SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!!

Ah don't own them, etc!! Yadda, yadda, yadda!

Rated PG-17 for some m/m concepts. Nothing graphic a'tall:):) Once again, folks this is an Elseworlds! A Legion-Of Super-Heroes Elseworlds! It borrows quite heavily from actual history and, no doubt, a good many books, films and other such entertainments, unknown to moi!:):)

Thanks to moi's betas 'rith, Syl, DarkMark, TigerM and KJ! Like 'rith says ... sometimes y'all just have to quit fiddlin' and Post that sucker:):) Thanks to Robert A. Heinlein for the use of his word, "frimp":):) Y'all will NOT find it in y'alls Funk And Wagnall's, rest assured!

Fairy Tale

An Elseworlds Tale of the Legion of Super-Heroes
by Dannell Lites

"Majesty?" The grating voice of her Earl Marshal, Tasmia Mallor noted, was not at all awestruck or even particularly respectful. With a sigh, she tried to ignore it.

"Tasmia," it persisted, even more disapproving than before if that were possible, "get up, lazybones. Your subjects await."

"Frimp my subjects," she muttered tartly. But her dark eyes opened and she stirred in the sumptuous bed. Judging by Jo's almost gloating smile, he had irritating news for her, she suspected. An all too common thing in these uncertain times.

"Lyddea would like to see you," grinned Nah, confirming his Queen's worst suspicions. Tasmia bit back a colorful oath, gritting her teeth. She settled for a sigh to register her unhappiness.

"And what does Lyddie want to see me about?" To her practiced eye Nah's shrug was a bit too merry. He was enjoying himself, hugely.

"No idea. She refused to say. Another complaint against Lyrissa would be my best guess. Is it ever anything else? You know, Tasmia, I confess I don't much like your children. Any of them. For sisters, the Princess Lyrissa and the Princess Lydea don't get along at all." The look of vexation she shot her Earl Marshall might have stunned a dinobeast at a hundred paces.

"Did you expect them to, Jo? They hardly know each other. And they are rivals for my throne, after all. Lyrissa knows very well which of them I intend to inherit the Kingdom. So does Lyddea." Jo Nah kept his face expressionless. When Tasmia didn't even bother to hide her ire beneath politeness, his brow wrinkled, but he did not speak.

Lyddea, youngest child of Tasmia Mallor, hereditary Queen of Talok VIII, was a sore point between the two old friends not likely to be resolved any time soon. Of the three living children that Tasmia Mallor had borne, Lyddea was the most troublesome; even her mother must admit that. That Tasmia preferred the clinging, fawning Lyddea over her elder sister Lyrissa, rankled the loyal Earl Marshal and he was not shy about letting Tasmia know it.

"No," the small woman reflected with amusement, "no one ever accused Jo of being shy."

"Now, now," returned the stern voice of the man in question. "Temper, temper, my liege lady. The Kingdom needs you, Your Grace." Groaning, Tasmia rose, the deep blue of her skin glowing in the light of the crackling fire warming the large, chill room. Her stoutly built Earl Marshal handed her a robe, smiling.

"The Kingdom," Tasmia reminded him sarcastically, "is a total mess. As if you didn't know."

"Yes," Nah acknowledged pointedly, "I do know the Kingdom's a frimping mess." He helped her slip one slender arm into the robe, brushing aside her long midnight dark hair. Even the first signs of gray lurking there in the dark mass could not dim its glory. "And whose fault is that, my Queen?" he demanded. She shot him another baleful glare.

"Not so loud, Jo," she growled, "I don't think the Khunds heard you in the next star system. Besides, you'll wake Querl." Loving eyes gazed at the mass of silky blond hair and soft green skin still sleeping soundly in the ornate bed. The Earl Marshal Jo Nah shook his head.

"Querl Dox, the Pride Of Colu," he reminded her, "is not a toy, Tasmia. Not a thing to amuse yourself with because you're lonely. You're playing with fire, my friend."

"I'm an old woman, Jo!" she snapped, peevish anger straining her patience. "Allow me this one pleasantry, my Lord Marshal."

"Of course," he returned caustically. "With anyone else but him." Tasmia's eyes narrowed in warning but the Marshal ignored them and plunged onward, heedless of the danger. Tasmia Mallor, Queen of Talok VIII, spun and faced her Marshal squarely.

