Paladin

by S. Nankervis Trimmer
  

Authors note: Special thanks to Ellen, who helped me from the genesis to the completion of this story. Her encouragment, suggestions, and candor kept me honest and on the right track.

I wish to acknowledge that both Cheryl Dawdy and Will Shakespeare are quoted here.

And to my beta reader, Kelly, thanks for keeping the voice of John true.

This story is set in no particular order in relationship to the later eps aired so far. As to the characters, I will rely on the blanket disclaimer on this site.

---

 

"Nothing," the merchant was saying to Rygel as John entered the store. "You have nothing I am interested in. Take your business elsewhere."

John stood discreetly at the back of the shop. Their mission on this planet was to acquire Pelfhot. It was the only know cure for the illness Moya had contracted. Moya had pneumonia. At least this was the closest comparable human disease John could think of. Without Pelfhot, Moya's condition would continue to deteriorate. She was no longer able to starburst. Soon she would not be able to maintain the life support systems for the crew as her body began to conserve the last of her strength for her own survival.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Rygel admitted with uncommon candor. "We must deal with you. You are the only one on the planet who can supply our need. We can not travel to another planet in hopes of making a better deal. Our need is dire. We would be willing to consider any reasonable demand."

The elderly merchant cocked her head thoughtfully to one side as she considered Rygel's words. She was obviously the female of her species but of a species John had not seen before. A small humanoid with pale gray-green skin and curly gray hair. She most certainly had been beautiful in her day. The traces of this beauty shone from her face despite her harsh words and manner.

At her side stood a male. He was tall and appeared young. His skin was the same pale color, but had a pebbled scaly look. His face jutted out into something just short of a snout. The curly hair which began far back from his brow was a luxurious red and pulled into a thick ponytail. His short pale green sleeveless robe exposed limbs which were stout and strong in appearance. John wondered if he was the merchant's bodyguard.

It was obvious that the male deferred to the female. The male's eyes darted everywhere. He took note of John at the back of the shop. His large dark green eyes took in every bit of John's aspect. John was becoming accustomed to being mistaken for a Peacekeeper. This youth seemed more than a little interested in him.

The male pointed at John. "Is this an example of your crew?" he asked Rygel.

Rygel looked over his shoulder at John. He grunted. "Yes," he answered. "A poor one."

John nodded toward the male. "Thanks, Sparky," he muttered under his breath.

"Have you any warriors among your crew?" the male asked.

"Several," Rygel said. "Why do you ask?"

The merchant held her hand up to silence the youth. "My offspring here has expressed an interest recently in hiring a warrior. A warrior escort to his betrothal ceremony would be a mark of prestige for our family. Ilesca would be honored by his new family if he arrived with a warrior at his side."

The youth leaned forward and whispered into the merchant's ear. She frowned and shook her head several times. At last they seemed to come to an agreement.

The slender merchant leaned graciously toward Rygel. "Bring your warriors here this evening. If one of them meets with my offsprings' approval, I shall trade the services of your warrior for the Pelfhot."

"And the length of service?" Rygel asked.

"Two weekens," the merchant said. "Three at most."

"Payment at the commencement of duties, not their completion," Rygel said.

"That is not standard business practice," the merchant replied. "Payment most usually accompanies the completion of the work."

Rygel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I agree," he said. "However, if we wait three weekens for the Pelfhot, its procurement will arrive after the need, and our ship, has expired."

"Very well," the merchant said. "Upon commencement of duties. You, however, will remain with me until those duties are completed. I wouldn't have you leaving with my merchandise while your warrior deserts his duties the first chance he gets."

"Agreed!" Rygel said. He turned to John and motioned him closer. "Go back to the ship, Crichton. Bring Aeryn and D'Argo back with you. Tell them that their services as warriors are needed. It's about time the two of them pulled their weight in this matter."

"I don't think they're gonna like this, Rygel," John said. "I mean, you haven't even asked them if they'll do it."

"Would they rather stand by and watch Moya die because they were unwilling to help?"

"Of course not," John replied. "We would all do whatever it takes to save Moya." He turned and left the shop.
 
 
 

Two hours later D'Argo and Aeryn stood at parade rest in the merchant's shop. D'Argo had his Qualta blade strapped to his back, his most savage Luxan expression on his face. He had stepped happily into the role of warrior for hire. Aeryn had a pulse rifle slung at her hip. Her face was a cold unreadable mask. Frightening in its blankness. John would've been hard pressed to chose between the two. He couldn't decide which of them looked the most dangerous.

The merchant looked them up and down with an unimpressed expression on her face. Her son stood close by, intent on the two before him. His mother wandered around them examining them from all angles. D'Argo stood a good two feet taller than her. Aeryn was larger as well. Both appeared to be the prime specimens of their species they were. The merchant, however, spent most of her time frowning.

"These are the best you have to offer?" she asked.

"These are all I have to offer," Rygel replied.

"What about the other Sebaceon?" the merchant asked. "Is there something wrong with him that you don't include him among your warriors?"

Rygel cleared his throat. "Actually, he isn't a Sebaceon," he said. "He's a human. A rather poor specimen of a rather minor species, if the truth be told. He isn't a warrior either. He's a scientist. Too much brain, not enough brawn. If you get my meaning? If, however, you are looking for someone who overanalyzes every situation, or who can talk his opponent to death, this might be your candidate."

John felt a tight smile spread across his face. His hands itched to get hold of Rygel's throat. He fought the urge to speak in his own defense. His mind poured over each and every insult. Cataloging them for discussion at a later date. Some time when he and Fluffy found themselves alone. Minor species? Poor specimen? And what did the little slug mean he overanalyzes everything? Could talk someone to death? He was merely a thoughtful man. A careful man. No use plunging in with brawn when brains would serve the purpose better.

At last the merchant stepped away from Moya's crew and joined her son. She shook her head. With a wave of her hand at the crew, she said, "Chose which ever one you will. I find I can give you no guidance in this matter."

The male stepped forward. He slowly circled once around D'Argo. He extended two fingers and poked D'Argo in the ribs. A growl escaped the Luxan. D'Argo's hand went toward his blade. He took a threatening step toward the youth. John couldn't be sure if D'Argo was playing up the fierceness of his warrior role, or if he was simply tired of being examined like so much meat on the hoof.

As the youth walked behind Aeryn, she spun around and threw out her arm blocking his extended hand. Her other hand struck the youth, open palmed, in the chest, forcing him back a step. John knew she'd pulled the punch. Had she meant it, the male would have found himself flat on his back.

The male smiled and bowed to Aeryn as he stepped further from her reach. His steps brought him closer to John. Without warning, the youth spun about, his fist extended. Its intended target John's head. John ducked to the side. The fist passed harmlessly over his shoulder. John took two steps back. He neither raised his hands in defense nor offense. He simply put enough distance between himself and the youth to guarantee his safety. He smiled at the youth.

"You didn't really think that would work, did you?" John asked. "It'll take more than that to get me angry."

The male didn't answer. The expression on his face remained neutral. He turned and walked away. He returned to stand before his mother. He bowed low to the old merchant.

"I choose that one," the male said, pointing past the others toward John.

"What?" Aeryn said. "Him? Why him? He's not a warrior."

"He would rather talk than fight," D'Argo added.

"I know," the male replied. "That is why I chose him."
 
 
 

Ilesca had given John instructions to report for work the following morning. John was to bring with him clothes fitting for the Betrothal Ceremony. Ilesca apparently found what he had been wearing inappropriate.

John and Aeryn sat in his room. The floor was littered with Peacekeeper uniforms. Their only source of spare clothes. They'd spent hours finding clothes that fit him properly. John considered them all to look too much like uniforms to be appropriate. He'd no idea whether Peacekeeper were known where he was going. A uniform might bring him more trouble than he wanted.

When Aeryn suggested that they cannibalize the uniforms and use the parts to make something more fitting, John thought it an excellent idea. However, he informed her, he had no expertise in sewing. Aeryn had left wordlessly only to return shortly with scissors, needle and thread.

