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Chapter 7
Ororo rested better that night than she had in a good long while. Maybe it was the fact that she was getting to know Scott better, and even though neither had feelings of an intimate nature for the other, they were becoming fast friends. Or perhaps it was that she had not dreamed that night, her stranger had not come to her, and for once she was thankful; rest was what she wanted. She was also glad she was able to stop thinking of the glacier-colored eyes of the Northman.

She rose from bed, got dressed and went and met him for breakfast. A friend of Scott’s was joining them, a young Knight Errant by the name of Alexander, who was as close to a brother as the prince had. They talked for a good while after their meal was finished about everything from Ororo’s homeland, to the finer points of archery. Alex was very kind and humble. Scott and he were so much alike it could have been easy to mistake the two for siblings.

Ororo had noticed that her father and King Xavius did not join them and she inquired about them.

“They left early this morning for a trip to Barrenfall. Father wanted to see how his men were doing so close to the front,” Scott provided.

Ororo had found it a bit odd that her father had left without telling her. He was not known to be spontaneous. She did not worry, however; her father usually tried not to worry her about his royal duties, even if she wanted to hear all about his dealings, which was usually the case. A bit more bonding time with the prince was probably the main reason for not letting his daughter know of his departure, because she would have asked to join him.

“Barrenfall is pretty close to the bloodshed, I pray the Mother keeps them safe,” Alex remarked, sipping from a cup of water.

Scott nodded. “A prayer is always a good thing, but I would not worry too much. Marshal Bishop left with them; there’s no better soldier to have at your side than that man.”

“I saw him last night, leaving the dungeons, the man looked fit to be tied,” Alex chimed in. “He put in a heavy reprimand for Creed, as well; old boy must be having too much fun with the prisoners again.”

“Creed makes my stomach turn, every time he looks at me, it’s as if he is waiting to peel my flesh off,” said Scott.

“Have you ever seen his bag of toys?” Alex shivered. “I would have hated to be that Northman last night.”

That grabbed Ororo’s attention by the throat. “The Northman was tortured?”

Scott shook his head disdainfully. “It is supposed to be interrogation, but Creed makes it into something else.”

“Word is that Bishop was the one to halt the whole thing before it went to far,” Alex said around a mouth of now almost cold sausage. “He is a good man, Bishop, but I’ll be damned if I would go out of my way to help a man that may have killed my family.”

Ororo’s mouth hung a bit open. “Lord Bishop’s family was killed?” She looked over at Scott “By the Northmen, I take it?”

Scott slowly nodded a yes. “He does not like to talk about it much.”

Alex snorted. “More like he will take the head off any person who even remotely mentions anything about it, it is certainly a sore spot for him, but Gods know you cannot blame him for it.”

Ororo pondered over what she just heard. Bishop was a somber man, there was no mistaking that, and like the King, he carried himself with the burden of duty. Where the King had eyes that showed a sadness hidden beneath them, Lord Marshall Bishop was like a carved statue; nothing rested beneath his eyes that could be read.

For a man who had lost his family to the North, he seemed not to let his anger show. He had not even slandered them when he spoke with her father about the savagery of the Northeners. Savagery on both sides, he had said, and Ororo found a new respect for the Marshal in that moment. A man that can lose all he loves and still not confess of prejudice to those that had taken it from him, that spoke a lot for Lucas Bishop.

“Now if I remember correctly, I think a certain Elven Princess is supposed to show us how good she is with a bow,” Alex stated, standing up and offering his hand to Ororo.

She smiled. “Not to worry, Sir Alexander, I will not make you and Prince Scott look like total amateurs.”

Alex grinned widely back at Scott. “Oh, Scotty boy, I like this one.”

The trio left for the range.

Temple of the Mother,
The Healing Halls
Logan had been brought in last night, but not until morning had he been treated. A quartet of armed guards stood close the whole time, and with the binders on both his wrists and feet, he knew this would not be the proper time to make his move. The clerics of the temple did not get close to him. The look in their eyes spoke of all that needed to be said. Some of them feared him, the others hated him, those that were afraid would come nowhere near him, and the hateful ones refused to do so.