"Jo, you're my friend and I love you, but ... tread carefully, old man!" she hissed. "Tread carefully."

"Why, Tasmia?" he chuckled. "Because I have the audacity to remind you that bedding your daughter's betrothed is dangerous? Not to mention tasteless. Frimp it all, woman, you could have any man you wanted! Any man in the Kingdom for a bed-toy if it pleased you. And no one would say a thing. Why him?

"Because I want him," she declared. "And because he's about as different as can be from ... " She said no more for several moments. When she spoke again her voice was light, frivolous.

"Because he loves me. And besides, he's mine. I bought and paid for him, didn't I?"

"No," Jo told her with amusement, "his brother Vril paid you to take his younger brother off his royal hands. To be specific, he gave you the planet Winath as Querl's dowry. For your daughter Lyrissa, I might add. Not you. He's to be First Consort of the Princess ... NOT the Queen. And if you think Vril Dox doesn't know what's happening with his little brother, you're an idiot. He's on his way to Talok right now, according to your Durlan spy master, Daggle. To demand Querl's wedding ... or the return of his dowry."

She sat down in the hoverchair floating nearby. "You know I can't do that, Jo," she grumbled. "I need Winath. It sits athwart the Khundish border, blocking the way of any invasion. If it weren't for Winath and Braal, we'd be hip-deep in Khund warriors tomorrow. I can't give it back, not even to The Tyrant of Colu."

"Then think fast, my Queen," Nah replied grimly. Tasmia's eyes, the color of jet, sparkled and twinkled with devilish merriment.

"What makes you think I won't marry him myself?" she quipped, just to see her old friend sweat. Startled, Jo shook his salt and pepper head and stroked his short, trim ginger-colored beard.

"You can't!" he cried, outraged. "You're already a married woman! Or have you forgotten?" Emphatically, he pointed to the thick golden bracelet encircling her right wrist.

"I'll divorce him," she returned. "Should have done it years ago." It pleased Tasmia to see that for one moment at least, her Marshal was unsure, not certain if she meant the threat or not. Then he relaxed.

"No you won't," he predicted. He pointed at the golden bracelet adorning her slim wrist again. "Keritalyn, remember? He's not just your husband ... he's a part of your soul. That bracelet says so. That bracelet that you willingly donned, you'll recall. In fact you insisted on donning it. Mere marriage wasn't enough for you. Now you're stuck. You can't divorce part of yourself. And even if you did divorce him ... you'd risk losing Daxam as an ally. And you can't afford to do that right now." The tall man looked almost triumphant. But when Nah spoke again his voice was soft, laden with gentle compassion.

"And there are ... other reasons ... you'll never divorce Lar," he told her. Tasmia scowled.

"I haven't kept the great Daxamite bastard dungeoned up for the last ten years out of passion!" she snarled.

The Earl Marshal bit back the wry comment stinging the tip of his tongue. He wanted to say, "Oh yes, you have. That's exactly why you've imprisoned Lar. The wonder is that you can't see it." But he said nothing, of course. Jo only shook his graying, aggrieved head in consternation.

"I tried to warn you," he reminded her. "I begged you to reconsider. First, when you made him the Mon-L, your Consort. And especially when you declared him Keritalyn. That's an unbreakable bond. Like the inertron bracelets that symbolize it. I told you you'd regret it. Lar is like my brother. I'd gladly die for him and you know it. But that doesn't make me blind to his faults." Jo Nah smiled hugely. "Or yours," he emphasized. Laughing, Tasmia patted his grizzled cheek.

"That's why I like having you around, Jo," Tasmia informed him. "You keep me honest." Her companion snorted hot derision.

"No, I don't," he declared. "That was Lar. And look where it got him." Tasmia bristled.

"I forbid you to say that name again!"

"I'll say it as many times as it takes to make you listen," Nah promised. "Lar. Lar Gand. Your husband! And, by royal decree your Keritalyn ... your soulmate."

"He's a traitor!" she cried, dark eyes flashing rage. "A traitor and a pain in the fundament!"

"Absolutely, your Majesty," her Earl Marshal agreed without question. It did not surprise him that her glance was full of mock suspicion when it fell upon him again.

"I was young and stupid," she averred, watching closely for Nah's reaction. "I made a mistake."

