This story has been split into three parts.

I've been wanting to try writing an E/B fic ever since Lumina helped open my eyes to the wonder of that pairing. I'd sit with my eyes closed and wait for a bunny to leap out at me and give me the chance to write them.

The bunny that ended up making the leap was wearing green tights, had a bow strapped to his back and laughed an awful lot like Errol Flynn. Think of this as a sort of Robin Hood-flavored AU. I'm throwing it out there as an open AU, which feels like an enormous act of hubris, but if this bunny gets anyone else to write more fic, then hey, it's worth it <g>

Gripping his horse's reins a little more tightly, Lord Richmond tried not to look at the trees that pressed in close to the narrow path he and his men followed. This forest had an ominous reputation and he could understand why. The sunlight barely penetrated the canopy of leaves overhead, leaving them in perpetual shadow as they slowly rode through the trees. Richmond did not like taking this path, but the road that cut through the forest led to the easiest pass through the mountains. For a person wishing to travel from the Perien duchy to the Lanceton duchy on the other side of the mountains, the forest was the best route to take.

Even if it was somewhat off-putting. Richmond dealt with the strange atmosphere by surrounding himself with three guards. Their presence made him feel safer and made the ride through the woods bearable.

One of his men dropped back to ride beside him. "My lord, I can see flames up ahead and I smell smoke. Thomas has ridden on to see what it is."

Richmond nodded and reined in his horse. He was not going to move any further until he knew what was coming. He had never heard reports of bandits operating in the forest but there was always a first time for everything. He had no intention of riding blindly into a trap.

Thomas rode back to join them after a few minutes. "It is just one man, my lord. He seems addled in the head, but he is nothing to concern yourself with."

"You are certain?" Richmond asked.

"Yes, my lord."

Richmond hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Ride on." He sat up straighter in the saddle, not wanting any of them to realize how nervous he had been. He was not a coward. There was just something about these trees... It did not take long to reach the fire and he looked at the man who was sitting near the flames. What kind of a person would linger in this forest any longer than he absolutely had to?

The man by the fire was wearing good, simple clothing. The light from the flames caught elusive auburn highlights in his shoulder length hair and in the short beard and mustache that framed his mouth. The stranger did not look up when Thomas rode past him. Instead, he sat on a stump and stared into the flames, utterly focused on the fire.

Richmond's curiosity was aroused. What on earth could hold his attention so strongly? Giving over to the wonder that filled him, he reined in his mount. "You there. What are you doing?"

The man looked up and Richmond was immediately caught by the green eyes that regarded him with distracted interest. "Forgive me," the man said, voice low and pleasant. "I did not quite hear you. What did you ask?"

"My lord," Thomas said reprovingly.

The man nodded amiably. "What did you ask, my lord?"

"What are you doing?"

"Finding answers to ancient questions," the stranger said with a sudden grin.

Richmond was about to agree with Thomas's assessment of the man as being addled when he caught sight of something sparkling in the seated man's smile. It looked almost like - "Gold?" A tooth made out of gold? How could this man afford such a thing?

"You have good eyes, my lord." The man's grin grew wider, revealing that he did indeed have a gold tooth. He reached into a sack that sat on the ground at his feet beside a pail of water and pulled out a handful of leaves. As he bent forward, Richmond could see he had a small pouch suspended around his neck by a thin leather thong. He threw the leaves onto the fire. Blue smoke rose up from the flames immediately, thick and sweet smelling.

"My God," Richmond said as his horse shied. "You dare to practice magic?"

"No! No, on my soul, I do not." The stranger reached into the fire with a pair of tongs and pulled something from it. "Not magic, my lord. Science." A single bar of gold shone in the tong's grasp as he twisted so it caught the fire's light.

"Alchemy?" Richmond asked.

"You are a wise man, I see." The green-eyed man place the gold in the pail of water where it steamed while it cooled.

Richmond encouraged his horse to go closer to the fire. "You claim that you can make gold?"

"I did not claim anything about making gold, my lord." The stranger grinned again. "I just went ahead and did it." He peered into the pail through the steam that was still just barely rising from the surface of the water.

"Could you do it again?"

"Of course."

"Now?" To be able to create gold!

The stranger shook his head. "I have used up the last of some of the ingredients. It will take a little time and money to get more."

Richmond dropped his voice. "How much time? And how much money?"

Green eyes studied him with genial understanding. "You seem interested, my lord."

"I am."

"Perhaps this is something we should discuss." There was an invitation in his voice.

Richmond looked at Thomas. "Ride ahead and give us some privacy. I shall call you when I need you."

"My lord," Thomas protested.

"Go." Richmond dismounted, keeping the reins gripped in his fist. After his men had left them, he returned to the subject at hand. "What do you need in order to make more?"

"This secret took me years of study to discover. I will not tell you the ingredients."

"I do not care about the ingredients." He cared about the gold. "Again, how much time and how much money?"

"Two weeks, perhaps a few days more."

"And the money?"

"A negligible amount, my lord." He glanced back down at the bucket. "I dare not use this for fear of drawing too much attention to myself."

Richmond grew tired of the man dancing around the subject. He pulled out his money purse and poured the contents out into the palm of his hand. He was carrying quite a bit of money since he had days of travel awaiting him. "How much do you require?"

"Oh, my lord, not nearly so much. You are too generous. Perhaps two gold pieces?"

Two gold pieces? That was more than a small investment. His eyes on the now quiet pail of water, he remembered the gold that had come out of the fire. His gold would return to him, and bring more besides. He kept out the two gold pieces and poured the rest of the money back into his purse. He offered the money to the green-eyed man. "Here."

"My lord, again, you are far too generous. I will not take your money without having anything to give you in return." The stranger held up his hands, refusing the coins. "You are obviously a man of honor. I will borrow the money I need against the expectation of those two coins. I will meet you in this same place..." he let his voice trail off questioningly.

"Six weeks from now." That was when Richmond would return from Lanceton.

"Six weeks from now," the stranger repeated. He rose to his feet, smiling. "Thank you, my lord. This will be profitable venture for both of us." He bent down and picked up the pail and the sack that had lain at his feet. "I will see you here in six weeks." He moved to step onto the path, but the weight of the pail surprised him and he staggered, dropping the sack and almost running into Richmond.

The nobleman backed away, but not before the stranger brushed against him. "Watch yourself!"

"I am so sorry!" The stranger bowed low, gathering up the sack and backing away. "So very sorry, my lord."

Richmond considered calling his men back to teach the man to be more careful around his betters, but decided against it. It would not be worth losing the chance to see him create gold again. "Six weeks," he said.

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." The man hurried away down the path.

Richmond watched him go for a moment, then remounted his horse and rejoined his men.

"Is all well?" Thomas asked.

"Very well," Richmond said. "Let us continue." In six weeks he would be a richer man. Everything was most definitely very well.

Once the sound of hoof beats died away, Ezra stepped off the path and walked over to the hollowed out tree that served as his hiding place. He placed sack inside, then tipped the pail over and emptied the water out onto the dark soil that covered the ground. He reached inside and pulled out the now cooled lump of metal, then placed the pail in the tree with the sack.

He turned the damp metal over in his hands. "One of my best investments," he murmured to himself. The lump was brass, covered with the thinnest layer of gold, perhaps the same amount found in two gold pieces. It worked every time, and when it was coupled with his gold tooth - his other great investment - it convinced people that he really was pulling solid gold from the fire.

Sliding the metal into a pouch inside his robes, he removed a second item from the same hidden pocket: the nobleman's purse. Fat and heavy, it felt good in his hands. "Fool. There are only three ways for a man to get gold in this world: earn it, extort it, or steal it." Ezra grinned to himself. Stealing it was so much more entertaining than earning it.

The trick was remarkably easy to play. There was something about the forest that made it easy to fool people into believing the most impossible things as they rode through it. Ezra used that to his advantage, playing at alchemy while rich men rode past. The greedy stopped and the foolish were drawn into his weaving of lies. They showed him their wealth and let him get close enough to stumble against them. They were so affronted by his closeness that they never notice when he stole their purses, making their wealth his own.

Deciding to stay off the path, just in case his latest victim noticed his loss, Ezra cut through the trees in order to reach his destination. He knew this forest well, could find paths through the thick trees with little effort and without getting lost. As he walked, he reached out and ran his palms over the rough bark and velvety leaves that he passed. He lived in a town, but there was something about this forest that called to him, making him feel at home while he was hidden in its shade.

An hour's walk brought him out of the forest and to the town he called home. Vierecken wasn't a large town, but as the last outpost of civilization before the forest and the border crossing into Lanceton, it received quite a bit of traffic and more trade than its size warranted.

Ezra walked down the wide main street, then down one of the side alleys until he reached the house where he rented a room. He quickly climbed the back stairs and unlocked the door to his room. He knew the other people in Vierecken thought he was strange for insisting on that security in a town where everyone knew one another, but then, he was a thief. How many others might be lurking in the small town?

His room was small; there was not room in it for much more than his bed, a chest, and a large trunk. He immediately dropped to his knees in front of the trunk and opened it. He smiled to himself as he reached up for the lid. He had encountered trunks with false bottoms many times, but this was the only one with a secret compartment in the lid that he had ever come across. He applied pressure to the three necessary points and the lid came loose in his hands. He put it down to the side and opened up the purse he had stolen that afternoon. He pulled out a handful of copper coins, then added the purse to the collection of money hidden there. He pushed the lid back into place, hiding everything away all over again.

He started to close the lid of the trunk, then paused, his gaze resting on the objects that filled the bottom of the trunk. Books and rolled maps filled the bottom of it, all organized and stored with care. He reached in and pulled out one of the maps, pulling the ribbon off of it and unrolling it across his lap. He looked down at the continents and oceans inked on the parchment, fingertip hovering just over the surface. He did not want to damage it so he did not dare to touch.

Someday he was going to take his ill-gotten gains and leave Vierecken. He would make his way to the sea and then buy a portion of the speculative capital in a cargo vessel. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to be aboard the ship. He would have to work on board, of that he had no doubt, but he would have salt breezes running over his skin and the sun on his back while the ship took him to far off places who's names he had only heard from his own lips as he read books and maps to himself. He had dreamed of joining such a ship since he was a small boy and any amount of work would be worth that.