It did not really matter much to him, though. He did not care if these people hated him and despised him. His body ached and was sore in almost all places, but his bleeding had stopped; now all that remained were large and dried patches where the wounds were doing a fine job of closing on their own. Logan’s left eye was the only thing to concern him, Creed had really done a number on it. It was swollen shut, and badly bruised. If not for that, Logan would have refused treatment and returned to his cell.

A guard had bound Logan’s hands from the back at the request of the High Cleric. If the Northman was to be treated, there would have to be assurances that he would not grab for the nearest sharp object and begin a slaughter in the holy chapel.

The words of the High Cleric made Logan laugh a bit. If he was going to start a slaughter, it would most definitely be in the palace keep; just a loud snarl would cause most of the people here to keel over in fear.

A cleric finally came and began his treatment. She was not very tall, only a bit shorter than he, but she was built well, and Logan noticed she did have a pretty face. Her hair was red, too; that was something he had not seen in a long time. Redheads among his people were rare, perhaps one every third generation was born with such a hair color. Logan smiled a bit; he liked the exotic, and red was nice.

Not near as nice as that snow kissed mane you saw.

Gods damn it.

He thought he had pushed that far enough down. He had not thought of it at all since his dream the previous day. He berated himself for becoming so enchanted with it. No such woman existed as the one that did in his dreams, and even if she did, she would not be his. His world did not work that way, and he had no expectations for it to change. The redhead, maybe…

The thought of having an Aldriahn woman did not bother him much. He surely could not take her home to the North, but if she was willing, maybe he could arrange a stopover in the Temple during his escape. He had been known to charm women straight into bed, even a few that had confessed to not even like him.

The possibilities.

You goat-brained, woman-hungry, half-wit, numbskull, of all the times I have asked you to try and find a decent woman, now is definitely not the time, you idiot! And if the chance arises for escape, don’t you dare risk it by trying to have a fling with an Aldriahn cleric!

Kitty’s voice rung so clearly in his head, it was as if she were whispering to him directly. He could not help but laugh, even as the cleric began stitching his lacerations. She looked at him, puzzled and a bit startled. Logan knew that look, the look of a fawn as it meets with that of a wolf. She was doing a grand job of hiding it, but the signs were there. She was afraid of him.

Logan lost all attraction at that very moment. He had no interest in any woman who was going to cringe at his gaze. He knew that Kitty would have crossed the cleric right off her list of hopefuls for him, Aldriahn or not. Logan had always looked for more in a woman, a fiery spirit, one that could match him for passion. He had always wanted a woman who was unafraid.

A woman should not be afraid of a man unless he gives her fair reason to, and then she should meet him head on, even if she is frightened. Women were equal with men, despite what some of the teachings of the Bear and Leopard tribes taught, and that should always be remembered. Logan believed in this, and his standards for woman usually ran high.

Logan had not even so much as given her a threatening look, and the cleric was terrified of him. That did not appeal to him.

Pushing all of that from his mind, Logan smiled inwardly at the still-lingering voice of his sister. She was always trying to help him; no matter what the task may be, she would do her best for her brother, despite his repeated attempts for her to mind her own affairs.

At the moment the inner voice that was his sister was more than right, he had to agree, now was not the time to think of women. He needed the cleric to finish and to get back to his cell to think. He had already spent too long here; he needed to get back to his people.

Besides he thought, taking one last look at the redheaded cleric,Pretty as she may be, she would be nothing more than maybe a one time tryst.

He leaned back and let the cleric finish her work Had to have my mind dream up anything else…

Guard Barracks,
Archery Range:
Damn.

That was the only thing running through the mind of Sir Alexander Sumnerdel.

Ororo had lied.

She had made both Scott and himself look like amateurs.

Another almost near perfect bull’s-eye.

Blind amateurs, at that.

“I see the fabled archery skill of the elves is not a thing of rumor,” Alex said, placing his bow on the ground.

Ororo blushed a bit. “Drallen taught me, you should see what he is capable of, he can take the eye of a Hawk in mid-flight.”

Scott, having fared only slightly better than Alex, set his bow aside as well. “In any case, I would hate to be on the other end of any arrow that you point!”

Ororo grinned at him.

Scott reached for the quiver and yelped in pain.

“What happened?” Ororo inquired, looking at the deep gash on his palm.