"Show me what you want, I'll assemble it," she said.

"I didn't know you could sew," John replied. "That seems a little too...domestic for a girl like you."

Aeryn gave him a puzzled look. "Domestic?" she asked. "Every good soldier should be able to keep their gear in proper order. Techs aren't always available. However, the demand to look one's proper best never ends for a Peacekeeper."

"I stand corrected," John said, unable to keep the smile from his face. "I just never expected to see this Suzie Homemaker side in you."

Aeryn frowned as she took the jacket he was holding away from him. "Just show me what you want," she said. "Keep the comments to yourself."

John hadn't been sure she'd complete the project in time. He'd reserved a conservative looking uniform in case she didn't. This he placed by the small bag he was packing the rest of his gear for the journey in.

When at last all that he could think of to take was in his bag, John sat down beside Aeryn to watch as she sewed. She worked through the night. He found himself drifting off time and again, only to wake and find her still hard at work. He wanted to help, but she declined it each time he offered.

It was nearly time for John to leave when Aeryn helped him into the jacket she had just finished. It was black with red sleeves, pockets, and buckles. It fit him well. Snug but with plenty of room in the shoulders to move. Black britches and tall boots completed the ensemble.

John twirled around in front of Aeryn in his best model on a runway imitation. Aeryn gave him an appraising look. She spun him around twice more before she seemed satisfied. At last she nodded her approval.

Her fingers were covered with bandages. The thick leatherlike material was difficult to sew by hand. She had poured over every stitch. Her meticulous attention to detail painful to watch. It was if she were sewing it to wear herself for some important event. She would stand for nothing less than perfection.

"It will serve," she said. She handed him his bag. "You'd better hurry. You'll be late. We wouldn't want them to think we're wrestlers."

"Wrestlers?"

"Yes, wrestlers. I have heard you use the term before. Wrestlers. People who don't pay their debts."

John laughed. He saw Aeryn bristle, but he couldn't help himself. "It's welchers. And you're right. We wouldn't want them to think that." His hand lingered on hers as he took his bag from her. "You're not saying good bye are you? We wouldn't want to change a tradition that's worked pretty good so far."

Aeryn shook her head and drew her hand back. "No," she replied. "I won't break with tradition. Try not to get into too much trouble while you're gone."

"I'll try," he said with a grin. "But you know me..."

"Only too well," she answered. There was a touch of sadness in her voice.

"Not worried about me, are you?"

She straightened her shoulders. "I'm not."

He laughed. "Miss me when I'm gone?"

"Go!" she said with a frown. She stepped forward, turned him around and gave him a shove toward the door. "I can't miss you if you never go."

"Alright! Alright!" he said, still laughing. "I'm going. See you when I get back." He paused in the doorway to look at her one last time, his mood sobering. "Thanks for the clothes, Aeryn. I appreciate what you've done. I'll miss you when I'm gone."

"This is starting to sound like a goodbye," she said, her frown deepening.

"Yeah, I guess it is," he replied, lingering to look at her. Cursing himself for lingering. Wishing he didn't have to go.

She pointed toward the docking bay. Nodding, he headed down the hallway without another word. His bootfalls echoed in the empty corridor.

Is she watching me go, he wondered? He longed to look back and see. Don't look back, it's bad luck. The closer he came to the bending of the corridor which would take the door of his room out of sight, the stronger became the urge to look back. Don't do it. "Curiosity killed the cat", he reminded himself. The rest of the old saying popped into his head, "But satisfaction brought it back".

He looked over his shoulder. Aeryn leaned against the doorway of his room, watching him go, a look of sadness on her face. He sealed her face into his heart like a picture in a photo album. Something to remember when he was far from Moya. He forced his eyes forward again. He came to the turning of the corridor and passed it. There was no looking back now.
 
 
 

A routine began on the Rowin, Ilesca's private transport, that John found uncomfortable from its onset. Ilesca spent the day in his room. John monitored the ships systems. It wasn't a difficult ship to understand. Ten minutes of instruction from Ilesca had given him a thorough briefing of its operating parameters. Ilesca had retired to his room at the end of the lesson.

The only time John saw Ilesca was at the two meals they shared each day. After two days of this John was in need of conversation. Any kind of conversation. He had begun talking to the ship.

John placed the meal he had heated in front of Ilesca. His employer grunted something, picked up a spoon and began playing with his food. John sat down across the table from him. The stout gray man concentrated on his food, neither looking at John nor speaking to him.

At last John could stand it no longer. "I'm a human," he said. "What species are you?"

Ilesca put his spoon down and looked at John. "I am a Graffin," he replied. "Does this name mean anything to you?"

John shook his head. "No, actually it doesn't."

"I thought not." Ilesca took up his spoon and began pushing the food on his plate around again.

"Hey, we're stuck on this ship for a week, a weeken, before we reach our destination. A little conversation couldn't hurt."

Ilesca sighed. He pushed his plate aside. For a moment he stared the table then set his large green eyes on John's. Eyes the color of the deepest emeralds. Ilesca's pale gray skin had become dull since John first saw him. There were deep lines around those large green eyes and the skin on the youth's neck seemed to sag.

"You don't look so good," John commented. "Aren't you sleeping well?"

"It seems all I've done is sleep since we came on board," Ilesca answered. "I'm just so tired. It must be all the preparations for the Betrothal Ceremony. I've been much occupied with them."

"So who's the lucky girl?" John asked. "What's her name?"

Ilesca gave him an odd look. "I am the lucky one," he replied.

A small laugh escaped John. Relations with aliens were always tricky. He never seemed to know what was the right thing to say. Or the wrong thing either, for that matter.

"I guess I would feel that way, too. If I was the one getting married," John ventured.

Ilesca raised an eyebrow at this. John couldn't help but smile. At least he had the Graffin's interest now.

"You're not mated?"

"Hardly," John replied with a snort.

"But you are so old," Ilesca protested.

John shook he head. "You're starting to sound like my grandmother! There's plenty of time for that. I'm in no hurry."

"Graffin mothers are all in a hurry to have their offspring married. It is a way to carry on the line. This will be my second marriage."

John couldn't keep the surprise from his face. "Second? You seem young to be marrying for the first time to me."

"I will be young for the second marriage only," Ilesca replied.

John thought to ask what happened to the first marriage, but figured that was too personal a question for their first real conversation. He was surprised he'd kept the quiet Graffin talking this long. Ilesca didn't seem in any hurry to leave. John took this as an encouraging sign. He plunged on.

"You haven't told me anything about my role in the Betrothal Ceremony other than I should dress well. What exactly am I supposed to do?"

"You are to be my support," Ilesca answered. "You shall defend me if challenged. You shall enforce my decisions."

John eyed the sturdy Graffin. He didn't look like he needed any help defending himself. "Defend? Enforce?"

"You will fill a traditional role. A ceremonial role. You will represent the strength of my family. Our independence. Our ability to make our own decisions and form our own alliances without fear of coercion or retribution. It is an old tradition. One my mother thinks is a waste of time. I disagree. I do not want to enter this union without at least the illusion the decision is mine. My mother arranged this alliance between my family and that of Coraille's shortly after Coraille was born."

"Tell me what Coraille is like," John said.

"I have never met Coraille."

"You're going to marry someone you've never met!" John winced. He regretted the words the second they came out of his mouth. He needed to watch that bad habit of saying the first thing that came into his head.

"This is not how humans are mated?"

John shook his head. "No," he answered. "Well, at least, not for a century or so."

"How do humans become mated?"

"Now that's a good question. For humans it's sort of a process of trial and error. Lots of trials. Plenty of errors. Nothing so simple as being told who you'll spend the rest of your life with. If your lucky, you find someone you can wake up next to for a hundred years and never regret a moment."

"Humans mate for life?

A small laugh escaped John. "That's the plan," he said. "It doesn't always work out that way, but that is the plan. Till death do you part and all that jazz. Sounds corny, but it's not. It's something I hope to have one day. Like I said, if I'm lucky."

"If this is your wish, why have you never mated?"

