End of Days: Horizon Burning (Tristan)

[Megaera]

Continued from.. (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=22724)



Dreaming River Valley (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Dreaming_River_valley)

Alone in the darkness, only one witch remained from the seasons most advanced initiates. The task she had set before herself had not been to conjure a ball of flame, or to speak in the tongue of one long dead. She had not foretold the future, or taken possession of an animal. These were the tasks that most witches endeavored to replicate to demonstrate the level of their power. All suitably impressive, but ones that were quickly achieved, once they were mastered. Pass or fail, the others had left one by one. Her own trial was not so easily concluded.

Megaera sat curled with her arms around her bent knees rocking, forcing her breaths come slow and calm when all she wanted to do was scream in frustration and run from the cave. If she did that she could leave, true, but her trial would be over and she would have failed it. Some unnamed force kept her rooted to the spot, either faith or just plain stubbornness. It had been almost two days since she had slammed back into her skin after the mentally taxing effort it had taken her to remain out of her body for so long. She had unwillingly been drawn back into her surroundings, leaving her unaware of what had occurred at the Crucible arena after she had left, and too weak to do anymore.

All she could do now was wait, and put her faith in her own ability. Tristan had still been wearing her amulet when she had seen him last. That had been her true purpose. Before she'd ever sent him to the Selection, Megaera had spent a great deal of time and energy enchanting the pendant to become a Talisman of Finding, imbuing it with her own distinctive magic. When she was sure of her work, she had given it to him, that night (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=22702) on the Storm Feather clan grounds. She had pulled the chain from her own neck, and secured it around his, making him swear not to take it off, or let anyone else do so. As long as he had it, it would draw him to her like a rope. She thought about all that had happened since she had arrived.

Megaera had not been the only witch to cross forward into the cave that evening. From the darkest parts of their lands, other Nightsisters of similar age and training had also been sent to test their skills. She had joined the others wordlessly. None of them spoke so much as a word to another, remaining anonymous. They were not in competition, but that did not stop the thinly veiled animosity between some of the opposing clans from revealing itself from time to time. This was not the brutal battle ground of the Crucible arena, but it was no less a danger. Here your enemy would not cleave your head from your shoulders with a bladed weapon, but offend the wrong person within these stone walls and you were likely to find yourself the recipient of a very lasting curse.

As a group, they had been led deeper within the cavern. It was unlike anywhere Megaera had ever been. Every cave she had ever entered had been been cold. This one was almost oppressively humid. The cause being a natural hot spring, welling up from the depths into a crescent-shaped pool.. This was where the aspiring witches had parted company with each other. While she watched, the Sisters before her formed an almost orderly line leading to the water, an ancient place of power for the witches. Each was divested of whatever clothing she had arrived in, before finding herself dunked beneath the steaming surface. Presumable to purify their bodies? A thin black robe was pulled over each as they were led away from sight. When it was her turn, Megaera had gone without fear into the water. She was led to a room that was set up for quiet meditation, fragrant incense smoke curling like serpents through the air. Directed to lay still, she submitted herself to allowing some more adept witches to begin to adorn her body with painted runes.

"When will I see Helebor again?", she had finally asked when she couldn't hold her tongue another minute.

The woman finishing the patterns across her collarbones, had frowned down at her like she was daft. The other had been standing with her back to them, at work on some other necessary indignity, Megaera supposed. "They did not come in.", she continued. " Are they alright? Magda and Avarice?", she asked again, determined to get an answer out of them.

"How much Eye of Sarlaac did you give her?" The woman looking down on her asked, peering into Megaera's eyes.

"None yet!" The second woman turned away from the mortar and pestle where she had been crushing herbs to assist the young witch.

They quit talking to her after that, despite Megaera's further attempts, eventually leaving her on her own. As Matier had taught her, Megaera called to the power that waited behind the Mist. When it rolled through her body, coiling through her lungs and blood, she left her skin behind to jump the distance between where she was, and the Crucible Arena, where she would walk as a ghost for as long as she could maintain the form.

Which had regrettably not been long enough.

And now all she could do was wait. Weak fingers spilled water from a pitcher as she attempted to pour a cup to soothe her parched mouth. How long had it been? Two days? Three? She couldn't tell anymore.

[Tristan Alastor]

Blood.

There was blood under Tristan Alastor's fingernails. Some of it was even his own.

“This must be the first time you've seen such carnage, princeling,” the others had joked, breathless in their triumph. They were not wrong.

They had entered the Crucible as slaves and serfs and emerged as Nightbrothers, but there was no fanfare to announce their victory. No parade would be marched in their honour. There was no praise to be had. They rejoined their clans, not as heroes but as equals. They had earned the right to walk on even footing with the witches, but that was all.

