand lay a small, blunt knife, sunset-colored, its hilt wrapped in white silk cord—the sort of thing that one could purchase in the city shops as a keepsake. She tilted the blade, and the starlight shone brightly off the words that had been etched there, slowly and carefully.

"'Shai'fili,'" she smiled. "’Underneath the stars.’ It is beautiful."

"Then say you'll keep it."

Delenn caught his eyes with her own and held them. "Tell me what this means, Neroon."

He growled softly. "Delenn..."

"Please."

The gentle entreaty went straight to his heart, the one that few others in the temple suspected he had. "I told you, not very long ago, that one day I would be yours to command. This is my pledge to you... if you'll have me."

Delenn could only reach out and press her hand to his face, and draw his lips to hers. Sometimes there were no words to be spoken, and she knew that Neroon of all people understood that.

It was late, but neither of them wanted to go inside and miss the chance to spend a few more hours together. He curled his long body around her to protect her from the cold, and opened his coat so that she could burrow against his chest and wrap her arms around his ribs. "Your hands are freezing," he murmured with a small laugh.

She waited a few moments until she could feel her fingers again, and then, a little hesitantly, Delenn slipped her hands up under his shirt, resting them lightly against the muscles of his lower back. Neroon gasped softly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes... yes."

"Should I...?"

"May I...?"

She unclasped the front of her robes and then, gingerly, he moved one hand under the cloth, over the naked skin underneath, until his gloved fingers touched the small of her back.

Even without seeing, Delenn had no trouble finding the sensitive bursts of pigment; they flared out from the tiny plates near the base of his spine, radiating heat, and the plates themselves had gone smooth as glass under her exploring fingertips. "'His crest was sharp, his eyes bright, and the scales on his back smooth.'"

Neroon husked a low laugh against her temple; the sound quickly became deeper, regular and rumbling. It surrounded Delenn, thrumming through her. She felt it in her mouth, in her lungs, in the pit of her stomach. His leather-covered hands were warm and smooth on her back, but he couldn't feel her skin and Delenn would not ask him to remove his gloves—not yet. But when she suddenly gasped and arched against him, they both knew he had found what he was looking for.

They curved into one another, each seeking to feel the glorious heat beneath their hands as best they could, probing and stroking while the thrumming vibrated through their bones, drowning out all other sounds but that of their own breathing, the growls from his throat and the soft cries from hers.

At last, Delenn moaned into his chest, and all the tension melted from her body. She slumped against him, clutching bonelessly at his shirt and trying to catch her breath. Neroon held her close; his chest rose and fell swiftly beneath her cheek. He swallowed a few times before he managed to speak. "Are you all right?"

"I'm not sure... I am not even sure where I am right now..."

"I know the feeling." He pulled his cloak more tightly around them, until they were practically cocooned together. "Delenn..."

"Was that... Neroon, you're sure that was not too far? I haven’t pushed you too far?"

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I am sure." He smiled against her skin, and when he pulled back, his eyes were hot and glittering. She inhaled the living leather scent of his hands on her lips. "We should go back."

"I know."

Neither of them moved.

Neroon sighed. "I shall miss you, too. I suspect that my fellow trainees will be making my life very difficult in a few weeks, and it will take all my fortitude to keep from deserting my post and running back to my priestess."

"That would not be wise. They would come looking for you here." Delenn felt incredibly warm and secure, and looking into his calm, reverent face, she also felt a sense of unbelievable confidence, that all was right with the universe. "I would fight them, if they came."

He chuckled. It was a pleased and proud sound. "You would fight my clan for me, like Valash in the stories?"

"I would fight for my mate, as he taught me to fight." She kissed his lips almost hungrily, but when she drew back her face was shy. "We should go back, before we are missed."

"Yes."

The moons were low on the horizon, and the stars had faded almost to nothingness, when Neroon was suddenly woken by the sound of frozen grass crunching underfoot. He looked over Delenn's head to see Master Branmer quietly approaching them, a cloak over his broad shoulders and another one under his arm.

Gently, Neroon woke the girl beside him. Delenn's sleepy eyes went wide with fright at the sight of Branmer, but he merely held out the spare cloak he had brought. "It's time to come inside," he said, a slight smile playing about his lips.