John paused a moment before answering that one. "I'm not sure. I came close once. Real close. But we couldn't even remain on the same side of the planet through the courtship. A relationship would've had to be strong to survive that kind of separation. Very strong. Ours wasn't."

"And there has never been another? You have never come close again?"

This line of questions was making John uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than it should have. This simple question only required a one word answer. An uncomplicated yes or no. It should have been easy to answer. He thought about Moya and found he didn't have an answer.

"Tell me more about the Betrothal Ceremony," he said, changing the subject.

Ilesca shook his head. "Not now. Perhaps later." He rose abruptly and left for his room.
 
 
 

The next meal started in silence as had all their meals. Ilesca looked more tired than he had earlier. The Graffin's eyes were darkly circled. His hair which had been shiny and well groomed when they boarded the ship was now dull and tangled.

Ilesca played with the food on his plate. It didn't seem to interest him. At each meal, John had watched the Graffin push his plate away still full of food. The effects of this lack of appetite were showing. Ilesca seemed weak. His skin had taken on a puffy appearance.

John wanted to start another conversation, but for some reason he couldn't think of the right opening. He'd resigned himself to another evening of silence as Ilesca pushed away his uneaten meal.

"Tell me more of marriage and humans," the Graffin said.

John started at Ilesca's words. He was surprised and pleased to have the conversation begin again. "What would you like to know?"

"Were your parents married?" Ilesca asked. John nodded. "For how long?"

"Thirty years," John answered. "Until my mother died. Dad still wears his wedding ring. He's never found anyone new. He's lonely. I know he is. But there was only Mom for him. No one could take her place. All the love he had to give a woman, he gave to her. Like me, he thought she would live forever. That her smile would light our lives every day. That her strength would never fail us. Or her. We were both wrong."

"Is this true of all human marriages?"

John shook his head. "I'd like to say yes, but the answer is no. Not all. But many are. I think that's what keeps the rest of us hopeful. Keeps us trying. We know it's possible. We've seen it. We want that happily ever after stuff for ourselves."

"And this is the marriage that you would have? Devoted to one person until death takes you one from the other? Then to remain faithful to your dead spouse until death comes to lay its claim on you?

John laughed. "That's not exactly how I would put it, but yes. That's the marriage I'd have. Devoted to one person and she to me. Until death claimed one of us."

"This is not the way of Graffin marriages. They are short, by necessity. It is a rare bride who sees more than five cycles with her mate. It is the fate of Graffins that the male will leave the female. As I left my mate. As my mate will eventually leave me. It is certainty known to all."

"You know, going in, that it won't last more than five cycles?"

"Yes. We can not escape our biology. We can not escape the effect the passage of time has on each of us. It is a fact which we accept because it can't be altered. But I must admit what you have told me of human marriages intrigues me. Though the concept is foreign to me, a marriage such as you describe could be desirable. Impossible, but desirable." Ilesca turned away at this, carrying his uneaten food to the waste disposal unit.

"Impossible?"

"For Graffins, yes."

John shook his head. "I've found that most things are possible if you set your mind to them. The only kicker is, you have to be willing to try."

At this Ilesca laughed. "A lasting male/female relationship between Graffins? You have hit on the one thing I know is impossible."

"Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. Somebody's got to be willing to be the first to try. How do you know it's impossible if you never try?"

"For Graffins, there is no trying."

Ilesca walked away without a backward glance, his feet dragging as he went. His shoulders sagging. As if the weight of a world were pressing him down into the deck.
 
 
 

Ilesca slouched into his seat at the table. John had tried his best to prepare an appealing meal. He'd raided the larder for the best it had to offer. The aroma coming from the pot on the burner made his mouth water. He hoped it was the same for Ilesca. John put a steaming ladleful on a plate and placed it in front of Ilesca.

The Graffin didn't look up. His chin hung wearily on his chest, his long unbound hair falling into his face. Ilesca pushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes. To John's surprise, the hair came off in his hand. Ilesca stared at the hair, fear in his eyes. Stark, blind terror. He dropped the hair onto the plate of food. He reached up and took up another handful of hair. As he tugged it came out in his hand.

"No!" he cried. "Oh, no! Not yet. It's too soon. Too soon."

"Are you sick?" John asked.

He placed a hand on Ilesca's arm. Trying to offer comfort. Trying to understand what was happening. He cursed himself inwardly for being so foolish. For all he knew, Ilesca had some terrible contagious disease.

Ilesca leaped to his feet. He headed for his room. He hadn't gone two steps when he collapsed to the floor in a heap. John was at his side in an instant.

"Tell me what I can do to help," John said, hovering over the prostrate Graffin.

"Stop the ship," Ilesca answered feebly.

"Stop the ship?" John repeated. He was sure he couldn't have heard that right. "I need to get you to some help."

"There is no help," Ilesca said, his eyes half closed. His voice barely a whisper. "There's no help. Take me to my room. Stop the ship. These things you can do for me. It is your duty. This is the first test of that duty. Do not fail me. Stop the ship."

John struggled to pick Ilesca up off the floor. He was amazed at how tight Ilesca's skin had become. As if it were filling up with water. It was like grabbing hold of a water balloon. There was a dull look in Ilesca's eyes.

Ilesca wrapped his arms about John's neck. There was no strength in those arms. A child could have pulled free. John expected to find Ilesca fevered, instead his skin was cold as ice. Shock must have already set in. Blood must already have been shunted to the core of Ilesca's body. It was not a good sign.

"Promise me," Ilesca said. "Promise me that you will do as I say. Now and when we reach Artiair. Promise me you will be my Paladin."

John swallowed hard. He had no idea what such a promise meant, or where it might take him. At the moment, he didn't expect Ilesca would be alive long enough to hold him to it. Two words were all Ilesca asked of him. Two words to ease his pain. Two words to hear before he died and John was certain the Graffin was dying. How could he refuse Ilesca his dying wish? How could he ignore the pleading in the Graffin's voice and eyes?

"I promise."
 
 
 

John carried Ilesca to the Graffin's room. It was spacious and elaborately furnished. He laid Ilesca on the large bed. John pulled the cover over Ilesca. The Graffin barely acknowledged it. John eased himself down to sit on the side of the bed.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Pelfhot. There is a vial of Pelfhot in the cargo bay. It will help ease my pain. Find it. Bring it to me quickly."

"I don't even know what Pelfhot is," John said.

"Red. Red liquid in a blue vial. Hurry."

John dashed out of the room. He swung by command and stopped the ship as Ilesca asked. Then he headed for the cargo bay. He'd never been in the bay. He'd no idea what lay behind the door. As the door opened, John saw the bay was filled nearly floor to ceiling with crates all marked in a language he couldn't understand.

There was nothing to do but being with the nearest and hope he got lucky. He was nearly halfway through when he came upon a treasure he never thought to see again. Paper. Sheet after sheet of thick course paper. Creamy white and blank. He lifted the sheets carefully, reverently. Of all the things from Earth he missed, he missed paper most of all. Paper, which he had never given a thought to until he couldn't jot down a thought, or perform an equation, make a check list, leave a note.

Each sheet he lifted was as blank as the one above it. He set aside five of the precious sheets, placing them carefully where they couldn't get dirty or come to harm. A small part of him felt like a thief. A larger part didn't care. He would find a way to pay for the sheets, but he could no longer go without. With an effort he turned away from the paper and opened the next crate.

Ten crates later he found a small stash of blue vials containing red liquid. He stuffed two into his pockets, picked up the paper and rushed back to Ilesca's room.

Ilesca lay unmoving on the bed. He was naked. The Graffin had removed his clothing. There were still impressions in his swollen skin from being constricted in the too tight clothing.

John set the paper aside. He moved to the bed. He took a thin blanket he found laying at the foot of the bed and covered Ilesca with it. The Graffin didn't move. Ilesca didn't acknowledge his presence. John pulled a vial from his pocket and sat on the side of the bed.

"I've found the Pelfhot," he said. "What's it for? Do you inject it, drink it, or rub it on?"

"Drink," Ilesca mouthed his eyes still closed.