One of the clans had lost a life to the Crucible. Tristan squinted over his shoulder at what was left of the man. The sisters spat on the earth and shook their heads as they walked away, leaving the corpse for the carrion crows. Soon, the dead and the crows would be the only ones left in the arena.

A heavy hand slapped Tristan on the back. “Come, brother,” urged a man whose face Tristan recognised only because he was almost certain that he had slammed a staff into it earlier.

“Tonight we feast. All the meat you can stomach – and perhaps even a woman too, if I don't see to them all first.”

Tristan's lips twisted for a moment, as if he'd caught the scent of something foul. A woman. It had been the thought of one woman in particular that had driven him through the Crucible. His wife. The longer he fought, the more he gave himself over to his emotions, the more he thought of her – but it wasn't love that motivated him. Razielle had never loved him, but he had been certain that she had not lied to him. How wrong he had been.

Tristan shook his head.

“I've no appetite.. brother,” he said, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder and ignoring the calls that came after him as he headed out of the Crucible. With minutes, his limping steps had become a persistent stride, in spite of the stabbing pain that shot through his left calf. He had somewhere that he needed to be and fast. Somewhere that he could feel himself drawn towards.

It was a pull that he had felt before – the same pull that had brought him to Dathomir in the first place, only stronger. A Nightbrother or not, he was as powerless to resist it now as he had been then.

[Megaera]

Time crawled on for Megaera at a torturous rate. The not knowing was doing nothing for her nerves, and she was far too spent from her extended journey from her body to devise any other way to ascertain Tristan's fate. She had paced barefoot back and forth through the underground chamber until the bottoms of her feet were sore and blackened with dirt. When frustration got the better of her, the Nightsister returned to the thick-piled furs where she had begun her trial. Not to project her spirit to any location, just to think.. In the process she chewed the formerly neat ovals of her fingernails into shredded stubs, but a possible solution did begin to form in her mind.

Erishkigal.

The rancor was not just a mount to carry her to and fro, nor was she a pet. Erishkigal was a reliable friend and she could be counted on in this instance. As she had been trained to do since she had first learned to ride on her own, Megaera sent her thoughts directly to the large forest predator. "Erishkigal, alu ragar Tristan pholor l'revis ulu l'Crucible."

It would not be as simple as the rancor happening upon the Prince and scooping him up for a stroll through the wilds of Dathomir. The trial would not be complete unless it was the amulet that brought him here, not Erishkigal. She could provide him with faster transport, but the location was for Tristan to determine.

"Flohlu ukt undva, plynn ukta vel'klar uk shii's ulu alu."

Now all that remained was for Tristan to find a way to communicate his desires to the rancor..

[Tristan Alastor]

With each step, Tristan felt as if his leg might give way beneath him. Just one more step and it would be too many, his ankle would buckle and he would collapse face-first into the mud. His broken body would heavy a sigh of relief, of exhaustion, and he would pass out in the middle of the wilderness. What then?

Then... then he would drag himself onward. He would claw his way through the dirt. That was what the Crucible had made of him. If his people - the Hapans - could see him now, what would they think? Tristan's lips twisted into sour look – the expression becoming a flash of panic moments later as he misplaced a step and his ankle twisted painfully.

Tristan dropped to one knee with a hiss of breath and a wet slap of his calf smacking into the earth. He swore in his native Hapan, the ordinarily lyrical sound becoming an almost feral snarl.

In the thick of the jungle ahead, another beast stirred. Tristan winced as he watched the canopy tremble, the shaking boughs and leaves the first warning the creatures approach - yet as the predator neared, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. When the creature became visible moments later, his grimace began to turn upwards into a grin.

“Erishkigal,” he said, struggling back to his feet and began to limp towards the rancor. “I'd recognise your.. stench anywhere, my friend.”

The beast snorted at him and took a lumbering step backwards as he limped towards her. She might not have understood his words, but she understood the meaning well enough and appeared to be of a mind to make him suffer – like just about every other female in his life.

The rancor watched him, let him come closer, though she did not move. Did not lower herself lower herself so that he might climb onto her back. She stared at him, as though daring him to try to make a mount of her.

Squaring his shoulders and standing straight, in spite of the pain that threatened to split his bones, Tristan looked the rancor in the eye.

“Harl'il'cik,” he commanded in the tongue of the Dathomiri, the weight of the Mists power behind the word, compelling Erishkigal to obey a single demand:

Kneel.

[Megaera]

Returned to pacing on stiff limbs, Megaera waited yet again for the rancor to give her something to go on. Anything. Her thoughts returned to the things she had seen apart from her body.

