• The bard was one of the best Thorn had heard: Not only was her voice rich and clear, she had enough magical ability to create the illusory sounds of several instruments as accompaniment. And thus, the tavern's patrons, most of whom were finishing their evening meals, were doing little more than sitting quietly to listen. Thorn was among them, sitting near the back of the room away from most of the other patrons, sharing a table with the closest of friends. They understood each other, the angel and the blind man, sometimes without even needing to speak. Thorn and Azura had been through thick and thin together, fought side-by-side and saved each others' lives many times, enough that Thorn felt a bond to the angel that went far beyond ordinary friendship: though neither of them sought death, he'd die for Azura, and he knew Azura would do the same for him.

    And yet, though Azura also called Thorn his dearest companion, not everything they had for each other went both ways. Thorn hadn't realized it, but when he'd first met Azura, he'd spent about three times as long as usual running his hand across Azura's face, taking in his noble and yet still delicate features through his fingers instead of his eyes. Thorn also had no end of admiration for Azura's unshakable otherworldly piety - one could even say it captivated him - and while he could easily emulate some aspects of it, everything about Azura still felt out-of-reach. Azura was divine wrath, mercy, and perfection rolled into one and personified. He was Thorn's ideal - everything Thorn had ever wanted for himself.

    Thorn listened to the bard's song and soaked up a bit of gravy with a corner of his bread, feeling more aware of Azura's presence near him than he ever had. Everything else, save for the song, seemed only half-real, even the mutton and potatoes on Thorn's plate and the mead in his flagon. He wondered about the mead. If he drank enough of it to imapir his judgment, would he be able to say what he'd wanted to under the cover of not being taken seriously? After all, "I love you" was one of the commonest things said to good friends under the influence of alcohol...

    "You're quiet," Azura remarked. "Are you thinking about something?"

    "No," Thorn lied, hastily turning back to his meal. It was a bad idea anyway: Azura had never been good at recognizing the social cues of mortals, and would have taken it literally, like he did everything.

    "You've been quiet a lot lately," said Azura. "Thorn, you can tell me if something's bothering you."

    "Nothing's bothering me." Thorn sat back, placing his hand on the bench beside him. It touched Azura's, and Thorn momentarily forgot how to breathe. He licked his lips nervously as the bard began what could only be a love ballad in Elven. Azura didn't move his hand. Thorn hoped that the dim lighting would hide the flush creeping across his face, realized his palms were sweating, and quickly moved his hand away, praying Azura hadn't noticed.

    "What a pretty song," Azura mused. Thorn nodded. Even without understanding the lyrics, the song had extraordinary romantic power - the couple at the booth behind them had given in to it already, if Thorn's hearing was correct, and it was agony to keep himself from leaning toward Azura and doing the same. Damn it, woman! Thorn mentally shouted at the bard. You're not helping!

    Worse yet, Thorn had no excuse to simply get up and leave without making Azura wonder why - and thus, he was trapped next to his best friend, maddeningly close to Azura's strong, gentle arms, supple body, and great, feathered wings, big enough to completely envelop a whole person, such that he could be alone with Azura in a world of feathers, where nobody would have to see him feel Azura's soft lips against his skin... Don't think about it, he ordered himself. The bard's song ended on a note that wouldn't normally be the end of something, but somehow it worked all the same. Perhaps it was deliberate, to subtly imply that love didn't have to end. Personally, Thorn wished his would - it was, or at least logically should be, a whole lot more likely than Azura suddenly deciding to fall in love with another man. Not that there had been any conscious decision on Thorn's part, that is - he'd just realized something was unusual when Azura danced with that pretty village girl (her name was Olga, wasn't it?) and happily granted her the kiss she'd wanted, and he felt not happy for Azura but envious of Olga for her place in Azura's arms. The two of them had exchanged a few letters, too, and were still on friendly terms, giving further evidence that whatever was wrong with Thorn that made him hate women certainly wasn't wrong with Azura as well. Thorn had occasionally toyed with the idea of paying a wizard so he could become a woman himself, but he had decided that even the possibility of Azura's love wasn't worth becoming one of those frivolous creatures. But short of that...

    Divine intervention came in the form of a cry of "Stop, thief!" outside. "Let's go," Thorn told Azura, squeezing his shoulder as he stood up. "It sounds like someone needs help." Azura smiled and nodded, and the two ran after the sound of footsteps, the same as they had done many times before. They would fight as one, for they were the best of friends - and the best of friends they would remain.

    It was for the better...