The Tale of Two Princes

*

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there were two kingdoms that lay side by side in the foothills of the Great Mountains. Wise and just kings ruled the two kingdoms with their fair and talented queens. The people adored their rulers and for the most part everyone was happy as mortals can be.

The kingdom of Aureim was known for its great scholars and storytellers. People came from many miles to visit its golden-spired towns and linger in the great cobblestone market places where in tiny bistros the greatest minds of the world discussed philosophical problems. Aureim was also a place of merchants and it thrived on brisk trade of spices and exotic wonders from many foreign places.

The kingdom of Noiven shared its long eastern border with Aureim. Noiven was a farming land. The people worked the land and from its’ dark soil grew notoriously healthy plants. Noiven dealt in animals as well, churning out prized breeds of cattle and horses whose lines were so desired their prodigy were claimed generations in advance. It was famous not for its cities, but its lands. The wealthy nobles held great estates that spread for miles of untamed beauty.

The two kingdoms thrived. Both were well known through the world and both prospered. Yet, they were constantly on the edge of war. The main contention in the battles was the worship of their shared Goddess, The Lady. The people of Aureim celebrated the Goddess in large austere temples in complex ceremonies with many objects of power. The Noivene knelt in the dirt of their lands and cried out in their rough language praises, blessings and requests.

Each found the other sacrilegious and it would have meant war many years before, if the penalties of such a war were not so obvious to the kings. Neither Aureim nor Noivene had much of an army and to create a larger one would have meant drafting the peasants. The resulting war would ravage both lands leaving neither intact enough to enjoy victory or mourn defeat. In war they would be too evenly matched.

Yet, the blasphemy could not continue without action or the people would revolt, so competitions were set up between the two constantly to settle the aggression on both sides. The contests were varied and not all of them were direct. Some were simple things like yearly games held on an alternating basis in the two kingdoms between their best athletes. Some were more complex, like the competition in trading. It became a common saying in after clinching a particularly large business deal, "We’re ahead now."

So, it was of little surprise that when the princes were born that would become a thing of competition as well.

For many years, it had been a race to produce an heir. Both queens had been carefully monitored since their marriages and were expected to be the first to conceive or bring shame onto their kingdoms. As it turned out, Noivene won this particular battle, as the lovely, young queen of that land produced a son almost two years before the lovely young queen of Aureim did.

The two princes grew up being constantly reminded that they must be better then the other. They were trained in the ways of their kingdoms to be the best they could possibly be, so that when the time came that they met their opponent they could easily win. Win what was never quite explained as the two certainties couldn’t be expected to fight each other in any physical way and any battle of wits was difficult to judge. Never the less, the unspecified battle weighed heavily on the minds of both kingdoms.

The first-born prince that of Noivene was named before the goddess while lying in the grass of the palace garden while he napped. His full name of Royen Jaga ty Crois, but most of the palace knew him as Jaga. As he grew, it became apparent that he was a serious, but active child. He liked to work in the garden that surrounded the palace walls and as soon as he was large enough to mount a pony by himself, he would go out for long solitary rides in the neighboring forests. He came from the solid Noivene stock, but was uncommonly handsome for that breed of man. His hair was jet black and cropped to a few inches of untamed waves, his eyes were deep pools of a brown that could border on black in right lighting and his skin was a rich tan from his long days in the sun’s embrace. His studies were those that he learned himself in his play.

It was believed in Noivene that a child left to its own devices would learn more quickly then one tutored endlessly. As a consequence, the young prince had very few lessons and those that he did were only at his request. The threat of his competition lingered always in the air during and often his father and mother would gaze at him with obvious expectancy as if waiting for him to suddenly bloom into a superhuman weapon. The boy did not know why this made him strange, but after every such encounter he would flee for the safety of his horse.

In the two years in between the birth of Jaga and the birth of Aureim’s prince, the royal family prepared. As soon as the child was born he was whisked into the hands of the most intuitive and thoughtful nanny in the whole kingdom. A fleet of servants watched over his every tiny movement and kept careful note of every development. When he was brought to the royal temple to be named in front of The Lady, three scribes were there to take down each moment of the ceremony. In the course of three hours, the baby was named Vestang Ferrachi Teremone wiArogan. It was traditional to give a baby only three names, but it was felt by everyone that the extra name made up for a little of the time lost between births. The baby was called Rachi for short.

Rachi was surrounded with teachers from the first day of his life. He had a teacher for nearly everything from charm and etiquette to Astronomy and foreign languages. In every way a citizen of Aureim, the young child absorbed all his lessons with fervor, trying to take in everything at once. He loved attention and was very rarely alone. When night fell and he had no choice, but to return to his rooms, he would turn to books and poured over the pages of fictions written from hundreds of different places. The stories soothed him and eased the worry that sometimes overtook him. In his mind’s eye he saw his rival and he was afraid. To his vivid imagination the other boy was already a man and a giant at that. He believed this adversary to be of great and awesome might, who would only laugh at Rachi’s attempts to outwit him. This image only pushed him harder to his studies.

The sun did not often see young Rachi, but it seemed that it had found its way into him. It was often said that the young prince had soaked in the beauty of Aureim’s cities while in the womb. His hair was a white blonde that fell in a straight golden river to his waist, his eyes were a clear light blue that could pierce into every heart and his skin, which should have been lackluster from his underexposure to the great outdoors, shone pearly white. By the time he was nine years old, he was easily the most beautiful and well-versed child in Aureim. And he was scared down to his perfectly formed feet.

These two princes were on a collision course with each other. It was the hopes of both royal families that such a meeting could wait until the boys were men, but the people were agitated with the wait, so it was agreed that the meeting would be soon. At nine years old, Rachi feared that his life’s goal would meet with failure. It would have reassured him a little to know that Jaga, now eleven, was fairly worried him.

*

There was one who watched these proceedings with greedy distaste. She did not intend that the planned confrontation should ever be met for she had other plans for the delicate young prince of Aureim.