In the darkness she had been seeking for the amulet, to pull her to Tristan, and it was working.. But there had been other things out there as well. Dangerous things. One in particular disturbed her the most, try as she might she could not discern what it was.. Something that gave off a primitive feeling, full of dark promises.. Her probing thoughts slammed shut on her every time she tried to learn more, pushing fear into her normally steadfast mind.

Others were there with her. Avarice, Magdah and Helebor. Not as the crones that had long visited her, but as young women barely older than her. They kept telling her things, important things that she should remember, and she kept shaking her head clear of their words. Every step she took with them was one further away from her goal. Further from Tristan.

Thoughts from the mind of an irate rancor shook her from the past, and a puff of laughter escaped her lungs at what she was hearing. Not only had Tristan been found, but he had made the rancor obey him and was on his way. True, Erishkigal was a tad on the grouchy side about it, but that was far from relevant. Megaera managed to keep some dignity and hold on to the last shred of patience she had, not asking any further questions. Filled with fresh purpose, she flitted about the empty halls finding food, sure that Tristan had not stopped since walking away from the arena. She could already feel it.

[Tristan Alastor]

There was nothing noble about the sight of Tristan sat atop his mount. His shoulders were hunched, though he struggled to keep his head up, mindful that the beast was apt to claw its way through the forest without any concern for the safety of its rider. One low branch would be enough to swat Tristan to the ground.

He wanted to urge Erishkigal onward, but he had no more words for the beast. Instead it was something more powerful than words that communicated his intentions. Erishkigal grunted and snarled, but she understood. She moved on, faster than before, loping steps shaking the fragile rider on her back. Back and forth he shook, back and forth until - Tristan's vision swam into darkness, the back of the beasts neck the last thing he saw.

Until he began to dream.

He was looking up into Megaera's face. She was speaking to him, but he could not understand her. Darkness washed over his sight then receded as surely as a tide, and she was there again, touching his face. He blinked again, and she was gone.

Gradually, his surroundings began to form from the haze at the edge of his vision. He could see what might have been the walls of a cave... or a tomb.

“Meg,” he managed to say, his voice little more than a rasp.

[Megaera]

While she'd waited for Tristan to find his way to... wherever this place was, Megaera busied herself with getting ready. She had no idea what state he would be in so she planned for the worst. Without a care for who the supplies might belong to she raided the lot. There was not much of a selection, but she had found some food which she had quickly sorted through, and decided she had enough ingredients to prepare a stew, which simmered in a pot over a banked fire. The next thing she did was began tearing through the supplies for anything she might use to patch her prince up with. She tore strips of linen between her hands, rending them with a repetitive fury that echoed through the underground chamber. She located herbs to speed the healing of various injuries from lacerations to burns, and even some antidotes to local poisons. She was exhausted when she was done, but she had a sense that he was near.. though the feeling was disconcertingly weak.

Frowning she made her way to the entrance to the cave. Erishkigal was already there, Tristan slumped over the saddle, obviously delirious. Her trial was over! With a last burst of energy she ran to the kneeling rancor. When she couldn't rouse him, she simply tugged his arm around her and dragged him along. It was a process, but she did not fall, or let him fall. She had no idea where her sudden strength had come from, but she was grateful. She worked tirelessly on him, first examining every inch of him for injury. The worst of which seemed to be beneath the swelling in one leg. Modesty not really being something taught to Nightsisters, she did not hesitate to divest him of every bit of armor and clothing he wore. His pants had to be cut away from his injured leg, which was incredibly swollen and discolored. The bone was out of place, it could potentially cripple him. Megaera did not ask his opinion, she just broke the bone anew, holding him still and pushing with the force of the Mists upon the skewed bone until it cracked back into the proper alignment.. Still alarmingly quiet, he did not move while she bound the leg tightly. Bringing a basin of water to his side, she tenderly cleaned the wounds across his arms, and head. She rolled him onto his side to treat his back, and then when she was done, settled him back onto the same furs that she had begun her trial upon.

While she smoothed the balm of a plant across some of the wounds, he seemed to open his eyes a few times, only to quickly fade back into a stupor. When she had done all she could do for him, Megaera gave in to her own bodies needs and curled on her side next to him. She was not sure how much time had passed before she heard his voice...

"Tristan.." She was no more than a breath away from him, curled on her side with her hand resting atop his. Sitting up, she leaned over him.

"Don't move..", she cautioned, pressing her hand gently to see if his skin burned. It did not. She had managed to see to him before infection could claim him.

[Tristan Alastor]

He didn't move.

It was difficult to say where he hurt. Perhaps pin-pointing where he did not hurt would have been easier. His whole body ached and throbbed and... tingled. He twitched his fingertips and then his toes – a bad idea. With a grimace, he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as fresh hot pain blazed through the haze of his former unconsciousness. Pain, but a shadow of the pain he had felt earlier. Earlier... at the Crucible. Tristan frowned as he looked from Megaera's face to the ceiling above them, risking turning his head ever so slightly to try and see the rest of their surroundings.