John uncorked the vial. He lifted the Graffin's head and poured the contents of the vial into Ilesca's mouth. For a moment he didn't think the Graffin was going to swallow. With a gurgling gulp, Ilesca took the drug.

"Thank you," Ilesca said hoarsely. "More."

John poured the second vial into Ilesca's mouth. Some of the red liquid dribbled down the Graffin's swollen cheek. John wiped it gently away.

"Stay with me," Ilesca said. "No matter what, stay with me."

"Do you know what's happening to you?"

"Yes. It's the Change. Stay with me. No matter what you see. No matter what happens. Stay with me. Promise. Don't leave me alone."

The Graffin's eyes remained closed as he spoke. His hand came out from under the blanket and clutched John's arm. The long clawlike nails pressed uncomfortably into John's flesh.

"I promise," John said.

These words didn't bring Ilesca the comfort John hoped they would. Instead, Ilesca's breathing became labored. He appeared to be fighting for every breath. Ilesca's breathing became more forced with each passing second. He gasped for air, his grip on John's arm tightening farther still. The next moment it was obvious the Graffin was no longer getting any air. His mouth opened and closed as a fish out of water does, but no air moved in or out of his body.

Ilesca brought his hands up to his throat and plunged the long claws of his fingers into his neck. John jumped up and leaned over Ilesca trying to stop him. He couldn't. The Graffin was thrashing about as a drowning person does. Fighting for his life. He had the power of survival on his side. He tossed John aside as if he weighed nothing.

Ilesca's fingers pulled the tear in the skin of his throat open further until it gaped wide and bloody. One hand disappeared into the opening and emerged with what looked to be the Graffin's windpipe. Blood and gore spewed out the end of the garish white tube, then breath flooded back through it into the Graffin's body. It sounded like air flowing in and out of a bellows.

As John watched, the Graffin's body began to grow larger. With each breath it puffed up farther. As if the air brought into Ilesca's body by the tube sticking out of his throat was inflating his skin like a balloon. Yellowgreen liquid began to ooze out of the opening in his throat. It flowed thickly out of Ilesca's eyes, nose, mouth and ears. There were stains on the blanket indicating that the liquid was flowing out of all the body openings of the Graffin. The liquid solidified. The skin of the Graffin's face seemed to pull up off it's bones. The Graffin now appeared to be completely encased in the shell of his swollen stretched skin. Like an insect in a pupa case. The only sign of life was the constant flow of air in and out of the white tube Ilesca had pulled from his throat.

John's legs went weak and he sank to the ground. He'd never heard his shipmates speak of anything like this before. He wouldn't have believed it if they had. What had he gotten himself into?

He couldn't take his eyes off the blanket draped mass on the bed. It no longer resembled Ilesca in any way. It looked like a clown's twisted attempt at shaping a creature out of a balloon blown too full of air.

"Change? Change into what?"
 
 
 

In the five days John spent on the floor of Ilesca's room he had created quite a comfortable haven. His corner of the room was littered with pillows and blankets arranged into a warm nest. He spent most waking and sleeping moments there. His promise kept him there. The monotony of remaining with the pupa was broken only by infrequent trips to command to check the ship's systems, food runs and potty breaks.

In the five days there had been few changes in Ilesca's condition. The pupa case hardened noticeable during the first day. Ilesca's breathing became more shallow and regular.

An unwelcome exception to this lack of change were the frequent and wholly unpleasant smells which emanated from the breathing tube. These could be overpowering. John tried to console himself with the fact that the smells probably meant Ilesca was still alive inside his cocoon. John seriously doubted Ilesca would ever emerge a beautiful butterfly. With John's luck, Ilesca would turn out to be a blood sucking ghoul with the face from hell, or something far worse.

To pass the time, John began to draw. He found conduit in the cargo bay that when lit produced a dark residue which he could use much like charcoal. His original theft of five sheets quickly turned into ten, then fifteen.

He sketched the cocoon, an arrangement of cups, bowls and plates, Rygel's wrinkly face. These he tossed aside. They didn't satisfy an urge in him he couldn't put a name to. Over and over a picture came into his mind. A picture he couldn't ignore. At last he put it down on paper.

Slowly lines began to take shape on the blank paper. The shape became a face. The face was Aeryn's. He pulled from his memory the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her head. Solemn eyes stared back at him from under thick ebon swatches of eyebrow. Curling tendrils of hair framed the striking features of a woman John would never call pretty. But in that face, which sported a too strong nose, full wide lips and a permanent frown crease between her brows, John saw more strength than an entire fleet of command carriers. More passion than all of Shakespeare's tragedies. More breathtaking beauty than his first view of Earth from space.

He found himself staring at the picture for hours trying to decide where to add the next tiny bit of detail. Where to shade, where to add a line, where to do nothing at all. As he stared, he discovered there was an ache in the pit of his stomach. An ache which at first he couldn't define, but which pained him deeply none the less. As he stared at the picture the pain grew. He laughed when he finally recognized the feeling. He was homesick. And not for Earth this time. For Moya.

He wanted to go home. Wanted to see his friends. To know how they were. To share his days with them. He wanted to see Aeryn. Hear her voice. He closed his eyes. There was a smell which was Aeryn. It wafted through his thoughts. Made him shiver. He missed that smell. That voice. Her.

There was nothing to be done about it at the moment. He put the picture aside. He'd made a promise to Ilesca. He'd made a promise to Ilesca's mother. He'd made a promise to his shipmates. This mission. He'd see it through to its end. He could do no less.

It took a moment for John to realize there was something wrong. To recognize how silent the room had become. Something was amiss, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. The cocoon began to shake. His heart thudded against his chest. Ilesca had stopped breathing.

John leaped to his feet and placed his hand next to the breathing tube. Nothing. No air was passing through it. Inside the Invasion of the Body Snatchers pod he could hear movement. Scrabbling and scratching. Dull thumps which caused the pod to tremble. For a moment visions of the pod bursting open and a slithering crablike creature emerging passed through his mind. He tried to quell the growing fear.

"Now I know how Ripley felt." John tried to swallow the lump out of his throat. "Get a grip Hudson. Stay frosty man."

A small hole appeared below the breathing tube. It grew larger. It looked like the end of a bill were pecking at the hole. Like a chick breaking free of its shell. John recognized it as one of Ilesca's teeth.

"If something slimy leaps out of there and latches onto my face, I'm gonna be really pissed!"

Suddenly a small fist covered with yellowgreen slime punched through the hole. The tooth was grasped tightly in the fist. The fist was followed by a second. The small hands took hold of the sides of the hole and began forcing them farther apart. John could no longer stand idly by. He placed his hands next to Ilesca's and pried the sides of the cocoon open.

Ilesca's head popped out. He tried to take a deep breath, but slime coated him, clogged his nose and mouth. Ilesca began to flail about as he struggled for breath. He spat out slime. He forced his shoulders through the hole in the cocoon, thrashing from side to side. In his struggles he began to fall off the bed.

John caught the Graffin's slime covered body before it hit the floor. Only Ilesca's legs remained in the cocoon on the bed. Like the slapping of a baby's behind, the jolt caused by John's grabbing the Graffin seemed to prompt a large wet gurgling breath to be drawn into Ilesca's lungs. Ilesca immediately retched yellowgreen slime on the floor at John's feet.

John tried to lift Ilesca back onto the bed. The slime made his efforts difficult. As he got his hands on Ilesca's shoulders and pushed, Ilesca coughed out a wad of yellowgreen slime which landed square in the center of John's chest. Shocked, John instinctively jumped back. He barely kept the Graffin from falling to the floor. He threw out a hip and hugged Ilesca against it.

It was all more than John's stomach could stand. He dropped to one knee, lowered his head and joined Ilesca in an undeclared retching contest. The sole aim of which seemed to be to see which of them could puke up the bottoms of their feet.

When they both appeared unable to find anything in them to add to the mess on the floor, John eased Ilesca the rest of the way out of the cocoon. The slime made maintaining his grip on the Graffin nearly impossible. He decided his clothes were a lost cause and pulled Ilesca to him to begin maneuvering his barely conscious employer around the bed to the relatively clean far side.