He opened his eyes and rolled up the map with gentle fingers. He put it away, then closed and locked the trunk, his fingers trailing over the lid. The dream of escape and adventure was still strong in his heart, revealing enticing images every time he closed his eyes. The hope of finding a ship and buying a portion on it haunted his dreams at night and drove him to take the chances that he did, fooling the rich and unwary out of their own ill-gotten gains for his own profit.

Well, mostly for his own profit. He looked down at the pile of copper on the floor and scooped it into his own purse. Ezra told himself that copper was too bulky and awkward and there was no use in saving it when he was also bringing in silver and gold. It was a clumsy explanation and he didn't really believe it, but he would pretend to.

He had never been good at lying to himself, he acknowledged with a rueful grin. He stood up and left his room, locking the door once more and walking back to the main street, the grin still on his face as he looked over the old stone buildings, small and poor even in the bright light of the sun. His mother would no doubt hate Vierecken. If she had lived to see him living here, she would have given him absolute hell before forcibly dragging him out of town. He was certain that she would have also been scandalized by his dreams of become a merchant aboard a ship, but even that would be better than lingering in a quiet border town.

Sometimes Ezra could not quite believe that he was still in town. He had ridden through two years ago and had stayed after his horse had thrown a shoe. He did not have any money to pay for lodging, but he had remembered the stories about the forest that lay just beyond the town's edge and had managed to quickly swindle a few travelers out of the money he needed. He had been ready to move on when the shoe had been replaced and his lodging paid, but instead he had stayed.

The sound of a hammer ringing against an anvil carried to his ears and Ezra forced the smile from his lips, afraid it would turn wistful and give his hidden heart away. It was the ring of the hammer that had led him to stop in Vierecken, the ring of the hammer that had drawn him to the blacksmith forge in search of help.

It was the ring of the hammer that had led him to the blacksmith and lost his heart for him.

Ezra slowed down as he walked to the smithy: it would do him no good to appear too eager. He let the sound of men working hard draw him closer as he moved at a stately pace down the street. His heart was leaping inside of his chest but he did not let any sign of it show on his face.

He felt the heat of the forge hit him before he even reached the door. "Hello?" he called.

The hammers stopped ringing and when he walked inside, Buck was looking toward the door, an anticipatory smile on his face. "Ezra!"

"Good afternoon," Ezra said. "You are looking well." He glanced at Buck's apprentice. "John."

"Hey, Ezra!" John pushed his hair back out of his face with his forearm. "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you. Yourself?"

"Besides being worked to death?" John laughed when Buck scowled at him.

Buck shook his head. "You are still too soft, boy."

Ezra let laughter escape him. Neither of them was at all soft. Although he was still relatively new to the forge, John's arms were beginning to show the powerful muscles so characteristic to blacksmiths. His long dark hair was tied back, but tendrils still came loose and fell into his dark eyes. Despite the heat of the smithy and the hard work he was doing, the grin never quite left his eyes and almost never left his lips. He was open and pleasant, just like his clean-shaven face, and according to Buck he learned quickly. Ezra enjoyed his company, liked listening to him talk and share his pleasure in the world around him.

Of their own volition, his eyes turned to Buck. His hair was not quite so dark as John's and it was shorter. The dark mustache that graced his upper lip did nothing to hide the smile on his lips that echoed the warmth in his eyes. He had the body of a blacksmith, heavy with muscle on an impressively tall frame.

Ezra forced his gaze back to glowing coals in the forge. He could not let himself look too long out of fear that his feelings might show and all his secrets would be given away. He'd been struck by Buck's handsome features the first time he saw him. It was his spirit that made Ezra choose to stay in Vierecken, though. The man had a heart as large as the sky and a laughing spirit to match. He could laugh at himself and the people around him and he had no hesitation to share his good humor. It made him a popular man and Ezra had not been able to resist his charisma.

He had been immediately attracted and a few days in Buck's company convinced him to linger in town. After a few weeks had passed he had found himself more than attracted: he had fallen in love. He kept all of that hidden, though. He had been gifted with Buck's friendship and there was no way he was going to jeopardize that privilege. He visited the forge and met Buck for meals and watched as the taller man gave his love to the young women in the town.

He was not ashamed of how he felt. He had known himself to be different as long as desire had stirred in his veins, known it when he had first learned that there was pleasure to be found in his body and those of others. The sight of a woman's bared arm or the slope of a man's back both could heat his blood and he accepted this part of his nature. He understood the world in which he lived well enough to keep it hidden.

Sometimes he ached with the pressure of secrets concealed. Buck was so generous with his affection and love when he was around women, but all he ever gave Ezra was friendship and he burned for so much more...but he had known that nothing would come of his love in the same moment that he had recognized its existence. He had the choice every day to ride on and seek the sea, to leave behind the loneliness and hopelessness and marginalized life he led here.

"Ezra?" Buck's voice broke into his thoughts. "Are you all right?" Concern touched his eyes.

"Fine," Ezra said reassuringly. "I had some good luck today and I came to share it with you." He hefted the purse full of coppers in his hands. "A nobleman wanted to spread some of his generosity here and charged me with the dispersal."

Buck grinned at him. "You mean you talked to him and fooled him into thinking that you were somehow in charge of this town, so he gave you money, but you do not know what to do with it."

The warmth of his smile washed over Ezra, reminding him why he stayed. "Something like that," he agreed. He tossed the bag into a counter. Buck had appointed himself unofficial protector of the people of Vierecken. His size and strength no doubt had something to do with it, but he also sincerely cared about the people in town. Ezra knew that the coppers would be dispersed to the people who needed them most. He liked being able to help, but he admitted to himself that he gave the coins to Buck because he knew how much pleasure it would bring the blacksmith to be able to help his neighbors. He would do almost anything to see Buck smile.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ezra took a look at the sky. It was almost time for noon meal. Perhaps he could persuade Buck and John to join him and steal a few more moments in his secret love's company.

Buck looked at the small purse lying in the corner, then transferred his attention to John. The younger man was watching him with undisguised hope.

"Lunch?" John asked.

Buck glanced at Ezra. "Lunch?"

"Lunch," Ezra agreed. He reached up to touch his forehead, grimacing a little when his fingertips came away damp. "I'll await you outside." He turned and left the inside of the smithy.

Buck watched him go, shaking his head a little as he did. Ezra was a good friend, one of Buck's best. It was strange that they had come to be as close as they were. Ezra was...different. He did not work with his hands - Buck knew that much, even if his friend refused to go into detail about how he made his money. He feared that it might be something illegal, but he could nott really make himself care. No one in Vierecken ever complained about Ezra taking anything from them so Buck figured it was none of his business. Add in the fact that Ezra sometimes managed to talk rich men into donating some of their money to the needy people here, and Buck was grateful for his presence in town.

He understood the need to keep secrets. Buck really was not one for talking too much about the past, himself, so he could respect the silences that fell in between the other man's long stories. Sometimes he wished he knew more, though. Ezra did not belong in a small town like this, not with his fancy manners and talk of far away places. Buck wanted to know what brought him to Vierecken and why he stayed, but he did not want to pry and so he bit back his questions and enjoyed Ezra's company while he could. He knew that some day Ezra would be moving on. He would leave Buck behind and take his smile and too handsome face and the thoughts Buck didn't understand so he ignored with him. Buck just hoped that time was far away in the future.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Buck began work on damping the coals. "If you want to eat, you will have to work," he told John.

His apprentice leapt to work, moving quickly to finish all the tasks necessary for them to leave for a little while.

Buck watched him with a grin. He had forgotten what it was like to be young and growing and working hard. John acted like he was hungry all the time, and he probably was. He kept moving quickly until they were finished and forge could be left for a while. He could not starve his apprentice, who was also his friend.

They walked down the street together, easy in each other's company thanks to the understanding that came from working so closely together. It helped that he liked John, enjoyed his enthusiasm and wonder at everything he was learning to do.

Buck scanned the street until he found Ezra. He was easy to find, light hair shining a bit in the sun as he talked idly with the proprietor of tavern. Buck raised his hand in greeting and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. Gold flashed in the sunlight and Buck found himself laughing a bit. He had thought Ezra was mad when the man had come to him, asking him to create a gold tooth, but damn if it did not look somehow right on him. Only Ezra could pull something like that off without looking like a fool. With all that hair and his beard, the gold tooth made Ezra look a little like a pirate or a bandit.

As they came up even with Ezra, Buck nodded to him and the tavern keeper. "Good day, Aaron. Is Ezra telling you about how he is going to buy us lunch?"

"He might have mentioned something like that," Aaron said, smiling.

"I most certainly did not," Ezra objected, but he still followed them into the tavern and joined them at their usual table. Aaron disappeared into the back to fetch their meals.

"What have you been doing today?" John asked, looking at Ezra.

"I went for a walk in the woods."

"That is all?"

"I find the woods inspiring." There was a strange smile on Ezra's face as he said that, secretive and pleased.

Buck knew there was more to the story than that. Perhaps Ezra was some kind of poet? The man did have a gift for words. But then why would he be so secretive about it?

Before he could pursue John's question, one of Aaron's sons ran into the tavern. "Father!" he shouted. "Father, a messenger!"

Aaron appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, carrying plates in his arms as he made his way over to the table. "A messenger?"

"Yes," the boy said, nodding so hard his hair bounced. "A messenger from the Duke."

All of them stopped moving.

"The Duke?" Ezra asked quietly.

"From the castle!" The boy drew in a deep breath and continued speaking. "He came to announce that there will be a tourney held here in two months time. A real tourney, right here in Vierecken!"

Buck leaned back in his chair. A tourney here? On the very edges of the duke's domain? It did not make any sense, but he had long given up on understanding how the minds of the nobility worked.

" I have never seen a real tourney," John said. "Will it be like in the tales, with knights and ladies and lots of fighting?"

Buck shook his head. "I have never been to one, either. Ezra, have you?"

"There will be many people," Ezra said. His voice was soft and he stared down at his hands, long hair falling forward to hide his eyes. "No one really grand. The high lords and ladies will not disrupt their lives to come so far to attend one here. The streets will be crowded with people looking to make money or take money, shouting and laughing and celebrating in this town that they will leave behind without a second glance."