Delenn smiled at their teacher, then turned back to Neroon. It seemed that there was suddenly too much to say and too little time to say it in. “I hope you will give my best wishes to your mother. She will think it foolish, I suppose, but…”

Neroon smiled sadly. “She will not be there. Not until just before I return to my camp, at least. Her ship was called away again. I will spend most of my holiday at the camp, with whoever else stays behind. There will be many others,” he reassured her quickly. “Many of my year-mates have parents stationed too far from the homeworld to return for holidays, and other students as well.”

“But…” Delenn’s heart lurched. “If I had known…”

Neroon laughed. “You can’t stay here just for me, Delenn. You must go home to your father. Just because one of us has no parent to welcome them home—”

“No! My father gave me permission long ago to invite you to our home for the holiday. I never mentioned it because I knew you would want to see your mother. But if she will not be there… would you want to?”

“Is it not too late?” Neroon tried to keep his face closed off, but Delenn could see a hopeful warmth in his eyes along with nervousness. “Would he not need more warning?”

“No, not at all! I have brought Mayan home before, when her parents were unexpectedly delayed in the mountains coming home from a dig.”

“But that is different, Delenn. Mayan has been your friend for twenty years, now. Your father knows her, knows her parents…”

“He gave me permission to invite you,” Delenn repeated. “I’ve told you, our home is simple - it’s only the two of us. There will be no difficulty in adding another.”

Neroon hesitated, and glanced at his clan-brother for advice, but Branmer offered nothing, merely waiting for Neroon to make his decision. “Would I not be in the way?” he asked awkwardly. “I know nothing of how to act in a Religious home.”

“You would be fine. It would be just the two of us most of the time, anyway. My father will be at the temple most of the day. I get very bored during winter holiday, most years. And you’ve spent more than enough time here at temple to know what little you need not to embarrass yourself at prayer. You haven’t fallen asleep in temple for months,” Delenn teased brightly.

“Master?”

“You can’t ask me, boy,” Branmer told him fondly. “I am only your guardian while you are at this temple, and that ends tomorrow.”

“Then… then I will go. It will be easy enough to travel to Kannor from Yedor at the end of the holiday, when Mother’s ship will arrive anyway, and before that there is no reason for me to be at the training camp instead of with you. If you’re sure it will be all right.” Neroon turned again to Delenn, his dark eyes searching hers. “I do not wish to cause you trouble, Delenn. No more than I already have, at least.”

“It will be no trouble, Neroon.” Delenn smiled brightly and laid her palm above Neroon’s heart.

“Now that is settled… come, boy.” Branmer held out his hand, beckoning his young clan-brother along with him toward the grounds. “We shall walk Delenn back to her dormitory, and then you and I will have one last night in the Star Temple, hmm? Let it not be said I didn’t keep you from any untoward behavior on this last night in my care.”

Chapter Text

As they got off the transport at Yedor's huge, bustling station, Delenn noticed that Neroon, who had looked a touch dour through the whole trip, now looked positively grim. He clutched her hand tightly as they moved through the crowds, and actually growled something rude (at least she was fairly sure it was rude) in the Warrior dialect as a group of boisterous young men cut them off at one point.

"I'm sorry that you're unhappy," Delenn finally offered as they reached the edge of the crowd.

"I'm not unhappy."

"Then why have you been scowling all day? You look... like Mayan used to describe you, honestly."

Neroon winced and mumbled something.

"Hmm?"

"I said, I'm nervous."

Delenn blinked. "Of what?"

He stared at her. "Meeting your father, of course..."

"Oh. You don't need to be. Father will like you."

Neroon shot her a disbelieving look and snorted.

"He will. He has already told me as much. After what happened at temple--"

"That was different. To disapprove of me then would be to implicitly distrust and dishonor you. Of course he sided with us, then."

"That's not what it was about." Delenn sighed. "Trust me, Neroon."

"I do, but..."

"Father!" Delenn shot up onto her toes, waving at someone in the crowd. Neroon instinctively straightened and scanned the crowd... and realized he had no idea who he was looking for. It wasn't hard to guess, though. An older man, fairly trim despite his age and the lack of physical activity afforded to the vocations of adult Religious caste, wove through the crowd grinning broadly at them. When he arrived he hugged Delenn tightly and then offered a salute and a bow to Neroon, who returned them with great respect.