"Absolutely, your Grace," Nah returned in a voice dry as the desert winds of Talok VIII itself. "That's what comes of thinking with the wrong set of organs. You should have married Vril Dox all those years ago when you had the chance. Not sweet talked him out of his Body Shield. I can still recall your mother's look of total horror when she realized what you intended. To say that she was appalled is the understatement of the millennium. Poor Lyrissa the Elder was the soul of convention. She was all set for you to marry Vril Dox." Nah paused. "I'm convinced that it was the idea of you marrying a commoner ... and a Daxamite, at that, that finally killed her; NOT a heart attack. She was very fond of Vril Dox." Tasmia shuddered.

"Then she should have married him," Tasmia contended. "I'd rather couple with a pit viper, any day," the Queen of Talok VIII assured her Earl Marshal. "It's infinitely safer. And less repulsive. Thank the Ancestors Querl is nothing like him." Jo crossed his arms over his chest.

"If you say so," he muttered beneath his breath. "Speaking of 'The Pride of Colu' ... " Jo began in a louder voice.

"The 'Pride of Colu'," came a sardonic reply from the bed behind them, "is awake. And not at all fond of being spoken of as if he were an idiot or not present." The older man flushed scarlet and gritted his teeth. Damned impertinent puppy! The Queen's bell-like laughter filled the large room and tinkled off the cold stone walls.

"Doesn't much need my protection, does he, Jo?" Tasmia said proudly. Leaning down, she kissed the young man lying in her bed, still tousled from their passion of the night before. "Morning, love," she greeted him, "Mind your manners, now. It's too early in the morning to fight with Jo. This is going to be a wretched day. If I start biting and shouting now, I'll be hoarse before breakfast. Have mercy on an old woman."

The cold, green eyes softened, and the smile became quite genuine. The youth drew his knees up and rested his arms upon them. Chuckling dark mirth, he traced the line of her cheek with one long, elegant finger.

"Not so old as that," Querl told her. His eyes danced, reflecting the flames from the large room's fireplace. He watched her studying the flames closely, seeking answers in the shadows cast into the far corners of the large room. These days it wasn't hard to follow her thoughts.

"When you're gathered to your Ancestors, Tasmia, what will you do?" he chuckled. "Will you look down and see who's sitting on your throne? Haunt the one who holds your Kingdom?" Unlike his query, Tasmia's answer held nothing of lightness or frivolity.

"I can't wait that long," she said grimly. "I have to know before I'm gone that I've left my Kingdom in the proper hands. I've built an Empire -- the whole of the United Planets, half the Dominion and beyond. The galaxy hasn't seen my like in a millennium. I can't give that sort of power to just anybody, now can I? And Lyddie's going to succeed me."

The Queen was very careful not to take notice of the dark scowl of distaste that passed over the broad features of her Earl Marshal. She wasn't the only one to notice it. Nor was Nah the only one whose face cradled disapproval. The young Coluan prince looked at the stolid Earl Marshal with a smile at once compounded of anger and despair..

"How comforting it is," he observed with careful venom, "to know one's fate beforehand. And one's place. Win or lose, my future is assured. Queen against Consort, Bishops against Knights ... Pawns really have no place in such exalted company. Any Paragon master will tell you that." Querl's teeth set themselves and the muscles of his jaw worked. "But then, Paragon is a Daxamite game, isn't it? Not fit for a simple Coluan like me," he remarked, voice gone caustic with the acid of unspilled frustration. With a sigh, Tasmia took his face in her hands, looking deep into his bright green eyes.

"Mind me, my sweet, sweet boy. You were only ten when your brother bargained with me for your marriage to my heir. I thought you were only a convenience; living proof of a compact between your brother, the Tyrant of Colu and I. But suddenly, there you were, all intelligent silence and gangly knees, watching me and learning. How I waited until you were of age to take you from Lyddea, I can't tell you. I must be a stronger woman than I thought. I love you, Querl. I didn't take you into my bed or my heart lightly." He looked away, but she guided his gaze firmly back upon her. "But when I say we're done --- that's an end of it."

"I'll fight for you," he promised her. "If you give me to Lyddea she'll die childless. You may count upon it." Her embrace was warm and close.

"That's between you and Lyddie," Tasmia said. "Not my problem." The Earl Marshal shifted angrily from foot to foot and cleared his throat nosily. Tasmia gritted her teeth.

"Go ahead and say it, Jo," she urged him, "before you burst."