“What.. is this place?”

[Megaera]

"I think we're somewhere in the Dreaming River valley.", Megaera said, reaching for a pitcher. She poured a measure of cold water into a small cup.

"This is a cave used for trials, and other rituals. There were others, but they left days ago. We're alone here.", she confirmed.

"You need to drink."

As gently as she could, Megaera sifted her fingers beneath Tristan's head, helping him to lift up enough to drink without choking.

[Tristan Alastor]

Their location didn't matter as much to Tristan as the knowledge that they were alone did. The aches in his body were a reminder of what he had endured in the Crucible; it was a trial that he would not be eager to repeat, nor one that he was in any rush to share. He needed time to rest, to recover away from the eyes of the rest of the clan.

“I did it, didn't I?” he asked, holding back the cough that threatened to swallow his words as Meg drew the cup away from his lips. It hadn't been until the water had touched his lips that he'd realised how thirsty he was.

[Megaera]

The concern knitting her brow eased slightly at his question. Relief softened her eyes as she realized that it was over, both of their trials had been passed and as soon as he was able they could go home. Together.

"Of course..", she smiled down on him. Her hand lifted to his mouth, her thumb carefully wiping at a drop of water caught upon his split lip.

"I always believed you would."

She did not remove her hand from his face, her touch drifted light as butterfly wings across each darkening bruise, as if she could take the pain away with tenderness.

[Tristan Alastor]

However light her touch, Tristan winced at least one as sharp pain needled under his skin. He wanted to be proud. They had called him Nightbrother, named him as one of their own. He was no longer a slave in their eyes. He had proved himself worthy as a warrior, but there was a bitter taste in his mouth that was a result of more than just his split lip. At the height of the conflict in the Crucible, at moments when he had felt himself flagging, he had glimpsed things – visions outside of time. Glimpses of places and people whole star systems away. His wife Razielle, in the arms of a stranger.

“What I saw... that was you, wasn't it?”

He met Megaera's eyes, searching her expression for any sign that she understood him.

[Megaera]

She did not have to ask Tristan what he was referring to, she knew. She'd carried the burden of the wrongs done to him since that night she had consulted the bones. It had made her so furious that she'd knocked the fragile little pieces that she had carried her whole life into nothingness, falling into the muck of the Storm Feather grounds.

"Yes.." When he had been cornered, or seemed to be losing steam, Megaera had revealed just a little bit more to him.

The wife he had so misjudged as his own, in the arms of someone else.

Him in her bed, only to have it revealed that it had never been her - but a blonde Hapan woman.

The child he thought was his... belonging to someone else.

"I showed them to you.. but I did not create them. They were true.", she said quietly, hating the pain and anger they had caused him, yet grateful that it had saved his life.

[Tristan Alastor]

Tristan nodded to himself, slowly. He swallowed, his attention wandering away from Meg for a moment as his sluggish mind tried to piece together some semblance of understanding.

“How long have you known?”

In his heart, Tristan had known from the beginning that Razielle did not care for him. She had been an accommodating host, but expecting her to fall head over heels for a foreign prince who had been foisted on her by his manipulative mother? Before Meg could answer, Tristan shook his head weakly.

“I shouldn't be surprised. Onderon was a sham from the beginning.”

[Megaera]

"Since the night we went to the Storm Feather grounds.." A small frown marred her features. She should have told him then, but it had been her gamble to reveal the things she'd seen when they could be of the most benefit to Tristan. And that had been when he had been engaged in the combative trials of the Crucible.

"I'm sorry.", she said, meaning it and yet... not meaning it. She was sorry for the shameful way her prince had been treated by those who should have valued him most. Their intrigues and subterfuge had figured in to his arrival on Dathomir though and that she could not regret, fully believing he was meant to be here. Right now, in this cave, with her.

"You are a Nightbrother now. You will grow stronger. Later, if you still wish it, we will deliver your retribution to those who have wronged you."

[Tristan Alastor]

“Mm,” was all he managed at first.

Retribution, he thought. The word implied furious vengeance, but when he thought of Razielle – was that he desired? Had it been her intention to make a cuckold of him, or was someone else the architect behind the deception? Perhaps it was the lingering fatigue of his trials, but Tristan could not be certain, not of that at least. There was one thing he did know, however: he had to help his sister. Whatever had become of her, he could not let Razielle and her bastard child cast Elaine aside.

He sighed as he met Meg's eyes.

“What is.. the duty of a Nightbrother? What does the clan.. expect of me now?”

[Megaera]

Nightbrothers existed to only serve the Nightsisters.

