Helios: Welcome.......to the Unknown

[Emma]

Oh my lands.... *faints*

[sing]

Excellent job like always ma'am. :-). And I'm so so so so so so excited to meet Shea!

[Helios]

Eeep! I've kept you all waiting so long! It's gonna be a triple feature this go around.

Tanni

Some things make more sense looking back on them, rather then describing them as they happen. What happened when the doors opened—well—like I said, a whole new world. This place where they train you to kill people—they really mean it. We got sent through a whole bunch of training exercises designed to “toughen us up”, or something like that. Physical, mental, psychological—and this is just the first day.
But thankfully, I think we're nearing the end. I'm sitting on the bleachers of the biggest gymnasium I've ever seen, watching a couple of the girls beat on each other. They call it sparring, but it looks more like a free-for-all, where the Unba referees intervene just in time to keep people from actually dying. I had my turn a few minutes ago, and my arms and legs still feel like columns of jelly. The only thing that keeps me going is adrenaline—I think.
“Get used to it. This is life around here,” Shea says. She's sitting next to me. I feel safe with her. Britt has ignored me pretty much the entire day. Doesn't wanna be seen with a black-list prospect, I guess.
“Does everyone from all the slums come here?” I ask. “This is the only school, right?”
“I guess. I haven't been outside of here in a few months.”
“Has—has anyone ever escaped?” I feel my palms getting all tingly. This is a dangerous question to ask.
She gives me a long look. “No one outside knows about us. That's because whoever gets out—doesn't stay there long enough to tell.”
“They get killed?” I ask, assuming what seems natural for Unba.
“No, they're brought back.” Shea slaps her hands together in a hopeless gesture. “I figure the Unba want us badly enough to keep everyone. The only people who die—are the ones who don't make it through the training. Sometimes people—” she stops again as Britt walks over to us.
“Filling the prospect's mind with tales of escape, I doubt not,” she says snidely. Britt, I've noticed, seems to have picked up on some Unba words and phrases. She uses them a lot. Maybe she does it to maintain control; all of us girls obey her out of fear.
Shea looks irritated. “Britt, sometimes you can be a real—”
“A real what?” Britt jerks Shea to her feet. “A real pain in the rear? I know I've had to bear down hard on you—but that's because of your constant escaping and threatening to ruin everything!”
“Ruin what?” Shea demands.
Their faces are inches from each other. Both are red with anger. I nervously glance around; everyone else is busy. There's no knowing what will happen next if no one stops this. I feel so helpless. I'd like to do something—but I'm so small. Britt's so scary sometimes. I look at Shea and realize that she's also afraid. Her fear only heightens mine.
“Break it up, you two!” A female Unba referee pulls the two girls apart and leaves them sprawling. I rush quickly to Shea and help her up. Britt bounds back to her feet and walks off, giving us a sneering look over her shoulder.
“Thanks for the support, Tanni,” Shea says.
“I'm sorry—it happens so fast.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. These sort of things happen all the time. You have to think fast on your feet to survive. And boy, do things happen fast.”
She looks across the huge room to a door at the end. Two Unba guards, male guards with batons, are opening a door at that end. Shea stiffens.
“Speaking of fast, you may wanna efface yourself, Tanni.”
“Efface myself?”
“Here comes the big event: boys against girls. Quick, down here.” She pulls me to the side and sticks me behind one of the supports for the bleachers. I crouch and hug the cold metal. My eyes are scanning the crowd of boys, looking for Mason.
On the floor, referees are matching up teams for a one-on-one fight. Shea moves away to join the group, leaving me scared and alone. I anxiously search the crowd, hoping for a view of Mason. It's difficult; all of them have really short haircuts. I unthinkingly feel my own hair. Ugh, I will never, ever complain about long hair again!
A hand grabs my shoulder. “Get in there,” the hand's owner orders, shoving me toward the group. I stumble into the ring of teenagers, and almost immediately find myself yanked around and facing a boy in a blue jumper. A very familiar-looking boy, his blond hair cropped close. There's a fresh scab on the back of his head.
“Mason?” I gasp.
“Tanni! Your hair!” he exclaims. At that moment, a bell sounds overhead. The entire room breaks into one giant, screaming, brawling mass of people. Mason and I only stare at each other.
“Go on, start fighting!” The female referee screams at us.
We simply stare. The referee screams at us again, but we refuse to move. Someone bumps me from behind, shoving me into Mason. He catches me and steadies me.
“Mason, I have the feeling we have to fight or face the consequences,” I gasp.
“No! Here, you hit me!”
“What? I can't hit you!”
“No, like you play with the others! You know!”
“Oh, okay.” That I know how to do. With the referee glaring at us, I lightly punch Mason in the chest. He stumbles back and falls down. I stare, but after a moment he stands up again.
“Don't worry, it didn't hurt me!” he says.
“That's not fighting!” the referee screeches. Then she begins shouting for her superior to come and make us fight each other.
“What's the problem?” A distinctly Unba voice joins the ongoing ruckus around us. I look up to see Rina, the stunningly beautiful Unba girl from last night, scowling at Mason and me.
“They're not obeying me,” the referee complains, sounding like a spoiled child. “They're the two black-list prospects we brought in yesterday.”
Rina gives me a cold stare. “Fight him, Tanni. Or I'll fight you and kill you.” Her voice is low and menacing, and I'm quite sure she means every word. But I refuse.
“Go ahead. I won't fight him.” I stare back at her defiantly, daring her to enforce her words. Beside me, Mason gasps.
“No, Tanni, don't say that.” He steps in front. “Don't worry, she'll fight me.”
At that moment, someone barrels into me from the side. It's a screaming, kicking, punching, furious mass of red arms and legs. I'm knocked to the ground, too stunned to move. Then my instincts kick in and I scramble to get away, doing whatever it takes to stop whoever it is. There's screaming and shouting all around me; I think we've rolled right into another group of fighters.
“Okay, okay, that's enough!” Someone's voice breaks through the disorder. The person on top of me is yanked off, and I sit up, dazed and uncertain. With a shock, I realize that Rina has pulled Britt off me!
“What is your problem, human?” the referee starts screaming again—at Britt, this time. Britt shakes Rina off her and stalks away. I look around and realize that the fights have stopped; everyone's watching us.
“Nice going, squirt,” a nearby boy says to Mason.
“Session over,” Rina commands, her voice flat and emotionless. “Send them all back to their rooms.”
“What?” splutters the referee. “But-but—”
“Do I need to use physical force to make you move?” Rina demands, glaring at the Unba girl. The referee backs down and shakes her head.
“Everyone clear out!” she screams.
Shea, who's standing nearby, grabs my arm and hauls me away. We walk quickly with the other girls back to the bunk room.
“Tanni, I told you to keep out of it,” she says. “I knew they would make you fight Mason.”
“They? Why would they care?” I ask.
She regards me soberly. “They're always watching. Always knowing. You can't escape them. They do whatever they want, and we can't do anything.”
“I know; I'm a human too, remember?” I sigh, my limbs feeling all shaky. “I just wish I had known that I would fight him. I would rather die than do that again.”