"Oh. That does not sound at all like the stories."

Ezra looked up. There was a faraway expression in his eyes that faded as he focused on John's unhappiness. "I am sorry," he said, gaze becoming clear. "I was a little lost in my own thoughts. There will be knights and ladies here, John, sweeping down our little main street just like it was a grand avenue in a city. They will not be covered in jewels, but the ladies will be dressed beautifully, more elegantly than anyone you have ever seen. When they talk to each other, they will use courtly manners unknown to this town. There will be many matches, on horseback and on the ground and men will fight until one is declared champion. You will see them use swords and lances, maces and perhaps even staffs or bows, depending on how many arrive to compete. Merchants will be following the tourney as it moves so you will see new goods and trinkets and food unlike those you know. They will line the streets and the area surrounding the tourney grounds, shouting at passersby to come and see their wares. There will be a hundred things to see and a thousand things to hear and if you are quick and lively, you will not miss a moment of it." He raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Vierecken is about to get very crowded."

"Really?" The enthusiasm was back in John's voice.

"Really." Ezra looked over at Buck and they shared an indulgent look, enjoying the other man's enthusiasm. "It will bring many people in town, most of whom will have money to spend."

Buck's worry over Ezra's strange reaction retreated. "Money?"

"A new trinket, an interesting item...tourney days are holidays and people like to spend money on holidays."

Buck sat up straighter. "You could be on to something there." He had been a soldier before becoming a blacksmith, full of his strength and power and the fierce joy that could only be found in testing himself against death and coming out the victor by virtue of being alive at the end of the day. Young and foolish, but he had learned that he was not beating death, he was serving it and he had left that life behind. He had always liked the area around Vierecken; the forest did not bother him and the people were welcoming toward strangers, willing to let them make a new home among them.

He did not miss the blood and the pain - he had never been that foolish. He missed the camaraderie sometimes, the connection that grew between men who fought and killed and died for each other. He also missed the money. Soldiering paid more than blacksmithing, especially in a town as small as this one. He missed ready funds at his fingertips, missed having the freedom to buy what he wanted and give what he wished. There were no opportunities to take on large jobs here. Perhaps he could make up for some of this by bringing in money from strangers who came to town to watch the tourney. "Horses will need shoes," he murmured, speaking his thoughts aloud.

"Most definitely," Ezra agreed. "After such a long journey to come here, they will no doubt seek you out first thing."

"Might be a knight with armor in need of repair," Buck continued.

"Could you do that?" John asked.

"I could figure something out." He had not had much contact with armor, but some of the mercenaries he had fought beside liked it and he had learned his way around it. He glanced at John and took in the questions in his eyes. He had not told John much about his past, not wanting the younger man to believe that fighting was too glamorous to resist. He realized he might have to change that policy now.

"There are other possibilities as well," Ezra said.

"Like what?"

"A year ago, you and John crafted a gift for the lady minstrel who was passing through town."

"That flower?" It had been a bit of a joke, a bit of a challenge for himself. He had wanted to impress her and he had done so by creating a small flower out of the scrap metal he had lying around the smithy. It had taken concentration and a little extra time to get all the details right, but the minstrel had been most impressed by the tiny gift when he had given it to her...impressed and appreciative. "How did you know about it?"

Ezra glanced down at his plate for a moment. "I saw you working on it. She liked it, did she not?"

"Yes. She said something about carrying it always." Not that he had believed she would. They had shared a couple of nights together, not a grand passion. "You think other people would really like it?"

Ezra had to muffle a brief coughing fit behind one hand before he could answer. "I think it would be an interesting trinket, a unique remembrance. Many people would be interested in buy them, I think."

Feeling a sudden surge of hope for the future, Buck began eating. "John, you can have the rest of the day to yourself."

"Really?" The young man shot him a suspicious look. "Why?"

"I am going to need this afternoon to plan. If you come up with any ideas about things we can sell, share with me."

"I will."

"Ezra, if you keep coming up with ideas -"

"I will share them with you."

Buck began to eat, feeling very pleased with the way the day had gone. This tourney could be the very thing he and Vierecken needed. An influx of visitors would give the people who lived here a chance to make money that was badly needed. He had been trying to think of a way to earn more money that wouldn't involve leaving town and this could be perfect.

Maybe a few new ladies would be coming to town...ladies who were willing to be less than lady-like. Lately, Buck had found himself losing interest in the women in town. There were not very many women here who were available as companions for a single man who had no interest in marriage. He was acquainted with all of them, was friends and sometimes more with them, but not recently. For the past few months, he just had not been drawn to any of them. He was not sure what it was. He just felt as though they were not...right, anymore. Perhaps a new face would reawaken his interest. This just was not like him.

Lost in his thoughts, Buck barely noticed when Ezra finished eating and left the table. Trying to think of goods to sell and doing his best to figure out what was wrong with his flagging interest in the fairer sex, he did not see John get up a few moments later and follow after the green-eyed man.

Ezra had crossed half the distance to his room before he realized that John was following him. "Is there something you need?" he asked. He had been hoping to go to his room and spend some time in quiet contemplation, gathering his thoughts in private. This tourney would bring excitement and opportunity to Vierecken, but it would almost certainly bring trouble as well. Ezra needed to consider the possible ramifications and decide how he was going to compensate and react.

"No," John said, falling into step with him. "I just wanted to talk to you a little."

"You could have done that in the tavern."

"No," John disagreed. "Not in the tavern. Not on the street either."

Ezra shot him a sharp glance. What on earth could John wish to talk about that required such privacy? "My room?"

"Would that be all right?"

For a moment, Ezra was tempted to refuse. He could; John was not so sure of himself that he would persist in the face of Ezra's strong disinterest. He glanced over at his friend's earnest expression and sighed. "That would be fine." How could he refuse to be an ear if John needed one? The other man was young, but he was also a good friend. Ezra led the way to his room, waiting for John to join him inside his room before spreading his hands and waiting for the other man to talk. "Yes?" He waited for John to ask him more questions about the upcoming tourney.

"You are never going to be able to make enough money to leave Vierecken if you keep giving it to Buck."

That was unexpected. "I beg your pardon?"

"There was no noblemen giving you money for the poor, was there? Those coppers you gave Buck came from you."

"John, I do assure you that money came directly from a nobleman."

The younger man did not really look as though he believed him. "You do not talk about leaving much anymore. You have hardly mentioned it even as a joke for the past few months." He tilted his head to the side. "Do you really still want to leave Vierecken?"

Where was this coming from? Ezra wanted to leave...but he wanted to leave Buck even less and so he was still in town, caught in limbo by his inability to give up on love.

Sudden fear coursed through him. If John had seen through his faade of looking for a chance to leave, what else had he seen? "John..."

"You did not see me and Buck working on the flower. I hated working on it - an entire day spent just being careful and watching the coals and listening to Buck gloat...I was desperate for a distraction. If you had been watching us, I would have remembered because I would have used you to get out of the work. Well, I would have tried, anyway. You were not there. So how did you know about the flower?"

Ezra was not sure how he managed to keep his feet. His knees were weak and he was tempted to collapse onto his simple bed and let the shock course through him. John knew too much. This line of questioning was dangerous. What if John was leading him toward a confession that could get him thrown out of town? That could lose him Buck's friendship, the most precious thing he had in this life. "John, do you know what you are doing?"

"I am upsetting you," John said. "I am sorry. I did not want to do that." He took a hesitant step toward Ezra and touched his shoulder. "I just wanted to let you know that..." he shook his head, a helpless expression on his face. "I do not know. That I am glad you are here, that I am grateful that you have stayed."

"I do not understand," Ezra admitted, too frightened to say anything else.

"But I do," John said, sympathy clear on his face. "And I think it is all going to be fine in the end. You will see."

He could not be saying what Ezra was thinking. It was madness. If John knew about his feelings for Buck, he would not be expressing support, no matter how inarticulately. Would he? "I believe I am even more confused now."

"I sometimes do that that to people." John patted his shoulder. "Buck says he thinks my mouth moves faster than my mind."

"But not your heart?" Ezra ventured. He would prefer to pretend this conversation never happened, but he had to be sure of what John was hinting.

"Sometimes my heart," John admitted. "But not yours. I do not think your heart or your mind ever get a chance at controlling your mouth. Maybe that is for the best, though." He took a step toward the door. "It really is not my concern. I just wanted to let you know that I hope everything works out for you."

"Works out for me," Ezra echoed.

"For you and Buck. Maybe the tourney will help."

"Me and Buck?" Ezra felt his stomach twist and turn to ice. "John, I do not know what you think you are talking about-"

"No, I know. It is not my concern, but you are my friend and I would like you to be happy. I think you and Buck could be happy." With a nervous smile, John was gone.

Ezra gave in to weakness and sank down onto his bed. John knew. It did not matter how much he had skirted around actually coming out saying the words: he knew that Ezra had feelings for Buck. There was no other explanation that made sense of his cryptic words.

Closing his eyes, Ezra sank back on the bed and groaned. At least John seemed fairly accepting of the situation: supportive, even. It was strange; beyond anything Ezra would have dared to dream. Of course, John was not the one that he wanted to accept him...Ezra determinedly turned his thoughts away from might have beens and wishes. Those types of thoughts would get him nowhere. He had a mystery to solve.

How had John figured it out? How had he learned of Ezra's feelings? He had been so careful, so certain that he had been discreet.

Perhaps it was the flower that had given him away. John was right. He had not seen the two men working on its creation. He had learned of its existence when he had seen Buck give it to the female minstrel in the tavern's common room. The firelight had shone on its surface and Ezra had not been able to look away from its alluring curves and shine...until he had looked at Buck. He had seen the pride on Buck's face and the care in his hands as he gave it to her and had known right away that the flower was the product of Buck's labor and creativity.

He had wanted it. His fingers had itched to pass by their table and take it, make it is own. He could pretend that it had been meant for him from the start, a gift from a man who returned his love and desire. He had resisted...at least until the next morning and the woman was ready to continue on her journey.

