The Once and Future Prince

Continued from In the Arms of Sleep...

Come to me.

To Dathomir.

Find me.

The shuttle was stolen. It was the first crime the Crown Prince of Hapes had ever committed; he didn't regret it in the slightest. If he felt guilty for anything, it was leaving his wife and their unborn child - but he had not forsaken them entirely. He would return to Onderon soon enough, once he had dealt with her.

She was the reason he had left Iziz in the first place. She was the reason he could barely sleep at night, without being dragged into some feverish dream that left him with a racing heart and brow soaked in sweat. At first he had been curious exactly who she was, why he kept seeing her, but soon enough curiousity faded to anger as he found she haunted his every thought, voice whispering into his unconscious mind with suggestion and dark promise.

With time, he had thought, she would leave him, that his time spent with the Princess Razielle would drown out any other woman from his mind, but it had not. It had been months since she had first spoken to him, and there was no end in sight. He had to find her and put a stop to it, somehow. Put an end to her...

Matier - matriarch ruler of the Burning Mists clan, she had always been something of a femme fatale. Literally. She had a trophy collection of children, by which to remember the lovers she used, then discarded, most permanently. Only Asherah's father remained alive, and only because he rivaled Matier in strength. Of Matier's great brood, each offspring had been blessed with his or her own unique talents to offer their mother's clan. Megaera had always been the one adept with both foresight, and a natural ability to master the more arcane of the clan's arts.

It was because she was normally so skilled in her attempts, that her disappointment with this last venture was so great. It had been so important of an undertaking, and she had felt so certain that she had performed the rites with the necessary level of desire and will!

Why then had she failed so horribly?

In the early morning light, the Nightsister left her humble dwelling, making her way to the paddocks where the mounts reserved for Matier, and her most favored daughters, were kept always at the ready. The beasts were tamed only by the magic of the clan, and by the will of their ruler. The rancor were kept not only as mounted transportation, but also as measure of enforcement. If her will was questioned, her law broken, Matier, or her warrior daughter Asherah, would think nothing of having their pets devour the foolish trespasser. After all, they were flesh eating animals. No sense for them to go hungry when their was fresh and useless meat at the ready..

Megaera's own mount was called Erishkigal, and it was to her that she made her way. The great beast turned, her massive face lowered so that Megaera could clearly see the remains of bone lodged between the teeth. She was given a wet slobbering sniff, before a giant clawed hand was lowered before her.

"You are eager too, love?", she asked in Dathomiri, even asked was lifted up to her seat. She gave the rancor's head a pet, and with The Mists to guide both her senses, and her connection to the beast beneath her, they navigated their path - away from Aurilia.

Megaera needed time alone to deal with her sadness.

For he had not come..

Though his first attempts at riding the wild beasts of Onderon had proved disastrous, Tristan Alastor had learned from his mistakes. Whilst he had arrived in Iziz ignorant to many things, he was not an idiot and with many empty hours at his disposal, he had taken to spending much of his time in the wilds.

It had been made plain to him that he was not well liked about the royal court and the riders too had resented his presence, but he was – if nothing else – tenacious and unwilling to bow before scorn. Over the months they had taught him not only to ride, but to tame beasts and whilst the skill had not come easily, his persistence had paid off.

The drexl he'd brought to Dathomir had damaged wings, making flight an impossibility for the time being, but it could run. He lashed reigns to it and with a cry drove it out of the ships exit ramp and into the long, dark grasses of Dathomir. The beast gave a snarl and rolled its head back as it scented the air, tasting the many new and interesting flavors in the air. Tristan, too, was expanding his awareness, whether he realized it or not...

The ride took her well beyond the borders of the walled, and well fortified city of Aurilia. Guarded by not only the heathen, and mostly barbaric women of the Burning Mists clan, but by the Mists themselves.

A deep fog, which only those who were force-sensitive had any hope of penetrating, let alone navigating their way safely through blanketed the foothills and forests around their settlement. Originally the Mists had been created by older members of the clan, but over the long years that it had served as a defense, it had grown into a sentient will of it's own, either guiding those who became lost in it's embrace to their safety, or to their peril. Unwelcome visitors found themselves following beckoning voices, whispers and visions, straight to their doom. Or they simply became disoriented and wandered until either the elements, starvation or the unmerciful flora and fauna of Dathomir claimed them.

Having grown up in this environment, Megaera found herself in familiar terrain, exploding out of the wooded hills into a valley. Wild rancor herds hunted this place, but none seemed present at the time, which explained the tracks through the deep grass. Dathomiri boars, a large group of them. Megeara smiled a bit, if Asherah, or Arikos found this pack, they'd be having a major roast later..

For now, she left them alone. She slowed Erishkigal's pace, leaning forward onto the saddle, arms folded, releasing a deep sigh.

Perhaps the time had just not been right. Maybe he was not the one she was looking for. Closing her eyes, she recalled his face, in detail.

She'd been so sure..

Megaera had attempted to reach him, stretching out within the increasingly familiar connection to the one she considered C'nros Qu'ess, their Prince.. her Prince. Just thinking about it made him seem like he was close, even though she knew it couldn't be so..