"And what of Lyrissa?" he demanded. "She's the eldest, not Lyddea. The eldest and the strongest, too. Lyddea's the youngest and the weakest. Don't be a fool, Tasmia just because you favor Lyddea over Lyrissa. How do you propose to keep Lyrissa from taking what you give Lyddea when you're gone? She will, I guarantee it. You can't just ignore Lyrissa."

"No? Watch me," said Tasmia succinctly. The Earl Marshal stomped his booted foot in frustration and threw back his head.

"Why Tasmia," he cursed, "give me one frimping reason why! Because Lyrissa loves her father?" The ringing slap that Tasmia discharged across her Earl Marshal's grizzled cheek would be some time in fading and the sound of it echoed off the cold stone walls for several moments before it dissipated.

"Damn you!" the Queen of Talok VIII cried. "Lyddie will be Queen because I say she will! And because she loves me. She's the only one of my children who does!" Jo Nah made no move to avoid the stinging slap from his Monarch. When it was done, he stood very, very still for several moments before he spoke.

"Tasmia," Jo said with soft sadness echoing in his strong voice, "Lyddie loves you all right. Lyddie loves you like a potter loves a tinker's dam." He bowed deeply to Tasmia and then to Querl.

"My Queen ... your Grace ..." With a curt wave of dismissal, the angry monarch watched her Earl Marshal's stiff-backed departure, his head held high.

"He's right, you know," Querl said. "Lyddea loves your crown, not you. She'll do anything to get it." Slightly annoyed, he watched as Tasmia smiled at him indulgently, almost as if he were a small child who'd just uttered something profoundly sweet. Tasmia sat next to him on the bed and he allowed himself to be pulled into her surprisingly strong embrace. The strength in that slight body never ceased to amaze him.

"They'll both do anything for my crown," she murmured. "Lyddea AND Lyrissa. I raised them to be strong. To fight for what they want." He smiled at her and pulled away to peer into her dark eyes, watching carefully for some sign, some clue in the curve of a sharp cheekbone, the sweep of an arched eyebrow.

"You have three children, you know," he reminded her gently. "Why is it, I wonder, that no one ever mentions Kel and the Kingdom in the same breath?" Tasmia's frown was a study in puzzled incomprehension.

"Kel? What does Kel have to do with the succession? Querl, Talok is a matriarchy. And the last time I checked, Kel was a man. He's not in line for the throne. I hope you're not trying to tell me that Kel loves me, too, and that I should consider him." The Coluan prince shook his head and tousled hair the color of sunshine set Tasmia's heart racing.

"No," he said, "Kel doesn't love you any more than Lyddea does." He kissed her palm and watched her eyes darken with rising passion. "I know of only four people who have ever loved you, Tasmia. One of them is dead. You just slapped another of them for trying to tell you the truth ... " He closed his eyes in pain. "And one of them has been locked up in prison for ten years by your decree." Tasmia's hands knotted themselves into fists at her side and her lips thinned in fury.

"And the fourth?" she asked, softly. Querl's lips touched her palm once more, brief and gossamer as the touch of a butterfly.

"The fourth," he whispered, "is sitting right in front of you." Her eyes shining, she ran lithe fingers through his long blond hair, then cradled his head on her breast.

"I'm an old woman, Querl Dox," she said, "I've conquered planets and star systems, birthed children and buried them. In my sixty years I've known heroes and Kings, bawds, tempters, accountants and little girls. But nowhere, nowhere have I ever found anyone to love save you."

"Liar!" he thought sadly, and was glad for the absence of Tasmia's Chief Councilor, the telepathic Titanian woman, the Lady Imra.

For several moments she held him very close, basking in the warmth of his youthful body. "Whoever said Coluans are cold and calculating never met this one," she told herself. The path before her was plain. But then, hadn't it always been so? She was simply reluctant to walk it, she knew. But walk it she must. One way or another. Sooner or later.

Sooner, she decided.

"Do what you must, woman," she castigated herself. "There's no other way to be a Queen, a strong ruler, and sixty seasons old all at the same time."

Moving crisply, her decision made, she rose and clapped her hands, once, impatiently. The guard bowed low as she entered the Queen's presence, leaving the door open behind her as custom demanded..

"Highness?"

"Summon back the Earl Marshal Nah," she instructed her servant, her voice curt. "I have a task for him."

