Geran glanced up at the window one final time, just catching sight of the eagle as he soared away.

It was finally done, then. His father Belgarion had left Riva and would not return. King Geran of Riva, Overlord of the West, Orb-bearer and Lord of the Western Sea. It sat more or less awkwardly on him.

The nobles in the Hall filtered out unnoticed as he sat, abstracted, on the throne. They were much impressed by the coronation, for though they were a down to earth people, they really hadn't seen very many coronations.

Geran was not quite so impressed. He could manage Riva, he was sure. He'd gotten in the habit of working with Kail during his father's frequent social visits. The Western Sea didn't bother him too much. And the Orb was an old friend. But Overlord of the West…!

Belgarion had seamlessly manipulated both Western rulers and Malloreans to give him a world he was happy to live in. Geran, though well acquainted with many of his parents' friends and their children, knew they were his parents' friends.

On good terms with his sisters, he had nevertheless been a solitary child. His impressions of the past brought the burble of the orb, constant in his mind, and the sleek grey shape of the wolf.

On that thought, he saw him, lying silently in the shadows at the side of the hall.

/You were present all along?/ he burst out, wolf-style, surprised.

/Of course./ He padded to the throne. /Your coronation seemed important./

/We meet but infrequently,/ Geran said wistfully, thinking of the days before the ceremony. Days spent in solitary splendour, interspersed with trying sessions with his crying mother.

/One had the impression solitude was sought./

/No!/ It was loud, and the wolf flinched. Geran gentled his tone. /No. One is…feels sometimes alone./

The wolf regarded him gravely, seemed to understand.

/Indeed. Even one who hunts away from the pack seeks a mate, and young./

And the wolf turned away, loped from the Hall.

Geran slipped away to his father's quarters, pleased he wouldn't be surrounded by lackeys.

A mate. And young. Cries he had been hearing more and more of late. It was expected. Beldaran the Beauty was already married to her Murgos Prince, and two of the younger girls were engaged. They were here, in the citadel, to be married out of the Hall of the Rivan King. The others had gone with Belgarion and Ce'Nedra to the Vale.

So he was King. And a king should have a queen. But he didn't need one, he reasoned. His sister Liselle was marrying a Rivan, and would live nearby. Her child could inherit the throne. The older two girls, well, their children would have thrones of their own to inherit. But with Liselle, it could work.

He realised he was planning out how to appropriate a niece nephew, and grimaced. It was just that he really didn't want a wife. There were some nice girls in Arendia, in Algaria. Even a couple of Mallorean generals' daughters. But his parents had married for love, despite all appearances to the contrary. It seemed to Geran that everyone he knew married for love. He didn't want a state marriage. Images of Cherek princesses, of Tolnedran imperial duchesses popped into his head, and he shuddered.

Liselle came into his chamber just as he was wincing over the memory of her ladyship, the Countess of Hess.

"Liselle, Belar, say you won't begrudge me an heir?"

"I what?" She gaped at him, at his panicked expression. He calmed down a little.

"I need an heir for Riva."

"Planning on dying before you marry?" She laughed at him.

"If I can help it," he muttered. She gave him a closer look, more concerned. Then she settled beside him on the chaise-lounge and nested her comforting little paw in his.

Finally, Geran let it out into the easy silence.

"Everybody wants me to get married!"

"Well, not right away," she said carefully, "but don't you think you will, eventually?"

"If I must. But that's just it. I don't want to *have* to. I want…" He blushed.

"Yes, dear?"

"Love. Everybody else gets to fall in love," he said defiantly.

"It took Polgara five thousand years."

"I don't have that long."

"No." She didn't want to pursue the delicate family issue that was the main reason their father had abdicated. "You might have to marry one day, Geran, but don't be pushed. And be honest. And if you don't," she hesitated, thinking of the long years ahead of her and the few ahead of her brother. "If you don't, a child of mine will be heir to Riva." It would be hard for her children, but they could be happy. Geran, forced to marry, could not.

He tightened his grip on her hand in silent acknowledgment.