Instinct. It was not a thing he had known, before arriving upon Onderon – and yet now it had become the engine which drove him. Though he knew nothing of the planet on which he found himself, he took to exploring it like a pioneer, as if all the land was his to see and know and claim as his own.

Yet... there was no denying that there was one feature of the land which he sought to see, and to know, and perhaps even to claim, above others. As the drexl galloped out across the ranged and rugged land, he felt her calling to him more keenly then ever before, as though her hands were guiding the reigns he grasped.

After a time, the drexl reared to a halt, nostrils flared and wings straining, wishing to leap into the flight it had been denied. Ahead in the valley, there was another beast – with another rider. The drexl tossed it's head, breath misting in the air as it snorted and snarled.

“Who goes there?”

Surely her tortured heart had conjured the sound of his voice to ease her longing. It was not possible that the rider before her, mounted on what would have been a beautiful beast were it not so damaged and diminished, could be the very thing that Megaera had hoped most to lay her eyes upon.

For a moment, she did not trust her own senses, thinking that the Mists so close by had decided to have pity on her soul and lead her to her death with the ultimate bait.. Him.

Tristan..

There was no mistaking the sound of irritation in his voice. He'd been lead across the galaxy to unfamiliar lands, probably not even really knowing why. For him she was only the stuff of dreams. He may not even remember her face in detail, or the things she had told him, but still.. he had followed her call. He had come to her.

Almost defiantly, she pulled the deep green cover of her hood away from her face, baring her pale blond locks to the light of the sun, lifting her face for his inspection, watching closely, praying she saw recognition there..

The drexl shifted restlessly beneath Tristan, its claws testing the damp earth, flexing in and out of the soil. It was her, there was no doubt about it. The reigns of the beast wrapped around his left forearm, he threw his right hand into the air provocatively.

“Here I am!” he called out, the anger in his voice stirring the beast beneath him into more fitful movement as it reared onto its hind legs. There was something like cruel mocking in his tone, though it was directed just as much at himself, for the folly of this journey, as at the woman in the mist ahead. “Here, because you demanded it so tirelessly. Now will you give me peace?!”

The defiant tilt of her chin did not lower at all, though Megaera did folds her arms before her in a displeased manner, leaning forward onto the shoulders of her rancor. It looked up at her, as if they were sharing some silent telepathic conversation about the pair before them, indeed they were.

Megaera gave Erishkigal's neck a hard swat, and immediately the beast bowed low to the ground. The Nightsister swung her booted legs over the side of the saddle and leaped the remaining distance to the ground, reigns still in hand.

Only then did she speak, and not to Tristan, yet..

"Zexen'uma ghil.", she told her mount, her voice exactly the same as it had been in his dreams.

She looked toward the man and beast now, smiled in what could only be described as a mischievous manner, and continued speaking in friendly terms to the massive monster she rode.

"Kyorl er'griff, xo'al ulu naut jivviim ukt fuer'yon...", she laughed, and turned with one last look to Tristan, she arched a brow, her lips teased him with a grin, and then she covered her hair once more with her hood and started walking away, toward the mist.

She called back to him over her shoulder.

"Nau gre'as'anto. C'nros Qu'ess." The title was no doubt irritatingly familiar and intimate for him to hear, tossed so blatantly at him, in challenge.

While she laughed and smiled, lips shaping unfamiliar words, Tristan could only watch with a rising temper. The leather cord of his mounts reigns had become so tightly wound around his fist that all blood had fled from his knuckles. If he was angry at anything, it was himself, for leaving Onderon on a whim, for giving in to such folly – and yet soon enough he was swinging himself down from the drexl's saddle, drawn after the hooded figure fast fading into the mists ahead.

C'nros Qu'ess – that was what she'd called him. Those words held a strong connection to his dreams, as with every visitation she would whisper them to him, their sound somehow striking a chord inside of the young Prince that he could not explain. “What does it mean?” he called after her, quickening his pace some as he followed in her footsteps, his right hand falling instinctively to the pommel of the dueling sword scabbarded at his hip.

Stepping only a few paces into the treeline, Megaera slowed, turning so that both the hem of her cloak, and the chill of blue tinged mist swirled around her body from the knees down. She watched him approach, and did not make any move to outdistance him, rather she seemed inclined to show him something. A hand lifted slowly from her side, her fingers wiggled playfully as the slid through the filtered sunlight from the sky above through shade of the trees. They came to rest, along with the flat of her palm against the tree itself, and whispered to Tristan. "Lorugen.."

Bending at the waist, she lifted a handful of moist earth from the ground at her feet, her arms disappearing into the mist as she did so. "Har'dro..", she pronounced, spilling the contents back to the ground.

Then her fingertips trailed through the mists themselves, which seemed to swirl ever closer around her, as if they found her particularly pleasing.. "Horreuren..", she told him.

Where she stood, she held her arms out at her side and turned in a slow circle, gesturing around to the area at large. "Rilbol!", she called out to no one in particular.