* * * * *

Deadly silent, the shadows reached out and engulfed the tall woman's opponent before she could avoid them. Blinded and afraid now, the shorter woman lashed out, instinct guiding her hand. But her blows fell on nothing. There was no one there to receive them. The taller of the two antagonists was gone. The Earl Marshal narrowed his eyes, but still they could not piece that darkness to see properly to the heart of this struggle. Nah smiled and considered the spreading darkness.

"That's her mother in her," he acknowledged.

From out of the shadows rose the sound of breaking bone and the smell of great fear. "Mercy, Princess!" cried a shrill voice, teetering on the edge of pleading, and Nah did not need the honorific to tell him that it was not the voice of the one he sought. A low voice, deep for a woman, answered and the shadows began to dispel themselves.

"Forgive me, Salu!" it said. "I hadn't meant to harm you. Sometimes I ... forget myself ... "

"And that's her father in her," Nah admitted. He stepped forward as aid was summoned for the luckless Lady Salu.

"Lyrissa?" he called softly.

* * * * *

In silent disapproval, the Earl Marshall watched the tableau unfold before him. From out of the plane of the elliptic the tightly bunched ships probed cautiously, proceeding with slow deliberation around the girth of the great yellow sun to their rear. Well armed, they advanced with more confidence now, meeting no resistance.

Floating in space, free of the constraints of gravity, waiting against the star filled garment of the eternal, a lone man observed them closely. The faint blue radiance that surrounded him reflected off his sapphire eyes and perhaps it was only the blackness of space that made them seem chill and harsh.

Perhaps not.

Watching, Nah made no judgments, reached no conclusions.

Patient as any webbed spider, the man waited, watching the advancing ships carefully. Smiling dispassionately, he saw the ships proceed beyond the illusionary safety of open space out into the confusion of the waiting asteroid belt. Their commander must be quite sure of himself.

Fool.

With a single abrupt gesture, swift and sure as a striking hawk, he brought his hand down, pointing emphatically in the direction of the advancing enemy ships.

From above, along the z-axis of the newly ordained battlefield, ships descended like a swarm of annoying insects, small and quick, stinging their larger targets, then darting agilely away. All the while driving the larger more numerous vessels further into the asteroid belt.

Again, the floating man observed clinically; waiting patiently once more.

Sound does not carry in the vacuum of space and so he was denied the pleasure of any great rush of noise to accompany the destruction of ship after ship and the men who manned them. But the pyrotechnic display of lights and color as ships and men perished was beautiful beyond belief mirrored against the stark blackness of space... With a will he governed himself. Not now.

No, not now ... wait for it ... wait for it ...

Blue eyes sparkling in triumph, he gestured again and, from behind sheltering asteroids, cloaked ships rose and open fired upon the hapless intruders. The battle was quick, savage and very one sided.

Politely, the Earl Marshal Nah waited until the slaughter was done before he addressed the Prince of Talok VIII, the neglected, seldom regarded, middle child and only son of Tasmia Mallor, the Queen, as he divested himself of his clumsy VR gear.

"Kel," he said. "It's time to put away your toys. You're needed."

* * * * *

The vast inertron doors slid noiselessly open and the four guards escorting Jo Nah stepped cautiously through. Vigilant eyes probed the large room and although the plasma rifles the guards carried rested casually in the hands of their wielders, ready fingers never strayed far from the triggers.

Which was as it should be, of course.

Despite its size, Jo reflected, no one would ever mistake this place for anything but exactly what it was: a prison. Only the small holovid of a young Talokian girl sitting in one unobtrusive corner of the stark room gave any evidence of human occupancy.

"I wonder which it is," The Earl Marshall pondered the holovid for an instant, "the daughter ... or the wife ... ? The likeness is remarkable." Likely he would never know. But then, there were a great many things about the man in this room like that. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the guards.

"Sir?" came the slow, reluctant response from the senior guardsman. "Are you sure?" Wordless Nah stared at the man and frowned. "He's - ah - in a really bad mood today, Sir," the armed man amended with a smile, a feeble attempt at unfelt jocularity that fell quite flat. Again Jo signaled dismissal and this time he was obeyed.

Silent, Jo Nah watched his friend Lar Gand, the Mon-L, Consort to Queen Tasmia Mallor of Talok VIII, chin himself one-handed on the high exercise bar. In the dim light of the huge room his pale skin and space dark hair, peppered now like the night sky with sparks of silver, shone like a star.