"Neroon ra'Fisularae. It is good to meet you in person at last."

"Clarenn ra'Mir. I am honored to meet you, and... hope I can live up to Delenn's opinion."

For a moment, Neroon was sure he had said the wrong thing - the older man regarded him very solemnly, with a sort of distant worry in his gray eyes that Neroon could not place. Fortunately, the sky intervened to spare him further awkwardness, as a light snow began to fall around them. "It seems you two have arrived just in time," Clarenn said, his expression once again completely calm and pleasant as he tucked his daughter's hand in his own. "This snow is only the first of it. Come - let's get you settled into the house before dark."

He led the way, chatting with Delenn about her classes and teachers and friends, and Neroon was happy to fall in behind them, letting the conversation wash over him without touching his mind especially as they walked through the close, busy streets. When they arrived at their home, he was relieved to discover that it was small and comfortable-looking - nicely furnished, but neither too rich nor too ascetic to be welcoming.

"You can set your bag down in Delenn's room - she'll show you. I'm sorry we don't have a guest room, but I suspect you two will be comfortable enough in the same room?"

Neroon blinked stupidly at the man. His mind seemed frozen. He couldn't possibly mean...

"There are extra blankets and an old bedroll in the chest over there." A faint smile played at Clarenn's lips. "I should warn you, I expect the door to the room to remain open. If you speak quietly, though, I can assure you I won't be able to listen in."

"Oh. Good... I mean, thank you." Neroon briefly considered asking if he should just throw himself out of their home and save Clarenn the trouble, but the older man didn't seem overly insulted or worried by him, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. Delenn hugged her father again, and then took Neroon's hand and led him down a short hall to what he took to be her room. A bed dominated the small space, but there was plenty of room next to the bed for Neroon to set up the offered bedroll, and a window looking out on the street made the room seem larger than it was. A chest underneath the window doubled, if he could judge by the neat little collection of cushions, as a window-seat, and a mobile of crystals caught the light. A shelf on the wall held a strange variety of objects - a few stones and crystals of various colors and qualities, a couple of books, a slightly ragged-looking stuffed toy made to look like an ice-mink... and on the wall, a scroll in laborious, slightly childish script had been pinned up.

"Mayan wrote that for me, many years ago. She sent it to me here, while we were at home for a few months visiting our families." Delenn curled up on top of her window-seat, tucking her tiny bare feet up into her robes. "She said she couldn't bear the thought of not talking to me for that long, so writing was the best she could do to make up for it."

"You and she are very close," he said softly, coming up to rest his arms loosely around her.

"We are." Delenn smiled and leaned her head against his chest. "I was very frightened on the first day at temple. As long as I can remember, my life had been just my father and I, and to be in a strange place without him, and know that I would not see him again for months..."

Neroon remembered his own first days in the training camp, away from his mother, and then, with some shame, added to that the open affection he had already sensed and seen between Delenn and her father. "It must have been very difficult for you."

"I was soul-sick. But Mayan came up to me, and held my hand, and said she would be my friend and help me." Delenn laughed a little. "It was silly, of course - looking back, she was just as frightened and sad as I was. But it helped her to say that she would take care of me, and it helped me to not be alone. We have been friends ever since. I suppose it is foolish, but I hope we always will be. I was so angry with her for what she did to you - to both of us - last summer. But she knows now that she was wrong, and... if we can all survive that, it seems like growing up will be only a minor change."

"Perhaps." Neroon leaned his cheek against Delenn's crest, breathing in her presence and the soft smell of incense that always hung about her. It was the scent of all the Religious, he supposed, but it seemed to him that it was hers alone, something that would always remind him of her.

Clarenn called them to dinner soon after that - a hot soup of vegetables, with bread and flarn alongside to fill it out. Delenn must have said something to her father before their arrival, because there was no formality, no trading of plates and contemplation between bites as she had explained once was normal for the welcoming of a guest in the Religious caste. Or perhaps Clarenn simply guessed that his daughter's friend would be uncomfortable with such strictures. Either way, Neroon rose quickly at the finish of the meal to clear up the plates... and then immediately realized he wasn't precisely sure what to do with them in their home. Delenn rose as well, catching his eye, and, telling her father she would make tea for them all, accompanied him to the kitchen, showing him how to load the dishes into their little cleaning receptacle, which was hidden behind a panel.

