Traveling with the Chosen was more painful for Bra-Neche than he had ever imagined possible.  The first few days weren’t so bad, but as time progressed and the leagues between he and Tine grew, it became worse.  He became moody and snapped at the Chosen who had been allowed to accompany them, until finally, he was allowed to ride ahead to arrive at Saradaun a few days before the rest of the party.

Bra-Neche figured his parents would be reasonable about his choosing Tine and wanting to return immediately to his side.  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Upon his arrival in Saradaun, he headed to his mother’s residence at the Temple of the Moon.  The place he had been raised for the first, most formative years of his life.  He headed garden, to enter the door he had always used to visit his mother.

“This is not the proper entrance for you, you must go around to the main entrance now.”

“But, my mother…”

“Is a priestess.  Yes, we know.”

“This is the door used by boys to visit their mothers, is it not?” Bra-Neche asked, confused.

“It is,” the guard conceded.

“Then I do not understand.  Why can I not visit my mother?”

The guard sighed.  This was always the hardest part of her duties.  “You are no longer a boy.  Men must use the front entrance.”

“No longer…” Bra-Neche looked at him, then to the front entrance, “men’s entrance?”

“Yes, that way,” he pointed back down the direction he came, “then around the front.  You may enter through the great hall.  Your mother can visit with you there.”

“Thank you,” Bra-Neche bowed slightly then turned and walked up the path with as much dignity as he could muster.  The great hall was massive inside.  There was a bench with several girls on it sitting near the entrance.  Bra-Neche gave his name and his mother’s name to the girl closest to him and she curtsied before disappearing into a corridor. She would take his name and inform his mother he had come.   As he waited, he walked around, trying to keep a discrete distance from the other men who were meeting with the priestesses for reasons of their own.

A short time later, the girl returned and took her place at the far end of the bench, with the others moving over to make her room.  A goodly time after that, his mother appeared.  He strode over and attempted to embrace her.  She smacked him.  The sound rang out in the open room.  Those closest to them found somewhere else they had to be.

“How could you disrespect your father and I?” she said to him through clinched teeth.

Bra-Neche cowered before her.  She had never struck him before, and he wasn’t sure why she was doing so now.  It must have shown on his face because she cupped his chin in one hand and looked deeply into his eyes.

“I did not believe my brother when he wrote of your transgressions.  But now that you are here, I can see he wrote true.”

“What transgression would that be, Mother?” Bra-Neche asked, looking her in the eye. 

“You bled that boy, did you not?”

Bra-Neche nodded his head as much as he could with her cupping his chin.

“Did you do more?”

“We did.”

He saw her eyes flash with rage as he felt his cheek stinging from another blow.

“Get away from me, filth, and do not call on me again.”  She backed up two steps as Bra-Neche sunk unbelievingly to his knees.  Then she turned to remove herself from the hall.

“Mother!” Bra-Neche wailed as he watched her walk away.  When she had gone without so much as looking back, he dropped to the floor and wept.  It could have been moments or ages before he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder, someone trying to lift him up. 

He lifted his head and saw Maraneth, his father’s Chosen.

“Come along, little man,” he said gently, “your father wants to see you.” 

Once they were outside, several of the household guards took their places around him.  For Bra-Neche, it was a long walk to his father’s home.  When they arrived, all the guards faded away and he entered the house with Maraneth.    

“You may want to freshen up, maybe wash your face…” Maraneth suggested.

When Bra-Neche turned to go upstairs where he and his brothers bathed, Maraneth stopped him. 

“Bra-Neche, do you not understand what your mother was telling you?” he asked, then continued, not expecting answer, “You are no longer a boy.  You may wash through there.”  He indicated the main house bath, “and you may want to change your clothing too, those are filthy from travel.”

Bra-Neche looked down at his clothing.  Yes, it was a little dusty, but not filthy.  “I left my…”

“One of the guards already brought your beast home.  Your clothing will be brought to you by one of the servants.”

“I believe all the things in my bag are just as bad,” Bra-Neche told him honestly.

“Then maybe something can be found for you,” Maraneth said as he turned away, leaving Bra-Neche staring at his back.

Unsure why everyone was acting so strangely, Bra-Neche entered the rooms he had been forbidden to enter since he came to live with his father as a small boy.  This was the domain of the men of the house, and not for the eyes of young boys, his father had told him, and no matter how many times he had attempted to penetrate the outer foyer, he had always been caught.  Now, Vendar greeted Bra-Neche after he entered, and offered to assist his bathing.  Bra-Neche did not know what to say, or how to act, he had been raised with Vendar, they had been children together.  Unsure, he did not speak; just nodded and began to undress.

“No, not here, come,” Vendar said as he turned to walk though a second doorway.  In this room, there were two low benches and a basket for soiled clothing, “here.”

Once he was nude, Bra-Neche stepped through yet another doorway to a room with several pools, one of which steamed.

“There,” Vendar nudged him toward the steaming water.

Bra-Neche eased into it and watched as the water clouded with dirt.  He was handed soap and a cloth, which he used gratefully and with relish.

“Why did you not wait for me, Bra-Neche?” Vendar asked.

“Wait for you?”

“I was to be your Chosen, but you chose another.  Did you not find me pleasing?”

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to…” Bra-Neche said after several moments of silence, “you are my friend.”

“I would have made you a good partner, Maraneth trained me, himself, for you.” Vendar sat behind Bra-Neche and loosened his hair, taking the time to remove the snarls as he lathered and rinsed the dark, thick tresses.

“I did not know,” Bra-Neche said honestly.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Vendar sighed, “It was supposed to be your choice, after all.  I hope your Chosen makes you happy, Bra-Neche.”

“You have beautiful hair.  It will be a shame to see it shorn.”

Bra-Neche shuddered.  His father would not.  Only slaves had their hair shorn, or guards, who were not much higher socially.

“Why should my father order me shorn?” Bra-Neche asked with more confidence than he felt.

“Maybe you should ask him that,” a voice boomed from the doorway.

Bra-Neche looked up, then stood up bashfully holding his hands over his genitals, “Father.”

“Bra-Neche, I see you have arrived from your travels,” the older man eased into the water with his son, Maraneth taking up a similar position as Vendar.  “Your uncle writes of your adventures and tells us that you are no longer a boy.”

“It appears that everyone is treating me as such, although I’m not certain why.”

“The peasant you bedded…”

“Tine?  He is no peasant, father, he is a Son of Suril.”

“And how do you know this?” his father asked casually.

“I bled him.”

His father made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and looked at him as if to say, ‘Is that all?’.

“He lived.”

“So, you left him there unprotected?  Ripe for any Imperial who comes along?”

“No, Father.”

“Then what did you do?  Just bleeding a peasant boy would not cause your mother’s brother to send a missive complaining that you were no longer the boy your mother sent to him.  Yet that is exactly what he did.”

“I asked Tine to be mine and only mine.”

“You asked?”

Bra-Neche nodded, “I did.”

“And did he answer?”

“He did.”

“And his response?”

“He would.”

Bra-Mine laughed, a deep throaty laugh,  “You do know that is not how it is done?”

“That is what Deven said as well.”

“Tell me about the boy you claimed as your own, Bra-Neche, make me understand why I should not cut off your hair.”

Bra-Neche told everything… well almost everything.