Oooo, the agony!

Elf Girl

Waiting

Date: February 3, 4092
Location: Port of Sand and Fire, Vulcan Fire Five
Time: 08:07 AM by Vulcan's Chrono (07:47 AM by Apollo's Chrono)

I'm standing next to my newly-purchased star-cruiser, waiting for Lexi to arrive with our gear. She's taking longer than I anticipated, and I constantly scan the ship hangar, watching for incoming ships or approaching police officers—anyone who could know who I am and the fact that I have a bounty on my head.
The clothes Lexi lent me on Hecate Arrow are packed away on-board in a briefcase I found under one of the seats. Instead of the skirts and button-up shirt, I'm wearing a jean jacket over a charcoal silk turtleneck and slacks made from some kind of fuzzy-satin material. High-heeled mid-calf boots and brown leather gloves complete the look, while my hair is pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. Fortunately, I found some hair bleach in the port's gift-shop, so now my hair is a pleasing white-streaked brown. And equally fortunate, that same shop sells colored contacts, and my eyes are now a bright, completely unnatural amethyst. I look nothing like the previous Ashley Quinn.
Or so I'm hoping.
The contacts, at least, will disguise the one quality of my eyes that I can't hide any other way: the ever-changing colors of my irises. Depending on my mood, they can switch from shade to shade, usually hovering somewhere between gray-green. Occasionally they mellow to brown, and only rarely have they ever shone blue.
There is also black. That means I'm dead.
Never seen that yet.
I've also gotten myself a new identity to match my change of style. The ID card resting in my pocket declares me to be one Ashlyn Quill, another of the many aliases Buck had in storage for me. It's an old one that took quite a big for digging for me unearth, but it's worth it. If (when) Buck escapes from prison, he'll know who I am. Hopefully, the government won't recognize it as me.
But that's almost too much to hope for these days. Sooner or later, they will find me.
“Ash!”
My head whips to the calling voice as I reach for the pistol secured at my hip. Then I relax. It's just Lexi, running toward me across the hangar. She's changed her outfit as well, and I must admit, the whole turtleneck/slacks combination looks better on her than the skirts and button-up shirt did. Some clothes are just made to be worn by certain people.
“Sorry I took so long,” she pants out as she comes up to me, dragging our chest of belongings behind her on a luggage cart. Her eyes zero in on the pistol I'm wearing. “Where did you get that?”
“I have my sources.” I smile slyly. “But to be honest, it's easy to get contraband weapons on a numbered planet. The chartered ones tend to have stricter laws about this sort of stuff.”
“I know that.” Lexi grimaces. “Do you have any extras?”
“Uh, sure. On-board. Wasn't sure if you were comfortable with—you know.”
She laughs. “I'm not a pacifist, Ashley. Besides, we're fugitives now. We'll be mixing in less than friendly circles.”
We climb aboard the cruiser and tie down the chest in the cargo hold. This ship is bigger than the one I stole from the prison on Hecate Arrow, and it has four small cabins located on either side of the engine block. The engine itself is powered by a live crystal stored in a reactor at the ship's core, which is also where the hyper-drive is housed. Since I got this baby on the black-market, it's been outfitted with a few, um, other accessories. Gun-turrets hidden on both pairs of wings, a laser gatling located under the ship's belly, and twin cannons on either side of the bridge. It's not exactly a storm-the-front kind of ship, but it should get us out of any scrap we fall into.
Or so I'm hoping.
While Lexi finishes getting settled in, I prep the ship for departure and conform our take-off with the traffic-controllers. It's the time of day when most of the air-trams are beginning their commute to the forges and metal-works that all Vulcan planets are famous for, so I have to wait a while before getting permission to depart. This is so unlike my last fiery exit from Vulcan Burning Forge Three with Buck.
And that makes me wonder: back on V-BF Three, I was tracked down by military policemen from Hendricks Moon Base. I think. I didn't exactly get a good look at their uniforms, and since there are so many different military installations scattered throughout the galaxy, all using a different uniform depending on what Toméa (sector) they're from, it's easy to get them mixed up at first glance. But anyway, back to my point: how did they know I was there? If they could track me so easily to V-BF Three, why didn't they try to take me on Hecate Arrow? Why brand me a mass-murderer instead? Sure, it's turned me into a galactic fugitive (which, come to think of it, wasn't I one already?), but that seems like too much trouble for one solitary girl. Maybe they got bored of consistently failing to apprehend me. Yeah, right. I chuckle darkly at the thought.
Lexi enters the bridge and plops into the co-pilot's seat at my right. “When are we leaving?” she asks.
“In a few minutes. Got stuck in the pile-up behind the trams.”
“Goody.” She stretches and yawns. “I prefer this to all that excitement we had last time we lifted off.”
“Yeah, me too.” I joggle the steering rod a little, getting a feel for the handling of the ship. It's a little bigger than I'm used to flying, but since we're not performing any complicated maneuvers, we should be fine.
“Bring up the navigation panel,” I tell Lexi. “Might as well familiarize yourself with it.”
“Sure.” She taps a few keys and a holographic screen appears in front of her, hovering a few feet off the dashboard. “What's our destination?”
“Not sure.” I thump my hip-bones softly with the heels of my hands, which is kind of hard because I'm sitting. “Since we don't know who instigated the massacre in order to frame me, I don't know where to start looking for them. I guess heading to the capital of the United Councils would be our best bet.” Not that I'd know what to do when we got there. Maybe Buck will be free by then and he can join us and help figure out what's going on.
If he's still alive by then.
Something catches in my throat and I have to swallow hard to choke back the sudden emotions that flood through my chest. Buck has been the one stable element of my life here. No matter what I did or where I was, I could always count on him to get me out of trouble. To keep me safe.
And now he's gone for who knows how long. Maybe forever.
Stop it, Elf. You can't think like that. Keep your chin and your hopes up. Always look on the bright side.
A little jingle runs through my mind: “Don't worry; be happy.” It sounds so familiar, yet I can't quite place the voice that sings it.
“So, Jupiter, then?”
I jump and look at Lexi. “What? Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Jupiter,” she repeats slowly. “One of the Jupiter planets?”
“Um...yeah. Uh, let me think.”
“You just were.” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, okay, I think I got it.” I scan a list of the ten chartered planets inside the Jupiter Toméa. “Let's set course for Jupiter's Throne.”
“The Throne? Why not Lord of Jupiter?”
“Because we need to access the United Council's information caches, and most of them are kept on Throne.”
“But the Imperator lives on Lord of Jupiter, and the Courts are on Jupiter's Wisdom. Wouldn't they be our first targets?”
I grin. “Lexi, we're not trying to assassinate the president or hold the Courts hostage. They don't keep records on those planets, and records are what we need right now. The Imperator and the Courts come later—if necessary.”
A green light flashes on the dashboard. “We're up. Let's get the devil out of here.”
Lexi giggles. “You just swore.”
“Did not.” I scowl. “Devil isn't swearing.”
“Hell is, and it's the same as the devil.”
“Is not. Totally different.”
“Really? What's the difference?”
“Well...I don't know. It just is. Devil is more...refined or something. Hell is kind of...I don't know...crude.” I shift in my seat, and my back rubs against the silk of my blouse. It seems to irritate the bruise on my spine, but not much. I can bear it.
Lexi grins at me in a way I can only describe as, well, devilish. “I know a cruder word,” she begins.
“Okay, okay, I won't say it again!” I mutter under my breath, “Good riddance.”
“That's swearing, too!”
“Oh, good grief! Give me a break!”
And before she can offer another retort, we're exiting the planet's atmosphere and entering hyper-flight.