The tea was bland to his palate, nothing like the strong and spicy blend that Branmer favored, but the heat was welcome and soothing, and drinking it gave him something to do while Clarenn questioned his daughter about her studies, her friends, and her teachers.

"And how have you enjoyed your time at the temple, Neroon?" Clarenn asked suddenly.

"I..." Neroon hesitated. "Have learned a great deal," he finally finished carefully.

"I can imagine." Clarenn nodded solemnly at him. "Much of it, I expect, to do with the mistrust and lack of patience with which some in our caste regard outsiders. I hope you will forgive some of us for the actions of those in our caste that are not welcoming of differences."

Neroon shook his head. "No less might have happened had one of the Religious caste come to live in my training camp."

Neroon did not miss the way Clarenn's eyes shot to his daughter at this. "I suppose that might be true. And yet my daughter tells me you live with a clan-brother who is of our caste."

"Branmer," Neroon agreed. "My father's cousin and good friend. His father was Warrior caste, but his mother was Religious."

Clarenn's lips turned up in a faint smile. "Such a thing has been known to happen."

They had been up so early to catch the transport to Yedor that Delenn and Neroon were soon yawning and struggling to keep their eyes open. Clarenn hugged his daughter and kissed the crown of her head and then, when she retreated into the bathroom to change into her nightclothes and get ready for bed, regarded his young guest with a calm, strangely cautious expression. "Neroon, may I speak frankly with you for a moment?"

Neroon's heart sank. This, then, would be the moment when the man expressed his disapproval of Neroon's relationship with his daughter. "Of course, sir."

The older man glanced at the closed bathroom door, and beckoned Neroon to the other side of the room, over by the window that looked out on heavy snow falling in the darkened street. "I'm sure you have noticed, if Delenn had not already told you, that her mother does not live with us anymore. She has not for many years - not since Delenn was very small. My daughter has seen her mother only once since then... and I have only seen my wife that once, as well."

Neroon, confused and utterly unsure of what was expected of him in this conversation, remained silent, and only nodded when it seemed that Clarenn was waiting for some kind of response from him before continuing.

"My daughter now is very quiet - shy and gentle, and unassuming. If you know her as well as she believes you do, however, then I think you know there is spirit in her that has yet to be wakened. Her mother, Selise, was the same when she was Delenn's age. There seemed in her to be a fire, banked but waiting for its time to burn brightly. Perhaps Delenn's will never wake into full flame. Perhaps it will burn quietly, and she will be always as she is now - a simple priestess, gentle and kind and peaceful, happy to serve in a small temple and live with the man her heart desires." Clarenn pressed his lips together, and, beneath his well-trimmed beard, Neroon saw his jaw clench. "Then again, as I said, her mother was much like her, when she was young. After Delenn was born... the fire in Selise awoke, and would not be quenched by the life of a simple priestess. Her heart was called to greater things, and... she left us, to serve in a distant temple where she is not often allowed visitors. It is a great honor. But it is not an easy thing for a man, to lose his wife to a higher calling, and it is hard for him to see his child grow up without a mother." He trailed off and shook his head.

Neroon looked away, out the window, uncomfortable with the pain he saw in the older man's eyes. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

"Because I think you need to know it, and Delenn cannot tell you herself. She doesn't see it in herself. I do. And perhaps..." He laughed softly, a strange, self-deprecating sound. "Perhaps, against all odds, I see a little of myself in you, and wish that someone had told me these things. Not so I would turn away from Selise, but so I would know to be aware every moment that I might one day lose her, and to steady my heart for the day when greatness might call her."

