Tine waited patiently as one of the year-ten instructors escorted the visiting Imperials from the stables up to the top floor. Before the instructor left to retrieve their visitors, he told Tine they were expecting four. He then gave Tine the duty of being certain the bedrooms were in order for the visitors’ stay. Tine smiled to himself; he did not recall Bra-Neche being so spoiled, but he supposed he had been. It seemed that all of the young Imperials were, if the last few batches that came through the school were any indication.

Tine tugged on his tunic when he heard footsteps on the stairs, so that when the door opened he did not embarrass himself or, by association to him, Bra-Neche. The instructor was scowling as he held the door open for the young Imperials. There were more than four. Tine chewed his bottom lip as he counted them — eight. The school only had eight guest rooms, and he was occupying one of them. “Boys, this is Tine, he will be serving as your host during your stay,” the instructor informed them, then turned to Tine, “Tine, I would like to introduce you to Kavil, Joulip, Sharv, Ezar, Carnen, Yawon, Deen, and Urik.” As their name was said, each inclined his head slightly. “I have explained to them that we were only expecting four guests. I’m sure something can be worked out about their sleeping arrangements.”

A few of the young men made faces. Tine refused to let them unsettle him, choosing instead to interact with the instructor, at which he smiled then nodded his head, dismissing him. “Thank you for bringing them up.”

Tine had learned in his studies that his position was a unique one here at the school. He was a student, which placed him below the Head Master and through him the Instructors, but he was also Chosen, which placed him above Guards, the rank most of the instructors held. To further complicate matters, being blooded and bonded to Bra-Neche effectively placed him above most of the Imperials. Shortly after Bra-Neche went back home, the Head Master and Deven had explained that he was still a student and expected to behave as one when he was not on the top floor, where he would have a few more privileges and a few more responsibilities. One of those responsibilities was standing in front of him.

“Your rooms are along this hall,” Tine said as he turned away, fully expecting them to follow. He smiled to himself as he heard footsteps behind him, but he was certain it was not all of them. He stopped at the first room, the one nearest his, although on the opposite side of the hall, and turned around. “This is the first, the others are the next three doors along that side of the hall. When you have decided who will sleep where, come get me. I’ll be in my room,” he turned and indicated his door, “that one there.” Then he turned and left them in the hallway.

A short time later, there was a single hard rap on his door, which startled Tine from the material he had been reading. When he finished the page, he stood up and answered the summons.

Outside his door stood five of the eight guests, “Are the other rooms on this hall in use?” the one identified as Ezar demanded.

“Not at this time,” Tine responded, watching them for a clue as to what they might be up to.

“There are eight rooms total on this hall,” the Carnen said, “which means there is room enough for each of us to have our own.”

“There are eight rooms on this hall, you are correct,” Tine met his eyes, “But there are only seven unoccupied rooms, and only four designated for the eight of you to use.”

“Why must we share when you get your own room?” another asked.

Tine sighed. He had gone through a variation of this theme each time the Imperials came looking for chosen. “That is the room I was assigned, so that is the room I occupy. I did not ask for it, nor did anyone ask me if it was acceptable. You are here to Choose. If you can’t settle on something as simple as a place to sleep then maybe you aren’t ready to make such an important a decision.”

One of the smaller ones pushed his way forward. “Is it true you are the Chosen of Bra-Neche?”

“It is.”

“And that he, um…” Sharv blushed, “you… without his father’s permission?”

“It is.”

“Why do you still live here then?” Joulip asked.

Tine grinned, “Go choose your rooms then I will show you to the Great Hall where we will eat. We can discuss it more then.”

Two of the smallest went to the nearest prepared room, “We take this one.”

Carnen crowded close to Tine, “I still think I would rather have this room.”

Tine held his position, not letting the larger youth displace him, and said in an evenly modulated voice, “This one is taken.”

“Only if you can hold it… Chosen,” he growled menacingly, and then pressed in even closer.

Tine looked him up and down then stepped back into his room, closing the door behind him. In seconds, there was a scuffle followed by muffled voices, one sounding rather angry then it was quiet again. Tine gave them a few minutes before opening his door again and stepping out. Seeing no one in the hallway, he went to the first door and knocked politely. The door opened and the boy beckoned him inside.

“We decided that Sharv should sleep in here with us,” Joulip indicated another who sat on the edge of the bed, holding a red-stained cloth to his nose. “It might be safer for him, if there is no problem with the three of us sharing a room.”

“I see no problem,” Tine said as he approached Sharv. “Let me see that.”

