"Am I still a stranger?" Percy sniffed.

She looked up from her mug and smirked. She seemed pleased with the effect of her words on him.

"No. You got us out of a mess. Even if, granted, it was partly of your own doing. But, credit where credit is due, you did a competent job getting us out of it. I'm... not sure how long Evans and I would have wasted away in that dream otherwise. Or fought in that tavern, for that matter."

He stared at her, trying hard to catch up with the fact that she was complimenting him.

"Why would you have taken so long to realize it was a dream?"

"Well, first of all, nothing looked out of place to us. Fucking uncanny resemblance to every official dinner or ceremony we've had to sit through in the palace. And, second... that sorceress was right. We wouldn't have left. We never do when we're in the palace. Look – Evans is gentle, diplomatic, clever, strong and skilled in combat... but bless his heart, he's not so skilled in palatial intrigues. I taught him, from an early age, if you don't want them to scheme against you behind your back, never show them your back. Be there and be seen, always. It's still good advice, but I regret insisting on it so much. Made him a little too worried about what others say of him."

"Wait, scheming behind his back? He's the chosen one, why would they do that?"

She had another smirk, though this time, it was crooked with cynicism.

"He just needs to show himself in dinners like those, show he's present. No matter how much he hates them."

"You hate them too. I remember hearing – what was it? Ah yes, 'kill me'."

She grinned at him with, to his surprise, a look of admiration.

"You looked like you hated it as well."

"Social events like that? Where everyone is there because everyone is there and no one is there gladly? Yeah, I hate them. Sometimes it feel so painfully awkward and uncomfortable to me that I have to dig my nails into my wrist to keep myself in the room. And when it's finally over and I count the dents in my skin, I know how bad it was."

Percy resisted the urge to shake his head, trying desperately to conceal from her that he had not meant to confess to all that. He failed, but he thought he saw in her expression some respect for his admission of frailty. It thawed the moment. He felt his body relax into the warmth that came from her now.

"And what... does he do when he goes off on his own at night?" he asked, no louder than a murmur.

"You saw for yourself."

"Yes, but I didn't understand what he was doing."

She looked at him intently.

"Part of what makes a good nanny" she began, "is to instil curiosity in others, but exercise it moderately oneself."

Percy widened his eyes at her. She was a long way from the coarse and cursing woman that he, in his foolishness, had expected her to always be.

"You don't pry, is what you mean."

"I pry on a need to know basis. Once I'm satisfied I don't need to know, I don't pry."

He nodded slowly. There was something frightening about Valeria's wisdom. Perhaps it was nothing more than his fear that he would never be as wise as her.

"Can I do the same, then? Pry on a need to know basis? Where are we headed now?"

She shrugged – not an indifferent shrug, or a resigned shrug, but a contented shrug.

"I don't know."

"And you don't... need to know?"

"Nope. I follow him."

She brought her mug once more to her lips. It was a gesture that announced their conversation was coming to an end, and that his questions should, too. He dared one more.

"Why are you travelling with him? Most things a squire would do, you don't do. And as for guarding him... you're one of the most skilled warriors I've ever seen, but you're not as protective of him as a bodyguard would be. And you said your nanny days are over. So why did you join him?"

She stood up with a sigh, emptying the rest of her cold tea on the ground.

"Because Evans needs to have at least one person in his life to whom he doesn't need to prove a single thing."

She gave him one of her brief nods, one of those he would treasure forever, and went over to her bedroll. Percy looked at her as she stepped away from him. He envied Evans many things, and at times exercised an unbridled jealousy. But now he envied him Valeria.

They woke the next morning to a delicious smell of coffee, bread and bacon that Myrtle was warming over the fire. She had a keen sense for making herself invaluable, and she knew how useful it was to remind them, first thing in the morning, of what they had lacked before she joined them. When, after pouring the second round of coffee, she was satisfied that they would not change their mind about letting her tag along, she stopped trying so hard, and sat down to eat with them with a pleased smirk on her lips.

They rode through the forest and spent the rest of the morning travelling past sun laden fields. Percy knew that he had only to ask Evans where they were headed, and he would receive an answer. No taunting or teasing, no cryptic clues – just an answer, simple and easy as Evans was, or at least seemed to be. But Percy himself was neither simple nor easy, and he tried his best to ask nothing at all.

Far ahead, next to a thin silvery river, he saw a small encampment of colourful tents, very much like the ones that had clustered near his town when the palace attendants had come to fetch him. When they reached the camp, he saw the same gathering of robed and armoured figures. They didn't gawk as the newcomers approached, but merely stood still and watched patiently as they dismounted.