She pointed at him, taking a step closer. "Dossta...", and then gestured to herself, with a sensual smile. "Usst.."

Only a step from him now she lifted her other hand from her side, and smiled angelically. "Udosst...", then blew the contents of her hand straight into his eyes, a heavy dose of a sleeping potion she created herself, always carried on her person, in a pouch tied to her waist. Absorbed into his body instantly, he would be deep asleep in seconds.

Whatever message she was trying to convey, it was falling on deaf ears. The language she spoke was so unfamiliar, so different from either Hapan or Basic, that it might as well have been nonsense. There had been a great feeling of control when he had chosen to leave Onderon, to pursue something that was his own choosing, but now all he felt was frustrated and helpless.

About to seize hold of her, in an attempt to put some end to her mockery, Tristan's vision was suddenly full of a pale dust. He blinked, screwing his eyes tightly shut, but it was no use. Even Hapan poise and grace wasn't enough to make Tristan's collapse look dignified. He swayed and after a moment his knees gave way beneath him, sending the Prince slumping backwards – his last sight that of her smiling down at him.

When he woke from his unnatural sleep, it was an yet another unfamiliar place.

She hadn't taken him home. Not yet. Rather, Megaera along with the help of Erishkigal, had taken Tristan deeper into the Dathomiri jungle, away from Aurilia. The Nightsisters of the Burning Mists Clan had outposts at intervals that surrounded their walled settlement, this was merely one of them.

A simple hut, with a hearth along one wall, by which she sat. It had large, open windows through which, even from the floor where Tristan lay, he would be able to see his own mount, which had been brought along, tethered nearby. Megaera had ridden the unusual winged creature, easily gaining it's trust and learning how to communicate with it. It was a proud, if arrogant beast.. not unlike it's master.

She glanced over to him, to find him awake and looking at her. She smiled at him, nodding to his side where his weapon lay within his easy reach. "Hello...", she said softly.

"I'm sorry I had to put you to sleep so suddenly. You seemed quite agitated that you could not understand me. So I gave you our words..", she explained.

"You can now speak fluent Dathomiri, Witch Prince...", at the familiar name that she always called him, her lashes veiled her eyes, a slight blush stealing over her smooth cheeks. She wondered what else he would now understand of the things she had told him in her own tongue, while in his thoughts and dreams..

Within seconds of waking, Tristan's hand found the hilt of his sword and as he scrambled to one knee he swung the tip of the blade to point level at the woman sitting before him. For an instant his eyes darted away from her to the hut he found himself in, the flames and shadows dancing on the walls only deppening his disorientation - but it was only moments before his attention was on her again.

“What sorcery is this?!”

It was obvious that she was disappointed by his actions. Demanding answers was understandable, considering the distance he had traveled to find her, but to threaten her with a sword? Megaera frowned, eying the blade as it was leveled at her. Her eyes scanned the length, then rose to meet his and bluntly answer his question.

"That of the Sisters of the Burning Mists." Though unarmed, Megaera was far from helpless.

"Witches of great and terrible power.", she smiled up at him, then asked, "Are you going to stab me, Tristan?"

There was something defiant and bold in her smile, that made some of his confidence falter. The sword wavered for an instant before Tristan forced his arms to remain rigid, his aim true.

“Witch Prince.. C'nros Qu'ess. You called me what. Why?”

"Because, my lord..", she began, her mischievous grin increasing in naughty splendor. "That is who I was searching for.. and I found you."

"With time and training, that is who you are destined to become. You will have a clan of witches to serve you, to bow before you..", she lowered her head, in demonstration.

"Or am I quite mistaken? Do you feel nothing of this to be true?", she asked him. His answer was very important to her.

Destiny... just the mention of the word made Tristan tense, his lips pursing together tightly as he nudged the tip of the sword further forward. From birth, he had been plagued by that damn notion of destiny. It was the destiny of the Alastor family to rule the Hapes Consortium; it was his sister's destiny to reign as Queen; it was Tristan's destiny to be a dutiful brother. Even his wife – here, he spared a brief thought for Razielle who seemed so distant now – seemed preoccupied with the fates.

And yet... he could not deny that she had piqued his curiousity.

“Training? Training in what, precisely?”

Unconcerned with the sword leveled at her chest, Megaera moved forward slowly, her eyes shown pride at the subject. "Command over the minds of men and beasts alike, over the very elements! Power enough to spirit your soul across the galaxy to find your own answers, should you be bold enough to seek them.", she smiled at the last, for that was exactly the skill she had used to find him, the one she had sought...

Stepping forward until the point of the sword brushed the pale skin above the bodice of her gown, she stopped, unafraid. "It is within you to be more than a pawn, my lord. I seek only to show you the way.."

Unused to being questioned, or threatened by men, it spoke volumes about Megaera's trust in this man to allow him to treat her thus. She was rather impressed with her own restraint. Anyone else would have made a fine lunch for Erishkigal by now..

"I'll never decieve you, Tristan..", her hand rose to the sword between them, her palm sliding down the length, slicing a thin line of blood across her palm. "I swear it.."