The wolf paused in his steady loping. He quickly surveyed his location, found it to be right, and continued down into the Vale. He came first upon the mother. She gave a startled squawk before recognising him. Then she led him off to the father, a stream of human chatter pouring from her. The father was much quieter, asking more relevant questions, and ones he knew could be answered.

/One's young are well?/

/Yes./

/What do you seek?/

/One seeks the caregiver. She of wolf./

/It is well./ And the father led him a distance, to a stone construction.

/Here./

The wolf inclined his head in acknowledgment and awaited the father's departure before howling his greeting. The caregiver came down, padding along in her wolf form.

/Such noise, young one./

/One seeks help, caregiver./

/With what?/

/One would mate./

/Surely you do not need help for that, cub./

The wolf drew himself up, and tried to project serenity. /One would mate in human form./

Poledra let this sink in. She had a suspicion. After all, in wolves it was not unknown. /With whom?/

/The young pack leader of the island. One cares for him./

Poledra thought about that. It would be difficult for this wolfling to be human. And the humans would have problems with it. Though fewer if they thought him a man.

/Yes. You will be a fine man. One will help. Come./

She led him off into the forest, for the learning. Both of the change, and of human ways.

Poledra smoothed her dress down, and ascended the stairs.

"Belgarath?"

He turned away from his work, a degree of attention that for once did not suit her. "Yes my love?"

"I must go away for a time. There is that which I must do."

A sudden panic lit his face. "Not like the last time there was something you had to do, Poledra?"

"No. I will be gone but a short time."

Strong relief seemed dominant, but the old man restrained himself to a quiet sigh of relief. It warmed her.

"Can you tell me where you're going?"

"In some part. I will, perhaps, tell you more when I return. I am going to Riva. There is a young man there."

"Nor our young man? Nothing to do with Geran?"

"The young man is not Geran," she said with some finality, her evasion appearing a certainty.

"Well. It is not far to Riva. I will see you when you return."

There was still a little anxiousness to him, as there always was when they were separated. Poledra found it gratifying. "Soon."

And she departed. She borrowed horses from Beldurnik, and he was curious, but remained deferentially silent.

The wolf, in human form, she met at the edge of the Vale. "Must we take these beasts, Poledra?"

"We must." She could not entirely hide her own distaste. "You should become accustomed to human travel, as you have human garb and speech."

He dipped his head in acquiescence, and they moved off on their short journey. To the wolf, on horseback, it seemed interminable.

Their boat arrived at Riva, and they stabled the horses at an inn. Poledra stayed with him a week, watching him. Finally, she prepared for her return journey, regretting the necessity of riding. To the wolf, she said, "You know Geran comes often into the city. Meet him. And luck to you."

"My thanks."

Geran doffed his fine tunic and boots, pulling on worn footwear and apparel of more ordinary cloth. Most of the residents of the Citadel would recognise their lanky russet haired king even in this guise, but the citizens of Riva, who had only visited, would be blinded to his features by his attire.

He moved through the craft houses, greeting acquaintances and making small purchases. Then on to the inns for a drink with some of the men and women from the dock area.

At one inn, fairly late into the night, he noticed a man watching him. A fairly unprepossessing youth, with shaggy brown hair and a slight build, but the most intense eyes.

"Buy you a drink?" he offered, his feeling strangely awkward.

"Certainly." The voice was low, rough, almost too deep for his figure.

Geran signalled the serving woman and settled into a seat opposite the stranger. "My name's Gaid," he said, suddenly feeling bad about the lie.

"Adan," the other replied, the name rolling strangely off his tongue, as if it were of no consequence.

Geran sat in uneasy silence, nursing his tankard. He suddenly yearned for Belgarion's familiar friendliness, though he had never previously regretted its lack. Adan looked amused. Eventually, he broke the silence with a meaningless comment about the ships in harbour. Geran was surprised at how smoothly the conversation flowed after that.

He was invigorated and happy when he felt duty calling him back. He had to sleep so he could work the next day. He bid Adan farewell and was unreasoningly pleased when the man invited him to come past again sometime; he'd be staying at the inn for a while.

