((Follows on directly from the last post in Secrets Upon Secrets.))

The walk from the great hall to the prince's private apartments in the great citadel of Phalion was an awkwardly silent one. Too much had happened in that last half hour - Valeyna making her feelings perfectly clear, Brother coming to his rescue, the First Blade keeping things from getting out of hand. Adare didn't really know how to broach the subject of any of that with Rory, aware that the other boy had simply been chosen from the side of the road by Velasca as an insult rather than a gift.

In Rory's mind, there was far more to it than simply being chosen at random. He would have given anything to have been left alone to live his life in peace and relative anonymity and to have his father back. Though he had dreams and aspirations of accomplishing greater things, this was not the way he would have chosen to go about the task. Velasca had seen to it that he had no life to return to, no father who loved him, no place to call home. His life had been changed forever, and though he didn't blame Adare for his fate, it was no great secret that he hadn't come here of his own wishes.

Rory had seen the way the other boy had been treated and secretly wondered burned with hatred for both Velasca and her daughter. Though he was not so sure of Adare just yet, the other boy seemed as much a victim of their abuse as he was, but there was something not quite right about the other boy. There was a mystery about him that Rory had not yet figured out. Like everyone else, he'd heard the rumors about a ghost, but he had not believed them, until now.

As the heavy oak door closed behind them, the young prince glanced toward his new companion. "This is my room," he said, a little superfluously. "Uh ....our room. You'll be sleeping in here, too. I-I don't know how much you know about being a squire."

"You should not let her treat you like that," Rory said quietly, almost timidly, the first real words he'd spoken to Adare since being brought here.

Adare looked up, startled to hear the other boy speak. "She frightens me," he admitted, unashamed to confess this to a stranger. But Rory was the first boy his age he had ever been actively encouraged to spend even a little time with, and better still, Rory seemed not to be afraid of the ghost that had shown itself with such violence only a few minutes earlier. "I don't like her, but she's my future. And once they've got a daughter from me, I'll have a quiet accident and so will you. So will everyone who knows how much I hate Valeyna."

Rory's face darkened at the young prince's words, partly due to mutual hatred of his enemies and partly due to Adare's seeming acceptance of his own fate. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone of voice and expression obviously disdaining what he viewed as complacency or even apathy on the part of the other boy. "You choose your own future. No one chooses it for you."

The prince held his gaze with those disconcertingly clear blue eyes, eyes that were so like his long-dead mother's. "Everywhere I go, I am watched," he pointed out quietly. "I am never far from someone who probably has orders to kill me or the people I love the moment I show any sign of rebellion against Velasca. This entire city and the land it governs is under my protection, and Velasca's made it abundantly clear that if I set a toe out of line, my people will suffer for it. I won't take that risk, not with their lives."

"I have no orders to kill you," Rory pointed out helpfully, proving Adare at least partially wrong. "And they're already suffering. What do you think is going to happen when you become king" They are using you. That's all. Once you give them a daughter, they won't need you anymore, and then what? Are you just going to go down without a fight' What good are you going to do your people then?"

"You think that just because I'm a prince, I'm not allowed to be scared?" Adare demanded, feeling his blood rise at being questioned with painful acuity by a boy only a year older than himself who knew nothing of life at the citadel. "That I have to act and get hundreds of people killed" Just like the night my parents died" That shell of a tower above the citadel, do you know what happened there" My father burned to death next to my mother's body, with my twin. I am the last member of my family."

As he spoke, color rising in his cheeks, a cold hush settled on the room, and beside Adare, a figure formed, identical to the prince in every detail but for the bloody murder in his eyes and the transparency of his body. "Who are you to question us?"

"You are not the only person who has suffered! Your own people are suffering with you and that suffering will only get worse when..." Rory shot back, his own anger rising, pointing an almost accusing finger at the other boy before breaking off as a ghostly figure made itself known, speaking in a voice that was nearly identical to Adare's but seemed like a separate individual altogether. Rory's eyes widened, his face turning pale, and he backed away. "Who are you?"