As John hugged Ilesca against his chest he felt two firm round globes pressing into his flesh. He almost dropped Ilesca to the floor from the surprise of the sensation. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman in his arms and held one tight, but he knew breasts when he felt them against him.

Carefully John drug the Graffin to the far side of the bed and laid the slime covered figure down. It was the first chance he had gotten take stock of what had happened to Ilesca in the cocoon.

Ilesca was a foot shorter in height and half his former weight. His long red hair had remained attached to the cocoon. There was a cap of short wet curls on his head. Gone was the rough scaly skin. Gone the snout. Gone the clawlike hands. Another important piece of Ilesca's anatomy was missing.

John instinctively, almost unconsciously, reached down to make sure his own package was secure and intact. He didn't know what to make of any of this. Breasts had indeed appeared were there'd been none. It was an extremely feminine body which lay on the bed before him. Stark contrast to the body which had been cocooned five days previous.

John found himself looking Ilesca up and down. Staring slack jawed. "This is what the change is?" he asked, not really expecting an answer but unable to keep the thought unspoken. "You've changed into a female?"

"Yes," Ilesca answered quietly, staring up at him with her large emerald green eyes. She started to say more but slipped into unconsciousness.

John didn't know how to begin the next task. Ilesca needed to be cleaned up and there was only him to do it. He fetched a large water filled pot from the galley and ripped Ilesca's old clothes into rags. They wouldn't fit the Graffin any more anyway he reasoned. His hand with the wet rag hesitated a long time over the Graffin as he hoped against hope Ilesca would awaken and begin this task himself. Herself. God, but this was confusing.

When he could wait no longer, he began the long slow task of cleaning the slime off the Graffin's body. It had already begun to harden in some places making the task all the more difficult. How he missed Zhaan. This sort of thing was right up the Delvian's alley. He felt himself blushing as the wet rag passed over certain areas of the Graffin's body. He forged on none the less. This had to be done.

As he washed the slime away, he found himself admiring what Ilesca had become. He tried not to. To keep this task as professional as possible. He found he couldn't help himself. His eyes lingered on the beautiful round face. The long red lashes. The delicate arch of her brow. Her fine small hands. He found her skin soft. Its pale grey green color appealing. The dark curly cap of hair became a flaming red color as it dried. Her clean hair was like silk under his hand.

At last he finished. His reason for touching her over. His hand strayed to her cheek. He brushed the back of his fingers against it. She looked so vulnerable. He found himself smiling. It hadn't taken him long to start thinking of her as her. Something stirred deep in him. It came as a surprise to find that he wanted to protect her. She needed someone. She needed him. It felt good being needed.

He cleaned the pupa case off the bed and replaced the soiled linen with fresh. All the while working around the unconscious Ilesca, lifting and moving her as needed. At last he placed her under the clean bed coverings.

An hour later he had the floor clean and the soiled rags and pupa case consigned to an empty crate in the cargo bay. He could think of nothing else to do but return to his corner and wait for her to awaken. He was tired. He knew he should keep watch over her. She might need more help. His eyes betrayed him. They closed and forgot to open again.
 
 
 

A wonderful aroma tickled the edges of John's mind. Coaxing him from his sleep. Promising him something wonderful to eat. His belly growled in response to the signals his nose was getting.

He opened one eye and found Ilesca sitting on the floor next to him. She was wearing a deep green robe. It was entirely too large for her. It hung off one soft grey green shoulder. She had a juicy orange morsel held under his nose. She touched it to his lips.

"Try it," she said. "It's good."

He opened his mouth and let her push the morsel in. She was right, it was good. Better than good. It was delicious. He felt juice dribbling down his chin. Before he could reach up to wipe it away, Ilesca did it for him.

She tilted her curl capped head to one side, regarding him with the largest, greenest eyes he had ever seen. A smile split her lips which had a pale sheen of pink to them. Gone were the fangs. Even white teeth lit up her smile.

"I think I surprised you," she said with a small laugh. Her voice was soft and musical.

He nodded. "Yes, you did."

"I surprised myself as well. This wasn't suppose to have happened until after the betrothal ceremony. I guess I shouldn't have postponed going for so long. Coraille will be surprised as well. He won't be expecting this me."

John sat up, placing some distance between himself and his employer. He was suddenly uncomfortable having her thigh pressed against his as she sat next to him. She didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"I morphed," she answered. "I mean, I went through metamorphosis. Just as almost every Graffin does. Every Graffin begins his life as a male and most end it as a female. But you didn't know that, did you? You said the word Graffin meant nothing to you. I suppose I should have warned you. Forgive me. As the change approaches us, our ability to think is somewhat diminished."

"A little heads up would've been nice," John agreed.

"Forgive me," she repeated.

She leaned close and placed her hand on his arm. It was warm and soft. The touch gentle. It lingered there only a moment before she pulled it away and sat back up. He found himself wishing she had stayed where she was.

John shrugged. "There's nothing to forgive. Still, since you seem to be thinking pretty clearly now, is there anything else I should know?"

She laughed again. "I'm sure there is, but later. Come let's have something to eat. I'm famished. The Change takes so much out of one. More than I expected. I feel like I haven't eaten in a weeken."

"You haven't," John confirmed.

Another laugh escaped her. An infectious laugh. A laugh that made him long to hear it again and again. To share in its joy. John wished he could think of something witty to say. Something to make her laugh again.

"Do I still call you Ilesca?"

"That is my name," she answered. "From the beginning to the end. The one thing about a Graffin that remains the same from birth to death."

As she turned to get up, she stopped and picked up the picture of Aeryn. Ilesca held it out before her, studying the drawing intently. She sniffed it. Ran her fingers over it.

"What is this?" she asked.

"A drawing," he answered. "A feeble attempt at art."

"Where did you get it?"

"I made it."

She cocked her head and looked at him appraisingly. Her gaze returned to the drawing. She looked at it for some time before speaking.

"It's the warrior I saw in my mother's shop, isn't it?"

"Aeryn, yes."

"Why did you make this?"

John cleared his throat. He wasn't sure he wanted to answer this question. For some reason he felt Ilesca was invading his privacy. Asking him to voice his heart. He looked into her bright green eyes. Saw there a longing to know which he couldn't deny.

"Because I care for her. I wanted something to remind me of her. When I look at it, she doesn't seem so far away."

"I like it," Ilesca said. "It's not an exact duplication of her features as a holo would be, yet it's captured something of her no holo ever could. Could you make a similar drawing of me for Coraille?"

Surprised, he answered, "If you like."

"I would."

Ilesca placed the drawing carefully back where she'd found it. She rose from the floor in a single fluid motion.

"Let's eat. I'm famished."

John watched her leave for the galley. Her too large robe drug on the ground behind her. He smiled. She looked funny wearing her old clothes. Swallowed up by clothes that had once fit her. His thoughts drifted back to the smells which had awakened him. He rose and followed after her, wondering what delicious treasures she had found.
 
 
 

He hadn't seen Ilesca in hours. She'd left for the cargo bay shortly after they'd finished eating. John cleaned up his corner nook in Ilesca's room and took his belongings back to his own room. This took a considerable time as he wasn't hurrying. Still he'd seen nothing of Ilesca. At last curiosity got the better of him and he headed for the cargo bay.

He heard grunting and groaning long before he reached the bay. As he walked through the bay door, he found Ilesca pushing with all her might against the side of a large crate. Her hair was soaked with sweat. Her face flushed from exertion. There was a look of desperation on her face. She slammed her fist against the side of the crate. Her frustration plain to see. She kicked the crate with a bare foot for good measure. Then she slumped against the crate panting. A soft sob escaped her.

"Can I help?" John asked.

Ilesca's head snapped around. By the look on her face it was obvious she hadn't heard him arrive. She set her jaw, trying to hide the fact she was crying.

"Can I help?" John repeated.