Scott grimaced a bit as his hand was turned over for Alex to see. “A hole in the quiver, must have caught an arrowhead.”

Alex looked the wound over and nodded his head. “That will need some care, my friend, a few stitches at least.”

Scott shook his head. “I will be fine; I will bandage it back at the palace.”

Ororo was going to have none of it. “No need to play the proud bearer of pain, Scott, let’s get you to the temple and have the clerics treat you,” she winked at him.

At the mention of the temple Scott blushed a bit. “I would not want to trouble them with such a minor thing.”

“Shut up, Scott” Alex said. “Don’t you know you are talking to the future Queen, start doing as your told now, my boy; makes things much easier.”

Scott chuckled. “If her Majesty insists.”

Ororo laughed. “I do.”

They walked to the Temple.

Unbeknownst to her, this would start a series of events that would change Ororo’s life forever.

The Healing Halls:
The cleric had finished with him an hour ago, but still he sat on the wooden stool with his arms bound behind his back. He could see out of his eye now at least, the cleric definitely knew her job. She had asked the guards for them to keep him here for a bit longer to make sure the swelling went down.

Logan sighed miserably. Torture was one thing; boredom was the thing that would be the death of him. The guards were standing by the only door into the halls, and Logan was almost sure they were taking turns napping.

Logan gave the chains a quick but silent jerk. There was no give in them; even with the strength he possessed, the rusted irons had no yield.

Sighing deeply, he leaned back against the wall and began dozing.

His dreams were full of her again.

No matter how much he had willed her image out of his mind, it always found its way back. It was another torture to him, seeing her face so real, and having the touch of her skin feel so close.

It was never real enough, though, nor was it ever close enough. Logan would be awake not long after she would come and haunt his sleep.

A growl left his lips.

Better this way, I guess, he thought, casting the thoughts of sleep away. be smart to stay alert, don’t need some holy man turned zealot trying to slit my throat while I’m nodding.

The guards stood lazily as a knock came at the large door. One peered out, and then pulled his head back in quickly while sputtering out orders to the others to look alive.

A pair of young men entered the hall, both were men of station, Logan could tell. One carried himself with a royal bearing, and the other had the swagger of military. The taller of the two was holding his right hand by the wrist.

A bishop came to them and sat them down near one of the treatment tables, and was whispering to them softly. Logan could not hear, but as the gazes of the two younger men met his, he had a good idea of what the bishop was telling them.

The look on the blond-haired one became harsh and cold. Logan was sure that if looks could kill, the one he was getting now would burn him down to the bone. The other’s face remained indifferent, being hard to tell with those spectacles he was wearing.

“There you two are, sorry I was so caught up in the temple that I lost you.”

Logan’s heart literally stopped in his chest for a moment. The bearer of that voice walked in and the outside of his world no longer existed. Eyes wide and mouth ajar, Logan could only stare at the elven woman, his mind forming not a single coherent thought.

She was real.

Or his mind was torturing him yet again.

Raising one of his manacled feet, he smashed it down atop its twin.

Logan groaned a bit from that, but it had solved something for him to be sure.

He was awake, and she was still there.

This was not a dream.

You need to focus, his inner voice scowled at him, no time for this, remember dungeon, torture, possible beheading, above AND below…

Shut up was the only reply Logan gave.

Ororo was standing beside Scott, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, when her eyes met with Logan’s.

It is said at the point of creation, there is chaos. There are energies and furies that rage out of control. The untapped Power courses its own way through the ethers. Discord and unbalance are the only constants. A change happens amidst the Distopia and something is brought into being, in almost a whisper. It reaches a point where all of that power and energy is focused and brought into a new order, all within the span of a single beating of the heart.

That was what the first look they shared was like.

For one moment in their worlds, there was nothing other than each other’s eyes.

It was Logan who broke the connection first. He dropped his head away and suddenly remembered his breath. He had been holding it since she entered the room and met his gaze.

Get it together, he screamed in his mind. Nothing has changed, you’re still a prisoner, and no matter who or what she is, she is with the Aldriahns, so that makes her my enemy.

The words were hollow in his mind; like thin ice in the rays of the sun, they broke apart and drifted away into nothing.