"But--"

Across the room, the door opened. Delenn stepped out, wearing the same loose trousers and tunic of thin, dark purple cloth that she had worn to bed the one time Neroon stayed with her in the female dormitory six months prior, and looked at Neroon and her father with a curious expression. Her eyes were wide and a little shadowed with the need for sleep, but there was something in them... a sharpness and clarity that Neroon had seen before, and found deeply intriguing. Delenn noticed things. She calculated. Her green eyes seemed to cut through him - through both of them, Neroon realized with a faint stab of pity for the older man beside him. What must it be like for a simple man such as Clarenn to have a child with a spirit of such steel and power hidden in her?

Much, he supposed, like it must have been to marry such a woman, and then lose her.

"Thank you," he said softly to Clarenn. "I shall think about what you have said." He bowed, and then retreated quickly to grab his rucksack and change.

When he came out in his own nightclothes, only a single dim lamp lit the main room with a faint glow. Another, shining more brightly, lit the way into Delenn's open bedroom, where she lay on her bed, eyes wide open and watching the empty ceiling.

"What did my father say to you?" she asked quietly when Neroon padded into the bedroom. She did not turn to him, and her voice sounded strange, distant. Against his will, Neroon found himself a little nervous of her.

"He was telling me about your mother," Neroon admitted. "About how she left to follow her heart's calling."

"To serve with the Sisters of Valeria," Delenn confirmed.

"It... is an honorable calling," Neroon offered cautiously, sitting down on the floor next to her bed.

Delenn sighed. "Why was he telling you?"

"He... said he thought I needed to know."

Her lips tightened. "He thinks I will be like her."

"Perhaps. You are her child."

"And his," Delenn pointed out with more vehemence than Neroon would have expected. She turned to him, her face pale but for two high spots of angry color on her cheeks. "He is wrong."

Neroon blinked at her. "Delenn--"

"I am not my mother."

"No one is saying--"

"But he is. He..." Delenn shook her head. "I love my father more than anything, Neroon. And I know that he loved my mother, and that she was a wise, good soul who only left us to follow her heart, as was right. It was right for her to leave. But that will not be me."

Neroon pressed his lips together tightly as he sought for the right words. "Everyone must follow the calling of their heart, Delenn. If yours calls you to something greater..."

"There is no greatness in me." She smiled at him, a little bitterly, he thought. "I am as you see me now. What my father sees... is only the shadow of the past. He has told me many times how I look like my mother. But wearing her face doesn't mean I have her spirit. If you would have greatness in your wife, Neroon, you must choose another."

Rising up on his knees, Neroon took her hand in his and pressed it to his heart. "I will have only the one I have chosen, Delenn. Whether great or low."

She smiled a little and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, and lay back satisfied, her eyes drifting closed. But Neroon lay awake for a long time, thinking over her father's words and hers, and remembering the strange ferocity he had seen in her from time to time, and the way her gentleness could turn without warning to a strength and determination that made him wonder whether Clarenn was not right to be concerned.

---

For Delenn, the real pleasure of Neroon visiting over the holiday was the chance to be close to him in all the parts of the day that they did not normally see together. Waking with him only a few feet away, hearing his quiet, steady breathing and feeling, with almost uncanny sensitivity, the heat of him kneeling next to her during morning prayers and meditation... and, of course, the pride of noticing that he was now still and silent the whole time, his body taut but waiting. He had learned so much, and she felt pleased to be part of that, and to see her father's approving smile when the early morning offices were completed.

Clarenn left for the temple after that, to prepare for the greater morning services there and the rest of the day, and Delenn made a simple breakfast of fruit, bread, and tea for her and Neroon to share. She would have been happy to stay at home all day, sit and read or perhaps play a game, but Neroon seemed to have used up his store of calm during prayer, and after a few hours prowled the small apartment, unable to sit still. The snow outside was thick, but all that came down then was a light dusting, so Delenn suggested a walk through the city.

Suitably bundled in heavy robes and winter cloaks, they ventured out. There was little to do, but it seemed to soothe Neroon just to be outside, and the city was beautiful in its blanket of snow. Full daylight on the winter solstice would be a faint, twilight haze around noon, so even late morning was dark, but all the buildings were lit from within, and the snow reflected the brightly colored glow from within each house, temple, and workplace until it was nearly as light as sunlight anyway, particularly with the help of the moons and stars above, happy without the suns to have their time in the day. And for once, it seemed to attract little attention for a white-robed acolyte to walk hand in hand with a tall, black-cloaked young Warrior. The streets of Yedor thronged with members of every caste, and although most still stayed closest with their own, Warrior and Religious and Worker each had to deal with the others every day, dulling all but the worst of the old prejudices by regular exposure.

