D'neor fumed silently.  Christalla.  Never said a damn thing about
parties, much less getting to them on time.  No longer even remotely near
hungry, D'neor slammed the plate down on the nearest table and stalked off
back out onto the Green.

        A long, sinuous shape detached itself from the darkness and slunk
after him, reflected moonlight sheening off of bronzed skin.  <<Boiling
blood,>> she thought at him.  <<Moonlight caught and tossed back, shattered
on sharp waves of blood.>>

        D'neor lifted an eyebrow.  "Excuse me?  What's that supposed to mean?"

        'Vari's eyes glimmered softly in the dim light.  <<Storms over the
forest, dark clouds hanging heavily over the treetops.  Rain, thunder,
water from the heavens beating down on two trees, tall and straight and
strong at the edge of the forest.  Lightning crashing down; a celestial
hammer smashing the ground between the pair, splitting them apart and
tossing them both to the earth.>>

        D'neor shook his head and continued across the snowy grass.  "Long
speech for you, 'Vari.  Took some time working on that one, didn't you?"

        The dark queen hissed and flowed across her rider's path, twitching
her tail angrily.

        Frowning, D'neor stopped short and glared back at her for a moment
before moving on again.  "Hey!  Damnit!" he cursed as he went crashing to
the ground.  "That *hurt,* or didn't you realize that humans are fragile?
Gods above, 'Vari, get the hell off of me!  Damnit!"

        Shatavari gazed down at him silently, the moonlight shining coldly
in her huge dark eyes.  Bit by bit, an image materialized in his mind; the
entrance to the Dining Hall, the warm light spilling through the door onto
the trampled snow outside.  A tall, stocky figure walked out of the shadows
and walked into the light, dissappearing through the doorway; himself.

        D'neor coughed and shook his head.  "I don't think so.  There's no
reason for me to be there, I don't have any particular want to be at that
damn party anyway.  Get off."  He paused, and fixed the dragon with a sharp
glare.  "I said, get OFF!  You're acting stupid, 'Vari, dumb.  Like cows,
you understand!  Like a goddamn cow!  Moo!"

        'Vari tensed, her curving talons carving ruts into the packed snow.
With an almost sub-sonic hiss, she glared at her prisoner as he, in turn,
glanced nervously at the approaching claws, each one almost as long as his
own arm.  Suddenly, she dissappeared, taking wing as a fountain of liquid
bronze.

        Chest heaving, D'neor stood up slowly and brushed the snow off his
clothes, glancing around surreptitiously at the almost-deserted edge of the
Green and the empty cloudy sky above.  Not even the barest shimmer of a
metallic hide showed as he made his way home--and that was a good thing.

        But his mother's house, D'neor noticed, was silent and dark, and
that didn't bode well.  There was just one single light, a tiny flame
trying its hardest to keep alive in a spreading pool of wax.  With a shrug,
he reached over and pressed the wick down into the pool, dropping the room
into the dark again.  Damn fool woman.

        <<Lightning>> crashed inside his head.  <<Cow tails!>> she howled
through the storm.  <<Cow-D`neor, standing stupid chewing grass.  Standing
dumb, holding hands over ears at Shatavari!>>  Somewhere, far off, he
thought he heard her scream.  <<Lightning>> crashed down again, a repeating
blast of <<lightning>> and <<thunder>> that left him almost senseless again
upon his knees.

        "Damnit," he whispered, holding his head in his hands.  "Can't you
just quit?  If I go back to the damn party will you leave me the hell
alone?"

        The storm faded into nothingness, leaving only the lingering smell
of burnt air and lightning hanging in his head.

*****

        There, at the door, she was there.  Mis mother--with M'tan.
"Ma-MA!" he shouted, breaking into a fast walk towards them.  Catching up,
he grabbed his mother by the arm and pulled her away from the door.

        "Don't you dare grab me like that, young man!" Aylin flared.

        D'neor dropped her arm immediately.  "Sorry, Mama.  But what do you
think you're *doing* bring him??"  He gestured to M'tan, who was looking on
with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching silently.  He was now
carrying the air of a martyr with him, which both disturbed and infuriated
D'neor.  "Don't you know what a house arrest is?"

        Aylin fixed her youngest son with a withering look.  "He's under my
custody.  I'm supposed to watch him, and nobody is going to keep me away
from this party.  I'll just have to watch him here.  If anyone has a
problem, they can talk to me about it."

        "*I* have a problem with it!"

        She patted his arm.  "I know you do, dear.  Come on, M'tan." M'tan
nodded without speaking.  Aylin nodded dismissively to D'neor and walked
past him into the Great Hall.  M'tan followed.

        D'neor was left swearing to himself under the first stars to
twinkle in the fresh night sky.  "...a Queenrider with all this power, and
I *still* can't make her listen!"

        There was no answer.  Shrugging in frustration, he followed them
into the Great Hall. *Somebody* had to keep an eye on M'tan.

        D`neor hung back a few steps as his mother breezed into the Hall
with M'tan at her heels.  As much as he had to keep watch over the man, he
had no intention of pretending closeness between them.  If only blood
shared could be scrubbed away.

        The crowd parted before M'tan as he walked away from Aylin.  For
the briefest of moments, D'neor almost felt sorry for his eldest and only
brother--but then the memory of the dead Al'dairan came strolling back to
grin and wave and flaunt the bloodless wound in his throat.