She turned her back on him and walked away. Leaning heavily against another crate she lowered herself to the floor. She wrapped her robe tightly around her legs with her arms and buried her face in her drawn up knees. Her shoulders shook.

John knew she was crying in earnest now. What he didn't know was why. He crossed the room and sat down beside her. Waiting for her to speak first. She didn't seem so inclined. Instead she remained where she was, a half stifled sob escaping her from time to time. She was the picture of sorrow.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Without thinking his hand came to rest on her shoulder.

She pointed at the crate in front of her without speaking or looking up. He was as confused as ever. Ilesca's face remained hidden by her knees.

"You're going to have to give me a better hint than that. If you want me to help."

"I can't move it," came her muffled reply.

"That's no problem," he said, starting to get up. "I'll move it for you."

Ilesca's head came out from behind her knees. Her hand shot out and caught his arm. She pulled him back to the floor beside her.

"You don't understand," she said, tears still streaming down her face.

He nodded in agreement. "You're right. I don't," he said in exasperation. Then more gently, "Help me understand."

"Look at me!" she said.

It came out a shout that shocked them both. She pulled the too long sleeves of the robe she was wearing away from her arms. She stretched her legs out on the floor before her and pulled away the robe which hid them. She was shaking from the effort of keeping some strong emotion in check.

"Look at me," she began again, fighting for control of her voice. "Look what I've become. Look at these limbs. So small. So thin. So weak. I'm weak. A weeken ago I could have moved that crate with ease. Now I can't even budge it. I'm useless."

John couldn't think of anything to say. He'd no idea what it would be like to wake up one day and not be able to do those things he'd once been able to do with ease. To look in the mirror and not see the face he'd become accustomed to. How would he feel if one day he were no longer male? If he woke to find himself female? Possessed with a body so different than it had been?

Tears streamed down Ilesca's face. "I didn't know I'd become so small. I knew that I would change. I thought I was ready for it. But I'm so different than I was. Look. My clothes don't fit me. My voice. This isn't my voice. It's so squeaky. So frail. I'm so ugly. So tiny and pathetic. Who would want me? Who would have me? I never thought the change would be like this. I never thought that I'd come to loathe what I am."

"I like your voice," John said. "And being able to push around crates isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Ilesca wiped her nose on the back of her arm. It took her two tries to get a smile on her face. The smile she did achieve looked as if it wanted to flee. John took her hand in his. He smiled at her.

"You like my voice?" Ilesca asked shyly.

"Very much," John answered. He reached out and touched the end of her nose. "And your nose. And your smile. You're far from ugly. I don't want to hear you say you're ugly again, hear me? Coraille is a lucky man, in my opinion." He stood up and pulled Ilesca to her feet. "Now tell me what's behind that crate and why you need it so badly."

"Clothes," she replied. "I have clothes for after the change packed away in the next crate. I hope some of them will fit me."

John threw his shoulder against the crate and began pushing it out of the way. "We'll soon find out," he said.
 
 
 

A new routine developed on the Rowin. John was awakened each morning to wonderful smells coming from the galley. They set the ship back on course. He and Ilesca monitored the ship's systems together for an hour or so then retired to the comfort of Ilesca's room. There Ilesca sat before him leaning against the bed. John spent the days sketching her.

The fear John had first felt as the blank sheet of paper and its vast whiteness spread out before him dissolved as the days passed. His confidence in his skill grew. The picture, however, progressed slowly.

He and Ilesca talked and talked. She asked him endless questions about Earth and humans. Since he'd arrived at this end of the universe, he'd never had such a rapt audience. This chance to talk of home caused his heart to swell with joy. With gratitude for the hours she let him ramble on. He talked until he was hoarse.

When the talk turned to art, he found that Ilesca knew little of stories and that no Graffins made pictures to adorn their walls. She was fascinated by the progress of the drawing. She didn't seem to mind the hours of posing.

She asked him to tell her stories of human love and marriage. This request took him by surprise. At first he couldn't think of any, but then the works of Shakespeare came to mind. He mangled the few sonnets he knew, though he thought he got their intent across. He had a better handle on the bard's plays. The story of Romeo and Juliet kept Ilesca hanging on his every word. He crammed in every detail he could remember. Every snatch of dialogue. All the angst and sorrow of love found and lost. When she cried at the end, he knew he'd told the story well.

He repeated the words of every love song he could remember. He found himself singing them more often than not. She never noticed when he sang off key or messed up the words. She asked to hear them over and over.

One morning as they settled down to work on the drawing, Ilesca said, "Could you love a woman like Juliet?" Her eyes were on his face, studying it.

This question and her seriousness caught him by surprise. She tended to ask him unexpected questions. Questions that made him think. Questions for which there were no easy answers. This question, however, seemed especially important to her. He thought a moment before answering.

"Perhaps," he replied. "But she is not my favorite heroine. I admire the strong women Shakespeare wrote about. Those who did not allow themselves to be victimized by their circumstances. Those who reared up and fought. Those with quick minds and quick tongues. Like Portia, and Katherine, and Beatrice."

"Like the woman warrior on your ship?"

He didn't want to think of Aeryn and how much he missed her. About those qualities which he admired in her. They only made him long to be back on Moya. He looked into Ilesca's eyes and felt the longing lessen.

"Yes. Like the woman on Moya. Like the women on Moya. All my female shipmates are strong women. Good and loyal friends."

"But you didn't draw a picture of those others, you drew one of the warrior. The Sebaceon. Is she special to you?"

"Yes," he answered simply, unable to meet her eyes. "Very."

"She's a lucky woman," Ilesca said. "In my opinion."

She rose and left the room.
 
 
 

John finished the drawing at last. He held it out before him a moment, giving it one final critical look. There was nothing more he could do. There was nothing more he could add to make it better. It was a bit idealized but a good likeness. He handed it to Ilesca.

She held it silently out before her, imitating his actions. She held it there a long time. As the moments passed, John began to think she didn't like it. At last she smiled. A tear traveled slowly down her cheek. Disappointment felt like a cold lump in his chest.

"Don't you like it?" he asked.

"This is how you see me?"

"Yes."

"But the woman in this picture is beautiful," Ilesca protested.

"Yes," he said. "You are."

She looked suddenly uncomfortable. Perhaps he had said something wrong. Stepped over an unseen boundary. Broken an unspoken rule. Rather than commit some further transgression he sat quietly and waited for her to speak.

"Thank you," she replied awkwardly, breaking the silence. "Thank you for making this gift for me. It will be like nothing Coraille has ever received before. A unique gift. A fitting gift from his bride. I'm honored by the time you took to make it. I'm honored by the kindness you've shown me. You're a worthy Paladin. To stay by me through my change. To make for me such a grand gift for my new husband. To stand with me at my betrothal. I made a lucky choice in you. I'm proud to have you stand with me."

"Tell me more about my role in the ceremony."

"Just stand beside me. My hand will be on yours. You need say nothing. You need do nothing. There will be much talk of tradition and family. Of children and the future. When Coraille asks me to be his wife, I'll take a moment to consider. In that moment you will stand fast beside me. When I answer that I will, you must surrender my hand to him and back away. There will be more talk, then the ceremony will be over and you'll be free to return to your ship."

"Doesn't sound too hard," John said. "Show me what you want me to do."

They both rose up from the floor. Ilesca set the drawing on the bed and stepped to his right side. She took hold of his right hand and set it out before him just short of shoulder height. She placed her hand on his. Her back was stiff. Her eyes stared straight ahead.

"Like this," she said. "We walk into the room like this. It will be filled with Coraille's family. We stop before Coraille and his mother. Then the talking begins. There will be no laughing or smiling. The ceremony is a serious matter. Look them in the eye. Whoever speaks. Look them in the eye as if you would do what ever it took to see that my wishes are carried out. Then give me to Coraille."

"I can do that."

He dropped his hand, but Ilesca didn't let go of it. She moved to stand in front of him. She brought his hand to her face and looked at it. She leaned her cheek against it.

"Your hands are so strong, yet you've created a work of such delicate skill. I'm amazed. A warrior and a poet of pictures. A combination I've never seen before."