Her name, many years ago, had been Ermina, but she did not remember that now. Once, she had been a duchess of some standing who had fallen in love with a peasant. The man was a simple one, who respected the bonds of his marriage and refused her advances. Broken-hearted and more then a little angry, she had sought the aid of a powerful witch to curse him. The witch had done so, but magic, especially black, always has its price. While Ermina gloated over the ruins of her ex-love’s life, the witch came to her and struck her memory clean. In place of Ermina’s life, the witch poured all her malignant and ugly power, creating in Ermina a new witch and drew from the woman all of her strength and youth. The old witch knew better then to leave this empty shell of power without a purpose, so she allowed a release. When Ermina had spilled the blood of a prince, then she would be free to walk the earth as a mortal again. The old witch was young and beautiful again, but mortal. She left Ermina where she stood and when the new witch awoke it was to the aches and pains of eternal old age, comforted only by her new powers and a single purpose: to kill the prince of Aureim. Enough of her Noivene loyalty remained to spare Jaga.

She stewed for years, creating her plan. All she needed was a chance to abduct the Aureim prince and then she could make sure he would never be fit to compete with any spawn of Noivene. This could not be done in Aureim itself. The witch that had been Ermina would be recognized instantly as Noivene by her dark hair and eyes and not allowed within a mile of the secluded prince. Instead, she bid her time in the castle walls of Noivene, waiting for the first meeting.

That the meeting would be held in Noivene had been agreed upon after three months of political maneuvering on both parties and they both came out feeling as if they had one: Noivene because it had home territory and Aureim because they felt that it would enhance their victory if it was won on enemy soil. Such was the way of the competitive spirit.

Rachi was dressed in a white silk robe and his long blonde hair was a mass of small intricate braids laced through with strands of bead tipped ribbons, then placed with care in a light filled caravan whose cushion floor was more comfortable then his bed in the palace. The ride to the capital of Noiven would take two days, he was told by teachers, nanny and parents, and during that time he should meditate on the upcoming confrontation. Then they left him alone. It was the longest time he had ever been without company. His meals were delivered by a guard, who had been instructed to leave the young prince to his meditation and was therefore, silent. Luckily, Rachi had stored up against this calamity and spent most of the ride alternating between panics about the upcoming visit and pouring over a text of mythological creatures.

The Noiven guard spotted the royal procession three hours before it would arrive. The flurry of activity that had descended over the palace in the last three months had neared a point of complete frenzy. Everything had been cleaned, polished and fumigated. Even the stone palace walls had gotten a scrubbing. Food had been churned out in such a quantity that the peasants that worked the palace would be eating the scraps for a year. The Noivenese did not like to stand on ceremony, but this was a special event. The amount of protocol alone for the meeting of two princes could fill several books and nothing was to be overlooked.

As a result, the princes didn’t actually meet the first day they were together. Instead, they were both introduced to a long line of people who worked with, occasionally spoke with or in some way were connected to the other prince. At the meal, they saw each other from the far ends of the table, separated by nearly a hundred guests on both sides, to far to make out anything beyond rough details of coloring and height. To Rachi, it was his worst nightmares realized. He was small for his age of nine and Jaga was large for an eleven year old. The dark fierce look of Noiven features put together with the obvious height differences created the fearful giant that had so haunted the young delicate prince. His fear lasted through the evening’s entertainment when he found himself becoming unaccountably weary. The ceremonies were to continue late into the night, he knew he would not be awake to enjoy them.

With the decisiveness of a child, he rose to find his nanny and tell her that he wanted to go to bed. He had forgotten exactly where she had pointed to meet him, but he was sure it was one of the doors on the right. What he could not know was that the Noiven palace had been designed as a fortress many generations ago and it’s insides were a giant labyrinth to all those who were not raised within its’ walls.

He had soon wandered to far to find his way back properly and after several more twists and turns, found himself in darker and more untended parts of the castle. It had all been cleaned for his arrival, but it was obvious by the unlit torches that no one thought that the guests would wander this far.

"I am lost." He said to himself, liking the sound of his own voice better then the silence. "And nanny always said that when I am lost, I should stay right where I was until someone found me."

"Your nanny is an idiot." Growled someone near his ear. Rachi yelped and jumped high in the air. "But what else could be expected of some Aureim whore."

The trembling boy turned to face the wizened and bent figure of the witch. Her gnarled hands reached for him and in his parasailed shock, he did nothing to stop her. She drew him close to her, so that he could smell the noxious rot of his breath and feel the course fibers of her unwashed gown against his soft cheek.

"You are mine now, you spoiled brat, and you will suffer as I have suffered, waiting for you to come to me." She clutched him tight to her, and he cried out again. "Shut up! If you behave, I will kill you quickly."

Rachi manfully held back tears.

"You can’t kill me. I am the Crown Prince of Aureim!" He said, mustering a little bravery. The last protest earned him a stronger repugnant embrace. Her body seemed to be enveloping him and his limbs would not respond to his demands. They were moving, it seemed, further into the darkness.

"That is why I am going to kill you! Prince’s blood! Imagine, what a feast! And then I will be fr…" But she never got to finish her sentence as at that point, she was hit over the head by a candelabra of no small weight and fell, unconscious, to the floor, freeing the little prince. Rachi lay on the floor stunned. A rough hand pulled him to his feet.

"Come on, before she wakes up."

Rachi gazed up at his savior. He wasn’t actually that much taller then he was. Maybe a foot or so.

"You’re P-p-prince Royen J-j-aga ty Crois." He stammered.

"Yes. And you’re Prince Vestang Ferrachi Teremone wiArogan, but that makes no difference now. We need to get out of here before she tries to hurt you again. I know a path back to the dining hall. No one’s missed you yet." He turned and began to walk, confident that the younger boy would follow. Jaga was used to people listening to what he said.

Subj: Fic: The Tale of Two Princes (2/4)

Date: 6/8/02 10:12:12 PM Pacific Daylight Time

From: Tarrot Cat

To: vera_scribbles@yahoogroups.com

...

"If no one noticed I was missing then how did you find me?" Rachi asked as they weaved through the maze of tunnels, the smaller boy rushing to keep up.