"48 ... 49 ... 50 ... "

Casually, the powerfully built man released the bar and fell lightly to the floor some ten feet below. With a towel, he wiped the sweat from his face and then his broad chest. He was careful not to touch the glowing collar around his neck. But still Jo did not miss the brief flash of pain that crossed his handsome features when his hand strayed too near it. Nah waited patiently until he seated himself. When Lar spoke at last, it was not a question he asked in his deep, familiar voice, so Jo did not answer him.

"Vril Dox is coming," Lar said. "There's to be a Gathering ... "

* * * * *

The slender, azure skinned girl ran joyously down the hall and launched herself at the tall figure striding swiftly from the other end. With effortless ease, he caught her, lifting her over his head and spinning her round and round, smiling brilliantly.

"Kel!" Lyddea Mallor, Princess of the Talokian Empire cried, squealing with delight. Setting her lightly on the floor Kel Gand laughed as she hugged his neck and smothered him with kisses.

"Lyddea, little sister! Careful or you'll give me a complex. I'm not used to beautiful women throwing themselves into my arms."

Playfully, she slapped at his face. "No?" she teased. "I'm sure the Lady Luornu will be sorry to know that you don't think she's beautiful, brother. Or Lady Lori, or Lady Nura! But oh! I forgot! That was last week, wasn't it? You're a charming cad, you are." She buried her head in his neck and embraced him tightly.

"Oh Kel!" she whispered, ecstatic with pleasure. "She's really going to do it. Mother's going to name me her heir. She promised me. Are you happy for me, Kel?" Since she could not see his face, the warmth of his voice was sufficient to misguide her.

"Of course, I am little sister," he said smoothly. "Why shouldn't I be happy for my favorite sibling?" He grew serious for a moment and lifted her chin, staring deep into her eyes. The concern reflected in his own blue eyes might even have been genuine. After a fashion.

"Lyddie, you mustn't lift your guard just yet. Listen to me, now, carissima. This isn't the end. Make no mistake. Lyrissa won't take this lying down, you can be sure of that. This is only the beginning. Mother isn't done playing her games with us yet. And neither is Lyrissa."

"Why, I didn't know you cared, dearest brother," came a deep yet feminine voice at their back. Still smiling Kel turned to face it.

"Who says that I do, sister dear?" he returned cheerfully. In his arms Lyddea scowled, favoring her older sister Lyrissa with a withering glance. To her eternal irritation, the older, larger woman ignored her completely. Kel smiled more broadly still.

"It's merely entertaining, is all," he chuckled empty mirth. "I do so enjoy a good game. I'd be a fool not to, wouldn't I?"

Lyrissa's practiced sneer was a masterwork of its kind. "No," she admitted, "you're not a fool. There are many other things I could think to call you ... but that isn't one of them."

Kel bowed slightly from the waist. "You're too kind," he drawled, "you'll spoil me if you're not careful."

"What do you want here, Lyrissa?" demanded Lyddea. "Come to admit defeat?" Again she was ignored.

"You're looking lovely as ever, I see," Kel told Lyrissa. "You must tell me how you do it," he continued. "It has to be difficult to maintain such ... fragile ... beauty in an armed soldier's camp."

With a disparaging gaze, Lyrissa took in the tall, trim figure of her brother, her regard traveling slowly from sole to crown. She let dark, mocking eyes linger on the pale skin, the jet black hair, the smoky blue eyes.

"Such a handsome brother, I'm graced with," exclaimed Lyrissa. "It's really a blessing that you look more like Father every day. You remind Mother of him so strongly I'm sure you're a great comfort to her in his ... absence."

His smile never wavered; his face did not register pain or anger. Still and expressionless, it proclaimed his invulnerability and unconcern. No, it was only his eyes that ... changed.

"Charming ... as ever," he said with lifted eyebrow and a sere voice that rivaled the Great Northern Desert in its arid, dry, emptiness.

"Now, now, children," scolded the Earl Marshal Jo Nah with cheerful patience. Stepping into sight from the shadows of the corridor, he gestured them forward and continued his discourse. "Let's try to avoid killing one another, shall we? That comes after your Mother is gone. Remember: timing is everything in these matters of state."