Ezra had waited for her in the forest. She had been startled when she encountered him among the trees, but he had soon been able to put her at ease with a genial line of chatter. They had walked down the path together for a few minutes. After a little while, she relaxed enough to start idly shifting a shiny object from hand to the other.

It was the flower.

Ezra had commented on the trinket and she had shown it to him, displaying it and inviting his admiration. He had admired it...then he had offered to buy it. At first she had refused, but he had persisted and eventually she had named a price that he was more than happy to meet.

Of their own volition, his fingers crept to the small pouch that hung from the thong around his neck. They quickly undid the knot and opened the pouch, dipping in and pulling out the small flower. He did not need to open his eyes; he had played with the trinket often enough that he had its every curve memorized. If only Buck had truly made it for him. If only....

With a tired sigh, Ezra put the flower back inside its pouch and tied the knot around it once more. If onlys could not solve any of his problems. He needed to get up and moving if he was going to take control of the situation.

The privacy of his room was usually conducive to concentration, but in the mood he was caught in, he would do nothing but brood. He had to get out and moving and assess the situation without letting his heart take over.

Walking out the door, he made his way down to the street. He considered heading out into the woods. The quiet of the forest was soothing. It would calm him if nothing else. It was often his refuge when he was in a mood like this one and he hoped it would help him once again.

"Ezra!"

The sound of his name being called distracted him and he turned from his path. It only took a moment to find the man who had hailed him. "Vincent," he said, crossing the street to greet him. "When did you arrive in town?"

Vincent smiled at him, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just a few minutes ago. I was on my way to the tavern to break my fast. Would you join me?"

"For a drink, certainly." Ezra walked with him back to the tavern, eyeing the other man as they went. Vincent had not been in Vierecken for months, but he had not changed. Perhaps his brown hair was a little longer, his frame a little leaner, but he still looked much the same. "You have been gone for some time."

"Were you worried?"

"I would not say worried. Concerned, perhaps." Although worried would be accurate as well. Vincent had been a reeve in a nearby parish until his fellows had framed him for their own misdeeds, escaping punishment by making him seem guilty. Vincent had fled, choosing to become a fugitive rather than be hung for crimes not his own. He stayed close to his old parish, though, hoping to find evidence to clear his name and bring down those who had harried him from his home. He had found a bit of a refuge in Vierecken, becoming friends with first Ezra, then Buck and John. It had taken a while for him to feel comfortable enough to relate his story, but he eventually shared his history with Ezra, Buck and John. Ezra had decided to try to make Vierecken a sanctuary for him. After all, he himself had found a sort of peace here; who was he to deny it to someone else?

Aaron nodded to them as they came in. "Hungry again, Ezra?"

"I work so hard," Ezra said piously, sitting at a table across from Vincent. "I build up quite an appetite." He smiled as Vincent and Aaron both laughed. When Aaron disappeared in the back to fetch Vincent's meal, Ezra lowered his voice. "Did you have any success?"

Vincent shook his head. "None. They were watching for me this time. I spent most of my time hiding. I learned nothing."

"You will find the truth," Ezra said.

"I begin to doubt it," Vincent confessed.

"Do not." Ezra saw Aaron returning and shifted topics, not wanting to expose Vincent's secret to anyone else. "There has been news here."

"Oh?"

"A tourney has been announced."

"All the way out here?" Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps with the border so near the hope is to attract people from Lanceton?"

"That could well be it. Will you stay for it?"

"Why not? I have to stay away from my parish for a while. This could be interesting."

"Excellent." Not only would Vincent be safer in Vierecken, but also his presence would give Ezra an excuse to spend less time with Buck without having his withdrawal being noticed. This situation would work out for everyone.

Talking idly while Vincent ate, Ezra let his thoughts wander just a bit. Vincent appreciated silence, so he was not under any pressure to fill the gaps with conversation.

Would the duke come to the tourney? It was unlikely that Lord Perien would journey so far to the outskirts of his realm, but then, it was also just as unlikely that a tourney would be held here, so Ezra could not discount the possibility.

He fought down feelings of possessiveness. Vierecken was not his town. He had no hold on the town or its people, but at the same time he felt more at home here than he had in any of the many others through which he passed. It was not all due to Buck's presence. He rather thought it was because this town had been forgotten by its lord. Tax collectors rarely passed through and Ezra had never seen soldiers or other officials. Vierecken was a community contained soley within itself, a place where strangers were a major source of excitement and a topic of conversation for days. Not even the traffic of people traveling to and from Lanceton changed that. This was a small town, a private place.

Nodding to himself, Ezra decided that was probably why he had been able to settle so easily here. This town had been forgotten by the duke, just like Ezra himself had been. If only the absent lord could allow them both to remain forgotten.

The tourney could ruin everything.

Stretching carefully, Buck tried to work out the kinks in his back, easing the protests of abused muscles. He had spent the past couple of hours rummaging around in the smithy, examining the scrap material he had and deciding how many trinkets he would be able to make. Ezra's idea had been a good one. He thought people might buy a little flower or even a sword or shield as a souvenir of the tourney and their visit to Vierecken. He thought he had enough scrap to begin working on making the trinkets. Since he had two months he believed that he would be able to produce enough to turn a tidy profit when people began to filter into town for the tourney.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he left the forge and stepped out into the street. It was not fully dark yet; he had time to visit the tavern and indulge in a drink before he would need to seek his own bed. Good mood growing, he started walking down the dark street, feeling very much like the master of the world.

That all disappeared when the blade of sword nicked his throat. He froze immediately, stopping all movement as he pulled his thoughts in order so he could assess the situation.

"You have gotten careless," judged a quiet voice. "Soft."

Careless, perhaps. But soft? Buck could not allow himself to be called that. Besides, he was fairly certain that he recognized the voice. He lunged backwards, moving his throat out of danger and then he twisted to the side, slamming his attacker into the wall. "Soft?" he asked, pressing his forearm into the throat of the man in front of him, pinning him in place. "Soft?" he repeated.

Chris bared his teeth in his version of a smile. "Perhaps that is not the right word," he choked out.

"Damn right it is not. I have not gotten soft. You have gotten arrogant." Buck let him go and stepped back, watching the other man rub at his throat. "What are you doing in town?"

"My last contract ran out. I am still recovering from our last skirmish." Chris rotated his left shoulder carefully, wincing a bit as he did. "I decided not to renew and take a few months off to finish healing. I remembered that you were holed up here in a little town where there is nothing to but heal."

"Sometimes we get excitement," Buck said defensively.

"Try to convince me on the way to the tavern?"

Buck started walking, leading Chris as he continued to speak. "In a couple of months, we are going to have a tourney here."

"A tourney? In the middle of nowhere?"

"The town is called Vierecken," Buck said with narrowed eyes.

"Pretty fancy name for nowhere," Chris said, stepping past Buck to open the door to the tavern. He squinted in the sudden light, blinking rapidly to get his eyes used to the interior. His pale eyes were the same, his features still sharp and thin. There were more lines at his eyes and near his mouth, but he still moved with the deadly grace and power of a man who fought for a living.

Buck had fought beside him for years, serving in the same mercenary company and shedding blood in the same fields and towns. Chris was hard and driven and had become more so after his wife and child died in a house fire while he was on campaign. Buck had stayed beside him as long as he could, watching his friend carefully as fury threatened to consume him. Finally, the demons of grief receded and Buck was able to walk away from the fighting knowing that Chris would be all right without him. He had not been able to persuade Chris to leave the life behind, but he had at least known that Chris was able to think and reason once more.

Inside the tavern, Buck led the way over to the long table he preferred. He raised his hand in greeting to the townspeople he passed, but did not stop to talk. He wanted to focus on Chris. If his friend had decided to forgo renewing his contract and was looking for a quiet place, he must still have been hurting quite a bit. If he was seeking a place to rest, then Buck wanted Vierecken to be it. He had missed his friend. He also had vague hopes that he would be able to persuade Chris to think about staying. He was getting older and fighting would surely end his life soon. War was a fool's game, and Chris had long outgrown the age of foolishness.

After ordering ale, Buck quickly told Chris what he knew of the tourney. "This is my chance to build my wealth without having to leave town."

"What is wrong with leaving town?"

"I want to stay," Buck said firmly. "I would appreciate it if you would stay for a little while. I could use some help." He told Chris about the trinkets he wanted to make.

"I am no blacksmith," Chris said. "No metal worker." He touched his sword hilt. "This is all I know."

"I could use another pair of eyes to watch my goods when I am selling them."

"That will be months from now."

"You are looking for a place to heal, aren't you?" Buck leaned back in his chair. "I am sure I can find ways for you to be useful in the meantime."

Chris sipped his ale and looked around the quiet tavern. Men talked and laughed with each other. There were no arguments, no fighting. "If you need me..."

"I would appreciate the help."

"Then I will stay."

Buck grinned, not bothering to conceal his pleasure. It had been too long since he had last seen Chris. Two months would give them time to get caught up and allow Chris enough time to heal. It would also give him a real chance to convince Chris to leave the life of a mercenary behind.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention and he looked up to see JD, Ezra, and Vincent walk into the room. He raised a hand in greeting and the three men walked over to join them. "Vincent, when did you get into town?" He had not seen the former reeve in a long time, and had been beginning to worry about him. What if he had been caught in his former jurisdiction?

"Earlier today," Vincent said. He hesitated near a chair, looking at Chris.

Buck hurried with introductions. "Chris, this is Ezra, Vincent, and John. John is my apprentice. This is Chris. We served together when we were both young and foolish."

"And now that you are old and foolish?" Ezra asked.

"Chris is going to be in town for a little while. He is staying to see the tourney."

"So is Vin," John said with a grin as he sat down.

"Ezra talked me into it," Vincent said.

"I did not have to try very hard," Ezra said.

"I have not seen one in a long time." Vincent grinned at Ezra.

The five men sat around the table and talked for a bit. Chris and Vincent felt each other out a bit and seemed to enjoy each other's company. Most of the conversation focused on speculating about the upcoming tourney. John again began to ask about the lords and ladies that might come. Chris had some experience with seeing members of the nobility, so he described them as best he could for the younger man.

Ezra pushed his chair back from the table. "I must take my leave of you. I find myself uncommonly tired."