Part of that exposure came as a surprise to Neroon, it seemed, as they passed by a training center where the local Warriors gathered to practice. A number of trainees about their own ages had gathered in the courtyard playing some rough sort of game that Delenn didn't recognize. The raucous little crowd teemed back and forth in constant motion, shouting and yelling. Delenn immediately felt herself recoil from the activity, making herself smaller against Neroon's solid, comforting presence, but when she looked up at him his eyes were alight with interest. His eyes followed the movements of the group eagerly, and the muscles against her shoulder seemed to tense, ready to throw himself into the fray.

Every nerve of him wanted to join in, Delenn realized, and he restrained himself only because she was there.

One of the Warriors, a tall, gangling male with broad shoulders that seemed almost to ill-match the rest of his lanky shape, loped over to the edge of the courtyard and offered a quick salute to both of them. Neroon returned it, and Delenn bowed in her own way, feeling strangely out of place at once. "Who are you?" the strange boy asked brusquely in the Warrior tongue.

"I am Neroon ra'Fisularae. I'm visiting for the winter holiday before returning to my training camp in the east. And this is my friend, Delenn ra'Mir, of your city."

"You're a Star Rider!" The new boy's long face opened into a grin. "We're clan-brothers, then! I am Aalann. You should join us, Neroon. It's a fine day, and a bad one to waste inside or walking sedately through the streets."

"No, my friend..." Neroon gestured to Delenn. "We are out together. Another time, perhaps."

"My father wanted me to pick up some vegetables from the market," Delenn told him. "Do you want to stay here while I do that?"

He turned with an effort to face her. He tried to close off his expression, but his eagerness to join the others and regret at the thought of leaving showed clearly before he managed the feat. "No. I'll come with you." Even the switch back into her dialect seemed to pain him, and Delenn realized with a pang how long it must have been since he spoke his own tongue with any but Branmer.

"Stay here." Delenn laughed fondly. "I think I can manage to buy a few vegetables in my own city without a Warrior's escort. Go. I'll come back when I've done my errands, and we can walk back together."

No more encouragement was necessary. Neroon bent and kissed her, then easily climbed over the low fence and joined his new clan-brother, running back to the group. Delenn watched for a while as introductions were made and quick salutes exchanged, and then the game renewed with Neroon in its midst. She tried to understand the rules, but, if there were any, they were beyond her. There seemed to be a great deal more tussling and slamming into each other than she would expect from a game, but everyone laughed and smiled even when they had taken a hit, Neroon most of all, so she decided this must be expected.

Delenn went her way to the marketplace as usual and bought the vegetables her father had requested, taking her time to give Neroon his respite with the other Warriors, and wended her way back to the training center with the bag of roots and hardy winter greens. The game seemed to have changed by then - there were two obvious teams now, rather than a roiling mass of undifferentiated activity, and Neroon seemed, by all indications, to be directing one of the two, with his clan brother Aalann often close by his side. There were others who seemed inclined to stay near him as well, including, Delenn noticed, a few rather statuesque females. Delenn, who had never been self-conscious of her size or lack of physical prowess before, suddenly felt very soft and awkward in her own skin, watching them. They raced among the young males with the same wild abandon, and as she watched one - a tall young woman with black eyes and a sharp chin, pressed very close against Neroon, using the full length of her body to block him from some strategy he was trying to employ. Heat rose on Delenn's cheeks despite the cold of the day, and she wished suddenly that she had not been so accommodating in insisting that Neroon stay with the other Warrior youths.

As he turned to get around the tall female's block, though, Neroon noticed Delenn, grinned broadly at her, and broke from the crush. He called something to the others that she didn't catch - although she did notice it made the tall girl and several others look at her, and she tried not to shrink under their frank examination. With a quick salute to all of them, Neroon jogged over, jumped the low fence, and was at her side.

"Finished with your shopping?" he asked. Flushed and disheveled as he was, Delenn didn't think she'd seen him happier in days, if not more.