Evans went towards a pair of dignitaries dressed in silver-trimmed blue robes, whom Percy recognized as the ones who had come to his house. They exchanged a few words and headed for the largest of the tents. Evans followed them, and sent Valeria a brief glance before he was engulfed in striped red fabric. Something in his look startled Percy, though his expression was just an inch away from his usual serene demeanour. It was enough for Percy to realize, a moment later, that he looked nervous.

"Blimey, I didn't realize what I was walking into" he heard Myrtle's voice behind him. Her murky brown eyes were devouring everything around her.

"This way" Valeria said, gesturing for them to follow her.

She led them to a green tent that smelled of smoke and damp earth. As soon as they stepped inside, a young boy who tended to a brazier gave them a clumsy bow – no, not to them, Percy noted; to Valeria – and left.

"How long are we staying here?" Percy asked with some alarm when he saw Valeria slump down on a wooden armchair. For some reason that slipped through his fingers entirely, he disliked the idea of remaining in that camp.

"Not long. Just long enough for Evans to report back to the palace officials. There will be a few of these meeting points as we travel."

They waited for a while. Percy knew better than to try to gauge for how long; he was easily frustrated. Myrtle entertained herself by braiding every single tassel on the ropes that pulled down the tent flap. When she was done, she turned to the fringes of a throw cushion.

"Myrtle, if you really have to keep your hands busy, just braid my hair" Valeria sighed.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, thank you."

Percy looked on in amusement as an intricate array of braids twisted and spun Valeria's blond hair into a magnificent crown. It was a sight worthy of flustering his awareness of time, and when the tent flap at last opened behind them, he almost jumped at the sound of clacking fabric. One of the palace attendants adressed him.

"You, come with me."

He was starting to settle into the comfort of doing what he was told, as long as it posed no inconvenience to him. He was led to the same tent that Evans had walked into earlier, but there was no sign of him anymore. Instead, he was greeted by three dignitaries in white robes with silver pendants. They all stood, with their hands joined at their front or hidden behind their back, but all three had a chair waiting behind them – only three chairs, as though to threaten Percy with the discourtesy of sitting down while he remained standing.

Percy tolerated pomp and stiffness when they were put up in his honour, but he had never reacted well to displays of formality that were meant to cower him. At best, they left him indifferent; at worse, they made him wonder whatever could be stuck up someone's arse, and for how long they had sat on it. Seeing as all three nobles in front of him were standing, he came to the conclusion that, whatever it was, they had been born with it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"We would like you to tell us how Sir Evans acted in the castle you visited" the one in the middle said.

He had spoken in a calm, pleasant manner, with no trace of arrogance or conceit, but his question still sounded distasteful to Percy.

"I'm sure he was able to tell you everything himself" Percy replied, keeping his brow heavy and low over his eyes.

"We would like to hear your version of events."

"Who am I for you to place any value whatsoever on my version of events?"

They stared down at him. Creaseless, expressionless, tranquil in their intent to show him he had not earned the merest reaction. They put so little effort into crushing him that it crushed him all the harder.

"Is this why I was sent to go with them?" he managed to say eventually, though he did not sound as unruffled as he would have liked to. He could hear the hesitant, weak grooves in his voice, grooves that those three before him had carved. "To be a witness to his deeds? He already had someone travelling with him, you know."

The slightest of scoffs from all three; just a faint ripple in the air.

"She is hardly an impartial witness" one of them said. She spoke with a condescending patience that enraged him.

A little twisted smile curled at his lips.

"Oh. And you think I am? You overestimate my goodness of character. I spent my life believing I was the chosen one. Now I'm told it's him. You ask me what I think of his deeds, and you expect me to be impartial? To not take such a chance to disgrace him?"

"Well, will you?"

It was a simple enough question; perhaps a little too simple. He hadn't realized it until now, but it truly was the perfect opportunity to avenge a stolen fate. And Evans had left the girl in the castle under a curse, regardless of whether she wanted it or not. None of it had been particularly heroic – at least, not according to the stories Percy knew, and what they told him of what heroes ought to be.

But those three standing before him... he felt an almost repulsive dislike for them and the questions they brought. Those eyes staring at him now, skilfully veiled as they were, seemed terribly eager for what he had to say. For what he might reveal about Evans that they did not already know.

"He succeeded at what he set out to do" Percy said at last.