"You sure, Ezra?" Buck was disappointed. He would have preferred for Ezra to stay longer. He was sure that he knew a few good stories about lords and ladies, and John was not the only one who would like to hear them.

"I am." Ezra rose to his feet and nodded toward them. "Have a good night."

The seated men wished him a good night and then Ezra was gone.

"He is a good man," Vincent said, watching him go.

"He is," John agreed. He looked at Buck. "I think he is lonely, sometimes."

"That is a shame," Vincent said before Buck could make a comment. "He is good company." He looked at John and met his gaze. After a moment, he nodded and smiled just a bit. John returned the smile with a small one of his own.

Buck was not sure what was happening here, although he was certain that he had missed something. He found himself suddenly irritated by Vincent's interest in Ezra, even jealous. He supposed he did not like the thought of anyone taking up his friend's time, but he was certain that was true. He settled for knowing that the blue-eyed man was paying too much attention to Ezra and not liking that at all.

He decided to keep an eye on Vincent while he was in town. "Vincent, since you will be in town, you should make yourself useful."

"I am guessing you mean useful to you," Vincent said, that small smile still on his lips.

"Yes," Buck agreed without any embarrassment. "What else are you going to do?"

Vincent hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not?"

Buck nodded and immediately began drafting Vincent into the plans he and Chris had begun to lay out.

Ezra ducked around the side of an outlying building, hiding himself from the eyes of anyone who might be looking for him. He then walked quickly into the cover of the trees, losing himself in the forest. The cool shade welcomed him and he felt its serenity slowly seep into him. He kept moving, walking further into the forest until he could no longer hear any sounds from Vierecken. Surrounded by silence, he made his way to one of the older trees. Pausing to pat the weathered bark fondly, he looked the tree over before pulling himself up into its branches.

He doubted very much that any of the men in town would believe their eyes if they saw him climbing a tree. It was an activity his mother had tried very hard to train and discipline out of him since he was a small boy. She had failed; no amount of confinement in his room or even straps with a belt ever made him give up this activity. There was something about being able to leave the earth behind and hide himself in soft breezes and gently swaying branches that he was entirely unable to resist. As a child he had often pretended the trees he climbed were masts of great ships; as an adult, he occasionally closed his eyes and imagined the same thing.

He climbed up higher until he reached his favorite perch in this tree, a perfectly sloped branched that cradled his body as he reclined amidst the leaves. Safe in his most secret hiding place, Ezra set himself to the task he'd been avoiding for the past two weeks: thinking seriously about the upcoming tourney.

Buck had already gone far past the planning stage: he had designed trinkets and mementos that he would sell to the expected crowds in addition to hopefully drumming up more traditional work from the visitors to Vierecken. Christopher and Vincent had been drafted into helping him, charged with making sure the fire in the forge was going strong and fetching supplies for John and Buck. Buck and his apprentice had already produced several flowers and a couple miniature sword and shield sets. They were not the small delicate decorations that a jeweler might produce, but Ezra believed those who followed the tourney would still appreciate them. Christopher and Vincent had also begun talking about building a stall or a stand from which Buck could sell his wares. All four men were working well together and had made good progress in getting ready for the tourney.

Ezra needed to follow their example. He had spent the past two weeks occasionally helping out at the smithy, but his heart had not been in it. He had been trying to avoid thinking too hard about how the tourney could affect him and the time had come to change that. He was too old to think that ignoring a problem would make it go away.

The tourney coming to town meant that people who had passed through Vierecken in the past could be returning in order to enjoy the festivities. There was a chance that some of those people returning would be people whose purses Ezra had stolen. Oh, there was no proof that it was he who had done so, but he was the natural one for them to suspect: they had shown him their money and while they were distracted he had taken it. If they recognized him he could find himself in quite a lot of trouble.

There was no help for it; he was going to have to alter his appearance. He usually avoided newcomers to Vierecken. The richer they looked, the more he hid from them. That had saved him from running into any of his former victims in the past, but he doubted it would save him this time.

There were risks in what he was going to do, of course. He had grown out his hair and worn a beard in order to hide his face from someone else. Hopefully, the years that had passed had changed him enough so that baring his face to the sun again would not draw any unwanted attention. It was a risk, but his life had always been about taking calculated risks and he did not think that was going to change any time soon.

Ezra was not going to try to make any money during the tourney. He would leave that Buck. After it was all over he might try to fool a few of the stragglers out of their last few coins on their way out of town, but he would not do anything while so many people were in town. He had never learned to make money legally and it was a little late for him to try to start now. He would settle for taking what he could get when it was safer. There would be too many eyes in town during the tourney, too many guards and men wise to the tricks of the world who could recognize him for what he was.

If Lord Perien came to the tourney, there might even be eyes there that would know who he was...

He shook his head. He was not going to worry about that. There was almost no chance that the duke would come to Vierecken and even less that he would bring a sizable retinue with him. Ezra was not going to make himself crazy with fear over something that probably would not happen and he could not control anyway.

Ezra would focus on helping Buck and the others during the tourney. That way, the only thing he had to worry about was being too close to Buck. He had not been hiding his feelings very well before; after all, John had noticed how he felt. Vincent was far from unobservant and from what he had seen, Chris was a man who noticed things as well. Ezra did not want to lose Buck's friendship over his damned foolish heart's refusal to listen to reason. He believed that he would be able to keep his emotions hidden far more effectively if he just focused on monitoring his own behavior.

He had to.

Decisions made, he climbed down the trunk of the tree, landing easily on his feet and making his way back to the path that led back to town. He paused before stepping onto it and leaving the cover of the trees, his ears catching a sound foreign to the forest: hoof beats. A couple of horses were walking down the path. Ezra decided to stay hidden for the time being, waiting to see who was coming before revealing himself.

It did not take long for the horses and their riders to come into view. One of the horses was massive, but that made since: the man who was riding it was a rival for Buck in size. His hair and beard were gray, but his eyes were full of energy and he moved easily in the saddle. The man riding beside him was a startling sight when taken in for the first time: his skin was dark, darker than any other man's in Vierecken or the whole of the duchy. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull. His eyes were warm, though, taking in every sight that passed before them with interest and appreciation.

Ezra grinned and stepped onto the path, waiting for them to approach. "I did not know that they allowed wandering miscreants in these woods," he said, his hands planted on his hips as he blocked the way.

"Are you daring to call a man of God a 'miscreant'?" The older man reined in his horse and stared down his nose at Ezra.

Ezra nodded. "Yes."

The dark man laughed. "Of course he dares. How are you, Ezra?"

"I am well, Nathan. How are you? And Josiah?"

"Before a ruffian began harassing us, our day was going quite well," Josiah said, tall and imposing even on horseback.

Ezra laughed at that. "Ruffian? Rogue, I might give you. Perhaps even devilishly handsome fellow. But ruffian?" He drew a hand down the length of his sleeve. "Surely you jest."

Josiah broke down and smiled. "You are well, I hope?"

"I am." Ezra fell into step between the two men's horses. "And if I was not, you two would be the ones to fix that, would you not?" He walked utterly at ease between them. It had been a long time since the two men had passed this way; nearly a year had passed since he had last seen them. Josiah was a wandering preacher, although he did precious little preaching. He seemed more interested in being useful in physical ways in the villages he passed through, working to rebuild old or damaged houses, harvesting fields, whatever needed to be done. He had the soul of a philosopher and the heart of a poet and Ezra enjoyed speaking to him immensely.

Nathan was quieter, but that was understandable. He was a very long way from home and that could make a man draw in to himself. Brought to their country as a hostage during a war, he had been stranded when he was released without any money or a way home. He had met Josiah and the two men had struck up a connection, an immediate friendship that had only grown over time. They traveled together now, slowly crisscrossing their way through the land, saving up money from their labors to send Nathan home. While Josiah worried about the well being of people's souls, Nathan was more concerned with their bodies. He had an interesting collection of medical knowledge hidden away inside his head. Much of it was very different from what Ezra had seen during his life and he constantly questioned Nathan, wanting to learn more.

He caught them up on news as they made their way to Vierecken, ending his report with the announcement of the tourney.

"I have never seen a tourney," Nathan said quietly. "Is it as violent as I have heard?"

"Probably," Ezra said. "It is rare for someone to die, but no one who competes escapes without injury."

"Hmm."

"I know that hmm," Josiah said. "You want to see the tourney."

"I would like to," Nathan admitted.

The tourney had not come yet and already the town was becoming crowded. Ezra could not really complain, though. He sincerely enjoyed these men's company, and he could use a few more people in town to act as a distraction to keep him from getting too close to Buck and destroying the happiness he did have in town.

Once they reached town, Ezra stepped away from the horses. "You will no doubt find Buck and John in the smithy," he said. "I have to take my leave of you now, but I will look for you this evening."

"What takes you away from us?" Josiah asked. "Are you going to spend some quiet time in prayer and contemplation?"

"I will return a changed man," Ezra promised with a deliberately mysterious air. He left them to the task of finding lodging and walked through town, heading for his room. He passed the smithy on his way and stopped to watch Christopher and Vincent carry blocks of wood over to the building and place them under its sheltering eaves. They worked together easily, moving in near silence yet still in harmony, Vincent moving to automatically to compensate for Christopher's injured shoulder.

Ezra paused to watch them with a certain amount of fascination. He had never experienced a partnership like that, although he had seen them before. He could understand how it had come to be, though. He had gotten to know Christopher a bit over the past couple of weeks and had found him to be a quiet, solid man, much like Vincent. Christopher's silence was more ominous, a thing of darkness and pain while Vincent's was a result of a solitary spirit, but it was enough of a similarity to begin to build a friendship between them. That friendship had grown and solidified as time passed and now Ezra believed that Vincent had found another friend and a potentially valuable ally.

"Are you going to watch, or are you going to help?" Christopher's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Neither," Ezra answered easily. "I am going to continue on with my errand."

"What errand?" Vin asked.

"You shall have to wait and see." Grinning, he walked back to the lodging house where he lived. Instead of going to his room, he went to the main door downstairs and knocked once before entering.

The woman who lived in the house walked out of her kitchen. "Ezra? What do you want?"

"I've come to ask a favor of you, Gloria." He quickly explained what he wanted.

"Are you sure?" Gloria asked.