I really need to work on this one. I have only one more complete chapter after this!

And now...this one is for HomeschooledCowgirl. As requested for two years.

Future and Past

Date: Undated
Location: Palace chamber

I come awake suddenly, as if disturbed by a hand on my shoulder. Sitting up, I glance around the moonlit chamber. There is no one else with me; I am alone.
Alone?
I reach out for my husband, who should be sleeping beside me. My fingers find only cold, empty sheets and a flattened pillow. Where has he gone? What time is it? The timepiece on the wall indicates that it's a few minutes past three. Has he risen already at such an early hour?
Or perhaps he's sleep-walking again. I must go and find him before he gets too far.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grope in the dark for my robe. Wrapping it over my thin nightgown and securing the sash, I pad softly to the door and open it, peering into the dim corridor beyond. There are no guards visible, though I know they are hidden in the many alcoves lining the hallway. They would not have stopped my husband from leaving our chamber because it isn't their place to question their king, but one of the Warrior brothers surely will be shadowing him. As I start down the corridor to find him, I hear the faint swish of footsteps fall into line a few paces behind me. I smile; that would be my personal guard, always following, always protecting.
She trails me to the door of the Fire Hall, where one of the brothers is standing at a half-closed door, peering inside. My husband must have gone in there, but whether by choice or propelled by his dreams, I do not know.
“Is he awake?” I whisper to the hooded brother, unable to tell which one it is in the darkness.
“I think so. His eyes were open.” The voice is deep, but muffled by the low tones it uses. I decide it must be the elder one. “Shall I go in?”
“No, thank you. I will talk to him. Stay here until we come out.”
“All right.” He inclines his head, then steps aside to allow me entrance to the hall. My personal guard takes up her post across the doorway from him.
I step into the hall and pull the door closed behind me. The left-hand wall is set with ten great hearths that burn during our annual ceremonies and holidays. One of them is lit now, a small fire to scare away the darkness that hides in the corners of the cavernous hall. And in front of that fire stands the tall, upright figure I know so well.
My husband.
The king.
His hands are clasped behind his back, squaring his shoulders and giving his lean frame a sense of strength and endurace. The firelight flickers at the edges of his outline, shading the white robes a deep blood-red hue. His shoulder-length hair hangs limp and uncombed around his face. He seems impenetrable and vulnerable at the same time, an immovable corner-stone that crumbles under the weight of the building it must uphold.
“Are you awake?”
My voice echoes hollowly through the hall. He turns, a sign that he hears me, and nods.
“You're up? I'm sorry I disturbed you.”
“It's all right. I just...missed you.”
I've been walking toward him as we speak, and now I come up to him and look into his eyes. His eyes—I could be lost in his eyes forever. Ever-changing, the colors shifting from brown to gray to green to blue—they're so beautiful, so emotive. I smile up at him and pull his face down to kiss him.
“You missed me?” he murmurs into my ear, a slight tease to his voice.
“I was cold,” I murmur back. “But the fire is warming me. Did you light it because you knew I was coming?”
“No.” His arms come around me to hold me tightly to him, and he rocks us both from side to side. “A hand awoke me, and I still feel it on my shoulder. I couldn't sleep, so I came here. The fire was already lit.”
I remember the sensation of a hand on my shoulder that jolted me from sleep. “I felt it, too.”
Then we're both silent, staring at the wavering flames, at the strange shadows dancing across the marble floor. His breathing is even, and I feel his heartbeat beneath my fingers. I run my hands along his biceps, then slide them up to his neck and lean my head against his chest. He feels so solid and comforting, so strong and kingly. He even smells like a king, with a lingering fragrance of incense and oil and herbs from the garden. It must be coming from his robes, since I don't remember him smelling this good in bed earlier.
The vision comes swiftly and without warning. One moment I'm looking at the flames, mesmerized by their eerily-twisting patterns, and then a veil slips over my eyes and I see with the mind's sight they call Eagle Eye.