Adan (he felt more comfortable with it now) was well pleased. His friendship with Geran was progressing nicely. It was time for the next step.

He expected Geran at any moment, and true to form, the young king walked through the door exactly on time. Also true to their habit, they went upstairs to Adan's room with a bottle in tow.

Geran was relaxed, and stayed that way as Adan moved silently towards him. "Gaid," he began, and noticed the flash of something that always came to Geran when he heard that name. "First truth," he stated, tilting Geran's head with his capable hands.

He kissed him chastely on the lips, following Poledra's advice on human rituals. Geran started, and stepped backwards, his legs hitting a chair. He sat rather abruptly.

"What…?" he managed, before Adan closed in and laid a finger across his lips.

"A truth from you, I think. You are not so lonely, are you?"

That made Geran stop, his outburst fading away. It was time. Adan made him feel comforted and at peace. And other things, more confusing, which he tried to brush aside.

"No," he admitted, "I am not." 'Be honest.' Liselle's voice seemed to echo in his head. "Hardly at all, Adan. Thankyou."

"That is well." Adan considered the confused young man before him. "I make you happy?"

"Yes," Geran said, but none too quickly.

"You should be happy."

"No." Finally, Geran seemed more balanced. "No, I would like to be happy. But it is not vital."

"I want you to be happy. I make you happy. I will stay. It is all very simple."

"It's scandalous!"

"Outsiders need not know," he assured, remembering more of Poledra's advice. "Those close to you would understand. You are well loved in the Citadel. On all the island, in fact."

Geran's eyes flicked to his again, and his shock was clear.

"Second truth," Adan observed.

"You…don't care?" It was suddenly, vitally, important to him.

"No. I care only for you."

His sister's admonishments rang clear in his mind. And her promise. Could he do this? Really? Yes, he decided, he could.

"I care for you, Adan."

For the first time, the wolf felt pleasure at that human identification. He gently pulled Geran to his feet, the ways of human loving also seeming suddenly natural. This time, his kiss was warmly returned. Geran seemed to have shed his hesitancy.

Adan felt wonder at exploring these limbs. He knew them well, had seen the prince's body as it grew, but now he understood them and their weaknesses. And they were his to possess.

He did so, muzzling into the places that released his mate's scent. Licking, nipping. Leaving small marks. Geran arched against his hands and mouth, low sounds and murmurs his encouragement.

Geran's knees trembled, and he pulled away. They reclined, still exploring and acknowledging their new bond. Geran swept his eyes over Adan, marvelling at this before him. He doubted he would be capable of seeing him clothed and not remembering him thus.

He lay back, receptive, and the urge to possess became yet stronger in Adan. He flipped the king over and pressed the heels of his hands into his shoulders.

"I would have you," he growled, a final statement of intent.

"Yes." It was a breath, stark and bare. A certain tension took those pale shoulders. "If you know…if you're sure."

"It is well, Geran," he reassured, saw him relax, and pounced. When he paused again, Geran was a limp mass, half-sprawled on his side and breathing hard.

Adan was driven by the urge to mate. His partner was before him, acquiescent. The last echoes of Poledra's advice hummed in his mind. About men…sexual refinements. He grabbed for a pot by the bed, swiftly slicking himself and his mate before joining.

Geran pushed back, insensate, as he felt himself impaled.

Adan drove his seed into his mate, wide open and expectant. Geran felt fire, connection. Something that was solely his, not the remnants of his inheritance.

"I am yours," Adan whispered, as he settled down into the mattress.

"Mine alone." It should have been too quiet to hear, but Adan somehow caught it. He grimaced to himself. He had always been Geran's alone. 'Another truth to come, but one,' he thought, 'for another time.'

Geran lay in his arms for some while, but the Hall and paperwork beckoned him home. He didn't want to leave. He had a feeling this fledgling happiness was ephemeral, might disappear, despite Adan's declarations.

"You'll stay?" 'You said you'd make me happy.' He didn't want to leave.

"I will stay with you. At the Hall, if it is well."

Geran exhaled. "You'll come now."