She pressed her lips against the back of his hand. A cool, delicate touch. One that sent fire racing through his blood. She looked up at him through her long red lashes. A mischievous light danced in her emerald eyes. The trace of a smile touched the corners of her mouth.

He knew he should take his hand back, but he couldn't. His face turned hot. He knew he was blushing. He was certain she was making a pass at him. A subtle pass, but a pass none the less.

She abandoned subtlety. She took his arm and put it around her waist. Leaning against him, she circled her arms about him. Her hands caressed his back. Her cheek nestled against his chest. A warm and inviting scent wafted up from the fine red curls on her head.

His better judgement told him to leave. Leave now. Get while the getting was good. Before he did something he regretted. He tried to listen. Tried to hear that better side of him. It was a quiet voice which grew more quiet with each passing moment. It's voice drowned by the roar of his racing pulse.

His soul, hungry for contact, bid him stay. Told him wait. Urged him to take anything she might offer and take it gladly. Completely. Without hesitation. How long had it been since he felt smooth skin next to his? How long since such an opportunity had come his way? When had he last been offered a warm embrace?

"Tomorrow we reach Artiair," she said. "Tomorrow. Tonight there is only you and I. I would not have you leave me alone. I don't want you to sleep in your bed tonight. I want you to share mine. I need you. I need your strong arms about me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

He nodded, then realized she couldn't see that. "Yes," he said, softly. His cheek rested against her silky curls. "I understand."

"Will you stay, John?"

It was the first time she had called him by his name. He knew it was meant to influence him. He knew the affect it was meant to have. It did. She did. The words tore at his heart.

"I shouldn't," he said, cursing himself as he did. "It wouldn't be right."

She took her arms from about him and stepped away. "Then go," she said, pointing at the door, not looking at him. "Go. I will not beg you to stay."

He backed away from her. She remained where she was, staring at the floor. Her shoulders back and square. He saw her jaw tremble. He reached toward her, but snatched his hand back.

His mind raced. Go! Go now! There's nothing but sorrow and regret here. There's nothing but pain. Tomorrow you give her to another man. Gods, she was another man a short time ago. That didn't matter. She was a woman now. A beautiful intelligent woman. One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

You're mad as a hatter, Crichton. Daffy as a duck. Crazy to even consider her offer.

He made it to the door. He was proud of that fact. For one small moment.

He rushed back to her. Swept her up in his arms. Crushed her against him with a longing which both scared and thrilled him. His lips sought her face. Covered it with kisses. When their lips met, he poured his soul into that kiss.

She clung to him as a dying man does a branch in a storm tossed flood. She molded her body to his. Her hands were everywhere. They clutched at him, tugged at his hair, ran over him, searching for a way into his clothes.

And then there were no clothes between them. No words between them. Nothing to distract the fire which threatened to consume them both with its heat. There was nothing but the moment. The touch of her. The scent of her. The taste of her.
 
 
 

The proximity alarm sounded. John's eyes drifted open. They were approaching Artiair. Their time together was nearly over. Duty called to each of them. Ilesca would take a husband today as was intended from the beginning. He would give her to the man as the duty he'd taken on required.

He looked down at Ilesca's head pillowed on his shoulder. The distant alarm had not awakened her. He savored the feel of her warm against him. The night had been as a dream, full of bittersweet urgency. Full of desperate need from both of them. Need they spent the night trying to satisfy until, exhausted by their attempts, they fell asleep clinging to each other.

He pressed his lips against her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open. A smile spread across her face. Depthless emerald eyes looked tenderly into his.

"Two of the fairest stars in all the heavens," she said. "I understand the bard's words, John. I see the stars. I see them in your eyes. I'm falling in love with you."

He folded his arms about her and hugged her tight. "Oh, Aeryn," he murmured.

If there'd been a black hole in the room that could swallow him completely, he'd have gladly thrown himself into it at that moment. He would've cut out his tongue had he known it would betray him so. The pain on her face was like a knife in his gut. He could do nothing to take the words back. They were said. And like a gun once fired, the bullet of his words blazed across the gap between them and slammed into Ilesca. She flinched as if she'd been shot.

With a sigh, she pushed herself away from him. She wouldn't met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to draw her back to him. "So sorry."

She resisted the attempt. Looking away, she rose out of the bed and covered herself with the long green robe. Hiding her face from him. Hiding her body from him. Putting up a wall to separate them.

"For what?" she asked. "There is nothing to be sorry for. It is tomorrow."

Her words were another knife. This one in his heart. He wanted to tear down the wall he saw rising relentlessly between them. He wanted to turn the ship around. He wanted to pull her into his arms and lose himself in her forever. To put aside duty. To grab what was here and damn the past as lost forever. Damn as illusions all the alliances he'd known or ever thought he might know, the loves that had been or might yet be. Damn them as insubstantial dreams. As hollow longings which could never be, would never be, fulfilled.

What was here before him he could feel. He could taste and smell it. This could be his. He knew it. He had seen it in her eyes. He only had to ask. He only had to reach out and take.

He couldn't.

When he looked into his future, it wasn't Ilesca's face he saw. How could he have been so weak? So thoughtless? What had he done?

"I am fortune's fool," Ilesca said, quoting back to him the words from the play she'd loved so well. Speaking his own thoughts.

"As am I."
 
 
 

John punched in the coordinates for the landing site sent to him by Coraille's people. The red and black outfit was hot. He brushed his still wet hair back from his face with his hand. Another few moments and they would be on Artiair. Another few hours and he would be headed back for Moya. Mission complete. His life a shambles.

The ship settled gently in the manicured gardens of a large estate. John could see a welcoming party waiting for them. He turned to notify Ilesca of their arrival when he saw her standing in the door to command.

She wore an emerald green dress made of a filmy material which clung to her form and swirled about her legs to skim the floor. A large green stone hung on a gold chain in the center of her forehead. Her hair shone like burnished copper.

"I'm ready," she said, holding out her hand.

He moved to her side and placed his hand under hers. "You take my breath away," he said, leading her toward the exit port.

"I would rather it had been your heart," she answered as the door slid open and the ramp descended into the lush garden.

He shot a glance at her. She was looking straight ahead. Her face was serious and neutral. She looked as if she had said nothing at all. He led her down the ramp and they followed the welcoming committee into the estate.

They arrived at a large, austerely decorated room. It was filled with Graffins. Young males. Young and old females. All seemed to be dressed in their finest. A chittering of whispered conversation filled the room. All eyes were on them as they walked slowly to the couple at the far end of the room.

The old woman who stood so regally awaiting their arrival could be no one but Coraille's mother. She was a small woman dressed richly and simply. At her side stood a young male resplendent in blue. He was taller than John and broader. John hadn't seen many Graffin's but thought this one would be considered handsome. He certainly radiated maleness. Power emanated from his thick limbs. He set his confident eyes on his bride to be, ignoring John's presence.

"Welcome, Ilesca," the old woman said. "You have been blessed by the Change."

Ilesca bowed slightly, never letting go of John's hand. "Many thanks," she said.

"You are more beautiful than was promised," Coraille said, eyeing her appraisingly. There was no tenderness in his voice.

Ilesca bowed to him as well, but said nothing. The conversation moved quickly into the formal ceremony itself. John soon lost interest in the words being said. He took to heart Ilesca's instructions, though, and met the eye of every speaker. He kept his arm rock steady under Ilesca's tight grip. She kept her eyes locked on each speaker's face.

After what seemed an hour, Coraille stepped forward. He held out his hand. A smile played across his snout like mouth. His green eyes glinted with unconcealed desire.

"Be my wife," he said. "Be my wife, as was promised me."

John waited for Ilesca's answer. She said nothing. Concern clouded Coraille's face. He extended his hand further. Still Ilesca said nothing. Others in the room began looking about uncomfortably. It was obvious the ceremony was not going as they thought it would.

"Be my wife," Coraille repeated firmly.

"No," Ilesca said quietly. "I will not be your wife."

Coraille looked at his extended hand with embarrassment. He dropped it to his side. Anger was written plain on his face. Anger and humiliation.