That was the answer any other witch in her right mind would have imprinted upon someone returned from the Selection so that there would be no confusion on that point. Tristan would not be welcomed back to the fold of the Burning Mist with any fanfare or celebration. They would not clap him on the back and tell him 'Well done..'. He would simply no longer be their slave. Rather than enforced servitude, now he could look forward to the willing variety. Her brow wrinkled as she pondered how best to deliver this truth to him..

"You will be a member of the clan now.", she tried a slight smile. Everyone in the clan worked, contributed to the overall structure of their small society. Each part equal in importance to the others. They only thing not tolerated was idleness.

"You will be expected to find where best you fit in. You have already proven you can learn to hunt as we do, and that you have kinship with beasts, after a fashion..." She had to grudgingly admit it, the rancor did not like the Hapan prince. Not at first anyway. "Since you have faced the Selection, you could be trained as a warrior."

"Or perhaps the Mists will have you." Megaera thought about that. Their clan had none at present, but she had heard of others that did have a Nightsister, and Nightbrother Shaman pair.

[Tristan Alastor]

As a son of nobility, especially in a society dominated by women, there had been no part of Tristan's upbringing that had been up to him to decide or find out. His duty was to his family, to protecting them and the throne that his mother sat on, and that one day his sister would sit on. That was what was expected of the Hapan Prince, nothing more, nothing less. He would want for nothing, living a life of comfort, but he would never truly be respected for what he accomplished, or have the chance to make choices of his own.

The aches and pains that he felt were a reminder that he had, at last, taken his fate into his own hands. He had not emerged from the Selection a victor because he was Tristan Alastor, Crown Prince of the Hapan Consortium. It was because he had proved his worth – but more than that, because Meg had helped him to become more than he'd ever imagined he could be.

Hunter, warrior, walker in the Mists. Couldn't he be all of them, he wondered as he reached for another cup of water.

“Where do you see me?”

[Megaera]

Shifting her postition, Megaera helped Tristan lift his shoulders enough to drink, scooting behind him so that he could lean against her. She reasoned that she had to be more comfortable than the cold stone floor.


Where did she see him? Until recently she would have said Tristan was the most happy when he was off on the trail of some poor creature he was stalking. But that had been before he had become aware that he could wield magic as well as weapons. They had not had much time together between then and now..but she would bet he was not satisfied with what he had learned. He would want more. She understood that, she too was always seeking to acquire new skills. She would share whatever knowledge he wanted, Burning Mists tradition be damned. Things changed.


She reached across him for the cup to refill it. "You would excel at whichever you chose, but I do not think you should be limited by one choice. You should learn whatever you like."

[Tristan Alastor]

With some help, Tristan managed to lift himself up enough to settle back against Megaera, his head in her lap. Whatever the clan expected of him, Tristan would learn whatever Meg deigned to teach him. All of it would make him stronger. When the day came for him to leave Dathomir, he would be prepared for whatever the Galaxy could throw at him.

“I will learn all of it then,” he said, tilting his head back a fraction to look up at Meg with a small smile. “Though.. I must admit.. the power of the Mists intrigues me most of all.”

[Megaera]

Answering his smile with one of her own, Megaera's lips twitched hearing him confirm her suspcions for her. She had hoped he would say that and she looked forward to returning to the familiar Mists of her own land to begin. "Good."


"First you have to heal and grow stronger. How are you feeling?"

[Tristan Alastor]

There wasn't time to heal. Meg had said it herself: he had to find where he would fit into the clan. If he didn't go back to them now, didn't return and prove himself, wouldn't they grow suspicious? Wouldn't they think him a coward who'd run from the Crucible? Tristan took a deep breath then pushed both hands against the cold stone of the caves floor, trying to get himself up into a sitting position.

“Feeling ready...” He tensed, pain shooting up his leg like a jolt of electricity. “To go. Isn't.. pain the perfect motivator to become stronger?”

[Megaera]

It was all she could do not to squawk a protest at him. As it was Megaera made a small sound of distress as her hands wrapped around Tristan's shoulders to steady him, but even that small contact was sure to cause him further pain, or motivation. However he chose to look at it. He was right though, there were many triggers to empower their magic, and pain was one of them, but there were other ways as well. As varied as the individuals who tapped into such powers. As the pain moved through him, she could sense it..


Scooting to her feet, she caught him up against her. "Right now your motivation is to rest.", she confirmed. "I've only just reset the bone in your leg and I think I did a fine job.. but you mustn't go stumbling about. I don't think walking with a cane would suit a Nightbrother."


"But.. if you promise not to put any weight on it and lean on me, I'll take you somewhere nice.", she offered.