"I am placing all my trust in you, dear lady."

She nodded. "I will do my best. Sit down here, please."

Ezra forced himself to remain relaxed as Gloria approached him with her scissors. He reminded himself that her children always appeared well groomed and that she was a good woman. He closed his eyes as she began to snip away at his hair. Time seemed to crawl by, but he appreciated the fact that she was being careful and he stifled his impatience.

After an eternity, she stepped away from him. "There."

"You are finished?"

"Yes." She cocked her head to the side and looked at him closely. "Who would have though there was a handsome man hiding under all that hair?"

He looked at her carefully, reading her expression and her stance. She was not lying or covering up a mistake; she really liked the result she had produced. He smiled at her. "You are too kind." He raised his hand to his hair, feeling the now short strands brush against his fingertips. "I have a second favor to ask of you. May I have some hot water from your kitchen?"

"You are going to shave as well?" She headed for the kitchen. "You are going to look like an entirely different person."

That was the idea. Ezra thanked her again for her kindness when she handed him the bowl of hot water, then retreated to the privacy of his own room in order to shave. He had almost made it when a whistle caught his attention. He turned on the stairs to find Vincent staring at him. "Yes?"

"I was not certain it was you," Vincent said, grinning as he shaded his eyes to look up at him. "What happened?"

"I got my hair cut," Ezra said patiently.

"So that was your mysterious errand. What are you planning on now?"

Holding up the bowl of hot water in his hands, Ezra said, "Shaving."

"How long has it been?"

"Years," Ezra admitted.

"Perhaps it would be best if you let an expert help with it, then." Vincent gestured for him to come back down the stairs. "Here in the sun, so I can see properly."

"You are serious?"

"Let me help," Vincent said persuasively.

Ezra was not actually looking forward to peeling his own face; he worried about cutting himself. Vincent was clean-shaven; he would no doubt do a better job than Ezra himself. With a small sigh, Ezra walked down the stairs. "You have a razor?"

"I will fetch it," Vincent said. "Wait for me here?"

Waving his hand at the blue-eyed man to tell him to be on his way, Ezra settled down on the steps that lead to his room in order to wait for him to return. He felt a bit foolish; he was a grown man and he could not shave himself? Still, feeling a fool for a short time would be worth it if he lost his beard without losing too much of his face.

It did not take long for Vincent to return. He held up his hand and the razor in his grasp flashed in the sun. "You sure about this?"

"If I change my mind, I can grow it back."

"Tilt your head back a bit." Vincent used gentle fingers to position Ezra's head the way he wanted it. "Here we go." He began to scrape the razor over Ezra's cheeks.

Ezra forced himself to hold still. He trusted Vincent; after all, the other man had told him about being a wanted man. Ezra could have turned him in at any time and that showed that Vincent trusted him as well. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the razor scraping over his skin, the way the sharp metal touched his skin with a sensation that came close to burning but never quite crossed the line into pain. The sun was warm on his face and Vincent's hands were gentle.

An errant thought crossed his mind. What if it had been Buck who was shaving him? Buck's large hands cupping his face, Buck's capable hands controlling the razor? The tall man would be standing close to him, his scent filling Ezra's senses as the heat of his body warmed more than the sun ever could. Maybe he would talk while working. Maybe he would hum quietly. When finished, he might stroke his fingers down Ezra's cheek, testing the texture of the smooth skin before leaning in to claim a kiss. Ezra's lips parted at the thought.

"Are you all right?" Vincent asked.

His voice pulled Ezra back to reality. "Fine." He just hoped that Vincent would blame the scrape of the razor for the flush on his cheeks. He needed to be stronger than this!

Vincent kept working steadily. "Almost done." A few more strokes of the razor and he stepped back. "Finished."

Ezra raised his hand and ran his fingertips over his tingling cheeks and chin. They were smooth like they had not been in years. "How do I look?"

"Different," Vincent said. He cocked his head to the side. "Younger, I think."

"Hmm." He was not sure if younger was good or not. Different was something, at least. Perhaps this change would be enough to make sure he remained anonymous throughout the course of the tourney.

"I like it," Vincent said.

Ezra looked at him sharply. Vincent had been a little over solicitous toward him for the past couple of weeks, giving him more attention than was usual. There was nothing more than friendly interest in his eyes, but his words and manner were almost coy, flirtatious. "Do you?"

Buck's voice broke into the slightly tense moment. "It might take some getting used to."

Ezra twisted to look at the taller man, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. This was the one thing that had worried him most when he had decided on this course of action: how would Buck react to his changed appearance? It was foolish and childish and still the fear refused to go away. What did Buck think of his newly revealed face?

Buck stared at Ezra's face, learning it all over again. He knew that he was going to have to say something soon and give an opinion on Ezra's changed appearance, but he could not do so just yet. He needed a few minutes more to adjust to the sight before him. He settled for crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head to the side, acting as though he was taking his time coming up with an answer as he tried to figure out what he had just seen, and what the hell he was feeling.

He had been taking a quick walk around town, looking in on a few neighbors and doing some visiting when he had run into Josiah and Nathan as the two men were settling into town. They had told him about walking in with Ezra and he had felt an urge to see if Ezra was about. The other man had been making himself scarce lately, spending too damned much time in the woods on his own, or talking with Vincent. Buck had just about all the help he could use with Vincent and Christopher pitching in, but he still missed Ezra's presence around the smithy. He had made his way to the lodging house where Ezra lived, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

He had gotten more than a glimpse.

Ezra had been seated on the stairs that led up to his room, head tilted back and face turned upwards to the sun. Buck had noticed his short hair first and wondered why Ezra had himself shorn. He liked it, though. It was still the same color, that odd mix of blond and auburn that seemed to catch the sunlight and hold it. Now that it was short it would stay out of his face instead of falling into it all the time, hiding his eyes and his features.

His face...it was then that Buck realized what Vincent was doing standing so close to Ezra: he was shaving him. He had been half-hypnotized by the sure strokes of the razor over Ezra's skin, the way the tool reflected the sunlight as it bared Ezra's face. He had felt a rush of heat, sudden and unexpected and undeniable. Some of that heat was anger over how close Vincent was to Ezra; did he really need to stand between his legs like that in order to reach his face? His arms were not short, after all. Some of it was also jealousy, which he hastened to attribute to the fact that Ezra had gone to Vincent for help instead of coming to him. He had not even known that Ezra was thinking of getting rid of his beard.

He should have been the one to tilt Ezra's head back, turning his head from side to side as he stood so close. He should have been the one to feel all that warm skin being revealed as he took exquisite care not to hurt him, taking his time with his task. He should have...Buck shoved those thoughts away. Those were thoughts and feelings that belonged to his youth, when he had been young and lust had led him to take his pleasure where he could find it, sometimes with his fellow fighters. That was all in the past, though. He had not had urges like that for years. He must have gone too long without female companionship for them to be reemerging now. He should not be noticing the way Ezra's features seemed more delicate with his eyes closed, or lovely way his lips parted as his cheeks flushed from the scrape of the razor. He told himself that all these odd thoughts were no doubt caused by jealousy over the way Vincent was encroaching where he was not needed.

Buck pushed away his confusion and distracting thoughts. Ezra was staring at him with undisguised anticipation and a little worry, waiting for him to react. "It is different," he said.

Ezra's face immediately fell and he looked down at his hands. "That is only to be expected," he said in a neutral voice.

With a sudden flash of insight, Buck realized that Ezra had been using his beard to hide his facial expressions, relying on his facial hair to make him difficult to read. That protective barrier was gone now. He took advantage of being able to tell for once that Ezra's feelings did not match his words. "But I like it." It was true. Ezra was a good-looking man with the beard; he was even more handsome without it. The lines of his face were clean and classic, pale in the sunlight but Buck knew that would change. Who would have guessed that the smile lines around his mouth framed his lips so well? Or that the hidden skin would be so smooth and look so soft? He looked a bit younger now and somehow more approachable.

Ezra's gaze stuttered up to meet Buck's. "You do?"

"Yes." He grinned, trying to jolly Ezra out of the odd nervousness that seemed to have taken care of him. "Who knew that you were hiding a good looking man under all that fur?"

Ezra flushed, but he laughed. "I did not want to be too much competition for you."

"Ah, do not worry about that. I can hold my own." He shifted his attention to Vincent. "So Ezra asked you to help him? I thought you and Christopher were building a booth." He thought he managed to keep his tone even.

The smile in Vincent's eyes made Buck wonder if he had really been successful in controlling his voice; the other man's smile did not match their conversation. It was too large, too gleeful. "We paused to eat. I wanted to see if Ezra was hungry and I interrupted him starting on this project. I offered to help."

That made Buck feel a little better. If he had found Ezra shaving, then he could have been the one helping him. The idea that Ezra had sought out Vincent's help over his own had hurt. He had thought they were better friends than that. He figured that was why he was feeling jealousy, just like it was curiosity that was giving him the urge to run his fingertips over Ezra's cheek and test the skin's texture there.

"Are you still going to get a meal?" he asked Vincent.

"I am. Ezra?"

"Let me return this bowl to its owner and I will join you." Ezra rose to his feet quickly and disappeared around the corner.

"You did not think he could shave himself?" Buck asked.

"He is out of practice," Vincent said easily. "It was better for me to do it then for him to cut his face to ribbons."

Buck could not really argue with that. He walked with Vincent to the front of the house and met Ezra coming out the door. "Aaron's?" he suggested.

"Where else?" Ezra rubbed his hand over his face.

"Does it feel strange?"

"It does. Naked, somehow." Ezra laughed. "Even though I am fully clothed."

Buck's conscience pricked him. "Not so fully clothed."

Ezra made an elaborate show of looking himself over. "I do not seem to be missing any garments."

"Your beard. You used to hide behind it." If Ezra really was involved in illegal activities, revealing his every thought through his expressions could be dangerous. "You are going to have to learn how to keep your feelings hidden without relying on all the hair that used to cover your face."

Ezra blinked, gaze turning inward as he considered Buck's words. "I had no idea. Am I truly...obvious?"

"I am certain you will get it under control," Buck said. He was not sure that he wanted him to, though. It was interesting, being able to read Ezra so easily. He had not realized how much Ezra had been hiding before.