Logan laughed out loud at that point. The Father Beast was a real humorous bastard. Showing him the most enchanting woman he had ever seen and then making her his enemy. Life was always so damned fair.

Ororo had not moved, not blinked and she was not even sure if she was breathing. Her hand had been steadily tightening the whole time, however, much to the discomfort of Scott.

“Ororo, please, I think my shoulder is going numb,” he said, motioning to her clenching hand that still rested upon him.

Shocked back to reality, Ororo removed her hand. “Oh, sorry.”

Alex saw the look on her face, she was flushed and her breath was quick. He thought it was fear, and he was right. It was just not the type of fear he thought.

“Don’t worry, my Lady, he is chained and guarded.” Alex looked over at the guards still by the door and motioned for them to return to their post by the prisoner. “There is no need to be afraid.”

Ororo fixed him with a stern gaze. “I will have you know that I am not afraid, Sir Alexander, but thank you for your concern.”

Alex bent his eyebrows in confusion, but he gestured his apology to her and sat back down beside Scott.

“That is the son of Lentrok, then?” Scott asked.

Alexander nodded. “Logan is his name, Champion of the Five Tribes of the North.”

“I thought he would be taller,” Scott said in all seriousness.

Alex laughed. “Giant he may not be, but he can still kill a man with an almost uncanny ease, make no mistake about it.”

Ororo was silently scrutinizing the Northman while they talked. The memory of the glances she got in the throne room the other day paled compared to the reality before her. The sinew and muscles of his body were more defined than she could recall, and his hair, while still wild, seemed to run like a stream from his head down his back.

Logan was thinking the same thing at that moment. The dreams did not live up to the actual being of the woman on the other side of the room. Her hair was thicker and more startling white than he thought, and he was happy for that. Her form was unflawed, and her face was almost heart-bursting to look upon. Logan thought such a woman could only exist in dreams.

The only constant for either of them were each other’s eyes. That they had not forgotten. Sky-clear and ocean-deep shades met and were lost in each other.

Even when the cleric had returned and observed how well his healing was coming, their eyes never broke. The redheaded cleric followed his gaze and saw the group on the other end. Logan heard her breath hitch and she not too tactfully made her way to them.

She signaled for the guards that the prisoner could be returned to his cell and they complied.

They raised Logan up, none to gently and led him out of the halls. Logan passed by the group and came painfully close to the woman who he thought existed only in dreams. Her smell was intoxicating, she smelled of fresh water, of the forest, of spring. If ever life had a scent, she wore it about her, and Logan drank his fill as he passed.

Ororo felt a small prickle of current as the Northman walked past her. It was like a static charge, shocking her throughout her body and leaving her with a warm tingle.

Logan kept his stare fixed even as the guards pushed him out the door and closed it behind them.

Ororo left her eyes rooted on the door after he left. She did not know why, but she found she could not turn away.

Jean had begun work on Scott’s hand, treating it with salve and gently wrapping it. They both glanced at each other frequently, and their touches lingered just a bit longer each time.

Scott spoke evenly to her about what happened; she gave him a hidden smile as she bandaged him. Alex knew of what was going on with Scott and the cleric, and while he did not approve of the sneaking around the two did, he would cast no stones on them.

As gorgeous as Jean was, however, Alex did not know how Scott could take his eyes from Ororo. The elven princess was stunning, and the shape of her body could make even a monk forget his vows of chastity.

Alex shrugged it all off. He knew that Scott was in love with the cleric; more was the pity. He felt deeply for his friend that when the time came, he would have to cast that love aside and fulfill his duty to the kingdom.

Still, he thought, admiring Ororo’s backside, he could imagine worse fates.

Palace Dungeons
Logan was thrown back into his cell and the door was shut loudly behind him

His food had been brought earlier, and the mess of slop was now as cold as the floors. Logan picked up the bowl and began eating ravenously. He was not overly hungry, it was the act of it he was trying to lose himself in. He had to get his mind off of the elven woman. He offered a hand to the Father at that moment for the bottle of whiskey that sat at the inebriated guards’ desk.

He could almost hear his father’s verbal beatings for his lack of focus.

Idiot boy he heard, still gulping down the contents of the bowl, I have taught you nothing, a woman can cloud your mind just as the Haze can! How can you expect to lead men and save our people when you cannot even save yourself?

