Disclaimer: The Black Magician Trilogy belongs to Trudi Canavan, and my little piece of fanfiction was not written for profit.

Author's Notes: Akkarin and Lorlen's deteriorating friendship in The Novice always made me feel very sorry for them both. Here's my brief take on what they used to be like in their youth and many years later.

Now and Then

by Lucrecia LeVrai

Two young novices lingered in the exit leading to the University's spacious roof. Dressed in identical robes, with short, dark hair and smooth Kyralian features, they could almost pass for cousins or brothers, even if they were, in fact, not.

"We really aren't allowed up here," Lorlen said, glancing around nervously.

"Yes, and so?" Akkarin shrugged, though he also remembered to keep his voice down.

"I don't want to be expelled right in the beginning of my second year, you know."

"No, of course not. I thought I'd rather wait until mid-semester, myself."

Lorlen grimaced and shoved the other boy slightly, snorting in amusement at the same time. "That's not funny."

"Relax, it's not like they'll ever expel us for something so trifle," Akkarin chuckled. "The worst thing they might come up with is to give us detention and some stupid task as a punishment. It's not such a big deal, really."

"Perhaps for you," Lorlen muttered under his breath.

Unlike Akkarin, Lorlen was yet to get in Lord Jerrik's bad books, and he wanted to keep it that way. Actually, he thought he didn't fear eventual punishment as much as he feared Jerrik himself. Maybe it was the Guild's official policy to keep their students in check by having the most unpleasant man ever work as the University Director. This method didn't work in all cases, though. It obviously hadn't kept a certain novice and his friend from sneaking out where they shouldn't be, or from breaking other school rules.

As second-years, they certainly weren't allowed onto the roof. Not many full-fledged magicians were, either. The entrance would open only for a selected few, such as the High Lord and the Administrator, for example. The higher-ups had their locks and signatures imprinted into the door, but Akkarin had eventually managed to break past their spells, much to Lorlen's amazement. Of course, for all Lorlen knew, it didn't have to be his friend's very first try.

Having already decided that their path was clear, Akkarin all but ran to a low wall crowning the broad area.

"Just look at this view!" he exclaimed, open excitement in his voice. "You can see all the way to the river!"

Lorlen followed the other boy at a much slower pace. By now, he had grown used to them skipping classes together, but breaking into a restricted area was another story.

Akkarin was bad influence, no doubt about it. Lorlen's mother seemed genuinely pleased that her second son had managed to make such good friends with "the best student from his class, a clever, polite boy from a high-standing House", and so on. Yes, that sounded like an accurate description of Akkarin, but if Mother ever learnt what the other boy was really like, and what he used his clever mind for, she would try to forbid the friendship rather than encourage it. Lorlen, on the other hand, would not give up the time he spent in Akkarin's presence for anything else in the world. He just wished his classmate could be slightly less carefree at times.

"I heard that the Administrator likes to come here often," he said, glancing back at the entrance, still half-expecting to see the stern, blue-robed magician—or any other high-ranked magician, for that matter—storm towards them.

"Just calm down, already." Akkarin was leaning over the wall as far as he could without actually losing his balance and falling. "No one will catch us here. It's the middle of the day, the higher-ups must be having a meeting, and everyone else's sitting in their rooms, or in class."

"We should be in class, too," Lorlen pointed out, and yet this time his voice carried neither complaint, nor remorse.

"Would you learn anything useful from Carrot's class?" Akkarin only sounded skeptical.

Lord Karron—a red-haired half-Elyne rarely called by anything other than his nickname among the students, but never to his face, of course—had to be one of the worst teachers the Guild could offer. His subject wasn't all that uninteresting and the man himself seemed fairly knowledgeable about what he attempted to teach, but still, his lectures were boring as hell, as he kept reading from his notes in a flat, drowsy tone, rarely bothering to even look up at the novices. Had Lorlen chosen to attend that class today, he would have not paid attention to a word being said, anyway. Just like his best friend, he preferred to give the lecture a wide berth whenever possible, and study from the books, instead.

"No," he admitted at last.

"See?" Akkarin turned away from the wall, an amused, wry smile on his face. "What are you worried about, then?"

Lorlen found himself returning the smile. Akkarin was right. There was really nothing to worry about on this fine, bright afternoon.

Lorlen wordlessly followed Akkarin onto the roof. The weather didn't seem too unpleasant, the air outside the building warm enough to warrant walking around without a shield, but the wind could have been a little calmer and the gray clouds less foreboding.

The High Lord's straight back, black robes and just as dark, finely styled hair made him into a splendid, imposing figure. His face was schooled into a calm mask, as always, and Lorlen tried his best to maintain an equally strong, indifferent image. The Administrator didn't fear that the other man would suddenly think to use force against him, like on that awful night in the residence, many weeks ago, but his uneasiness remained. Akkarin had already proven himself dangerous and unpredictable.