[Tristan Alastor]

With help, Tristan managed to get to his feet – though after another bittersweet taste of head-splitting pain, he gave in to Megaera's request and allowed her to shoulder some of his weight. The thought of a cane was wretched, but he could live with being supported for Meg, at least for a little while. He wrapped an arm around her, steadying himself.

“Somewhere nice?” he asked, arching an incredulous eyebrow, as if he couldn't imagine such a place existing on a planet as savage and unyielding as Dathomir.

[Megaera]

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Megaera couldn't help smile a little at the utter disbelief in Tristan's tone. He was right. So far nothing of her world had been exactly nice to him, not even her if she were going to be honest. It was her fault that he was here to begin with, and culminating in the sorry state he found himself in now. Not for the first time, she felt a stab of guilt, but it was done now. His trial was over. He was no longer a bound slave and she could show him places on Dathomir that would change his mind. Starting now.

It was a process, but step by step they worked together moving down a curving passage that sloped even as it twisted. The air became increasingly warm, and moist, steamy even. Insisting that they take it excruciatingly slow was probably selfish on Megaera's part, but she was not exactly suffering having Tristan to herself for a change, away from the judgmental eyes of her clan. The last few of their steps were made even more precarious by puddles that had accumulated on the natural floor. Nightsisters may have been using these springs for generations, but it was still a natural site, and the water would have it's own way. This was the deepest part of the spring that she had found in her explorations. Doubtless it was the location feeding the pool above, where she had been brought in before her own trial. Here, similar carved stone steps disappeared into darker, deeper water.

Even she had to admit it looked inviting. Her tired bones began to protest as soon as she saw it. "Horrible right?", she teased.

"There is nothing in the water that will harm you. Best thing for you, really. These waters were used by other witches, before our time here, as a healing spring."

[Tristan Alastor]

“Is there anything on this planet that is not.. steeped in mysticism?”

Everywhere they went, there was a tale to be told and the land was as much a character as any of the people who had walked on it. The Consortium paid homage only the Queen Mother; the Dathomiri revered everything around them. Tristan had not fully embraced their spiritually yet, in spite of his growing connection to the power that Meg said came from the Mists, but he couldn't deny that the spring did look inviting.

Tristan glanced down at himself. There was no need to disrobe: he'd gone into the Crucible dressed for battle, and awoken wearing little more than the tattered remains of his trousers. He looked up at Meg.

“Will you join me?”

[Megaera]

The answer to his question was no. She had never been anywhere on Dathomir that had not openly boasted some site deeply connected to the source of their power, or the remains or some past civilization. It was everywhere. The mists were in the air they breathed. In the droplets of water dripping down the slick walls, and in the torchlight that made the dampness sparkle. Explaining it was not enough though, he had to feel it.

Bringing Tristan to the edge of the stairs, keeping her arm secure around him she considered his question. Wondering if it were just that - a question, or if it were a request. Lifting her eyes to his, she nodded. "Maybe in a bit."

"I should go back and get some things first." The caves were not cold, but everything would feel cold when they emerged from that water. Relocating their things down to this room would make more sense than trying to move Tristan back up the way they had come.

"Don't go anywhere..", she teased.

[Tristan Alastor]

On stiff legs, Tristan managed to lower himself down onto the steps. “I couldn't.. even if I wanted to,” he called over his shoulder.

As he waited, he stared down into the steam rising from the springs and found himself unexpectedly reminded of home. A memory that he didn't even realise he'd forgotten: his younger self, stewing in one of the Fountain Palace's many bath tubs while his mothers improbably beautiful servants stood near at hand with trays full of every delicacy the Consortium had to offer.

[Megaera]

It took a little time, but Megaera was able to move the few things she had found of use to her with little difficulty. Nothing was heavy, just time consuming. It only required finding a dry location below. The worst of it was trying to find something to transport the cauldron of stew she had made earlier. It was not going to happen she realized. Making do, she filled two wooden bowls and made it her last trip, returning to Tristan.

Handing over one of the bowls to him, Megaera lowered herself to perch on the wall beside the stairs. Letting her bare legs dangle in the relaxing warmth. She let out an audible groan of pleasure. She had never once bathed in the kind of splendor Tristan was used to. Certainly no one had ever served her delicacies while she did so. It was not even in her nature to ponder such things. Luxuries like that were as foreign to the Nightsister as the power of the Mist was to Tristan.

[Tristan Alastor]

Tristan hadn't realised he was hungry until there was food in his hands. That was often how it was, in his time with the clan. There were always more pressing things to think about than hunger. He had learned from his mistakes, though, and resisted the urge to wolf everything down in a matter of seconds. As he ate he dipped his feet into the springs, their heat suffusing through his tired bones.

“Thank you.. for bringing me here... to Dathomir.”

