Rea Family/Dancer/Long Live The Queen

1 His old man nap turned into an old man sleep, as none of his retainers wanted the wrath when waking the Duke. Some time during the night, he blinked awake and stretched, lazily eyeballing the room. Mersault still lay unconscious, breathing lightly, each arm glinting in the moonlight from heavy shackles fastened to the bed frame. None of his retainers or guards were around, but someone had thrown a blanket over Dancer. The room was completely at peace, the only sounds breaking the night the two mens' breathing, and some crickets outside.

Calm, peace. Words that had held little meaning to him for some years. But now, now he'd grown to like the calmness, the serine mountains covered in snow. It was rare he got to just sit - His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at Mersault. The boy would be fine of course, but Dancer wanted to be there when he woke. It was about time they had a little heart to heart. Careful not to make any noise, he made his way from the room, the latch softly clicking behind him.

The kitchens weren't far, the smell of rising bread filling the hallway for some distance. It was a matter of moments for Dancer to slip in and out, his prize a handful of goat jerky. He made his way back to the infirmary, about to lift the latch, when a runner clattered down the hallway, breaking the silence he had been enjoying so. Dancer glared at the man, and gave him a low growl,

"This had better be important." 2

Less then fifteen minutes later, Dancer had his men on their feet, Jax in the yard, and several missives sent to all corners of the realm. The moon was bright, everything not lit by torchlight was made of hard edges, and every shadow black as pitch. At least he had slept in his travelling clothes.

Anyte.

"Jax! The fleetest shape you have."

The "pony" looked at him, and blinked. Dancer yelled, startling the other men, and ponys, in the yard.

"I do not care what that Akkan-cursed Judge has to say! Now, Jax!"

By Akkan, if that infil has killed her......

The 'pony' bowed, and the air around him shimmered. A blink later, and a massive hellhound stood in the yard, its smashed, gargoyle-like face coming to above Dancer's shoulder. Claws like a grizzly bear dug into the dirt, and the monster's midnight coat rippled with muscle. Massive canines hung out of its mouth, sharp points dripping with drool. Its ears pointed straight up, and its deep purple eyes watched Dancer carefully. Dancer paid no heed to the beast, throwing the nearby tack on Jax's back and hastily buckling the various straps. He jumped into the saddle, tying off his pack to the horn, before looking out at his men. They were still in half dress, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Several were fumbling with buckles and saddles on the little ponys, slowly putting everything together. They wouldn't be able to keep up with Jax on those ponys anyway. Dancer growled, barking orders to them.

"Catch up with me in the city, and Jormorosh help you if you tarry!"

As Dancer violently pulled Jax around, his master-of-the-house ran from the building. "Duke, Sir!"

Dancer glared, and roared at the man, all semblance of politeness gone.

"WHAT!"

The man stopped short, paling. "Baron Duke Sir, Mersault is awake. I just thought -"

"Enough!" Dancer took a deep breath, trying his best to level his voice.

"Clean him up, and send him with the men. I'll deal with him in Unger. Don't lose him, or I will personally see you placed in one of my sacrifice circles."

With another violent yank, Jax bounded into the night, Dancer perched on his back.

Anyte.

3

That same night Jax and Dancer made it to the city. Jax's claws and thick muscles had proven more then a match for the mountainous terrain, and the early morning light was just beginning to lighten the sky as Jax bounded up to the city gates of Unger. They were closed, but a commanding roar from the Duke, and a low growl from the hellhound, and the guards' found themselves dropping the gate, half awake, and slightly more sober. None of the locals were in the streets at this early hour, while the city was locked down, and Jax raced unimpeded to the old palace Anyte called home. Palace gates opened for them, easier then the city. The Matrons had seen the Duke and his hound before, although none of them remembered Jax ever looking so ugly. The pair rode through the palace itself, passing the throne with its grisly trophy, a new dark stain decorating the seat, and Dancer only jumped off the hound at Anyte's bedroom door. Allova was there, and another woman he did not recognize, but a simple nod from a grim-faced Allova, and he was let in the door.

No.

The smell hit him first, the thick stench of iron. Of death. Anyte lay in her bed, pale, the only sign of life a slight gargle and movement of the thin sheet that covered her. Even her usually fiery hair seemed to have lost its shine, brushed out unnaturally around her head.

Anyte.

As if a puppet, Dancer walked to the bed, carefully reaching out for the sheet. As he pulled it back, he could feel the bile rising in his throat, and the tears pricking at his eyes. Thick bandages covered her chest, large spots of red showing exactly where the blood was leaking slowly to the surface. How many times had she been stabbed?

No.

No.

No.

4

He clenched his fists around the sheet, screwing his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. Why? Why hadn't he been here? Why hadn't he gone for the infil's throat in Jed? Why hadn't the guards stopped this? Why? Why? Why? The word kept tumbling around in his head, as he stood above his dying love, tears streaming down his face. Anger rose inside of him, anger at the infil, the guards, and most of all, at himself. He'd had that infil, and he'd left it to the militia, instead of going after her himself. A coward, hiding in his fortress, too afraid to face the axe should he lose a one on one confrontation. This was his fault, and his fault alone. He opened his eyes, staring through the tears down at the blood soaked bandages. A ripping brought him down to his hands, still clenched around the sheet, fibers slowly separating from the pull between his white-knuckled fists. Slowly he released his hands, letting the sheet flutter to the floor.

No. It would not end this way. <underline>She</underline> would not end this way.

His eyes moved to her face, a lock of her red hair hanging low. Carefully, he brushed it aside, and leaned down to her ear. What once she told him, now he told her.

"Anyte. You cannot die." He whispered into her ear, "Because I need you as much as you need me." He rose, new purpose coloring his words, "You will not die, not as long as I hold breath. In sickness, and in health, My Love."

Outside the sickroom, Dancer barked orders, one after the other. "Move her, carefully, to the center of the throne room. I need a dozen slaves, extra torches, and some large buckets." His eyes flicked to Allova. "Do you remember, child?" The Matron nodded her head. She'd seen the last time the cultist needed for slaves. Dancer continued, "After everything is in place, I need total lock down of the palace. No one in or out, and a heavy guard around the throne room. Interruptions could be deadly for all involved."

Whatever it takes.