Sharv lowered the cloth. Tine frowned at the bloody nose and busted lip, speaking as he checked it for damage. “Who did this?”

“Carnen.”

“The big one?”

The other two nodded.

“I wanted to meet you, but with Carnen behaving badly…” the boy shrugged his shoulders. “It seems Bra-Neche chose well.”

“How is he?” Tine asked as Sharv winced under his touch.

“He was well when we last heard. He left his father’s home shortly after visiting the Temple of the Moon and has not returned, but his brother-cousins all claim he is well with Bra-Doon.”

Tine nodded, although all this was news to him. “And his visit to the Temple? How did that turn out?”

Deen grinned. “Arabeth delivered him a son and a Moon. Although she is upset that he has not returned to acknowledge the boy and name him. The girl is to be called Nevae. The Dragon Lord was very pleased.”

Tine smiled, “It pleases me to hear of his accomplishments. Now as to your nose, Sharv, I think it may be broken.”

“Broken?”

“Yes, broken,” Tine ran his thumbs along the nose ridge in question and concentrated. The mushy flesh yielded to his touch as bone righted itself, realigning, and fusing.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, broken or not,” Sharv said.

“Well, maybe I was wrong and it was just bruised. Either way it has stopped bleeding. There is water in the pitcher, you might want to wash your face while I go collect the others for our meal.”

Sharv nodded and did as bid.

Tine excused himself, went back to his room, washed his hands, and then headed for the furthermost door. When he knocked, Carnen opened the door, growling. “Who dares?”

“I dare,” Tine snapped, “it’s time to eat.” Then he turned and walked to the next door, where the greeting went much more nicely. Soon he had seven of the eight together. After waiting a reasonable time, Tine went back to the furthermost door and rapped again, then wrenched the door open.

Carnen had been lying on his bed, half dressed and half asleep when Tine entered. This time he charged Tine, bowling him over backwards.

Tine reacted by instinct.

The noise of the brawl caused several people to come running. While it was rare to have a fight among the young Imperials, it was not unheard of; especially when they were being territorial, however, very few had witnessed a fight of such ferocity. Once they saw one of the fighters was Tine, the adults present figured the fight would be over quickly enough. It was their understanding that an Imperial would always best a normally trained guard, even one who was Chosen, in hand-to-hand combat. Yaramith, however, knew differently. He pushed himself to the front of the crowd around the doorway, yelling, “HOLD” as loud as possible.

Neither acknowledged his command.

Another guard-turned instructor started herding the other boys from the hallway and into one of the empty rooms, as he saw no sense in the other boys getting their rile up.

Chips of stone fell from the bedroom walls where claws missed flesh. Tine’s tunic was shredded along one arm and side. Carnen bled freely while yelling obscenities about Tine’s parentage.

Ruined furniture lay scattered about.

Someone had the presence of mind to find Deven, who muttered his own profanities when he saw what was happening. One of the larger instructors made a move as if to physically separate the two fighters, but Deven held him back.

“This needs to stop, Deven, that boy will hurt Tine.”

“Tine is holding his own, Marik. Look at them, both are fighting teeth and claw, are you sure you want to get in the middle of that?”

“Tine…”

“Belongs to Bra-Neche, and Bra-Neche isn’t here to defend him. Therefore, Tine needs to defend himself if he can. He will not loose Bra-Neche any honor against Carnen.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Tine bested Bra-Neche before they bonded, remember? I have no doubt he can do it again.”
As they were speaking, Tine turned and slammed his fist into Carnen’s face. The onlookers could hear the crunch of bone as blood flecked the walls and onlookers alike. Carnen howled in pain and his flesh darkened, his body seemed to elongate, and his pain-filled eyes swirled with orange and red.

Seeing that Carnen was losing control, Deven and Marik flanked Tine, who, while breathing heavily, seemed to be more or less in control of his actions. They forced Tine back, away from Carnen. Yaramith herded Tine out of the room while the Imperials dealt with one of their own.

Once he was away from Carnen, Tine began to shake. Tears dripped off his chin. He held his injured arm close to his body, the tatters of his tunic fluttering freely. Yaramith managed to get Tine into his room and the door closed before anyone could see what was happening.

“Are you injured?” Yaramith asked quietly as he managed to get Tine seated on his bed. He noticed how the boy still held his arm and his wince when he moved.

“I’m sorry…” Tine whispered.

“What are you sorry for?” Yaramith asked as he poured water from the pitcher into the bowl over the washcloth. “Did you start the fight?”

Tine shook his head.

“He hit you first?” Yaramith asked as he wrung out the cloth.