He peered down into the steam for a moment longer before lifting his eyes in a tentative glance at Megaera.

“I don't think I've ever thanked you for that.”

[Megaera]

The truth was, the stew was probably awful. A handful of tubers and greens, and the remains of the salted lizard meat that had been left behind was all she'd had to work with. It lacked seasoning of any kind, and despite the fact that it had been simmering for many hours, it remained on the thin side. Yet, despite it's shortcomings, Megaera was so hungry she did not take the time to notice. Instead, she sipped at the salty broth and chewed the lizard meat, content to be eating at all.

"You did not have much reason to thank me, Tristan."

Setting the bowl aside, finished for now, Megaera leaned forward to swirl a hand through the steamy water. As she did so, she noted the black streaks running up her arm that had, at one point, been artfully applied lines and coils. It seemed so long ago now that it had been painted across her skin. Now it was reduced to a smeared mess that left her feeling a little filthy, even for a native witch.

Pushing with her hands, she arched forward until she slid off the wall, and up to her waist in the surrounding heat. It was glorious. Pushing the thin black robe off her shoulders, Megaera was uninhibited by the concept of modesty. Bare skin was not an uncommon sight to those of the Burning Mists clan, particularly given the lascivious nature of their Clan Mother. So it was nothing for Megaera to pull the robe up over her head, and leave it lying atop the wall she had just vacated, before surrendering herself entirely to the water, sinking under to rinse her hair.

[Tristan Alastor]

As different as their upbringings had been, Tristan shared some of the values that Megarea's clan had instilled in her. The Fountain Palace of Hapes was staffed by women and men of extreme beauty, whose bodies – albeit in private – would be displayed for the pleasure of the Queen and her close confidants. They were not wanton in their sexuality, but it was enough that Tristan did not blush at the sight of Meg's bare skin.

“If it were not for you, I would be still.. trapped in the illusion of Onderon.”

At best, he added, a silent footnote to himself. At worst...? That was not worth considering. He was here now, beyond their reach. With a wince, he eased himself down into the welcome heat of the springs waters.

“You've put yourself at odds with your clan for me.”

[Megaera]

Slicking her dripping hair back behind her ears, Megaera shrugged a bare shoulder. "The clan will only gain strength from your presence and besides..." Reaching for the nearby wall and resting her damp head on her arms, she continued. "..I did it with Matier's approval. I would love to see them voice their complaints with her."

Matier lacked any sort of subtle bone, and she did not appreciate being questioned on anything, ever. So, prodding her on why she had assisted her youngest daughter in the ensnarement of Prince Tristan would not be considered at all wise. Their rancor would eat well.

Facing the wall and still resting her head on her arms, Megeara let her legs float behind her a little. She thought about what his life would be like now, had he remained with his faithless princess. "I do not think that would have been your fate. You are too clever for that. You would have figured it out."

[Tristan Alastor]

Perhaps she was right. In time, he might have seen through the web of lies that clung to all of Iziz City, though what good it would have done him was another matter entirely. His mother had sent him to that place for a reason: because she did not care to hear from him, and would not have batted an eyelash to hear that he was unhappy with the arrangement she had fashioned for him. He smirked, realising that she was probably even more happy now, had she heard that he had gone missing from Onderon entirely.

There was more to it than that, though. His back against the edge of the pool, arms floating out at his sides, Tristan's smirk faded as his eyes wandered down the length of Megaera's back.

“But I would not have found you.”

[Megaera]

For a minute there, Megaera had shut her eyes in comfortable silence. She cracked one open at Tristan's words, and in the process caught him watching her. It was only fair, she supposed, to let him look as long as he desired. She had lost a great deal of time herself, content in just watching him. Opening both green eyes, Megaera lifted her head and had to agree with a nod. "That's true.."

With an impish grin she turned, sliding deeper into the water, disappearing for a moment only to emerge right beside Tristan. "Or maybe I would have just come after you anyway.", she laughed, wiping water out of her eyes.

[Tristan Alastor]

Still with his back flush against the rock wall, Tristan smiled as Meg appeared at his side. Had he ever seen her grin like that before? Perhaps when she was shoving him face down in the mud (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?22702-This-is-not-the-end-(Tristan)), but otherwise? Not often. He met her eyes, brows drawing together into a faint frown.

“There is more to this, to you.. helping me, than what use the clan can make of me.. isn't there?”

[Megaera]

Megaera's playful expression disappeared as she looked away. She was a daughter of Matier. She was a bold creature, not naturally given toward shyness but it seemed when it came to Tristan, she had little control over the state. In truth she was not really sure what to say to him now, but she had promised not to deceive him.

So, the truth.