"I was watching you when you left and saw that you went through the wrong tunnel. I was bored, so I thought I’d follow you and make sure you didn’t get lost."

"But I was lost." And the horror of what just happened sank in at just that moment and Rachi began to cry. It was quiet at first, he didn’t want to look like a baby, but the sobs grew louder and finally, he had to stop walked and sit on the cold cobblestone, weeping out of fear and relief.

Jaga stood for a moment, poised in uncertainty. He had seen people cry before, but it had never been his problem. When he was younger and he himself had cried, his governess would hold him for a while, and then distract him with some wild flower or a visit to the stables. So, stiffly, he sank to the floor and gathered the smaller boy into his arms and let him cry. The solid warmth of the tiny body thawed him a little and took away from the awkwardness. Jaga rocked him gently and petted the long silky hair. He had never seen anyone so pale and the smoothness of the hair beneath his calloused palm eased his own fears about this confrontation. It was hard to be worried about a fight when your opponent could fit in your lap and was currently blowing his nose in a large embroidered handkerchief.

"There’s something poking into my leg." Rachi said, eventually between hiccups. Without thought, Jaga reached into his pocket and withdrew what appeared to be a flawless drop of amber. It was the shape of a teardrop and fit comfortably in the palm of Jaga’s hand. "What is that?"

"It’s a dragon’s tear." Jaga told him, unconsciously lacing an arm around the younger boy’s waist to keep him from falling onto the floor. "I found it yesterday while I was walking. They say that a long time ago, a great knight saved a princess from a dragon. The dragon had taken the princess because he had fallen in love with her and when the she went home with the knight, the dragon’s heart was broken. He cried for days and scattered his tears to the winds. The stones are pretty common here, but people like to wear them. They think that if the owner is ever in trouble the tear will turn to flame."

The myth was old and familiar to Jaga, one of the stories of his people, but he had inadvertently struck upon Rachi’s soft spot. The story, though told bluntly and without even the embellishment of names, struck the younger boy as completely wonderful.

"It’s beautiful." His awed tone half for the story and half for the stone itself. Jaga couldn’t say what propelled him to his next words, but they felt right.

"Take it."

"I couldn’t!" Rachi protested the picture of trained youth straining against the bounds of carefully instilled morality. " It’s yours."

"There are lots of them around. This one belongs to you."

"But."

"Take it as a gift from a friend."

Rachi stared up at him, disbelief coloring his face.

"I did not know we could be friends." He said softly. "They never said…"

"They never said it to me either, but we’re both princes and our word is sacred. If we want to be friends, why shouldn’t we be friends?"

The thought, once mentioned, was vastly appealing to both parties and allowed for a great amount of relief.

"I didn’t want to fight you anyway." Rachi said solemnly. "You’re too big."

Jaga laughed.

"That will change. We should get back before they miss us."

"Do I have to call you Royen Jaga ty Crois? I know that it is very meaningful and traces your heritage back several generations and I think that the Royen means royal, but it’s rather a long name for friends." Rachi pointed out as he clamored out of the older boy’s lap. Jaga stared at him.

"I think it is good that we do not fight. You are too wise for one so small. Call me Jaga."

"Jaga." Rachi smiled and for the first time, the older boy saw that full shining statement. It was blinding in its joy. "I like that. You may call me Rachi."

They walked silently side by side for a while. Shyly, Rachi reached out a hand and rewarded Jaga with another smile when the larger boy grasped the offering in his own. They re-entered the hall together.

"Prince Vestang Ferrachi Teremone wiArogan! Where have you been!" It was his nanny and the her shrill worried voice turned the whole dining hall’s attention to the two boys.

"I got lost." The little boy told her gravely, having already decided not to speak of the attack. He didn’t want to worry anyone. "But Jaga found me."

"Jaga?" The woman looked bemused, staring uncomprehendingly at the older boy.

"I returned him as soon as I could. He wandered off into the wrong tunnel." Jaga explained, a little more gruffly then he had intended.

"Rachi, what is the meaning of this nonsense? Where were you….What did he do to you?!" The nanny demanded. From the corner of his eye, Rachi could see his mother and father having a whispered, quick conference.

"I told you. He saved me. And now we are friends." The little prince looked away from his nanny and turned his piercing blue eyes to the silent crowd. "I think all this fighting is stupid. It doesn’t make any sense and it just makes me all worried. So, me and Jaga will be friends and if we’re friends then I guess the rest of you will have to be too."

The statement, had it been made by an adult, would have been cast aside as ludicrous and at best laughed over. But the eagerness of the child speaking and the strange magic of the Crown Prince of Aureim combined into a persuasive elixir. The crowd shifted restlessly. The King of Noivene rose.

"Tonight’s festivities have ended, dear friends. The children have given us much to think about. If the King of Aureim would be so kind as to join us in a meeting now, we would be most grateful."

"We will attend." Confirmed Rachi’s father.

No one was sure what the two said to each other that night, but the peace they forged between them was surer then the truce that had gone before. Their kingdoms would follow suit, dropping old animosities and leaving the competitive spirit behind. The reformation was incredible and it was all due to the young princes.

That night though, his mother, his nanny and his teachers scolded Rachi. He went to bed feeling chastised, but relived. When he was sure the last of his protectors had left him, he slid out of bed and drew the dragon’s tear from the pocket he had secreted it in. In the pale moonlight, the tear seemed to glow with a light of its own and sparkled becomingly in his hand. Carefully, he placed it in the box that held his other, more formal, jewels. No one would disturb it there, among the diamonds and emeralds, it would appear like a worthless bauble. When they returned to the palace, he would add it to his small cache of things that he had found.

*

The friendship between the two boys lasted through their adolescences though they saw each other only two or three times a year. Rachi would often write long, witty letters filled with cutting observations of court life and complaints of the oppression of his tutors. He would consistently end each with a remark about how much he missed being with Jaga.

For his part Jaga, liked receiving the letters and even enjoyed reading them though reading was far from his favorite past time. His responses were mostly short missives that were just long enough to reassure Rachi that he was still alive and yes, he looked forward to seeing him again.