In a fit of anger, Logan threw the bowl against the bars, shattering it into pieces. The hot claws of the Haze began creeping into his mind then. He could feel it, the demanding urge to let go, to give in, to shut out all of the images and words of his father and the stare of the elven woman’s eyes.

It would be so easy, just to give in. The sweet call of the Haze was tempting him, goading him, making him want the taste of blood on his lips. Logan stood without himself knowing it and gripped at the bars tightly. The power flowing from the Haze made the bars groan under the strain. Logan’s eyes changed at that moment. The normal deep blue irises became as black as midnight, and his pupils vanished in the darkness.

The guard, still asleep at the desk, taunted Logan with his every breath and heartbeat. He pulled at the bars again, and again they groaned from his madness-enhanced strength. Logan wanted blood, he wanted to inflict pain, he wanted the guard’s heart crushing in his hands.

Something stopped him.

The Haze called for him to continue but he would not. Visions flashed rapidly in his mind, visions of enemies littering the ground with those of comrades and friends beside them.

All dead.

Their bodies mutilated and torn beyond recognition.

Atop the mounds of bodies, Logan saw a vision of himself, drenched in blood, pulling out the organs of one of his own people and feasting on them like a wild beast.

Logan roared at his own image and it turned and looked at him. Those eyes were of the coldest black, and they were laughing at him.

The twin raised a bloody chunk of flesh and offered it to him. “Want some, she tastes very sweet.”

Logan glanced down and saw the face of Kathreyna in a grimace of shock and fear.

He roared and flung his body at his twin.

He was caught in mid-air by the throat and held up high over the ground.

Their eyes met, black on black.

“Don’t fight it, Logan, it is no use. I have never been denied; just let me have you, and I promise to show you things that you have never imagined.”

Logan struggled to speak under the grip of iron. “Go to the Hells, I am not like you!”

His twin smiled. “You are me. You just don’t want to admit it yet, that old fool thinks he has driven me out of you, but I am still here, I will always be with you, Logan, in the darkness, waiting for the moment when I can be free.”

Logan roared loudly and began pounding away with his fists on the face of his still smirking twin, each blow a thunderbolt, raining blood and gore around him.

He snapped back into reality and found his hands gripped around the halfway bent bars. The guard still slumbered noisily at his desk. Logan detached himself from the bars, his hands were sore and stiff with exertion. He slumped down against the wall and held his head in his hands as he realized he had failed again.

Royal Guest Chambers:
When the day was over, Ororo retired to her bed and was disappointed after the first few hours that she was still awake.

So much for keeping the streak of sleep filled nights going…

Ororo rolled around in her bed again and again. She had even drank a few glasses of wine and still she was anxious.

Anxious for what?

She punched the pillow under her head and sighed. This was getting her nowhere. Damn it all down to the Hells, she could not keep the Barbarian out of her mind. Whenever her eyes closed, she saw him, and it was making her crazy.

Logan.

That name echoed in her mind.

She was being ridiculous, she knew.

The enemy, Ororo, he is the enemy

She repeated the mantra over and over in her head.

The enemy, a monster, a destroyer.

Then why when she saw his eyes she had no fear, she knew that he was a killer, she could see that in there but that could not possibly be all that was; she had seen more in them, much more.

Ororo had heard the stories from Alex after they had left the temple and the rumors among the servants of the brutality the man was capable of.

He was no more than an animal, they had said.

The impression he had left in her mind told her that there had to be more to it than that. A soulless killer could not occupy her mind like this.

At least, she hoped not.

Curiosity.

That damned Curiosity.

It was eating away at her again, and about the same damned thing.

Ororo rose from her bed and knew that she would have no more sleep until it was quelled.

She dressed in simple garments and put on her shoes, the ones that her father detested because they were unbecoming of a Princess.

She slipped out of her room and made her way down the halls silently, avoiding the guards when possible; when she was seen and asked by them, she simply told them she could not sleep and was going for a walk in the gardens.

-Not a lie, she thought, Just leaving parts out…

She briskly walked to the garden, holding the small vial she had been given in her palm and a small bag of coins in her other hand.

Time to call in a favor.





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