"I will, if you wish."

"I wish." 'Oh, how I wish.'

Adan calmly extricated himself from the embrace, wiped himself off and began packing away his meagre possessions. Geran couldn't help the blind smile on his face. Such pleasure, at seeing the slender nude form folding shirts.

Adan farewelled the innkeeper, and walked with the King towards the Citadel in the distance. And king he was, all of a sudden. The wolf could see the change, and despite the casual clothes, recognised the man he had seen upon the throne.

He ghosted along behind him, knowing Geran would draw all eyes. And he did, right through to the servants. It wasn't unusual to see the King walk the halls, though his father never had. But it *was* very late at night.

Adan followed him into his room, taking an automatic step towards the fireplace before he remembered. He could curl up in that bed now, with his old hearth companion beside him.

And so he was when Liselle, with her normal cursory knock, walked in. He heard the door opening, and slid further under the covers, becoming an indeterminate lump. He had to let Geran decide what to say. His lover was slowly surfacing to consciousness when Liselle came to a screeching halt.

"I'm sorry," she said, flustered. "I didn't know you had company."

Geran smiled at her muzzily. "It's okay. You might want to think about knocking in future though. My friend will be staying a while."

Her lips formed a silent 'oh', her eyes lit by astonishment and rampaging curiosity. Geran laid a reassuring hand on Adan's shoulder before continuing. His eyes begged his sister's indulgence as he folded back the coverlet to their waists. "This is Adan."

She was on the verge of protesting his cavalier treatment of the female in question when the nature of the female in question became abundantly clear.

"Adan?" She mouthed the name. He inclined his head, retaining a natural dignity even in his dishevelled and unclad state.

"Your Highness."

"Don't be absurd," she admonished absently, recovering. "You are staying a while?" He nodded. "You'll have to call me Liselle." He nodded again. She had been Liselle for years. She still looked a little perturbed, and obviously felt a little uncomfortable. Adan reached down beside the bed and drew a robe over himself. Then he excused himself and went to bathe.

Liselle tried to order her thoughts. "Nerina…would not respond well to this," she observed.

Geran shrugged. "She will be gone with Kheva to Drasnia in a fortnight. I doubt she will visit often."

Liselle acknowledged the truth of that. "The Vale family are unlikely to object," she mused.

"Indeed." Geran smiled. "There are stranger pairings there than there ever will be in my bedroom."

"If this Adan stays, or another," she considered, "another like him comes, I'll raise my son a king. But dear one, are you very sure?"

He met her eyes. "I love him."

She melted, happy. "Oh, Geran. I'm so pleased."

Noticing that Adan had apprehended his robe, he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and wen to join his lover in the baths.

Liselle looked after him with a bemused little smile. Then a rush of warmth drove her to seek her own lover; her fiance Ater.

"Oh, Ater, sweet, it's wonderful."

The big man found himself with an armful of wriggling princess and could only agree.

She laughed up at him. "Not me, silly. Though I am, of course."

"What is it then?"

"My brother. He's in love."

Ater thought about it for a second. Liselle had shared her concerns about Geran's happiness, and this certainly seemed like good news. "That's lovely, Liselle. Maybe we'll have another wedding at Riva?"

Her face fell. "No."

"Why not?"

She didn't know quite how to put it. "Geran's…friend. They were in Geran's bedchamber this morning when I went in."

Ater flushed a little. "That doesn't mean they won't get married."

"No, no," she brushed it off. "That isn't important. It's just that Geran's friend…" she stopped. Started again. "Do you know a man on the island called Adan?"

He looked puzzled. "No. Is it the girl's father? Surely no father would be against such a match."

"Actually, Ater, Adan is the girl."

"You said Adan was a …oh. Oh, I see."

"It needs to be kept quiet. People expect kings to have queens."

"Yes, and sons and daughters, too."

Liselle looked distinctly uncomfortable, and cradled one hand against her abdomen. She muttered something, but Ater couldn't quite hear her. It didn't stop him from having sudden suspicions.

"Liselle?"