A man sits before a fire, his knees drawn underneath his chin, his eyes hidden in hollows created by the flickering light. He is young, hardly more than twenty, and has a handsome, finely-molded face. I feel immediately that I should know him, and indeed his face reminds me of my husband, who is scarce older than he. But I can't remember his name, or who he is.
A woman steps into view. She is tall and dark-haired, and her face is the most beautiful one I have ever seen. She is wearing a long robe, like a dressing gown, and I surmise that she has newly awakened from sleep. She touches the man's shoulder, and he turns to smile up at her. I feel once more a sense of recognition, yet again I cannot place this woman in any of my memories.
They converse a few moments, though I cannot hear their words. The conversation appears somber, but not tense. After a moment, the woman unfastens her gown and takes the man's hand. She rests it against her stomach, and I realize that she is pregnant, like me. The man's face lights up, and he begins talking eagerly, caressing her stomach as they laugh and cry for sheer joy. I understand their enthusiasm and excitement at the discovery of the new life growing within her.
Abruptly the scene shifts, and I see another man and woman, also alone at night before a fire. This couple is different, older, and the woman has hair tinted orange in the firelight. But the sense of excitement pervading them is just as strong. I notice that this woman is showing more of her pregnancy. The man has lifted her shirt and rested his cheek against her swollen womb, as if to hear the heartbeat of the child within. The sense of recognition is stronger with them.
The scene flashes past, and I see a final image: a woman, strongly resembling the dark-haired girl, sitting on the edge of a bed. Sunlight is peeking through the gauzy curtains covering the window in front of her. She is holding her stomach and rocking back and forth, weeping softly. At first I assume she's overjoyed at the news of having a child. Then her emotions flow to me, and I realize she's terrified of telling the father. But who is he? Why is he not with her? And why does she feel such agony for the child? Is it cursed?
Then I hear them: a gunshot, puncturing the silence; a sword, slicing through flesh like it's a hunk of raw meat; a poison dart, spreading its death through a defenseless body.
And I know that these are the things her child will do.
“No! No no no no no!” I'm screaming, sobbing, pleading with the woman to stop it from happening. “No! Don't just stand there and let it all—let it all become true...”

“Don't let it become true,” I whisper.
My mind's sight snaps closed and I open my real eyes, still in my husband's arms, still staring at the fire. For a brief second, I see that woman silhouetted in the flames, gazing at me with those dark eyes. She's pleading with me, begging me to help her.
And I know there's nothing I can do.
It's just a vision.
“Something happened,” I hear my husband say in concern. “You're shuddering.”
“I just...I had...”
“A vision.” He tightens his hold on me, and I press myself against him, trying in vain to shake off the horror of what I've seen. “It's okay. It's over now.”
“Yes...yes, it is...” Tears trickle from my eyes, and I cannot stop them. They dampen his robe, and he, feeling them, begins massaging my scalp, working his long fingers gently through my loose hair in an effort to calm me.
“You're okay now,” he murmurs. “It's over. It's all over.”
“Oh, but it isn't,” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion. “It will come true someday. Visions show the future.”
He stops massaging and pushes me back to look into my eyes. His are an iridescent green, a glowing green like living flame. “It wasn't the future,” he says slowly. “I felt a presence. It was...old. Like a memory.”
“A memory?” My breath comes in short gasps. “But how—the Eagle Eye shows only the future. We can only look ahead. Not back. How could it be...a memory...?”
Both of us are silent for a moment, pondering what may have just transpired. In all my years with the gift, I've never seen what has happened in the past, only what will occur in the future. How could I have seen...?
And yet I know it to be true. For some inexplicable reason, I know it was the past I saw, and not the future. There is no doubt in my mind.
“The past,” my husband wonders aloud. “What did you see of it? How far back was it?”
“I'm not certain. It seemed...very far back. The images were unclear, and it somehow hurt more than usual. Not just the emotional pain of the last woman, but a sort of strained feeling, like it took a great deal of effort for me to look back so far.”
“The last woman? How many were there?”
“Three. All young. The first two were happy to be with child. They had just told their husbands, and they laughed together, as we did. But the last one...” I shiver at the memory of the pain in her eyes. “The last one was distraught, almost tortured by the knowledge. It was like she couldn't bare to face the truth of what she was.”
“She was alone?”
“I saw no man with her. But her thoughts centered on the father.”
“The father...” Another poignant moment of silence. Then, “She was not married to him?”
“I don't...think so.” I close my eyes for a second, trying hard to remember exactly what I had felt from her. “No, that's not right. There was a ring on her finger. I remember that. And...the father...it wasn't the baby's father she was thinking of.” I open my eyes and look at him. “It was her own.”
“And her name...”
“I don't know. It wasn't there.”
“But she told you, I'm sure of it.” He frowns. “You must have forgotten.”
“I never forget a vision,” I reply, irritated. “You know that.”
“Then...”
It comes to me suddenly, and I interrupt eagerly. “It was a strange name. Talia.”
“Talia?”
“Yes, I'm sure of it. She was talking to herself in her mind, saying that name over and over. And sometimes it was a man's voice, her father's or her husband's, saying it.”
He studies the fire contemplatively, and I fall silent and watch with him. I wonder now why he was awakened first, and why the fire was lit for us. What is the meaning behind all of it? Why am I seeing these visions now? And who is this Talia, that I should feel such a strong sense of recognition whenever I think of her?
“You saw the past,” my husband says finally. “You saw three pregnant women. And you yourself are with child. A warning, perhaps?”
“A warning?” I shake my head. “No, there was no warning. Just this sense that I had seen all of this before. As if I knew these women once, a long time ago, in my old life.”
He doesn't reply immediately, merely pulls me close and strokes my shoulders and back. I snuggle into him and savor the whisper of his breath warming the top of my head. It takes away the horror of my vision, leaving only a deep sense of curiosity in its place.
“I think I see it,” he says suddenly. “The women you saw—what did they have in common?”
“In common?” I think rapidly. “They all felt that their children would be destined for something important. Something world-altering. And yet they knew that others would seek to destroy whatever the children would become. They were concerned.”
“Yes. As you are, for our child.”
I smile at his words and move to caress the growing one inside my womb. “So it is a warning of some kind? That our child is in danger?”
“Not yet. As long as he is hidden, he is safe. You know the prophecies. But once he is unveiled, then he will be hunted. And they will never stop until they kill him.”
A chill strikes my heart. “Then we will hide him away where no one can find him. We will keep him safe until the time is right for him to be made known.”
“Didn't the others try to protect their children?” my husband questions. “Didn't they try to hide them away?”
“They tried.” I smile up at him, triumphant. “But we will succeed, because we know what is coming.”
He smiles back, his eyes a warm brown. “And we know how to prevent it.” He bends down and kisses me fervently, and I kiss him back with equal passion.
We will do whatever it takes to keep our little one safe.
Even if it means hiding him from everyone else.