Besides the obvious complications of any visit (the trip itself, the endless ceremonies on arrival, the necessary tours of local villages, the diplomatic parties) they were separated by a lack of time. Rachi’s training had shifted to preparing him for kingship, which meant a whole new set of tutors, and these new lessons were not nearly as interesting to him. Politics was boring and while he was adept at court manners, he hated the intricate and pointless discussions that he must learn to navigate. His lessons took away from time he would have spent pouring over his own books. He was to old for tales now and preferred ancient texts, moldy and illegible that described ancient and dead civilizations. Jaga was the only one who knew of his new interest and they found common ground in it. Often, their time together was spent discussing some adventure or another that they would take to a far away land to uncover crumbling ruins.

Jaga was also learning to become king, his lessons paining him in a different way. He was beginning to find the limits of the freedom he had once believed to be endless. The weight of being prince was only now being felt, keeping him from the land that he loved, the land he had been born to rule. It was cruelly ironic, but when he pointed this out to his teachers they pushed him harder into his books. Only Rachi understood.

And he had not realized how much he depended on that understanding until the year the King of Aureim fell ill. The sickness was very grave and for a long time it was believed that he would die. Rachi could not leave the palace for fear that he would have to step up any instant to be king. He wrote melancholy letters, shorter then they had been before, to Jaga that reported his father’s condition and his fears of becoming king.

Miraculously, the old man pulled through the disease and on one balmy spring day, Rachi entered Noivene for the first time in a year and half. He had not seen Jaga since the other prince’s brief visit a year ago and then they had barely had a chance to speak. He wasn’t sure why his heart was beating so quickly or his head felt so light. The anticipation was great.

He arrived with a small guard of seven and riding his own horse. Jaga had insisted on teaching him how to ride five years ago and faithfully, Rachi had practiced. He hadn’t rode since his father had fallen ill, but it came back to him easily enough. He rode to avoid too much attention. This visit was purely social, he had made that much plain to his recovered father. He had been given a month to stay with his friend as a vacation from the stress of the last year. Riding up to the castle, he felt lighter all ready and his easy smile slid across his mouth for the first time in months.

Jaga was waiting for him on the steps in front of the grand entrance. He had been sitting there for a long time. The messenger had arrived that morning announcing the Crown Prince’s eminent arrival and he had felt a sense of calm flood over him since then. He had been edgy and angry the last year, taking off on wild rides in the middle of lessons, unable to concentrate. He was eighteen years old and he had to be scolded like a small child to behave in a way befitting a prince. He chaffed under his tightening bonds and the once person he could speak to about it had been cut out from under him. Now, Rachi returned and the thought of it had soothed him in the way of mysterious cure.

"Dismount!" A clear tenor ordered. Jaga blinked and shook himself from a daydream to great his friend.

The golden youth had changed, Jaga realized as swiftly as a punch to the gut. He moved with a grace that he had never processed before. The piercing eyes, which before had always been filled with undimmed optimism and curiosity, had been leveled with pain and wisdom. He remained shorter then Jaga and far more delicate. Exquisite white blonde hair had never been cut and hung now to his thighs in a single thick braid.

Just as quickly, Rachi registered the changes in Jaga. Always untamed, Jaga now looked wild. His hair had grown longer and the waves were chaos of jet black. The quick brown eyes were haunted with repressed urges and he had grown a scraggly beard.

They embraced in the quick way of old friends and stepped back to greet one another.

"You have grown." Jaga said, approvingly. "You may still catch up."

"I think not." Rachi said dismissively. "You are unnaturally large. And that beard does not suit you, friend. Come. Feed me and tell me how it goes with you."

"Hungry? That is rare enough. I better indulge you, before you change your mind." It was well known that Rachi ate like a bird. Jaga, who was known to put away a meal meant for two or three, somehow understood his friend’s light hunger. Jaga ate because he had to propel his body, Rachi did not need to eat as much because he fed himself with knowledge.

Their meal was amiable enough and they soon caught up on all the odd small happenings in their lives. Women came up as they would, but less then one would think. Women, for the boys, were something inevitable. Eventually, they would have to deal with them, but why make it sooner then later? They’d each had their rolls in the hay with a few maids, but neither had been much impressed and therefore, they didn’t dwell on it.

"I’m glad you came." Jaga admitted as they sat over the remains of the meal. " They are giving me the month off to entertain you. They believe I will learn something about politics."

"I have certainly learned enough for the both of us." Rachi replied ruefully. "Shall we be awfully truant and go for a hike, tomorrow? I would like to see that waterfall you showed me some years ago."

"Yes, I know the one."

They rose from the table and made their way through the serpentine hallways to the guest bedroom Rachi always occupied on his stays here. They were silent now, enjoying each others company until they reached the doorway to the room.

"Good night." Jaga said softly.

"Good night, dear friend." Rachi said with a grin, before disappearing into his room.

Jaga stood outside the door for a long minute, confused and excited. Life was different, now. At least for the month. Rachi would not allow him to be bored or unhappy. They’re time was special and they had made silent promises to each other many years ago that when they were together they would not be princes. Instead, they were merely two friends who liked to make each other laugh. That night, Jaga shaved off his beard. He hadn’t liked it much anyway.

*

The month passed all to quickly in a series of hikes, wild rides on horseback, tending the garden, playing numerous games of chance and conversing on a wide range of topics. To keep things from getting boring, they allowed others to accompany them on occasion, mostly visiting noble youths. Mostly they found these spoiled children dull company and were glad to see the back of them, but one or two were quite entertaining and livened up days that would have grown wearying.

Through the pleasantly full days, Jaga slowly realized what was happening to him. It took a long time, but by the end of the third week he was sure. What clinched his notion was a small incident, barely worth remembering, but notable in the emotion it provoked. What happened was this:

Rachi had been sitting out in the garden all morning reading one of the ancient tomes he had brought with him. He was lounging in the shade of tree to keep his pale skin from burning. Jaga was weeding a patch of the large garden about ten feet away from where his friend was sitting when he heard a perturbed, "Ouch!"

"Are you all right?" He called over.