"Thank you for the warning," Ezra said as they walked into the tavern.

Buck looked over the room, hoping to see Josiah and Nathan there. He wanted to talk to them more. He also wanted some people to act as a buffer between him and Vincent. He was feeling irritable toward the longhaired man and he did not want to ruin a friendship over irrational feelings.

His luck was strong that day. Nathan and Josiah were inside, as were John and Chris. They were all at one of the larger table. Buck walked over to them, grateful to have them all there. "Am I mistaken? I believed that you two were supposed to be working."

"A man must eat," Chris said.

"So then what is John's excuse?"

"Hey!" John glared at him. "I was trying to talk Josiah and Nathan into helping us get ready for the tourney. That is work."

Buck pulled out a chair for Ezra and one for Vin, then sat down himself. "We could always use more pairs of hands."

"I think we could find some time to be helpful," Nathan said.

"Excellent." Buck waved his hand at Aaron, catching his attention. "Three more here," he called.

Aaron nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Josiah was grinning at Ezra. "Is that what you meant by being a changed man when we next met? Somehow I hoped for something more fundamental."

Ezra ran his hand over his cheek. "I think this is all the change I can handle at the moment."

"You look different," John said.

"That was rather the idea." Ezra's voice was kind, taking any potential sting out of the teasing words.

Food soon arrived and the seven men spoke idly as they ate, catching up on news of each other and becoming acquainted if they had not before met.

John and Ezra both finished eating quickly, before the other men. "Do you want to see what we have been working on?" John asked, shifting restlessly in his seat as he caught Ezra's gaze.

"Is this some kind of ploy to get me to help with that work?" Ezra asked with a grin.

"You will have to come along to find out."

Ezra laughed. "Lead on, my friend."

Together, the two men stood up and walked out the door.

Buck lingered at the table, listening in the conversations that sprung up and slowly died. Vincent had met Josiah and Nathan before: they traveled through his parish before he was forced to leave and they had run into each other after he had gone on the run. He could tell Christopher was a bit taken aback by Nathan's foreignness, but he could also see that he was slowly warming to the man, to him and Josiah both. Good. He preferred it when all his friends got along.

In the back of his mind, the thought that these men would be good protection for Vierecken made itself known. It was not that he expected there to be trouble during the tourney; it was more that he had no wish to be caught by surprise if there were any. There was no law in town: it was too small and close-knit for there to be much opportunity for one of Vierecken's people to wrong another. The tourney would bring strangers and crowds to town, strangers who might not be honest, crowds that could be dangerous. He would do his best to protect his neighbors, but he would be more confident doing so if he had men like these backing him up.

He was not quite sure how to bring the subject up, though. He could not just ask them if they wanted to protect the law, not when he was already trying to convince them to help him with smithy work. That could be pushing the bounds of friendship so he had to work his way up to it. He cleared his throat. "This tourney could bring a lot of people to town."

"That is what you are hoping for," Christopher said patiently. "Remember all the work you have convinced us to do?"

"A lot of people could mean a lot of trouble."

"Worried about the town?" Vincent asked.

"And the people," he admitted.

"I thought you could handle a crowd of rowdies all on your own," Chris said.

"I can. I just would not wish you to become bored." He glanced around the table, meeting their eyes. "If there is trouble..."

"If there is trouble, you can count on us," Josiah assured him.

"All of us," Nathan seconded.

Buck smiled, not bothering to try to hide his pleasure. "Thank you."

"This is a nice place," Chris said. "I would not want to see it spoiled."

"You are getting old," Buck accused.

Chris narrowed his eyes, but he did not reply.

Buck decided to get going while he was ahead. "I am going back to the smithy. I want to check on a few things there." He rose from the table. "I will see all of you later?"

"In a town this small, you can hardly miss us," Josiah said.

Buck waved off the gentle barb and left the tavern. The sunshine felt good on his shoulders and he walked slowly to the smithy, not wanting to rush when being outside felt so good. As he approached the forge, he could hear Ezra and John talking and laughing together. He slowed down even more, enjoying the sounds of their pleasure.

"You do look very different," John said.

"Thank you," Ezra said questioningly, laughing.

"I did not mean that it looks bad...or that you looked bad before. Just different." John sighed. "You are going to leave soon, are you not?"

Leave? Buck stopped walking and started listening even harder. Ezra was not leaving Vierecken, was he?

"What makes you say that?"

"You cut your hair and shaved off your beard. Before, Buck sometimes teased you that looked like a pirate. You did, a bit. You changed how you looked so you can join a ship's crew without them thinking that you might be a pirate. That is why you did it, and that means you are leaving."

Buck was utterly confused. Ezra had no desire to leave town. He had never said anything about it, and Buck would know if he was not happy here. At least, he had always believed that he would.

"I cut my hair because it was time to change my appearance," Ezra said quietly. "I will not be leaving town any time soon."

"But someday you will?"

"Someday I will have to, and then I will go to the sea and do my best not to be confused with a pirate. But I will stay through the tourney. I can promise you that much."

"I guess that will be enough for now," John said quietly. "I do not want you to leave."

"Thank you," Ezra said. "You know that if I could stay...well. It does not matter. What did you want me to polish?"

Buck turned and walked away, not ready to go into the smithy yet. He was not ready to face Ezra. Ezra was thinking of leaving Vierecken. He had more than thought about it; he had discussed it John, even. Why with John and not Buck? He thought they were friends. Had he been mistaken? Why had Ezra not come to him with this? Why keep him in the dark about his desire to leave?

He had always known that Ezra really did not belong in this small town. There was something in his eyes and the way he spoke that told Buck he was meant for more than slowly pottering his days away in a place where nothing much ever happened. Ezra had seemed happy here, though, and Buck had thought he had found a home, much like Buck himself had.

He did not want Ezra to leave. He did not like thinking about getting up every day and knowing that he was not going to see him again. The thought did odd things to his gut, making it knot up and go cold. He told himself it was because he did not have so many friends that he could easily think of losing one of them.

Well, he was not losing this one at least not without a fight. Ezra had promised to stay through the tourney and no matter how flexible he liked to claim his morals were, Ezra was not one to break a promise. That gave Buck just over a month to find out why Ezra wanted to leave.

Then all he would have to do was convince him to stay.

Lounging on the top of the table Christopher and Vincent had built, Ezra propped himself up on his elbows and watched as John struggled to hold a horse steady while Buck tried to check the condition of its shoes.

"Damnation," John muttered as the horse tossed its head again.

"Language," Ezra called warningly.

"I will give you language," Buck threatened, looking over at him. "I thought you came out here to help."

"I am helping by staying out of the way," Ezra said easily. He banged one fist on the countertop. "I am also testing the strength of this structure. It would be tragic if it were to collapse during the tourney. That would surely frightened away customers, and you do not wish that to happen, do you?"

"I think I would like to see it collapse right now," John said. He was smiling, though, obviously teasing.

"You are doomed to disappointment," Ezra replied, enjoying the banter. "It is too soundly constructed."

As if to give lie to his words, the table began to shake beneath him. Ezra clutched the sides tightly, fighting to keep his balance and not fall off. What the devil? He turned his head to the side and looked into Vincent's laughing blue eyes. "I should have known."

Vincent let go of the booth and stepped around to the side so Ezra could see him more easily. "This is not the purpose for which we built this table."

"It is good to be adaptable." Ezra relaxed back onto the countertop. It took some effort, though: he could feel Buck's stare on him like a tangible thing and he had no idea what he had done to warrant such intense attention.

Vincent shook his head, then glanced over at John. "Could you use some help?"

"Yes," Buck said firmly. "Help John hold this horse still, would you?"

By way of answer, Vincent walked over to the horse and started to work on soothing the animal, calming it down so it would be more manageable. It took little time after that for Buck to finish inspecting the shoes and pronounce everything to be just fine.

"Good," John said. "I am going to get rid of this beast." He grabbed the reins and led the horse away, scolding it as he walked.

"He is a good man," Vincent said.

"He is," Buck agreed. "Was there something you needed?"

"No," Vincent said. "I came to see what tasks you had for me today."

Buck stared at him for a moment. "I need a moment to think." He disappeared into the smithy.

Ezra watched him go, trying to ignore the worry that was building within him. Buck had been acting oddly for the past few days. He was just as likely to snap at his friends as joke with them and that was not like him. He was usually full of good humor and appreciation for company and help. This was unlike him.

It might have been his imagination, but Ezra thought that Buck had been watching him during those past days. He could not think of a reason why, except perhaps his changed appearance. It was possible that Buck was still growing accustomed to his bare face and short hair. His heart tried to whisper about other possibilities, but that was foolishness in which Ezra refused to indulge.

"Are you all right?" Vincent asked quietly.

Ezra looked at him for a moment, taking his turn before answering. Vincent was also acting somewhat strangely, although Ezra did not know him well enough to be certain. The blue-eyed man was still focusing more on Ezra than was normal, going out of his way to pay attention to him, talk to him and tease him. Ezra enjoyed his company and the attention, but he was still confused by it. There had been no harm in it so far, so Ezra was going to let it be and see what developed. "I am well," he said.

"You looked sad."

"Sad?" Ezra leaned back on the table. "Why in this world would I be sad? You and Christopher have taken over the menial labor and Josiah and Nathan are more then willing to take care of anything you miss." He cocked his head to the side and grinned. "You have not moved," John observed as he returned.

"Did you expect me to?"

"No. Where is Buck?"

"He went inside," Vincent answered. He and John exchanged a glace that Ezra could not interpret. It was full of unspoken significance, though.

Ezra began to sit up, wanting to demand an explanation, then relaxed. It was too soon. If he pushed them for answers now, they would deny that anything had happened and claim ignorance. Far better to watch and wait. He could figure this out on his own. He just neeed more evidence with which to work.

John shot him a sour look. "The temptation to knock you off that thing is terrible."

"Be strong, my son. Resisting temptation will only strengthen your faith." He waved one hand in a vague gesture of benediction.

Josiah's rich laugh sounded behind him. "You are giving spiritual advice?"

"The boy needs guidance."

"Hey! I am not a boy," John objected.

"Yes, you are," Josiah said.