"At least we are alone today," the High Lord observed quietly, as they walked down the mild slope. "The roof has become impossibly crowded these days."

Lorlen shrugged. "I suppose you're not the only one who likes the view."

Akkarin glanced at him with the corner of his eye, and yet said nothing. They stopped by the wall crowning the edge. The view, of course, had not changed in years—it was the familiar, striking panorama of the Guild's grounds, the capital city, the royal palace, the wide river to the west and the green fields to the east. Lorlen felt as if he was standing on top of the world, yet also at the very center of it, a vital part of the landscape himself. He wondered if the other magicians who visited this place ever felt the same.

"You met with Captain Barran last night," Akkarin stated rather than asked. "What news did he bring this time?"

"Didn't you follow our conversation word by word?" A hint of bitterness and mockery had crept into Lorlen's tone, but if the High Lord noticed it, he chose to disregard it completely.

"I was too busy to pay attention. And that's why you will now recount the meeting to me, in detail, please."

Lorlen winced at the thinly veiled order, which he would not dare to disobey. Even if Akkarin hadn't watched the meeting through the blood gem, there was no point in trying to hide any information from him. The High Lord, as it had turned out, could not only break into other people's thoughts by force, but he had also no qualms about using this terrible skill on his so-called friend. Lorlen did not particularly care to repeat the experience of being immobilized and truth-read against his will, and he knew that Akkarin would do it again if he sensed his hesitation or insincerity.

Barran's latest discoveries, albeit dark and important, did not seem very surprising on the whole. Lorlen suspected that Akkarin was already familiar with them, anyway.

In a level voice, he recalled his conversation with the captain of the Guard. Two new bodies had been discovered in the slums, just outside the Inner Circle. Shallow cuts on their arms suggested that they were victims of the same mass-murderer who had been terrorizing the city for the past few weeks. This time, no one had seen the culprit leave the crime scene. Barran and his subordinates were still investigating the neighborhood, hoping to find a witness, or perhaps the murderer's trail.

Akkarin had not even glanced at Lorlen during the whole story, although, knowing him, he must have been listening to the other man's every word. He kept his posture straight, but not stiff, with arms crossed against his chest. There was a familiar, thoughtful look on his face, dark eyes half-closed, black eyelashes casting shadows upon pale cheeks.

After Lorlen had finished, both magicians were silent for a while.

"Very well," Akkarin said at last, though his tone suggested that he wasn't overly trilled with the news. "I want you to continue participating in this investigation."

"For what purpose?" Lorlen shook his head, once again bitter. "Am I to help Captain Barran solve the case, or should I rather make sure the murderer is never caught? Which is it, High Lord?"

"I doubt any of you will be able to catch the murderer. In fact, it would be unwise to even try. Just make sure I'm fully informed of Barran's progress."

The guilt-free statement, the humorless smirk—it was simply too much. Lorlen spun around to face the other man.

"What is really going on in the city? Why do you refuse to tell me? I already know more than the Guild does, and as you can see I keep all your secrets to myself."

Akkarin looked at him directly. "Only because you have no other choice, my friend."

Lorlen felt his throat go dry, but he forced himself to continue.

"Akkarin, please. Tell me that you did not—do not kill innocent people." His voice sounded almost desperate to his own ears.

Akkarin had always been a nonconformist, a rule-breaker, a daredevil, all the while maintaining a near-perfect outward image of propriety. But to picture him as someone who would fall so low as to slaughter random people for some twisted, personal goal… that did not sound like the man, let alone the novice Lorlen had once known.

Answer me, you bastard, he thought. Look me in the eye and deny it, so I may have some reassurance that you're still clinging to a shred of decency, that you still care for appearances, if nothing else. Or confess to your crimes and laugh at my powerlessness to stop you, so I may finally throw our friendship to the wind and start hating you completely.

Akkarin did not drop his gaze. He stared back at Lorlen, a tense, unreadable expression on his face. Was he hurt to hear himself unjustly accused of murder, by his best friend, of all people? Or was he silently admitting his guilt?

Akkarin turned away without a word, then. He began to walk up the roof, towards the entrance to the University, a clear sign that the conversation was finished. Lorlen watched his retreating back in silence, and for the first time in years he could feel something akin to tears prickle at the corners of his eyes—but whether they were tears of angry frustration or pure grief, he honestly did not know.

Author's Notes: The thing is, Akkarin did in fact kill innocent people for a selfish reason; I'm talking about the slaves in Sachaka, of course. He is therefore unable to reassure his friend, because a negative answer to Lorlen's question would basically be yet another lie.

In other words, these two magicians are pretty messed up.

Please, let me know what you think of this one-shot. :)