"I seem to have gotten stung by a bee." Rachi called out, amused. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it."

So, Jaga had gone back to gardening and looked up only a few minutes later to see if Rachi had gone inside to bandage the wound. What he saw was the younger prince, still sitting under the tree and sucking on the wounded finger casually. His free hand was following the lines of a difficult passage and his brow was furrowed in concern. With a sigh, Jaga pulled ripped off a clean bit of cloth from his shirt, grateful he was dressed for gardening, and went to kneel beside his friend.

"May I bandage that for you? Or are you enjoying the taste?"

"What?" Rachi looked up, temporarily confused, then his blue eyes refocused and he beamed. "I completely forgot. Thank you."

And he forgot again as soon as Jaga took the hand to bandage it. Admiring and scorning the softness of the hand at the same time, Jaga took a long time bandaging the simple bee sting. With tender care, he weighed the fine boned fingers with his own; the sight of such brightness against the duskiness of his skin was jarring. He knew then what had irrevocably happened. He had fallen in love with his best, and possibly only, friend.

"If you study the lines of my palm any closer, perhaps you will see something of use." The wry tone shook Jaga from his reverie. Clear blue eyes sparkled in mischief up at him. "You have gotten lost in thought my friend, but it is time to be found for lunch."

"You should do some work with your soft hands." Jaga scolded roughly to cover his embarrassment about being caught staring. He rose swiftly.

"Do not be cross and help me up. My legs have gone to sleep from sitting so long."

Jaga sighed and turned to offer the smaller man his hand. He pulled a little to hard and to compensate Rachi jumped a little, knocking against the older boy. This brief brush caused the long waves of blonde hair to brush against Jaga’s face and body, leaving behind the smell of flowers and lye. At that moment, he resolved never to speak of his feelings to Rachi. The younger boy was an innocent and Jaga had no right to take his closest friend from him with feelings that were far from pure.

When they parted a week later, it was with promises to write longer letters and the arrangements for Jaga’s visit to Aureim in the fall already underway.

"I will be glad to see your golden cities again." Jaga said with a smile when they stood beside Rachi’s mount. "Sometimes, the beauty of my own land is wearying."

"It does not weary me." Rachi said, ignoring the implication that Aureim was ugly. "I will look forward to your visit with joy."

"Let the Lady be with you." Because I cannot be, thought Jaga as Rachi mounted his mare in one graceful movement, for a moment a simple blur of gold.

"She is by my side, but I think you might need her more." Rachi called out cryptically as he gave one last wave. "Watch your back, my dear friend. Something in me feels danger."

*

It had taken her years to store up the power to attempt what she was about to do. The power left to her by the other witch was strong, but not strong enough to perform something on this scale without collapsing before the work was done. So she scrimped and saved her energy, sacrificed extra life forces and drew in energy from those around her. Now, after seven years of tedious work, she was ready. From a distance, she had watched the prince she had once never thought to harm, but now wished dead more then anything in the world. He had ruined years of planning and trapped her within this body for another seven. Her attention slid from the Aureim brat, he was too small anyway.

She waited for him to leave, her patience a mere scrap of anger now. But at long last, he had packed his things and headed back to his noxious homeland. It was time for her to strike. Deciding rapidly not to wait, she waited on the steps watching the prince watch the retreat of the Aureim brat. When the other party was far from sight, he turned and plodded back up to the castle. She summoned the energy she gathered and tightened it around him. His head shot up to meet her eyes in terror.

"I have waited long for my revenge and now you shall come where I wish!"

In a flash they were gone. No one had seen the strange light or witnessed the Prince’s sudden disappearance. No one even suspected the prince was missing for days. After all, he was known to run off and he would be sullen after his friend had gone had he must return to his lesson. By the time his absence caused concern it was much too late.

*

"Where am I? What is this place?" Jaga demanded, struggling against bonds he couldn’t see. The light of the spell had blinded him, but he could tell that he was no longer anywhere near the palace. The smells and the sounds were completely different.

"Far away from everyone you love." The foul smell that had not entered his nostrils since that fateful day in the hall seven years ago, returned in force bringing with it all the fear and pain he associated with it. "And I am going to keep you here. All I need is a drop of your blood to be free, but I think you should suffer."

His eyes slowly cleared and he could see the witch, her body swathed in dun colored robes, so that she looked shapeless and horrible. He recognized her with difficulty as the women from whom he had saved Rachi from all those years ago. Panic seized him and he fought desperately, invisible bonds gripped him. From the ground in front of her, vines of wickedly sharp thorns were growing at en extraordinary rate and they reached out to his prone body. He tried to kick himself free, but the struggle was fruitless, soon the plants that had captured his ankles and wrists slowly dragged him up to a sitting position.

"You are going to let them have me?" He cried.

"Yes. And you will not go easily. No, no. You will not get hungry or thirsty nor need to eliminate waste. You will not bleed to death, but you will bleed. Anytime you move, you will bury yourself further in their embrace. And the pain will go on forever." She cackled gaily at the idea and continued watching the growth with interest. Jaga fought not to struggle, ordering his limbs to remain quiet. The plant bore him father up and whatever bound him before was released, so that the thorns could weave themselves in its place.

When the work was done, he had yet to shed a drop of blood, but he was soaked in sweat and the slightest movement would cut him and free the witch. That much he understood, so he fought for the stillness that he usually abhorred. The thorns framed his whole body, holding him three feet off the ground and surrounding him on all sides with five feet of sharp horror.

The witch disappeared for instant and reappeared behind him crying out,

"Boo!"

A jolt of surprise blew his resolve and he moved forward the fatal inch. He was instantly pierced in countless places and each yielded up a single drop of blood that descended towards the ground in painful slowness.

When the first sank into the soil below, the witch screamed in triumph, jolting Jaga again. Blood rained down from his abused body and gradually, the witch’s yell turned to a scream of pain as the power was exorcised from her body. The process took two hours and in the end, there was nothing left of the witch, not even the memories. She stood, a young, but confused girl. Despite the pleadings from a voice inside the thorns, she wandered away to search for a village or town that could use an extra pair of hands.