The ghost advanced until he stood between Adare and Rory, those murderous eyes glaring into the pale face before him. "Opinionated boy. Ignorant idiot. Beware the blood moon, rebel child. Hurt my twin and die."

Behind him, Adare suddenly seemed to jerk out of whatever horrified trance he had been in. "No! Don't threaten him, he's under my protection," he informed the ghost of his brother sternly, but there was fear there, too. "Go away, Brother."

The ghost snarled into Rory's face, but turned obediently to Adare, glaring at him as well. "The blood moon. It is coming."

From the look on Rory's face, Adare's ghostly brother had achieved the desired reaction. His face was ghostly pale, blue eyes wide, visibly trembling from shock and fear, afraid the ghost might do to him what he'd already done to Valeyna. "I'm s-sorry. I meant no harm," Rory's said, his voice coming in a frightened squeak, backing up further until there was nowhere left to go, trapped like a caged animal.

But for now, the ghost's attention had focused onto Adare, and Rory got to see just how brave the young prince was. Frightened of flesh and blood people who could hurt him, Adare looked calmly back into the eyes of a ghost who could have done much worse, speaking quietly. "I know," he said, the gentleness in him an odd contrast to the dead twin who radiated such violent intent. "But I won't let you hurt him. Go away, Brother."

"So should you," Adare pointed out, opening his eyes in the hope that the guilt had eased out of his expression. "Please ....call me Adare. I'd like for us to be friends, if that is possible." He turned to the bed, undoing his belt and setting it aside, only to jump in surprise as the door opened to admit a pretty woman of middling years, who grinned at his startlement.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, I haven't caught you with your britches down in years," she chuckled, laying her armful of blankets down on the chest at the end of the bed. She turned to look at Rory with a warm, welcoming smile. "Well now, let me look at you."

Rory had not yet agreed to staying nor said he wanted to leave. Though he yearned to fight alongside the rebels, his heart twisted with compassion and pity for this lonely prince, and he thought perhaps he should stay for at least a little while longer. Before he could reply, the door opened to admit a woman who Rory didn't recognize, though he could guess her name. "You must be Mila," he found himself saying.

"I see Adare has been telling stories," Mila chuckled, reaching out to lay her hands on Rory's shoulders to get a good look at him. "Well, you're a tall lad, but that shouldn't give us any grief. You'll have fresh clothes in the morning, and we'll get you washed up before you get into them." Her fingers gently lifted his chin as she looked into his face, smiling at what she saw there. "Handsome, too. Even better." She smiled her warm smile again, and turned to look at Adare. "That cot is far too small for a lad his size. You two will have to share just to keep out the chill of these walls anyway."

Adare laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Are you ever going to stop telling me what to do, Mila?" he asked mildly, rewarded with a fresh laugh from the woman.

"Never," she declared affectionately. "You're stuck with me, my bonny prince, and now, so is your friend."

Rory quieted, turning silent and blushing profusely at the woman's attention. He hardly remembered his mother, and there had been no one to take her place. He was painfully shy around those of the opposite sex, even those who were his own age. He was tall for his age and handsome, fresh-faced, though he looked more like a ragged urchin than a royal squire at the moment. "Share?" Rory echoed, finding his voice at last. "You mean the bed?"

"Yes, I mean the bed," Mila chuckled fondly, shaking out the fresh blankets to lay over the crisp sheets. "All the bed warmers have gone to the ....Queen," her lips barely wanted to form the word, "and her retinue, so you two will have to make do with each other to stay warm. Even in summer, it's chilly up here."

Adare said nothing, letting Mila fill the room with her motherly warmth as he shrugged out of his doublet, obedient to the routine she had kept him on since he was a child.

Rory's eyes widened at this bit of news, and he glanced to the bed that took up part of the room. He'd never slept in a proper bed before and thought of it as a luxury he could never afford. Even the cot was better than what he was accustomed to, though it was a little small for his tall frame. "I can sleep on the floor near the fire. It's no trouble," he insisted, not feeling worthy enough to share a bed with a prince.