Tine nodded.

“I see. So, he lost control from the beginning. That’s good to know.” He began wiping away the blood to see how badly Tine had been damaged. “Bra-Neche lost control the first time the two of you met, too, didn’t he?”
Tine blushed, “It was different with Bra-Neche.”

“How so?”

“He didn’t hate me when he lost control,” Tine said through clinched teeth as Yaramith ran the cloth over a sensitive spot.

“I’m going to cut off the rest of this tunic, and I think we should get the healer in here.”

“Please, no healer, I think I just need to sleep.”

“Well let’s finish getting you cleaned up and then decide.”

Tine said nothing but let Yaramith clean him up. When he was nearly done there came a knock at the door. Yaramith answered it, and let Deven in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Tine.

“Sleepy.”

Deven laughed and sat in the chair. “His jaw is broken and several ribs.”

Tine flinched, “I’m sorry.”

“And we aren’t sure how it happened but his shoulder is dislocated. The healer says he will need a few hundred stitches, too. Yaramith did not send for a healer for you.”

“I asked him not to.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be fine, Deven, it’s only a few cuts.”

Yaramith caught Deven’s eye and motioned his arm.

“When you were fighting it looked to me that your arm was injured.”

“It’s fine, really, I just need to rest.”

“Well, see that is a problem. You have seven guests who need their table host,” Deven watched him critically, “Did you think you would get out of your responsibilities by fighting?”

Tine sighed and began to pull himself out of bed, “Never. I have a fresh tunic in my wardrobe, can one of you help me on with it?”

“Pants too,” Deven indicated the bloody patches on the ones Tine was wearing.

“Fine,” Tine said through cinched teeth as he managed to loosen his laces enough for the pants to fall to the ground.

Yaramith held the clean tunic and looked at Deven when it seemed that Tine was having difficulty with his boots. Deven shook his head. Tine sat on the bed crying as he tried to work off his boots with out using his injured arm too much.

“Still refusing to admit you’re injured?” Deven asked after a few moments.

“It’s fine, Deven,” Tine snapped.

“Then why can’t you remove your boots?” Deven asked as he knelt before Tine and pulled off one boot then the other. “You don’t need to be stubborn, Tine, nor prideful. You won. He lost control. They will all respect you even if you are injured.”

Tine could only look at Deven, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Being injured is not a weakness right after the fight, Tine, and you bring no disgrace on Bra-Neche nor our family. In fact, you fought well.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Deven pulled the soiled pants the rest of the way off, and took the fresh pair from Yaramith. “In fact so well I think you deserve to be rewarded.” He smiled as he put the boots back on Tine then helped him to his feet to finish pulling the pants up.

“But I fought, I should be punished.”

“Why?”

“The rules…”

“…are for students, not chosen.”

Tine looked confused, but Deven and Yaramith smiled.

“If we were back in Saradaun, we would have a feast this night and your father would bring you before your brothers to be honored.”

“Why?”

Deven shrugged as he helped Tine on with his tunic, “Tradition. Rites of passage from boy to man are always marked with feasting and the gathering of brothers. There are several for each boy, like, when he Chooses, or when he makes his first Offering to the Maiden, or when he wins his first fight.”

“But I won against Bra-Neche…”

“That happened during training, so it did not count. This, on the other hand, did not happen during training. He attacked you and you defended yourself, quite aptly I might add.”

Tine gave a little lop-sided smile, “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you see, I am not your father and you have no brothers here to celebrate with…”

“Oh.”

“However, I am your kin,” Deven smiled as he untied his belt and wrapped it around Tine’s slim waist, “and I’m sure there are a few boys who might consider you foster-brother.”

“I shouldn’t…” Tine began, but Deven cut him off.

“Yes, you should. A warrior can not have his pants falling down or his shirt billowing out when he fights, now can he?”

Tine shook his head.

“No, a warrior is belted. Now you are belted.”

“But…”

“Shhh, Tine, you are Chosen, these are now your Traditions.”

Tine nodded his head slightly.

“Your world is changing, now go to your meal before I summon the healer,” Deven stepped away from Tine with a grin, “and take your charges with you, I’m sure they are hungry.”

“Yes, sir,” Tine responded and walked gingerly out of the room, leaving Deven and Yaramith behind.

Once he was out of earshot, Yaramith turned to Deven and asked, “Since when are Chosen belted?”

Deven chuckled, “Tine is not Chosen, Yaramith. Tine is bonded to Bra-Neche, but he is not Chosen.”

“Then what is he?”

“I don’t know… yet. Come old friend, our meal awaits.”