Kel inhaled deeply, and smiling, threw his arms around his two sisters in merry glee, ignoring Lyrissa's attempts to evade his embrace. "Ah, what a loving family we are!" he intoned. "Are we not blessed, my sisters? Can't you smell it?" He sniffed the air loudly. "The plot thickens, passions burn and we're the fat crackling in the fire!"

Laughing loudly, he watched Lyrissa and Lyddea vie for position as they followed the silent Earl Marshal down the long, empty corridor.

When they stood before the doors of the small study that Tasmia Mallor used for private audiences, Nah gestured the two girls forward and opened the door. He nodded at Kel and closed the door.

"We're to wait out here," he told the prince.

With a sigh of apparent contentment, Kel threw himself into a waiting chair. He draped one long leg casually over an arm rest, crossing his hands behind his head.

"Ahhh diplomacy," he crooned. "Such a taxing art! How does my poor, frail Mother bear the strain of it?"

The not entirely stolid Earl Marshal could not quell the smile that rose, unbidden, to his lips and did not try to conceal it. He snorted back quick laughter, shaking his head. But he did not speak. That would not have been appropriate. His long years of service to his friend the Queen had taught him caution, if not the detested article of diplomacy itself. It was only when his sharp eyes fell upon the small silver chain circling Kel's bared right wrist that he began to lose his smile.

"I see you still wear it," he said softly.

Instantly, Kel shot stiffly erect in his comfortable chair, staring at the elder man. A lesser man might have quailed under that hot scrutiny. The Earl Marshal Jo Nah merely looked sad. Quickly, Kel pulled his sleeve down to cover the gleam of metal on his exposed wrist. And his equally exposed heart.

"When my daughter Winema gave you that," Jo pointed to the silver chain, "it fit loosely around your neck. Now it's a tight fit around your wrist. You've grown tall like your father. How old were the two of you, then? Nine? Ten?"

"Eight," said Kel.

Jo shook his head. "You must have loved her a lot," he said.

Kel's hands balled themselves into fists for a moment before he relaxed. "Oh no," Kel said. "You must be mistaken. Haven't you heard, old man? I never loved anyone or anything." Nah said nothing; only glanced once more at the Prince's now covered wrist. Uncomfortably, Kel shifted his weight. "And if I did?" he said bitterly. "Does it matter? She's been dead for almost twelve years."

"Eleven years, nine months, two weeks, and four days," said Nah. "Did you think I'd forgotten? Not likely. A man doesn't forget the day, the hour, he loses his wife and only child. That bomb was meant for Tasmia. Tinya and Winema were just in the way. And you. It's a miracle you weren't killed as well, boy. You were there. A sprocking miracle."

Kel smiled as if at a secret only he was ken to. I'm lucky that way," was his wry observation.

Jo watched the young man seat himself once more with casual, near boneless grace in the chair and frowned. When did it happen, he wondered? When did I lose sight of him? Once upon a time he was like my son. Lar was free and happy. Tasmia was always smiling, laughing, eager and anxious for the next world to conquer. And I was a husband and father, not this aging, dried up stick. How in the name of all the Ancestors did we get here from where we started?

One step at a time, he answered his own grim question; one step at a time. "Look there!" he taunted himself. "Can't you see the footsteps clearly there in the sands of time? The big, stodgy plodding ones are yours"

"What happened to you, boy?" he asked Kel in bewilderment. "You were a sweet child." He shook his graying head. "I don't understand. What happened?"

The door opened and a familiar, commanding voice summoned Kel into his mother's presence. Rising languidly, Kel paused briefly at the door, straightening his cloak, and frowned at the Earl Marshal.

"I grew up, old man," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I grew up."

The door closed behind him and Nah's last sight of Kel Gand, Prince of Talok VIII, was the sardonic, mocking smile he wore. As if the galaxy and all its inhabitants were a singularly unfunny joke perpetrated by an angry god.



Part 2

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This site is dedicated to the memory of Dannell Lites, who died unceremoniously on 16 September, 2002, in Kansas City, MO. Other than characters, place names, etc., which are ©DC Comics, Marvel Comics, Warner Bros., WGBS or any other television/movie owner, or Wizard Magazine, all content is ©2002 Dannell Lites. Background set ©2002 by SleepyHead. Please do not use without her permission. Site url= http://dannfan.50megs.com/