The plainness of his answer clearly frustrated them. One of them stepped towards him.

"The reason we summoned you to accompany him in his quests is simple enough. He needs something to balance him."

Percy ached an eyebrow.

"Balance him?"

"Someone to counter him, so that he may keep moving. Someone to challenge him, so that he won't grow complacent."

The man's words shocked him. Somehow, he knew at once what they meant. Not long ago, in a dream – the dream –, a little perfidious thought had hurried through his mind. The thought said that perhaps he belonged at Evans' side to be a foil to him. Like the piece of white fabric of the attendants' robes that he stared at now, dazed, so plain that it offset beautifully the silver pendant dangling over it. Perhaps he was nothing more than a foil to Evans' radiance. Perhaps that was his place.

Or perhaps it was worse – perhaps his purpose was to foil Evans' actions. Not succeed, of course; just to try. Not out of evil or malicious intent; just out of blundering incompetence. Not because they wished to see Evans fail; just because a hero had a need of conflicts and foes if his story was to keep moving.

When Percy lifted his eyes to the attendants' faces, he knew at once he was right. He had a use after all. And the seers had been right, too: he was in the stories. But only to make a story out of someone else. It was the only reason he was there.

For a moment – he could place it so well in his mind, just last night, by the warmth of the campfire – for a moment, he had thought he might keep riding with Evans and have no role at all. That very notion had horrified him when he had left his home. He remembered how he had begged Valeria for a word or two that might define what his use was to be. Now that he knew it at last, he wished desperately to be rid of it, and to be useless. To just be useless, and ride with them.

"I'm not sure I understand what you want me to do" he lied.

They caught his lie right away, and did not even indulge him by pretending otherwise.

"There is something else we must ask you" the woman who had spoken earlier said, erasing his previous words with a terrifying ease. "Sir Evans might be cursed with an illness. While he must stay vigilant for any signs of its coming, he must not stoop to obsession. We have been told he displays a paranoid concern for this curse, which does not become him. He must not allow himself to be controlled by fear. Did you notice anything strange in his behaviour?"

Percy replied with an effortlessness that surprised him. It was far removed from the blundering voice that had made his earlier lie so blatant.

"I didn't notice anything, no doubt because I wasn't looking for it. It might have been better if you'd told me all this before I was sent out with them. But if I notice anything, I will inform you."

He had perfectly measured the level of insolence in his answer: not so drastic that it warranted being chided for it, but just enough to make his presence even more distasteful to them. In a matter of seconds, he was dismissed.

As soon as he stepped outside, he was hit by the full brunt of every word he had struggled to keep out of that tent. Giving a lukewarm report on Evans' performance wasn't that hard. But concealing what he had seen on the nights he had spied on Evans was far harder. He had to stay very still, and wait for the temptation to pass. He always had a hard time resisting the chance of being storyteller to an eager audience.

But then he'd realized, in a brief, simple, agonizing moment, that he wanted to remain the sole audience to what he had spied those nights.

The strong sunlight outside staggered him at first, and it took him a while to spot the figure waving at him from the edge of the small campsite. It was Evans. Percy went to him, trying to weigh his steps down with a show of indifference.

"So? What did they ask you?" Evans said as soon as Percy reached him.

They started walking towards the banks of the river nearby. Percy smirked as he heard the nervousness of a schoolchild in Evans' voice.

"They wanted to know how you'd fared" he replied, trying to make it sound simple.

"How I fared? If I... was alright? Oh, no, if I did alright."

Percy nodded. He did his best to conceal his grin as Evans took on a flustered air that Percy had not yet seen in him. Evans ran his hands over his hair, flapped them once on the sides of his tunic, and finally tucked them under his armpits.

"If that was all they wanted they could just have asked Valeria" he mumbled.

They exchanged a look.

"No, they couldn't" they both said.

Evans chuckled a little, and Percy allowed himself to join him. They had reached the river, but somehow, the rushing water hadn't drowned out the faint rippling sound of Evans' laughter in Percy's ears.

"Evans" Percy started. "I'm sorry, I'm going to ask you a question too, now. Would you rather be told stories, or be made a story of? Have someone tell you stories, or have stories of you told to someone else?"

Evans seemed surprised, but did not take the question any less seriously for it. "Where did that come from?"; "Do you ask that sort of thing often?" "We'll have to ride harder tomorrow to make sure you're too tired to ask nonsense like that"; Percy would have expected to hear all of those from anyone else, but not from Evans. He took any question thrown at him with disarming honesty.