"You're my squire now," Adare said suddenly, his quiet voice very clear even beneath the sounds of Mila bustling about to make the room suitable for sleep. He looked up at Rory from where he was removing his boots, perched on the edge of the huge bed. "It wouldn't be proper for you to sleep on the floor. And you'll need a good night's sleep for when Dalan puts us through our paces tomorrow."

Mila grinned cheerfully, giving Rory a nudge. "Hear that, young master" Weapons and a weaponsmaster to teach you. How can you say no?"

Despite Mila's cheerfulness, Rory wasn't smiling, though the thought of learning how to properly use a sword was certainly tempting, if only so that he could run one through Velanya's heart one day. "I am not saying no," he replied, though he wasn't sure how much sleep he'd be getting.

"Well, I'm not leaving until I've got those clothes off you," Mila informed him matter-of-factly. "Need to get your measurements sorted out and fetch out a decent pair of boots before morning, and I can't do that with you sleeping in what you've got on. There's a nightshirt right there for you."

It seemed as though, in this arena at least, Adare had less to be concerned with than Rory, already stripping out of his shirt and britches to shrug into his own nightshirt. In that rather voluminous garment, the prince looked much younger than his sixteen, almost seventeen, years, small when compared with Rory.

"Yes, ma'am," Rory replied obediently, and went about changing out of ragged and grimy shirt, trousers, and boots and into the nightshirt that had been brought for him. He was much taller than his companion, but slim as a youth, muscles only just starting to make themselves known as he grew taller and slowly broader. He was not yet seventeen and had already grown taller than most men. Given time and the proper training, and he might make a formidable fighter in his own right, one day.

By the time Rory was in his own crisp, clean nightshirt, Adare was sitting on the bed, watching as Mila trundled about, blowing out candles until all that remained to illuminate the room was the bedded down fire in the hearth and the single candle beside the bed. "Thank you, Mila," the prince said softly, rewarded for his gratitude with a kiss to his hair as the woman bundled together Rory's discarded clothing.

Rory, too, was given a kiss on his cheek, since she couldn't reach the top of his head while he was standing. "Now, sleep well, you two," she told them as she moved to the door. "If you must rough-house, don't break anything important. Like heads."

"Gods, no. You have more right to nightmares than I do. And if I can help, I will." One thing that could be said for Adare - even though he might seem to come across as weak and fearful, he stood up to some things that others would not even consider addressing. If he could face a ghost without a shred of fear, then he was sure he could help Rory through nightmares in the darkness.

Rory had been laughed at before, disregarded, spat on even by people of privilege who looked down on those who were less fortunate than themselves, but he was proud of his heritage. He was a farrier's son and proud of it - a commoner, a peasant, one of the working class, the backbone of the nation. Without people like him - people who were willing to get their hands dirty and work hard for a living - the privileged would be forced to fend for themselves, and the economy upon which the upper classes depended would fall apart.

Even so, he dreamed of greater things for himself and for the nation as a whole, though thus far, he lacked the means to do anything about it. Adare was one of the privileged few, and yet he sensed that the young prince was different, and that if given a chance to rule, he would be far better to the people than Velasca had been. In that moment, Rory seemed to have reached a decision, spurred on perhaps by the young prince's promise. "We will help each other," Rory replied, moving around to the opposite side of the bed and climbing under the covers.

The relief that radiated from Adare was palpable as Rory gave in and clambered into the bed, his low laugh in the flickering darkness deeply indicative of that relief. "We can help each other," he agreed, leaning across to blow out the candle before sliding down to rest his head on the pillow. He knew it would take time for them to be truly comfortable with one another, but he did truly hope for a friend, his first friend, from Velasca's petty display on the citadel steps. "What is it like?" he asked quietly. "Out in the country. I only know what it's been like here, but I think it's worse, much worse, closer to the capital."

Rory's frown could almost be heard in the darkness as he silently pondered the prince's question. "Restless," he answered at last as he tucked settled himself in beneath the covers, the bed so soft and warm it felt almost obscene. "The people grow restless for change," he said quietly. "They grow tired of Velasca's tyranny. There is talk of rebellion, of war." He sighed, wishing he could be part of that rebellion, dreaming of glory and valor.