"I am as much a boy as Ezra is a priest!"

Ezra lay back on the table and gave himself over to laughter. When was the last time he had laughed this much? The past few weeks had been filled with more amusement and companionship then he could ever remember knowing in the past. Buck and John were excellent men to have as friends and the people of Vierecken were pleasant, but there was something about the way these men came together that felt very right to him. He wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, knowing that the end of the tourney would send them all off on their different paths again.

Cracking one eye open, he looked at John. "I have worn the robes before, boy."

"You have not!" John looked at him uncertainly. "Have you?"

"There are all sorts of interesting opportunities available to wandering men of the cloth, are there not, Josiah?"

"Ezra..." The older man glared down at him, but there was no heat in the look. "You would not stoop so low."

Well, yes, he had in the past. It had not been entirely by choice, of course, but he and his mother had been in quite a bit of trouble and pretending to be a priest had given him the chance to both hide and recoup their losses. He decided not to explain that to Josiah, though. He believed that Josiah would understand, but only after much explanation and the day was too fine to spend it arguing.

He watched as Buck walked back out of the smithy. He most definitely was not going to comment now. He would rather not do anything to cause Buck to lose any respect for him. He decided to ignore the implied question, instead closing his eyes and rocking a bit on the countertop. "A most sound structure," he said approvingly.

"Do that mean you will be getting off of it sometime soon?" Vincent asked.

"It is surprisingly comfortable for a table." He wriggled a little in a display of getting even more comfortable.

The table lurched treacherously beneath him. "Vincent!"

"No." Ezra opened his eyes and found Christopher staring down at him. "I did not make this to be a bed for you."

Ezra was a little intimidated by that cool glare, but he refused to let it show. "Versatility is a virtue." He relaxed once more.

Christopher's eyes crinkled at the corners with a hidden smile. "I never claimed to be a virtuous man."

His smile was Ezra's only warning before Chris grabbed the table's edge and upended it. He was not completely unprepared, so he managed to roll a bit and almost land on his feet. He staggered and would have fallen if not for strong hands that caught him by the shoulders and held him upright.

"You all right?" Buck asked, holding him steady.

Ezra relaxed back into his hands for a moment, caught up in the sensation of firm warm hands closed about his arms, holding him up, holding him safe. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he forced himself to stand upright. "Nothing is damaged except my pride," he said. He turned and glared at Christopher. "Very uncouth," he scolded.

"I made the table," Christopher said. "I can decide what goes on it." There was a definitely smile on his face now.

"I thought it was Buck's table," Nathan said quietly, walking up to join the group.

"Finally decided to join us?" Josiah asked.

"Thomas's youngest son broke his arm," Nathan said. "I wanted to make sure it was splinted correctly so it would heal straight."

"Thank you," Buck said gratefully.

Nathan bowed a little. "I am happy to help. You know that."

"What are we doing now?" John asked.

"Polishing," Buck decided. "If there are going to be ladies in town, they will like things that are shining and clean. I want these trinkets to shine like stars."

"Polishing," Christopher said, disdain clear in his voice.

"I could use some more fuel for the smithy."

"Polishing," Christopher repeated, this time with resignation in his tone.

Ezra tried without success to hide his grin. Christopher was an intimidating man, but there was a delightful sense of humor lurking beneath his grim exterior, one that had been slowly revealing itself more and more over the past days. Ezra looked forward to seeing more of it over the next month and during the tourney.

Hoping that he was reading Christopher correctly, he walked over to the table and sat on it.

"Ezra, you do not look like a fool," the blond man said with disappointment.

"If I am to polish, I need a place to sit."

"But not on my table." Christopher took a step toward him.

Buck stopped his friend's forward movement with a hand on his shoulder. "Let him be. You built the table for me. He can sit on it."

"Does this mean we can sell him, too?" Josiah asked hopefully.

"How much do you think he would bring?" John asked.

"Enough," Buck said quellingly. He grabbed John's shoulder and pulled him into the smithy. After a few moments, they returned holding small metal flowers and soft cloths. Buck handed Ezra a handful of the flowers and one of the clothes. "Thank you," he said.

"My pleasure," Ezra said, caught by Buck's dark eyes and the warmth he could see there. After a few moments he realized he was staring and he immediately dropped his gaze, silently cursing his inattention. To cover his reaction, he began polishing immediately, paying more attention to the task then it really deserved. From under his lashes, he watched as Buck handed out trinkets and cloths until he was empty handed. "You are not going to polish?"

"When I have so many willing thralls?" Buck's eyes were wide with exaggerated innocence. He was immediately pelted with trinkets from the other six men. "Ow! Hey!"

"You asked for it," Christopher said.

"Perhaps," Buck said, squatting down and gathering the small flowers. He hesitated, then dropped down to sit on the ground there, his back against the wall of the smithy.

Christopher moved to sit near him, companionable in the soft warmth of the sun. Vin sat down a short distance from them, as did John. Nathan sat down on the ground near the booth. Josiah claimed a place next to Ezra on the booth.

"Are you certain this will hold you?" Ezra asked, eying the larger man. "I would hate to break Christopher's table."

"My table," Buck said.

"It will hold," Josiah said, holding up a trinket and beginning to polish it. "Or it will fall."

Nathan groaned. "One of these moods?"

"What mood?" John asked.

"You will see," Nathan said darkly.

Ezra smiled a little to himself. There was a deep well of affection hidden under that exasperation. No matter how much Nathan might like to pretend that Josiah irritated him, he knew that the two men were more brothers than they were friends. Sitting in between them, he could pretend that he was a part of the warmth they shared. "So the table will either stand or fall according to what it is fated to do?"

"It is an interesting way of viewing of the world, you must admit." Josiah kept his gaze on his work.

"But are all things predestined? Or just finely crafted furniture?"

"All things, perhaps."

Ezra held up the trinket he had been polishing, admiring the way it flashed in the sun. It would never be mistaken for a jeweler's work: it was nowhere near that fine. Still, it was lovely in its own rough-hewn way, ready to be made into a necklace or kept as an interesting decoration. He hid a smile as he reminded himself that he had the original hidden in the pouch around his neck. It was more than worth the money he had paid for it. "Even men?" he asked, a part of his mind still on the conversation.

"What if I said men most of all?" Josiah countered.

"Wait." John looked at them with a puzzled frown. "I do not understand."

"Josiah is suggesting that all things that happen, happen because they are fated to. That every action you take, every word you say, you were meant to do and say."

"No one is meant to do anything," Christopher objected. "A man has a choice. Sometimes it is all that he has. A man always has a choice."

"But what if we do not?" Josiah put down the flower he was working on and moved onto a sword crossed over a shield. "What if choice is but an illusion, and we are merely following the path that was laid down for us before we were born?"

Ezra personally thought that if God or some other power had laid down his path, that he would want to have a long talk with the path maker. This was the best that could be devised? He did not give any credence to the idea himself, but it was an interesting concept to discuss, a amusing theory with which to play.

He glanced at the other five men, wondering how they would react to Josiah's suggestion. Christopher looked unconvinced while John's puzzlement was disappearing. Vincent seemed amused and Nathan was still pretending disgust.

Buck was grinning, wide and delighted. "So if that idea is true, then anything I do is supposed to happen, right? It is beyond my control because fate controls all?"

"Essentially, yes," Josiah confirmed.

Buck nodded, then turned and shoved Christopher, hard, knocking the blond man to the ground.

"Damnation, Buck!" Christopher glared at him as he picked himself up.

"I was meant to do that," Buck said piously. "It was not my choice."

"So I guess I am meant to retaliate, then," Chris said, his eyes dangerous. "Forgive me for your missing teeth, old friend, but you are just fated to lose them."

Buck held up his hands peaceably. "You would not really do that, would you?"

"Watch me."

"Enough," Vincent said. "If you knock out his teeth, he will have a hard time charming people into buying these trinkets, and then all our hard work will be for nothing."

Christopher transferred his glare to the former reeve, then slowly relaxed. "After the tourney, then."

Buck sighed with exaggerated relief. "I will be sure to flee this town on the last day of the tourney."

"You may run. You will not be able to hide." Christopher settled back down on the ground and returned to polishing.

Twisting a little, Ezra moved so he was leaning against Josiah. The other man gave him a look of mock-irritation, but did not actually say anything. Ezra took his silence as assent and continued on his work, now in a more comfortable position. He kept his face turned to the sunshine, hoping to get some color into his skin. He would rather not look as though he had recently shaved and wanted the lighter patches on his jaw gone. With a little luck and some effort, by the time strangers began to enter Vierecken no one would be able to tell that he had altered his appearance, and so he hoped no one would give him a second glance.

He was a little surprised by how peaceful he felt as he sat and worked. True, there was no great effort to polishing metal, but it was more than that. In a normal week, he retreated to the forest once or twice, seeking solitude and a quiet place to think. It was not that he needed to escape from the people of Vierecken; he quite liked them and they were quite capable of giving him the space he needed when he was in town without seeming resentful of it. They were good people, understanding of a man's need to be alone. It was something inside of him, something that he could not quite explain but was helpless to deny. He craved the sensations that he had only found in the forest. It was as if by sitting there quietly, for a short time he could become a part of the woods, just another small part of a greater whole. For a man who had been an outsider his entire life, that feeling was rare and precious and he indulged himself whenever he was able.

He had not felt the urge to venture out into the woods since Nathan and Josiah had arrived. With the four extra visitors to the town, Ezra had felt more content, more at home then he could ever remember. He had laughed more and worried less as well, despite the inherent dangers of the upcoming tourney. There was something about the way the seven of them interacted that just felt right to him. Not usually a superstitious man, he still refused to think too much about it and was never going to say anything about it, for fear of something destroying the wonderful balance they had found. Besides, he knew that Josiah, Nathan, Christopher and Vincent would be moving on after the tourney was finished. He should give serious thought to moving on as well...but he was thankful for the opportunity to experience this unique blend of friendships before leaving.

Listening to the ebb and flow of conversation around him, he concentrated on polishing his share of trinkets, making sure Buck's work shone in the sunlight. He laughed and teased the others, and if he still was not quite sure why Buck's gaze rested on him as often as he did, he refused to let it destroy his enjoyment of the moment.