The first week in the thicket was the worst. Jaga shifted and cried out many times, trying to find escape from his bindings or at least a comfortable resting place, but to no avail. His blood loss did not even give him the pleasure of wooziness; he could clearly feel each prick, each deep stab. It was agony. He could do nothing, could not even express his anguish.

On the first day of second week, he finally wept and that was what saved him. He cried for a long time, great heaving sobs that allowed one particularly nasty thorn to tear deeply into his chest. His tears were so plentiful that the ground beneath him became a small puddle and that small puddle was so bitter that it’s cries were heard by the ground water, which in turn, carried it out to the nearby river. The river was filled with nymphs, most of whom did not care about another message of sadness from their mortal counterparts, but one soft hearted one could not allow the call to go unanswered, so she followed the cry to it’s source, appearing before Jaga. She rose from his puddle of tears and touched a cool hand to his wounded cheek.

"You have been trapped here by magic."

"Yes." He said hoarsely, astounded out his sorrow by the sudden appearance of this lovely sprite.

"I can feel it." She shivered. "Mean spells. Ugly and angry. The only way to break something so bad is with something good. Something pure." She wrinkled her insubstantial forehead with thought. "Love! You need your True Love to get you out! Do not worry, I will find her!"

Before Jaga could protest, she was gone. He sighed, but did not attempt to call her back. He knew that things like nymphs had minds of their own. He was well and truly stuck and until someone wondered by or he thought of something else, he might as well find someway to occupy his mind. The bitter sorrow left him, there was chance, which was something more then he had had before. Now, only the prospect of boredom and pain daunted him. He shifted again, holding back a cry when a fierce burr buried itself next to his spine. Then he began to count the thorns.

*

The nymph, Coril, may have been impulsive, but she was true to her word. As soon as she left Jaga, she set out to find his True Love. Which she knew she could do. It was easy, once she had met someone, she could easily pick out their other half. It was one of her gifts from her father, the sea god, and one she didn’t question. The fact that she did not know Jaga’s name didn’t bother her. She knew what his True Love would feel like, now she just had to find them.

It was easier then it sounded because there were two ground level facts. The trapped boy was obviously a prince; therefore his true love would be a princess. He spoke a certain language and his True Love would have to know that language as well so that they would not have trouble communicating. This limited her search down to about seven palaces.

If Coril had not been so sure of her ability or more knowledgeable about the royal families she was searching through, then she might not have been able to find Jaga’s True Love. She would have realized, for instance, had she known more about the kingdoms, that the only princesses at the time was ten and fifty years old respectively. But she did not know and she performed the same process at every castle.

She entered through a fountain and when she felt she was close enough to where the royal family might be, she closed her eyes and opened her heart, trying to find a match. Six times she did this (once even in Noivene) and six times she met with failure. By the time she reached the last castle she was more then a little worried. What is she had been wrong? Would she have to break her promise?

Fretting, she shimmied up the fountain outside the golden castle of Aureim and opened her heart. The night was late and the castle was dark, except for the dull glow of a candle in one room near the highest levels of the palace. It was here that Coril found Jaga’s True Love. Carefully, she mapped the palace pipes and found a way into the room.

She entered upwards and was forced to spend a few uncomfortable moments out of water, before settling in Jaga’s True Love’s washbasin. She gazed out across the room and her eyes settled on a figure sitting at a desk. Long beautiful blond hair disguised the lithe body and shone in the flickering candlelight. Now, that was royally, Coril thought to herself, this princess has class.

"Excuse me." She said politely. "But I was sent to look for you."

The figure jumped in surprise and turned to face the basin that she was currently resting in. She made herself visible and leaned on the rim. Immediately, she saw her mistake. This was prince, not a princess, but upon checking again, she was sure that this was the True Love. How strange. But Coril never worried much about things that didn’t make sense. If she did, her sisters made fun of her.

"Who sent you?" He asked finally, in a smooth tenor.

"There is a man, who was trapped by an evil spell." Coril started.

"Jaga!" The name fell like a prayer from his lips.

The anguish of knowing his best friend had gone missing had worn Rachi down. He could not sleep and his waking hours were troubled with nightmarish images. The news of the prince’s disappearance had reached him the day after his return, but he had known in his heart that something horrible was going to happen from the moment he said goodbye to his dearest companion. He had wanted desperately to join the search party, but he knew that it would go against all protocol. Instead, he spent the days intercepting every messenger from Noivene, hoping for new.

"He is alive, but trapped in a land that is many days travel from here. You are the only who can save him." Coril didn’t tell him about the True Love. That would be up to Jaga and this prince when the spell was broken and she had delivered her promise.

"I will go." Rachi did not allow himself to stop to think about his responsibilities. It was not the time. His inner child remembered the tales of battle and saving and no hero had ever told his Queen Mother that he’d was just going out for a bit on a quest, be back in time for the Rites of Winter. They certainly never had any guards with them. Usually, they dressed like peasants and took with them their magic sword.

All Rachi had been a dagger in the way of weapons and a dress sword. He had plenty of peasant clothes from his visits to Jaga and he dressed in some now and packed the rest in a small satchel. Into the satchel also went an ugly burlap bag that actually contained a large sum of money in small coins those from when Jaga had visited him and insisted on going ‘among the people’.

"Ready. Where is this place?" Rachi turned expectantly at his watery guide.

"There is a ship you can take from a port three days journey from here." Corli said after thinking for a bit. "I will guide your ship. It has three red stripes on the sails. I cannot walk with you there."

"Thank you for your help."

She smiled up at him.

"I like to help." And then she was gone.

*

Many stories have been told about the three days that Rachi took to reach the seaport. They vary widely, describing deeds done and battles fought, most of them highly unlikely. Rachi was not a fighter; he had only a minimal idea of how to defend himself. Mostly he stuck to the main roads and tried not to look too suspicious. He did have one unfortunate encounter with some trolls, but he managed to outwit them until the sun came up and froze them into stone.