[Eleventh Doctor]

Why won't you ask any questions on my thread?

[Helios]

Um...because I'm scared of you? *quivers*

[Eleventh Doctor]

Why are you scared of me?

[Helios]

Because you're asking questions on my non-question thread.

Actually, I really don't know. It's just a gut instinct. *smiles sweetly* Besides, so many other people ask questions on your thread, I fear that my own will get swallowed up in the flood.

[sing]

Congratulations on yet another wonderful chapter!

[Paula]

Helios, your stories are so captivating O_O I was hanging onto every word, and I especially liked the story that Steppay requested *can't even* Hopefully you're going to continue that one?

[Emma]

I was hoping you added more onto that one! I totally guessed that all three stories were connected! Well, I kinda still am guessing, but definitely more sure than before.

[Helios]

I can feel the darkness coursing through my veins
Either I resist it or risk going insane
There must be a way to overcome this dark
To build a roaring fire, all you need's the spark

This is what I've been for years and years now gone
The shadow closes over me, the nights become so long
Yet deep inside I'm more than one single entity
Humans are all light and dark, twisting dichotomy

But even as I fan the flames that once burned pure and bright
In hopes that somehow I might find a day beyond this night
I sense the ever-growing black with my whiteness fighting
My single light cannot burn bright against the darkness rising

For anyone still interested in my stories, I AM still working on them; Elf's just goes really slowly at the moment, but I hope to have the chapter posted by Saturday. Thanks. And yes, all my stories are connected. It's so much more fun that way.

[Helios]

So I meant to post this on Valentine's Day, but got a little distracted with work and the whole being-slain-in-the-stomach incident. (hehe) So here we are again with our two favorite unnamed protagonists. And as anyone can see, THEY ARE NOT MARRIED. Yet, anyway. Maybe I'll do the wedding, too.