"Nephews often inherit thrones, love. And it's not like he would have married anyway. And Beldaran's and Nerina's children will have responsibilities. And Taiba's never going to have children."

He held up a hand to forestall her. "Our children will have responsibilities."

She shot him a coquettish look. "How about if I have one for Geran and two for you? We wouldn't be giving him up. Daddy was raised on a farm, and he was a good king. There's no reason the next monarch shouldn't be raised that way."

"Enough, Liselle. I accept it, though it will make the raising of them more difficult."

She flung her arms up around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "It *will* work out. You'll see."

He cradled her to him, recognising that she was trying to reassure herself as much as him.

Adan and Geran kept comfortable silences and easy conversation. Neither were of a light-hearted turn, and Geran was surprised how simply Adan fit into his life and household. He had, however, a growing curiosity about his lover. Adan would occasionally disappear, yet he seemed to have no friends or occupation.

Despite this, he felt he knew him, that questions would be somehow intrusive and absurd. The choice, however, was taken from him when Brand became aware of the situation. By that time, Nerina was married and in Boktor, and Liselle on her honeymoon.

The middle aged warder looked on the stranger with foreboding. There were still threats to Riva. Even some of their allies were ruthless enough to take advantage of the island's melancholic king. He went to Geran in his office.

"Your Majesty."

Geran looked up and smiled briefly. "Brand. Can I help you?"

Brand fidgeted, sitting down finally. "It's personal."

"You have a problem?"

"No, I mean it's personal about you."

Geran's brows made a run for his hairline. "Go ahead."

"Your friend. Adan."

Geran's face softened just a little. "Yes?"

"Who is he?"

Geran regarded him gravely. Then he walked to the door that led to his chambers. "Adan, could you come here?"

Adan came in on silent feet, looking equally grave.

"Brand would like to know who you are."

"Who I am? I am Adan."

Brand looked flustered. "Where are you from?"

Adan half-smiled. "I am from Mallorea."

Geran gave him a sharp look. "From which protectorate?"

"From no protectorate. I was born in the mountains near Kell."

"Ah, so you're a Dal." Brand was satisfied with that. Dal's didn't dabble in politics. But Adan spoke again.

"No, I am not a Dal."

"Why are you in Riva?"

"I have lived in Riva for many years."

Brand's suspicions came rushing back. "Nobody seems to know you."

"Geran knows me. We met, in fact, in those same mountains near Kell."

A sudden realisation had come to Geran. There was a silence while he absorbed it. Then, "I believe we did. Adan is absolutely to be trusted, Brand. He's an old friend of my grandmother's."

Brand was puzzled by that. His grandmother… There was his grandmother the dryad, and his grandmother from Algaria, but both were long since dead. Still, if this Adan was a connection, what more could he say. He murmured thanks and left, not noticing the mounting tension in the room behind.

"You lied to me."

"I did not. But it is quibbling." He shimmered, crouched down, presented his natural form. It was best to be confronting, to deal with all of Geran's reservations now.

Geran, through force of long history, switched automatically to the wolf's language. /Why?/

/It was the time of mating. One felt one could assuage your loneliness./

/It's unnatural./

Adan considered. /It is not so unnatural. One finds the human form has many advantages./

/Not that. Our union./

/Our union?/ Adan was plainly startled. /It is most natural. Oneself is a wolf raised among humans, and your great mother is of wolf stock./

Geran guiltily remembered about Polgara and Beldaran. He had just never thought of it that way before. Belgarion he had seen as a wolf times past counting, and Ce'Nedra seemingly treated him the same. Many moments of their time together returned to Geran. Adan had known so many things about him. And those disappearances.

/You hunted often?/

/No. One hunts but rarely. One shares the food of one's mate./ There was a hint of chagrin in Adan's voice, and it made Geran smile. He sat back down behind his desk and mutely opened his arms.

Adan padded over. Resting his forepaws on Geran's shoulders, he buried his muzzle in the curve of his mate's neck. Geran ran a gentle hand down his sinewy back, feeling contentment both at the return of a friend and the discovery of a lover.

THE END

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