        'Look here, little brother,' the ghost said.  'I swear, it doesn't
hurt anymore.  What hurts is M'tan--ever wonder how long he knew?  Ever
wonder why he didn't bother to tell you?  Personally, I think it was pretty
shitty of him.  You think so too?  I think you do.' The ghost scanned the
room, face lighting up as he spotted Aylin dancing with Kershod.  'I've got
to visit Mother before I take off, little brother.  We'll talk later.
Riders' honor.'  With a jaunty grin and a wave, the ghost shoved his hands
in his pockets and sauntered off, vanishing into the crowd.

        D'neor blinked and shook his head, trying to clear out the haze
left by the ghost's passing.  Still stunned, he snatched a cupful of coffee
from a nearby table and drained it in one gulp, then held it out for more.
It had to have been something he ate.  Must have been.

*****

        <Tehdahkh.>

        The slender bronze dragon shifted restlessly on the rock face,
flicking her tail against the stone shelf.  Silently, she turned one
sparkling eye to her companion and let the silence speak for her.

        <It is a game,> the large grey explained, adding a picture of
M'tan's game board where it lay on the table in Aleta and M'tan's old
apartment.  <One that Humans play--my Human, in particular.  Almiron taught
him.>  With a draconic shrug, he lay down and gazed out over the Warren
below.

        'Vari twitched.  <<Islands on the sea,>> she imaged, letting that
picture hang in the air between them for a while.  Then, she thought of the
<<islands melting>> and reforming into a pair of <<man-shapes.  M'tan and
D'neor>>

        Zareth thought a moment.  <Very much so,> he agreed.  <It hurts him
to be alone,> he sighed heavily.  <It hurts me.>

        Shatavari had no answer.  Instead, she rose silently and slipped
over the edge of the cliff, to catch a rising wind and spiral out over the
far-off lights of the Warren.

*****

        The threat of <<lightning>> loomed behind the summons.  D'neor was
standing against the wall with his glass, watching M'tan fiddle idly with
the abandoned chess pieces, when he felt 'Vari's mental tug.  It was better
not to piss her off, he decided, so he left his post for the Green where he
felt her waiting.

        She was nowhere in sight when he came outside.  Instead, Aleta came
out of the darkness to greet him.

        D'neor snorted.  "Powerful sending there, Aleta.  Been talking to
that lunatic queen?" he drawled sarcastically.

        She harrumphed and shook her head.  "That's not incredibly funny,
you know.  I didn't know where you were, so I had Melianth ask Shatavari.
I didn't think she'd actually call you out here."

        "Not a normal thing, to hear the words 'Shatavari' and 'think' in
the same sentence," he snorted, waving a hand dismissively.

        "One could say the same thing about you," she shot back, slightly
aghast at his rudeness.  "Look, I don't want to trade insults with you
tonight, D'neor--I just need to ask you a favor."

        He shrugged.  "Sorry.  My dragon and my brother have conspired to
put me in one of the most awful, pissy moods I've even been in.  What do
you need?"

        Aleta paused for a moment, then held out M'tan's tehdahkh board and
pieces.  "I need you to give these to him, please."

        D'neor blinked.  "Give it to him?  Why?"

        She shook her head, and held out the board.  "Because I can't.
Please, D'neor?"

        Without thinking, he reached out and took the board from her hand.
"Sure."

*****

        Someone flashed by, nearly knocking D'neor over in their haste to
leave the room.  Kyven?  Was he sick?  Shrugging, D'neor turned back to
face the crowd--and saw.  K'wen, dancing with a woman held firmly in his
arms.  Kyven's woman.

        A splash of red shot by, in the same direction Kyven had taken.
Aleta?  Certainly was.

        But if K'wen was dancing with--and, Gods, kissing--Reetsada, then
that meant he'd have dropped G'far like a hot rock.  And G'far, being G'far
and therefore prone to fits of snippery and extreme flippancy, would almost
certainly be with someone else . . . covertly, D'neor looked around, not
seeing hide nor hair of his most recent lover.

        He shrugged.  Let it be gone with him, the little wretch.  Ignore
the fact that it was probably his own fault as much as it was K'wen's sheer
sliminess and, no doubt, a deep-seated resentment of something that he,
D'neor had had, and that K'wen would never even begin to understand-- the
man was such a bastard, such an insensitive and selfish jerk that he'd
actively tried to destroy it.  And succeeded.

        Maybe he should go after Kyven, try to lend the poor guy an
understanding shoulder from a mutual victim of the slime's.  What was it
Evelle had said, that the duty of a Warrenlady--or Warrenlord--was to look
after the well-being of the Warren?  Certainly the well-being of the
Warren's head healer was doubly important.

        But then again, Christalla'd be ticked if he left the damn party.
But then again, now that M'tan and Aylin had gone back home, there wasn't
much left that interested him anymore.  Add to that the fact that he was
just itching to pound K'wen's slimy smiling face into the stone--and *that*
would certainly tick off Christalla.

        After a brief moment of consideration, D'neor chose the lesser of
the two evils, and went to lend his support and his liquor cabinet to
Kyven.

*****
NRPG: Ok, I'm really done now!  I think I've fixed all the glaring errors .
. . like I mentioned to Lyn that I'd taken 'She' to mean 'Vari . . . .
don't ask me how even a slender dragon could have reached in and gotten
that damn board , , , ,

--mia

***********************************************
Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die
I want to go to Heaven, I just don't wanna go tonight
Fill my boots all up with sand, shove a stiff drink in my hand
And prop me up beside the jukebox when I die.

seraph@wam.umd.edu
http://www.wam.umd.edu/~seraph/