He reached his ship on time, at any rate, and Corli did guide it. The journey was long and Rachi was unused to ship weather. He was sick most of the time and felt close to death. Finally, on the eighteenth day of the voyage land was sighted and on the twenty–first, they landed. Corli was waiting for him after he was done rejoicing over his return to land.

"The place we seek is still far. Nearly two weeks journey by foot. I can walk with you now, the ground here is wet with lots of ponds for me to sleep at night." The idea of having a companion soothed him a little and made him less afraid.

They began walking that day. Corli, at her full height, was a slender and graceful figure, but disconcertedly translucent. When she was frightened, she would dissolve completely into the ground. An unsteady ally at best, but Rachi could not risk losing her now. He needed her to help him find Jaga. After that, he wasn’t sure what would happen, but until then he was dependent.

The forest that they walked through was pleasant enough during the day. At night, their eyes that glowed in the dark and far off howls, nothing too frightening. For the first time since the journey had begun, Rachi was able to think rationally. At first, the rush to the port had taken up all his thoughts and then the terror of seasickness had eclipsed everything else. Several problems arose in his quick mind and he turned them over rapidly searching for solutions.

"Why did Jaga ask for me?" Rachi mused aloud as he dined alone on some salted beef from his supplies. "He could have called one of his father’s solders or that sorcerer who works nearby. I’m not a hero out of the books. I don’t even know how to hold a sword."

"He did not ask for you." Corli spoke up. She had been luxuriating in the nearby pond, but overheard him talking to himself and assumed he was questioning her. "When I saw him, I knew you were the person to free him."

"How? You do not know me or him." Rachi turned his bright, piercing eyes on her and as usual they provoked truth.

"True Love!" She answered, then clasped her hands over her mouth and giggled, sprinting off to the pond.

But those two words gave Rachi a lot of food for thought. True Love. Corli had said only that Jaga was trapped by an evil spell and that could mean any number of things. She was not mortal and therefore, did not understand mortal sufferings on physical level. Her inability meant she was unable to give any further detail about Jaga’s entrapment. He could be in high tower, protected by a dragon or being fattened as a meal by an ogre. But if it called for True Love, it was more likely an eternal sleep or something of that kind.

He wracked his mind for the stories he had enjoyed as a child, but none came to mind that spoke of a prince rescuing a prince. It was essentially unheard of and it needed all new rules. And True Love? He was Jaga’s True Love? Outrageous! The very idea of it was utterly ridiculous. He fell asleep with a smile at the silliness of it all.

The next morning, he laughed through breakfast at all of Corli’s coy jokes. He was simply going to rescue Jaga by any means possible and return home in time for Rites of Winter, the three days ceremonies that began to cold season and begged the Lady for fair weather.

As the day went on, his jaunty attitude left him and felt a sudden morbid dread that he would not be able to rescue Jaga. As he recognized this painful possibility, the image of his wild and irrepressible friend came to his mind’s eye. It seemed that he could see the man as clearly as if he stood next to him. Allowing the memories to flood him, Rachi thought of things that had grown musty in his mind.

All their days together, including last month, came to about two months worth of days, but those days were packed with joy and secrets. He remembered the long rides and the days spent dodging guards in the golden cities. Endless hours spent pouring over maps of countries they would never see. Or perhaps, he thought with a wry grin, we are seeing them now, but do not know them for what they are. For indeed, he had no idea where he was, he had been too sick to ask the ship’s crew and Corli did not know the human name for the place she lived in.

That night, he began to tell Corli about Jaga. It was soothing, rehashing the memories to someone who cared. Corli wasn’t very bright, but she was an attentive listener. He went chronologically, so he would forget anything. His innate storytelling ability was powerful and without realizing it, he pulled his small audience into his story with him, bringing her into the moment when Jaga had comforted the silly little boy who cried over being lost after he was saved.

"What happened to the tear?" She asked when he was finished telling her about their first meeting.

"What tear? Oh, the dragon’s?" She nodded and he smiled at her and patted his chest. "I keep it in my shirt pocket most of the time. It’s reassuring."

"That’s romantic." She splashed with a sigh, before settling into her pond for the night.

Rachi sat in puzzled silence. He had never thought anything of keeping the tear close to his heart. He had to educate Corli on his friendship with Jaga as they went, otherwise she would get the entirely wrong impression about everything.

That was his labor of the next week and a half. Below their plodding feet the path remained solid and constant. The trees held their secrets and no strange animals emerged from the forest. So his recital flowed uninterrupted. Each day, from waking until sleep, he recalled every detail he could summon about his days with Jaga. Every night, before she went to sleep, she would say something implying the True Love between the two princes and Rachi would grit his teeth and try harder the next day. The problem was that the more he talked, the more he saw how she could misconstrue what he said to her, but he could not change things from how they had been. If it sounded strange that he and Jaga had taken moonlit strolls, then it was because she did not understand how much Jaga thrilled of being in the wilds. The older boy had been known to go for long walks in blizzards to take in the elements. But even has he explained that to Corli, he heard the reverence in his own voice, the praise.

It took twelve days of walking until he acknowledged that Corli might have a point. He might have some feelings for Jaga that went beyond friendship, but they weren’t love and even if they were, then they certainly weren’t True Love and even if they were True Love, there was no way that Jaga would feel the same way. This he did not say to Corli, he felt sure that she would say something very simple and obvious that would pull the whole argument apart.

"We’re almost there." Came the first, and only, soft interruption on the fifteenth day of travel. The bottom of Rachi’s soft feet had become hardened and tough, his nails were ragged and dirty. He knew his hair was a mass of knots without having help to comb it and his clothes were drab and torn. He shook himself from such thoughts. Why did he care what he looked like? "It is farther up this path. I will watch from here, but this last part of the journey is yours to take."

Irrationally, he wanted to hug her and weep his goodbye. He was only going up a path for the Lady’s sake. He settled on a smile and wave, before going on his way. It could not have been more then a hundred feet away to the point Corli had indicated, yet the walk felt like an eternity. Finally, the path ended, or was at least interrupted. It had ended so abruptly that Rachi knew it had once been clear. Now, a dense thorn bush trapped his way.