"I confess I don't know. I like being told stories, and I suppose if others want to make stories out of me, I can't stop them. Although, it depends on the stories. Other than that, I do know what I want. I just know I don't want to be difficult."

"You... don't want to be difficult?"

"To understand, and to live with."

Percy stared at him, and felt that the entire rushing river was staring, too. Evans stood by his side with a little smile tucked on his lips.

"Why did you say that just now?"

"Oh, sorry. I was thinking of Astred."

"Who?"

"The man you spoke to in the tent. Well, at least, I imagine he did most of the speaking, even though he lets others chime in from time to time, to remind himself that he has acolytes."

For the first time, Percy could hear true bitterness stinging in Evans' voice.

"The... man with the white robe and the silver..."

Percy's voice trailed off. He realized that, even though he had been in the man's presence for several minutes and spoken directly to him, he couldn't at all remember his features, or his hair, or his build. He could only remember the robes.

"Who is he?"

"He taught me for a while in the palace. He's the kind of person who sees a pot of sunflowers facing the sun, doing perfectly well, and who turns it over to the shade just to see the flowers try harder."

Percy thought of their exchange in the tent and shivered. It sounded about right. And to picture Evans neatly potted in a vase with some sunflowers, turning as they did to face the sun – he had imagined stranger things in his life.

"Were you afraid of him?" Percy asked in a murmur.

"I was, deathly afraid. But there were other things I was afraid of – well, am. Rows and rows of them. And the fear of him... I could control it, at least. I let that fear take up space in my mind so that others wouldn't. Other fears that I couldn't control as much. Fear is not such a bad thing itself, if you go for the right kind and the right dose."

They walked on by the riverbank, carried aimlessly by the current of their steps. It took them to a small copse nearby. It seemed to Percy that all he had done in the past week was walk from and towards the edge of woods.

"And... those times I saw you at night – what were you doing?"

"Percy, I don't owe you a story. I'm not telling you."

"Are you afraid it will be hard to understand?" Percy chuckled, burying his disappointment under a smirk.

"Yes. As you see, I'm afraid of many things. Did they ask you about that, too?"

"Sort of."

"And what did you tell them? No, I suppose you didn't tell them anything. If you had, I would be summoned back to that tent."

They wandered past tall birch trees. A heated discussion between sparrows and robins was cut short as soon as they got too close. Evans looked up at the bright pale green of the canopy.

"Do you ever feel a bit awkward when you walk into a forest and birds stop singing?" he asked, his neck still craned up. "It's... well, makes you think, what do they not want you to know, right?"

"Gossiping bastards, the lot of them."

Evans looked at Percy with surprise brightening his features, before laughter creased them beautifully. Percy didn't blame him for taking a while to realize he was joking: he hadn't done much of that so far.

"Do you still want me to ride with you, even though I'm useless?" he asked eventually.

The seers back in his town often said that speaking something aloud could make it happen.

"I don't think you're useless. They certainly don't seem to think so, if they want you to stick around" Evans said as he glanced back at the camp, hidden behind the crowded trees.

"Well... would you still want me to tag along, even if I was useless?"

Evans tore his attention at last from the canopy and his mistrust of quiet birds, and turned to face Percy. He lifted his arms and rested his hands on Percy's shoulders. As he felt their dawn-like warmth on him, Percy thought that all of Evans' touches must be like that: restful and resting.

"I think just a week ago, you wouldn't have asked me something like that. I would take far longer to change as you have changed. How can I leave you behind when you're so far ahead of me?"

Percy felt wonderfully small under those hands.

"The question should also be" Evans went on, "do you want to keep riding with us?"

"I... didn't realize I had a choice."

"I can see how it might have come across that way" Evans sighed, letting go of him. "I'm giving you a choice now, then."

Percy thought of the golden tapestries in his house, the portrait of his grandfather, the carved marble fireplace. He thought of the heaviness of everything there – the furniture, the fabrics, the words, the days. There was plenty he missed. His bed; his food; a little fountain on the square that he used to sit by; the sunday mornings he spent reading; the cat from across the street, who allowed no one but Percy to pet it – perhaps the only title of 'chosen one' he could truly claim. There was plenty he didn't miss, too.

To go back as a useless man was a promise of misery for himself and others. To keep riding knowing he had a purpose, and knowing he would try his best to fail at it, at least held the promise of very busy days.

And then, of course, there was the real reason he would keep riding with Evans. He thought perhaps that was what the birds had been gossiping about.

"Alright."