In the darkness, Adare winced. He was the logical figurehead for such a war, and the thought of people dying in his name repulsed him. "That wasn't really what I meant," he said quietly, twisting just a little so he was angled toward Rory as they spoke. "I mean ....every day life. I've only ever lived here, I've only ever been a prince. I know a little of how people live in the city, how merchants and others get by, but I know nothing of the countryside. Do you?"

"A little," Rory admitted, though he was no farmer. "My father was a farrier by trade, until he lost his sight." He paused a moment in thought once again. "I don't know how to describe it. It's different from life in the city, I think. You get up early and go to bed early. There isn't much time for....for recreation." Whether he was a peasant or not, it seemed he was halfway intelligent, more intelligent than the average peasant, it seemed.

Adare stared up at the dark canopy, a small frown on his face. "My life must seem ....very unfair to most of the country," he said regretfully. "I know I'm privileged, but I was raised to earn everything I am given. When Velasca leaves, you'll see. If I don't perform well at my studies, books or weapons, my recreation is curtailed. If I can't keep Brother under control, I'm kept inside. It probably seems like nothing as far as punishment goes, but to me it's very difficult to be shut up with nothing to do."

"It's not unfair. The people love you. They remember what it was like before Velasca became queen, and they yearn for those days again. They hate Velasca. She made a mistake in earning their hatred. They will not allow her to rule much longer. The rebels will either kill her or die trying." He'd heard the rumors and gossip. Everyone knew of the rebellion, though Velasca had tried to squelch those rumors. They knew it was only a matter of time before open warfare broke out. "The people want a true queen on the throne again, and you can give them that."

There was silence for a long time after he spoke. When, finally, Adare responded, it was in a very quiet voice. "I'm a coward," he admitted to the dark room. "I'm terrified of every future people lay out in front of me. Either I marry Valeyna and father a daughter, or I'm put on the throne and expected to restore the line of Queens. I don't have a choice in either of them. I'm scared of people hating me for being Valeyna's husband. I'm terrified of being expected to fix all the mistakes Velasca made if I am put on the throne. Who wants a coward for a king?"

"Then perhaps you should decide your own future. Decide what you want and what you want to do for Arctra. You are more than just a bloodline, more than just a name. And you wouldn't be alone. You would have people to help you, to guide you. My father once told me that nothing worth having is ever easy, and that those who think it is, take it for granted. There are no easy answers, Adare. It is not cowardly to be afraid. Everyone fears something. Fear is not always a bad thing. Fear makes you wise. But when you let that same fear stop you from doing the things you know are right, then that is true cowardice." Rory sighed, realizing he might have said too much. "You should get some rest," he said gentling his voice, sounding very much like an older brother might. "Mila said we have a busy day tomorrow."

He might have thought he had said too much, but in reality, Rory had simply told Adare something that none of his over-zealous protectors had ever done. That courage was not the absence of fear, but the acknowledgement that something else was more important than hiding behind that fear. And that meant that Adare was no coward, no matter what he thought in the privacy of his mind. What was the difference between standing in the way when his brother's ghost wanted blood, and standing between Velasca and the country she was raping in her arrogance" Just the scale of the situation. He sighed softly, nodding in answer to Rory's gentle admonishment to get some sleep. "Thank you, Rory," he said in the stillness, letting his body relax. "I'm glad you're here."

There seemed to be no good way to respond to that. It was no big secret that Rory didn't really want to be there, but maybe if he could help the younger boy find his courage and find his purpose, his presence here would serve some greater purpose Rory was only starting to realize. "Good night, Adare," he replied, adding, "Rest well." It would be some time before Rory closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep, all the events of the last few days whirling around in his head. With any luck, things would be a little more clear in his mind when morning came.

((Boy, are these two in for a surprise in a couple of months' time! Hopefully they'll manage the friends bit before then, though, or that's going to be an awkward situation for them. Many, many thanks to Rory's player!))