"help..help..please…oh, Lady, please don’t leave me here…" The voice was so faint at first that Rachi didn’t hear it, but gradually he became of the soft strangled whisper coming from the thickest part of the tangled plant.

Dread hardened lunch in his stomach, he knew with a sudden horror, what had become of his closest friend in the world. Peering through the vines, his suspicions were confirmed. Suspended in bloodied, torn clothes by a thousand cruel daggers was Jaga. The weeks had worn on his strength and his resilience and he had thought that the nymph had forgotten him. To keep his mind busy, he had played word games, endless forms of them and when those ran out, number games and when those to came to a fruitless end, he thought of the girl that the nymph might return with. He tried to summon some feeling for the brave princess, who even now might be traveling under the guise of man to rescue him from his bonds. Nothing. He could not picture the woman he would most likely now live the rest of his life with. Rebellious, his mind drew him always to Rachi and these thoughts comforted him in a way no other did. He imagined the younger prince as he had last seen him, mounting his horse and riding away, the slender picture of complete perfection.

Unfortunately, he could not always think of Rachi and his thoughts were starting to rage away from him. He had begun to hallucinate the sound of footsteps. He had called out to each imagined walker, but received no response and seen no flicker of light to confirm his hearing. But he still cried out and now…

Now, he could see Rachi’s face through the thorns and the tears ran in streaks from his eyes, cutting through the caked dried blood on his cheeks.

"Jaga, such horror to befall you." The voice was as pure and settling as he remembered. He sagged a little and though the thorns bit at him, he made no attempt to tense again for the bit of ease it allowed him. It was as if Rachi’s arrival had drained the last vestiges of his energy. "Do not try to speak or move. Let me free you from your bonds."

The relief was so great that Jaga followed orders and neither moved nor spoke as Rachi attempted to free him by cutting at the plant with his dagger. The plants proved tougher then the blade. Fire was repulsed instantly. Pain returned as Rachi accidentally jarred the bush and Jaga inhaled sharply against pain.

"I’m sorry." Rachi sighed, slumping to his knees. "I have to find something. What else would kill this thing?"

"Maybe…not…kill.." Jaga spoke carefully, trying to hold his neck back from a thorn that been jostled to a position near his throat.

"You’re right! It’s a spell. Magic can be defeated by magic."

Rachi’s right hand strayed to the shirt pocket where he kept the dragon’s tear as it had always done when he was nervous. This time, he drew back his hand in sharp pain. The tear felt as if it was on fire! More carefully this time, Rachi bundled his hand in cloth and reached for the dragon’s tear. Even through many layers it warmed him uncomfortably. It seemed about to turn to pure flame.

"Ra..chi?’ Jaga wheezed, frightened by the silence.

"I’m here. It’s the dragon’s tear. I think that legend is true. Jaga, do you trust me?"

"Always." Whispered the older man from his prison. The whisper allowed the thorn the opening it needed and it ripped across his jugular, allowing a thick stream of blood to pour down his chest.

"I’m going to throw the dragon’s tear into there. I think if it burns from the inside out, I can get you out before you get burned." Rachi evaluated the thicket; blissfully ignorant that Jaga could no longer respond to him. He found a space that was clear right to the center and carefully lobbed the stone in.

The light burned brightly for an instant, before setting the whole world on fire. Rachi thought he might have screamed, but he could not here himself over the roar of the angry dragon which was visiting it’s wrath upon him. He could feel only the heat and hear only the bellow of its voice, torn with loss.

And then as quickly as the vision appeared it faded, taking with it the entirety of the thicket. Jaga dropped unceremoniously to the forest floor, still bleeding profusely. The gash along his neck was the worst, not bad enough to kill him instantly, but he might bleed to death before help could be reached. All of this Rachi accessed in a cool detached way as he recovered from the shock. When the fleeting numbness left him, he rushed to the side of his friend and pulled the familiar head into his lap, to sooth black curls away from the deep cut on his forehead. He lifted one limp wrist and found a sullen pulse. Jaga’s eyes fluttered open and closed, but there was no sign of awareness.

"Oh Lady." Rachi mourned. "I did not come all this way for him to die in this place. I did not rescue him to witness his death." Tears pricked his eyes and he did not hold them back. "It isn’t fair, Lady. I only knew at this moment that I love him."

Jaga’s eyes opened and he smiled faintly.

"Your words are always like magic." He whispered.

The multitude of cuts and bruises were gone. Jaga was entirely healed.

"But…how…"

"Do not question." Jaga warned rising to his feet and extending a hand to assist Rachi up. "Just accept. That is sometimes the way of the Lady."

"I only said…"

"I love you." Jaga’s brown eyes swirled into that perfect black.

"I did not say…"

"It is not what you have said." Jaga scolded. "This one time, it is my words, I love you, Vestang Ferrachi Teremone wiArogan. I have since the day I met you. I loved you then as a brother loves a brother. I love you, now, the way a man is supposed to love a woman and I do not pretend to understand why, but it is true." Jaga opened his arms. "If this is not what you want then we will never speak of it again."

"You never were the smart one." Rachi scolded. "True Love must come from both ends."

He stepped forward into the warmth of waiting arms and tilted his head. With a small sigh of acceptance, delicate eyelids fluttered closed and Jaga closed the distance between them. They kissed chastely the first time, then more deeply the next, reveling in each other, as they never had before and drawing the strength they needed from the other’s breath.

What would follow that moment is historical. Their long battle to return home without the help of Corli, who had vanished on fulfilling her promise, was the stuff of legend by itself. They returned, together, a year later in triumph and using their heroic return to their advantage, they explained their plan to live a house that straddled the lands of Aureim and Noiven. That battle was fought in endless consul meetings and was legendary in its own way. They won, of course, uniting the two kingdoms into one greater one, an incredible kingdom that would spawn many new fairy tales. Eventually, they would even have a child blended from their seed and carried to term by dryad and that child would become a Queen like no other, her adventures better known then those of her fathers. But that all came after the kiss and the muttered words and the tender looks while they still stood in the grove and were innocent of the struggles still ahead.

Which is a good place to say:

They lived happily ever after.