The Gift

Date: Undated
Location: Unknown

The sun was gleaming warmly through the trellis leaves as she sat down on the carved stone bench. Her black hair was bound up in a lace net made of silver threads, and a single jewel graced her forehead. The simple gown she wore was cut from a lightweight rose-colored fabric, silky to the touch, with loose sleeves and a high collar that completely covered her throat. The hem of the dress was not quite long enough to hide her sturdy leather boots or the tan leggings she wore underneath, but it swept around her feminine form with a certain stylishness that made her seem both elegant yet innocent.
“You're late,” a familiar voice said, and she turned to see two well-known figures clambering through the hedge growing along the back wall of the arbor. One was her betrothed, the young, bright-eyed king in his gold-lined overcoat and knee-high hunting boots. The other was his shadow, the elder brother, a handsome boy in a long white cloak that stuck to the bushes behind him. He paused briefly to untangle it, then stood respectfully by the hedge to give the young couple a measure of privacy.
“I got here as quickly as I could,” the girl was saying, looking down at her hands and smiling. She couldn't seem to look her fiancee in the eye, so he reached out and tilted her chin up. A flush spread through her cheeks.
“You're cold,” he said, grinning. “Maybe I should give you a hug to keep you warm.”
“Hmm.” She quickly backed away from him, scooting along the bench until she reached the edge. He sat down at the end opposite her and took his hand away from her face.
“What's wrong?” he asked, noting the look of discomfort between her brows.
“It's nothing.” She swallowed. “I was just wondering why you asked to meet me here, instead of inside where everyone can see us.”
“What? You're afraid I might do something inappropriate?” His brows lifted in amusement. “Don't be so nervous. I wouldn't do anything like that.”
“It's just a stupid feeling,” she answered hurriedly. “I don't know where I get these ideas.”
The shadow, standing a few feet off, frowned as she spoke. A haunted look darkened his face for a moment, then was gone.
“Is this because of what happened all those years ago?” the king pressed, inching closer to his betrothed. “When we first met, and you had the visions?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, a rather inelegant gesture that fit her anyway. “I don't know for certain, but it might be related to that.”
The shadow frowned deeper. He seemed to shift uncomfortably away from the couple, as if unwilling to hear more of the conversation.
“Well, don't worry.” The king relaxed, grinning roguishly. “When we're married, you won't have to worry about those memories. I'll give you new ones to think about.”
“Ha!” She laughed, flushing deeply, but smiling anyway. “Please don't talk about that, or my mind will go places it shouldn't.”
He nodded, still grinning, then reached out and took her hand. She glanced down, hesitated, then left it in his.
“So, why did you ask me here?” she asked, self-consciously brushing back a loose curl from her neck. His eyes followed the movement, then snapped back to her face.
“I wanted to give you something,” he said eagerly. “It's something you'll like.”
“Like you've ever given me something I haven't liked?” she giggled. “You always get me the best presents.”
He smiled at the compliment, and reached underneath his coat to produce a small white box, the kind jewelry comes in. Her eyes widened with delight.
“Go on, open it,” he urged, handing it to her. She lifted the lid expectantly, then squealed with pleasure. The shadow, standing some feet away, saw that nestled inside the box, on a white satin pillow, was a large sapphire on a thin silver chain.
“Oh, it's gorgeous!” She held up the stone, her face dappled by the light reflecting off its many facets, and dangled the chain between her slender fingers. “Your mother's, isn't it?”
“She never wore it. She made it for me to give to my wife, if I ever married.”
“If?” She glanced at him. “That was in question?”
“My sister was in line for the throne. It wasn't necessary that I produce an heir.”
They both blushed and looked away, as if it were somehow embarrassing to be discussing their future children.
“Well, put it on,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “I want to see how it looks.”
“I don't think this shade of blue will go well with the rose-pink,” she said uncertainly, fumbling with the clasp behind her neck. “But I suppose—oh, it does look nice.” She looked up, smiling, and caught sight of the shadow, who nodded back at her. “What do you think?” she asked him.
“It's okay,” he answered. Then he smiled. “It matches your eyes.”
“Really?” She glanced expectantly at her fiancee. “You think?”
He looked searchingly into her eyes, then nodded in affirmation. “It does. It brings out the blue hiding behind the other shades.”
She grinned, pleased with his compliment, then reached out and squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I love it.”
“I knew you would.” He hesitated, glanced down, then looked away. “If you don't mind—there's something else I wanted to give you.”
“What?” She arched a dark eyebrow, curious, half-expecting him to produce another white box from some hidden pocket.
Instead, he leaned forward and took her other hand, cradling both of them in his palms. “Close your eyes.”
Hesitantly, she did so. He felt her hands trembling in his, and pressed them to the stone bench to hold them steady. “It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.”
The joke brought a twitchy smile to her mouth. “Funny.”
“Just breathe.” He leaned in, close enough to hear the sudden intake of her breath, and softly kissed her cheek, savoring the smooth warmth of her skin and the delicate scent of garden herbs that clung to her clothes. He could feel the delighted shiver going down her spine, and suddenly wanted very badly to press his lips to hers. She would protest it, however, so he didn't.
Thus it came as a complete shock that when he began to sit back and release her hands, he suddenly felt a warm wetness brush his mouth. For a moment, he couldn't determine what it was. Then he saw her reddening face and reached up to touch his mouth. His fingers came away smeared with a small tinge of pink gloss.
It was from her lips.
He stared at it, uncertain, than glanced back to her. She was shaking now, giggling silently, as if unable to believe what she'd just done.
“I kissed you,” she whispered in a shocked tone. “It just...I'm sorry...I, um...”
“No, it's all right.” He wanted so very much to take her in his arms and wrap his lips around hers, but he knew that would only take his mind to other places, and he wanted to avoid that for now. There would be a time when it would be more than all right for him to do so, but it was yet to come.
She was laughing aloud now, glancing over his shoulder at the shadow. “Did you see that? I didn't mean to...I was just...oh, I'm glad you're here. If not, I might have done something I'd regret.” Her face was a deeper red than he'd thought a person's face could become, and it made her look like a bright cherry.
“I don't regret it,” he said softly. “I liked it.”
“I'm sure.” She glanced down at her hands, then up at him. “I just wanted to say thank you. And that was the best way I knew how.”
“It was a gift,” he decided. “A gift from you to me.”
“Yes.” She smiled, fingering the new chain around her neck. “That's what it was. A gift.”

In FF terms, this is total and complete FLUFF. But we loves it, yes we does.

[HomeschoolCowgirl]

*I'm late*
Helios thank you! I'd almost forgotten about asking, but I'm glad I did

[Helios]

You're welcome! Anything else you want me to write about them? Since the other stories are kinda on hold, anyway.

[HomeschoolCowgirl]

Whatever comes next...?

[Helios]

Hmm....the birthing scene? That could get messy.

Or the wedding scene? Short little one-shots about their children? Hmm, they end up running an orphanage eventually. That could be cute.

[HomeschoolCowgirl]

Noooooooo, that's not what I meannnnnnnnt. I mean, do they live in a kingdom or whatever? It's at war right? What/whom do they have to hide their baby from?

Oh yeah, that could be cuuuute

[Helios]

Oh, some back-ground stuff! Yes, I definitely will do some of that.

YES. CUUUUUUUUUTE. LITTLE KIDS. And..orphans. Lots and lots of orphans. Because they pull our heart-strings.

*scuttles off to the Den to commence writing*

[Helios]

This is...something I cooked up in about an hour. It's that birthing scene I mentioned, only without the actual birth. Just a little, "Yeah, I'm hiding my son and here's how it happened". I need to write about why she's doing it. Also, the orphans.