Looking down at the water she forced the words out, she owed Tristan that much. "My siblings do not share my sire. They are the offspring of another of Matier's lovers. He came to the clan grounds once. He walked beside Matier as an equal, but the truth was that he could have easily over-powered her, had he chosen to."

"I had never seen such a thing..", she admitted.

"I told Matier that I desired such a mate for myself. Not a breeder to give me a child, but an equal. She took me into the woods to a spring like this one - but icy cold and... that was where it happened."

She lifted her eyes again, unsure how this knowledge would be received. "That was when I called you here.."

[Tristan Alastor]

“You would make me your... mate?” he asked, with a slight tilt of his head.

The term felt foreign to him, though perhaps it should not have. The men of the Consortium fulfilled a similar role in truth, though they would never be described as anything quite so indecent. Consorts, companions perhaps, but never mates.

He lifted his eyes from the surface of the springs, meeting Meg's reserved gaze.

“Would you leave Dathomir with me?”

[Megaera]

To say that Megaaera wanted Tristan for her mate seemed to somehow wrongly reduce what she felt to insignificance. At the time that was what she had naively told her mother what she wanted, but that had been before she had actually met Tristan. Watched him fight against their warriors. Ridden beside him on the hunt.

Been squashed face first into the mud when she had underestimated him...

Only now did she understand her mother's words to her that day. It was not a mate she had been seeking but 'a worthy vessel to serve as her eternal counterpart'. Those words conjured the memory of the event into her recollection. The urgency she had felt to find him. The unrelenting desire to bring him to her.

But leave Dathomir? Leave her Mist? Willingly go forward into a galaxy filled with the kind of people that had so abused her prince? Her brow furrowed as if she would deny him.

He had left a palace, a wife, and a child behind to come to her when she had called. Could she refuse him?

Lifting her hand from the water, she ran her fingers across his battered face. "I'll go anywhere with you, Tristan."

[Tristan Alastor]

It was a strange thing to have asked, when he had no plans to leave Dathomir soon – yet the question still lingered in his mind, almost always. He'd never thought to ask it before, but now that he was actually growing stronger – developing skills that once would have seemed impossible flights of fancy – it had occurred to Tristan that he had to put his new-found abilities to some use.

It was not so much a case of if he would leave Dathomir - but when. Just as he couldn't imagine never setting foot on his home-world or seeing his sisters smile again, it was hard to picture life without Meg. She had become a constant for him, a source of strength and more than that, happiness amid the often bleak brutality of the witch clan.

He turned into her touch, indulging in the rare moment of tenderness. You are married, he reminded himself. He had said vows declaring himself to another, but they were meaningless now, weren't they? Razielle would not lament the loss of her prince. She had not called out to him across the stars as Meg had done.

“Is there some.. ritual to this?” he asked, expecting that the Dathomiri would not pass up the chance for yet another ceremony of some kind.

[Megaera]

Megaera felt her pulse speed up a little excitedly. It was for the Nightsisters to claim their mates. Megaera had already done that in the very act of bringing Tristan to her. What she had been so very patiently waiting on was.. for him to chose her too. It had begun when he had elected to remain with her clan and face the trials.

Slowly, she nodded drifting around in front of him. "Yes.. Close your eyes."

In truth there was no such ceremony. Nightsisters had no need of words to bind a man to them, marriage was not a contract a witch would seek to enter. Yet, this did not stop her from creating one for Tristan. As his eyes closed, Megaera stepped forward and sat across his lap, mindful not to hurt his injured leg. Resting her bare bottom against his thighs, she leaned forward and gave in to the desire she had been carrying for so long, cupping his face in her hands and seizing his lips in their first kiss.

[Tristan Alastor]

The kiss came as a surprise. It shouldn't have and yet it did, enough that a beat passed before Tristan reacted. Perhaps he had been so consumed by every exhausting part of life on Dathomir that it hadn't occurred to him that he could experience anything so tender here. Ignoring the nagging of aches and pains, he wrapped his arms around Meg and pulled her body against his, suddenly acutely aware of how long it had been since he had felt desire - or been desired for that matter.

[Megaera]

When Tristan's arms closed around her, Megaeara smiled against his lips, but still continued kissing him as she had longed to do for so long. Sliding forward she straddled his hips, resting her knees on either side of him against submerged stone as she rose up. Her fingers sifted through his dark hair, from his scalp downward while she continued to rain kisses across his face.

Bindings.. she thought, should have some sort of vow accompanying them. Pulling her mouth from his, Megaera did not stop to think about what she would vow. She just spoke what was inside her.

"I have no kingdom. No palace. No wealth.", she began, shaking her head at the complete lack of material worth she possessed, but the wealth of Dathomir was not in gold or technology.

"I have only myself, but you can have all of me Tristan.. and I will love you.", she promised.