"Yes. Do you want to stay longer? Until the game is done?"

Neroon shrugged. "It won't be done until everyone leaves. I'm ready." He caught her chin in his gloved hand and kissed her firmly, and curled an arm around her shoulder as they turned back toward her home.

"Why?" Delenn asked as they walked away.

"Why not? No one here is bothered."

"But your new friends..."

He shrugged. "I wanted them to know. A few of them asked who you were, and I said what I could - that you are a friend from the temple school I've been studying at, and that I am staying with you and your father for the holiday before I go to finish my training. But I wanted to make sure they understood."

"Why?" Delenn asked again, feeling foolish. "Why did you want...?"

"For many reasons. Because I like that you need not be ashamed of me, here. Because our time together is ours, now, but is also short. Because I love you, even though I cannot yet say publicly that we will marry." He shrugged and smirked a little. "And also because if the females see that I have someone already, they will treat me as a comrade, not as a potential conquest."

Delenn nodded. "I thought so."

"What?"

"I thought they wanted you." He looked curiously at her, and she smiled and ducked her head. "The tall one, she was... pressing against you."

"That is part of the game..."

Delenn made a face.

"But not that much, I agree." Neroon smiled. "Am I not worthy of wanting?" he teased gently.

"You know you are. Just like that... you've only just met them, and already they are your friends. It took me weeks to make even vague friends with anyone but Mayan at temple, and that is just because Mayan was so forward she made the decision for me. You... I suppose I've just never seen you with young people of your own caste. It surprises me."

"You assumed I was always grouchy and sulky and afraid to speak?" Neroon laughed. "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you, if that is what you wanted."

"It's not what I wanted. I knew you were unsure of yourself at temple, I just didn't realize you were so..."

"Confident?"

"Popular."

The next day, Delenn brought a book with her so that she could stay at the training ground while Neroon worked out his pent-up energy on the other young Warriors. The snow had stopped, at least for a time, and everything was white and pristine... except where the snow had been beaten down and mixed with stones and dirt from the rough play of those in the training yard. Still, it was oddly picturesque, she decided as Neroon hurried forward to join Aalann and the others at their game... and it made her feel better to keep watch, as she caught several of the young women - and a few of the men - casting speculative and highly curious looks in her direction from time to time. They were obviously wondering what their handsome, vigorous new friend could possibly see in a quiet, studious little priestess like herself. That was fine. Delenn was ready for them, this time.

After a few hours of tussling and running and assorted rough play, Neroon bowed out of the game again, and trotted over to where Delenn sat with her book. She stood up as he approached, smiled, and - willing herself not to so much as glance at the other young people who watched them - hooked a small hand around the base of his crest and pulled him firmly down into a kiss.

When she had planned this out earlier that morning, Delenn had been faintly worried that Neroon would be embarrassed or even consider it improper - at temple, he had always been careful about public displays of affection between them, and while she understood the reason for that, it was still intensely novel to share more than a quick, chaste kiss in public. She shouldn't have worried, though. Although he seemed surprised at first, Neroon melted into her touch, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist and pulling her close as he deepened the kiss for a long moment. When they parted, Delenn risked a glance toward Neroon's compatriots, and saw grudging respect on a few faces, including the girl with the dark eyes and sharp chin.

"Showing off?" Neroon murmured in a teasing tone as they walked away from the courtyard.

"Perhaps, a bit." Delenn smiled brilliantly up at him, and reached up to touch his face, a wondering look in her eyes. "It's only... I feel proud. Back at temple, we had to stay apart for so long, and now... All those girls want you. And you are mine."

"Mmm." Neroon cupped her cheek in his gloves hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Yours. Yes, I am that. Did you only just notice?"

Delenn slid her arms around him under the cover of his cloak. "No."

"But it matters more, now that there are other girls who want me?" he teased.

"No!"

Neroon grinned. "Then what?"

"I am proud. Those Warrior girls looked at me, and saw that you were mine, and they accepted that. It... makes me think we may not always have so many troubles as I feared, over the summer."

"And if we do?" Neroon asked softly.

"Then we will handle them as we did this summer's trouble." Delenn leaned her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. "But for now, I am very happy to be able to walk with you, and be proud of you, and not think about that."