Hidden Son

Date: Unknown
Location: Unknown

The pain is lessening in my lower regions as the drugs administered by the nurse filter through my bloodstream. I recline on the sweat-soaked pillows and take deep, calming breaths, focusing on my rapidly-beating heart and the trembling of my hands.

“He's beautiful,” the girl tells me, cradling my newborn son in her arms. She has washed him and dressed him in simple, peasant-style clothes that give no indication of his royal status. I think of the little blue gowns, the soft satin onesies, the darling capes and caps that a prince should wear, and feel my heart break a little bit more.

“Let me hold him,” I whisper, reaching out for my child. He seems to fit so well into my arms, and he's so small! So fragile! The tears that I cannot contain roll down my cheeks and drip onto his cutely-furrowed brow. He yawns an adorable little yawn and little bubbles of drool dribble down his chin. I smile even as the tears threaten to blur my vision.

The nurse rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I'll take good care of him,” she says, and I hear the sincerity in her voice. I am trusting her with my firstborn son, with the crown prince of my realm, and if she should fail to protect him, an entire world will fall. But she is more than just a nurse and maid; she is a guardian of a queen and one of an elite clan of warriors dedicated to the art of the protection and defense. There are no safer hands for my son to be in.

I glance down at my sleeping son, taking in the sight of soft, pale hair curling all over his baby-smooth scalp, the tiny red hands clenched across his stomach, and the slight upturn at the corners of his eyes. A smile steals across my face. He has my eye-shape, but the color is undoubtedly my husband's ever-changing hues. The pale hair is a surprise; both my husband and I are dark-haired, with mine the shimmering black of ebony and onyx. I wonder how tall he will grow as he matures, and whether he will be slender and lithe, or stocky and enduring.

All I can do is wonder, for it may very well be that I will never see him again.

“It's nearly time,” the girl says, weaving her long brown hair into a simple braid and slipping into the dark robes of a farmer's wife. She readies the basket in which my son will travel, lining it with soft blankets and a small cushion to hold his head steady during the journey. I watch her with sorrowful eyes, aware that every second is a step closer to my imminent separation from my son.

At last the preparations are complete and I lay him in the basket, tucking the blankets around his sleeping form and settling his head in the cushion. He hasn't awakened once since he fell asleep while I was feeding him, but just for a second, as I gaze down at him with an agony shuddering through my stomach, he flutters his pale lashes and dark brown orbs peer up at me. I don't know if he can see me, but I smile anyway and touch his baby-soft cheek as his eyes close once more.

I look up at the girl, who is almost unrecognizable in her new, rough clothes, and she salutes me with a warrior's hand, her face solemn and proud beneath the cloak's cowl. Then she takes the basket and cradles it carefully under one arm.

“I am ready, your highness,” she says, her voice already dropping into the slurred, uncultured tones of the planet for which she is bound.

I nod, then spread my arms and close my eyes, imagining that my husband is standing in front of me, palms pressed to mine, our breath mingling in the sweet night air. The ancient words of the opening of doors echoes through my mind, and I feel his presence, sharp and clear and achingly familiar, just a step away from me.

There is a flash, like lightning, and the entire room tingles with released energy. A soft sigh, like wind-chimes, flows through my mind. Warmth floods my hands and washes through my entire body.

Then it fades, and the room is silent and still.

I open my eyes to an empty chamber. No trace of the girl and my son, no sign that a baby has even been born tonight.

He is gone.

And he is safe.

[Helios]

And that other piece with the orphanage. Not much cute stuff, unfortunately, because I really wanted to put in the part with Marin and Rose. *dances*

Unexpected Guests

Date: Unknown
Location: Hidden Orphange

When the messenger comes running with the news that unexpected guests had arrived seeking an audience with her, the headmistress figures they would be traders dropping off recently-orphaned children or perhaps newly-rescued slaves. It's rather a surprise, then, to enter her office and see two brown-cloaked girls with black hair and smooth, flawless faces that look years younger than her own.

“My ladies,” she says, immediately dropping into a curtsy that feels old and familiar and so very un-used in recent times.

“No need to stand on formalities,” the elder of the two girls replies. She is shorter and more compact than her companion, but her face is merry and her slanted brown eyes are full of light. She twitches aside her cloak and rests it on one of the chairs. “And a queen deserves just as much honor as she gives.”

Both travelers drop into perfect curtsies of their own, then straighten and salute her with a warrior's greeting. The headmistress returns it, feeling a rush of long-ago memories at the sight of the well-loved gesture.

“You are here on an errand for someone?” she asks, sitting down and motioning for her guests to do the same.

“In a manner of speaking,” the elder replies. “I have been holding onto something for quite a while now, and it's time for me to hand them over to a new caretaker.”

“And you thought the orphanage at the end of the universe would be a good hiding place?” the headmistress asks.

“Our enemies would never suspect it of being here,” the younger of the girls says, and when the headmistress looks at her, at the tilt of her head and the weave of her braids and the uprightness in her carriage, she sees it. This girl was once a queen, a gentle queen with an archer's heart.

Once a queen, always a queen.

“And who is the enemy this time?” the headmistress inquires.

The two girls exchange glances, and the elder speaks. “Anyone who would want this.” And from the folds of her skirts she produces a small leather bag tied with a crimson cord. Suddenly the room feels flushed with the weight of magic, and a faint ringing sound fills the air.

“Ah,” the headmistress says, and takes the bag. She hefts it thoughtfully, her lips pursed and brow furrowed. “So they come to me at last. The portals of another world to the great maker of portals herself.” She smiles, a touch sadly, and places the bag on her desk. “It's been too long, Marin,” she says simply. “You should have brought them years ago, when you first found them.”
The elder girl—Marin—nods. “I know, I just...couldn't bear to let them go so easily. Besides, a houseful of children is not exactly the safest place for them.” She smiles, a tad guiltily, and has the grace to look abashed.

“It wasn't all her fault,” the younger girl says, her cheeks as red as her name—Rose. “I wanted to keep them, too. They reminded me of a pleasant past.”

“I'm all for holding onto nice memories, but dangerous ones—that's a different story.” The headmistress stands and slides open a secret panel on her desk, revealing a small, empty hole. She crams the bag into it and slides it shut. “I'll put it in a more secure place later. Meanwhile, why don't we take a tour of the place? We've made a few renovations since you've been here.”
The others agree and they walk out to one of the main courtyards. Surrounding it are smaller courtyards that fall, like garden terraces, to the river below. It appears the younger boys have been assembled for their swimming lessons. A tall figure, with brown hair in a ponytail and a pair of white shorts, is in charge of the splashing, hollering youngsters.

“Your husband is looking well,” Marin says. “I hope he recovered from those injuries he sustained during the skirmish over Nubar?”

“He's not as young as he once was,” the headmistress sighs. “Things heal more slowly than they used to. Still,” she brightens, “he has a long life still ahead of him. Though not one as long as yours,” she adds to Marin.

Marin laughs. “Not everyone can be deathless, my lady. Even former kings and queens.”
The headmistress shows them the new schoolrooms that have been built to accommodate the increasing numbers of orphans.

“We've been getting them in twos and threes recently,” she explains on their way to the enlarged girls' dorms. “Sometimes during the wars, people bring them in by the bucket load, but it's been quiet for a few months. Hopefully there will be a few months more of peace before the fighting starts up again.”

“Do you take them from anywhere?” Rose asks, peering curiously into a room full of rambunctious preteen girls in the midst of a game of tag. “There seems to be a large variety of nationalities.”
“We take any who need shelter,” the headmistress states firmly. “Any below fifteen, that is. The older teenagers, especially the ones with emotional or psychological issues, are sent to the academy. The people there are better suited to deal with them and help them transition into adulthood.”

There's an edge to her words that implies something personal concerning the academy's occupants.

“You have a youth of your own?” Marin inquires. “One in the academy?”

“One.” The headmistress nods. “I was...unable to assist her when she came to me. She is there now.” Her face twists with something like pain as she speaks, but her voice is low and calm.
“How many children of your own do you have now?” Rose asks. “I remember the twins and the little boy, but it's been a while.”

“I have seven,” the headmistress replies with a smile that washes the pain away. “The eldest, a son, has not been here in a while. He's probably on the thresholds with his fiancee. The twins are eight now, the little boys four and two.”

As she speaks, two tiny figures in bright blue come tearing down one of the adjoining corridors, shrieking excitedly. She turns, quick as a flash, and scoops up the smaller one into her arms. He giggles and squirms as she tickles him and laughingly covers his chubby face in light kisses. Marin snags the older boy, spinning him wildly as he screams in delight.

After playing with the boys for a little longer, they put them down and the headmistress instructs them to find their sisters and go lay down for a nap.

“They won't listen,” Rose says, watching the toddlers scamper off.

“Ah, well,” their mother shrugs. “They'll learn eventually when they're put to bed each night earlier than the night before. Would you like to see the training grounds?”

Out on the back lawn, in the largest of the terraced courtyards, is a wide, flat area surrounded by high walls. One side is devoted to climbing equipment and harnesses; the opposite side is covered in weapons ranging from knives and swords to dueling pistols and sniper rifles. The courtyard is currently empty save for a few boys in their upper teens wrestling on one of the practice mats.

“You leave all those weapons out in the open?” Rose sounds vaguely disapproving. “With so many small children?”

“Oh, the younger ones aren't allowed in here,” the headmistress explains. “There are strict punishments meted out for anyone below the age of twelve touching anything in the training grounds. Anyway, this is only open during the summer camp season. The rest of the year, we store them in the armory.”

“They look older than fifteen,” Marin comments, indicating the wrestlers.

“I only said the disturbed ones were sent to the academy,” the headmistress says, a trifle prim. “The ones who grow up here and aren't adopted are often allowed to stay on and help train the younger ones. We can always use more helping hands, and some...see no point in leaving. They prefer the safety and tranquility of what we have here to the worlds they will face outside the walls.”

“Surely you don't encourage that sort of thinking.” Rose lifted a delicate eyebrow in disbelief.

The headmistress hesitated. “I...try not to,” she answered slowly. “Sometimes I don't want to let them go. They're just as much my children as the ones who bear my name. No parent wants to see their child hurt. And sometimes,” she frowns, her face darkening, “sometimes it happens when I can't see it, and it makes me want to keep all of them here forever. Time passes so slowly inside the walls, and outside it's been years while we see only a few months here.”

They stop at the end of the terraces and look down onto the landing strip for the ships coming and going. Marin's two-man flit, a strange little vessel with its name, Dreemer, painted in crimson on the ebony hull, is sitting amid the cargo ships and the transporters and the wheelies. It looks oddly out-of-place with the others, otherworldly in the center of a whirl of otherworldly things.
“We will be leaving soon,” Marin says. “I have some other friends to visit while in your corner of the worlds.” She turns to the headmistress. “It was good to see you again.”

“As time goes past, you will find your friends fewer and your enemies greater,” the headmistress replies. “I, too, am glad to see you again.” They give the warrior salute. “And you, Rose. You are always welcome here.” The headmistress looks at the black-haired girl, and an understanding, a flicker of acknowledgment, flows between them. They curtsy.

Once a queen, always a queen.

When they are gone, the headmistress returns to her office and takes out the leather bag, intending to put it away in her safe with the other valuables she keeps hidden. Curious as to what they actually look like, she opens the bag and a rich, musty smell of earth and fire and blood and magic wafts out, filling the room. Accompanying it is the low, almost inaudible humming of a thousand tiny voices. The combination of scent and sound is powerful, almost addictive in its intensity. She peers into the bag, not willing to spill the contents out and risk touching them.

And yellow and green rings blink back.