"I can compel you to honor the contract, and I will," Coraille answered.

"Then you must be willing to do so with more than words," Ilesca said. "You must be willing to go against my Paladin."

For the first time in the ceremony John forgot his duty and stared at Ilesca with frank dismay. What was she doing? What was she saying? What was 'go against' suppose to mean?

"This puny creature?" Coraille asked.

"Has beaten the best the Sebaceon's have sent against him," Ilesca bragged. "I chose him over a Luxan warrior."

There came a collective gasp from the room. Doubt crossed Coraille's face. He seemed to be considering her words. Taking measure of John and his abilities in light of what he'd been told.

Coraille grabbed Ilesca by the arm and began to pull her away from John. His large hand gripped tightly as he pulled. John saw Ilesca's face twist with pain. She tried to pull her arm out of the Graffin's grip. He was too strong.

John straight armed Coraille as he had seen Aeryn do Ilesca. The move worked. It drove the Graffin back a step. It caught him off guard. Caused him to let go of Ilesca's arm.

Coraille roared with anger. He drew himself up to his full height and loomed over John, glaring down into John's face. Spittle dripped off the Graffin's chin. His lip curled back exposing his long fanglike canines. Ilesca put her hand calmly back on John's and stared defiantly into Coraille's eyes.

John's stomach hit the floor. He felt the blood drain from his face. He tried to look tough, but knew he was failing miserably. This ceremony was not going as he'd been told it would. It was turning violent. He'd no idea what was expected of him. What would come next. Whatever it was, it didn't look good for his long-term health prospects.

"So be it!" Coraille shouted. He stormed past them, shouldering John out of the way.

Coraille's mother followed her son. She cast Ilesca a look of frank hatred. Her eyes strayed to the back of her departing son. She looked frightened about what was to come.

The rest of the Graffin filed out of the room. The first chittering as they went. The last Graffin to leave the room were silent as mice.

When they were alone, John turned on Ilesca. "What's going on here?" he said. It was all he could do to keep from shouting. "What've you done?"

"I'm setting myself free," she answered solemnly.

"Free? Free to do what? You never said anything about this to me. We never discussed this. What do I have to do? Kill him?"

"To be free, I must make him reject me or lose to you," she said. "Those are the only ways I can have my freedom back."

"Do I just knock him down, or do I have to kill him?"

"He must reject me, or lose to you," she answered.

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"If he rejects me, I am free. If he dies, I am free."

John shook his head. "No!" he shouted. "No way! I didn't sign up as a hit man. You never said anything about killing people. There has to be another way."

"I can agree to be Coraille's wife," Ilesca said.

"That brute's wife?" John took her arm in his hands. Dark bruises were already forming from the abuse she had taken. Long bloody furrows ran down her arm where his claws had sunk into her flesh. "Is there more of this in your future?"

"Yes," she answered. "Do not forget. I was once what Coraille is. Once male hormones raced through me. The urge to mate was strong. Overwhelming. I know to what lengths I would go to possess a wife. I know how deep my anger would run if I'd been rejected. I know the pride which drives him. I know the life I offered my wife. I can expect no better."

John shook his head. How could he turn her over to that roaring, drooling beast? What could he offer her in exchange? What did she expect of him? Hearth, home and family? He had nothing. Could give her nothing. And worst of all, he didn't love her. Not like that. Not like she wanted. Not like she deserved.

"I can't be what you want me to be, Ilesca," he said. "My heart is not free to give. I can't be your husband."

"I know," she said. "Your heart belongs to the woman warrior. To Aeryn. But I've seen what can be. I've known tenderness. I know men and women can be together forever. I want what some have found. I want to be free to look for it. I won't find it here. It's not in Coraille to give. He has neither the time nor the inclination. But I hope to find it. One day. Like you do. If not with you, with someone like you. Someone kind and gentle. Someone I would want to wake up next to for a hundred years and never regret the decision. Will you give me the chance?"

He'd agreed to be her Paladin. On the day she changed, he'd promised to do as he was asked. Since then.... He owed her something. It was his dream she spoke back to him. His dream she'd made her own.

"Yes," he said. "I'll do my best."
 
 
 

A Graffin came into the room and bid them follow. The wizened old woman led them out into the bright sun and the gardens. Gardens full of beautiful flowers and tall shade trees. Green lawns and sculpted bushes. Full of colorful solemn Graffin crowded into a circle.

In the center of that circle Coraille waited on a patch of mown lawn. He had in his hands what would have been called a halberd on Earth. It was well over two meters in length. The axehead end flashed in the sunlight. Coraille looked as if he knew how to use it.

A halberd was handed to Ilesca. She struggled under the weight of it, trying to maintain the sense of decorum she exhibited in front of the other Graffin.

"I will give you a chance to reconsider your decision," Coraille said.

He spun the halberd in a circle over his head. The effort cost him nothing. He could have been swinging a string as easy as he made it appear. It was a display of his prowess. A display of threat which John felt acutely.

"What is your answer?" Coraille asked.

"It has not changed," Ilesca said.

"I shall not hold this spirited display against you," Coraille said, his tone conciliatory. "I shall not let the shame of this moment color our life together. There shall be no punishment, if you come to me freely. Now."

"My answer is no."

Coraille smiled. His lips pulled back from his fangs and he growled. "Then send your Paladin to his death."

Ilesca handed John the halberd. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. There were tears in her eyes. Tears for him or for her, he didn't know. She stepped out of the open space to join the others circled about.

John tested the weight of the halberd. He had used something similar once against Crais, but the sharp axelike end was an additional weight and threat he didn't know how to use to his advantage.

He was still deciding how best to hold the weapon when Coraille let out a blood curdling scream and charged. John barely had time to bring his weapon to bear. The two halberds met in the air above John's head. The force of Coraille's blow drove John to his knee. The Graffin's momentum carried him on away from John. Gave John the moment he needed to gain his feet and spin around. The moment he needed to prepare for the next attack.

The halberds clanged together again. The blow made the bones in John's arms groan. His hands were becoming numb from a combination of the blows and his death grip on the weapon. Coraille brought the axehead around in an arcing movement meant to take John's head off. John ducked and it whistled past him, only inches above his back.

It was then John's chance came. Coraille was off balance. His chest and belly exposed to attack. Indecision made John pause a moment. He lunged forward and plunged the sharp end of the halberd into Coraille's thigh. A blow meant only to wound the Graffin, not kill him. His opponent roared in pain and rage. John pulled the halberd out of Coraille's thigh.

"Surrender your claim," John shouted.

Coraille looked down at the growing stain on his britches and growled. "Never."

John swung the axehead at Coraille's chest slicing through clothes and flesh. "Don't make me kill you."

The thick pole of Coraille's weapon struck John's side in the next second. John heard his ribs break. Loud cracking noises followed by pain which threatened to steal his eyesight. Pain which robbed him of breath. He heard Coraille laughing.

John had been preparing to plunge his halberd into the Graffin's other leg. The blow to the ribs caused John's aim to be thrown off. The sharp pike end of his weapon merely grazed the side of Coraille's leg. As John pulled back his halberd, Coraille swept his legs out from under him. John fell heavily on his back. The butt end of John's halberd swung up as he fell and caught Coraille under the chin. The blow sent the Graffin over backwards. John's halberd flew out of his hands.

As John rolled over onto his hands and knees, stretching out to reclaim his weapon, Coraille's booted foot landed squarely in his stomach, flipping him over again. The next instant the sharp end of Coraille's halberd came down on John's shoulder. Buried itself in his flesh so deep only the axehead kept it from coming out his back.

John heard himself scream. As he fought for breath, Coraille slowly pulled the halberd out of his shoulder. Inch by torturous inch. All the while the Graffin smiled at him. Coraille took the halberd in both hands and prepared to plunge it into John's heart. John closed his eyes.

There had to be something he could do. Some reckless move he'd seen D'Argo perform. Some subtle twist of Aeryn's he could attempt. He felt so slow. He couldn't think. Hurry, he urged himself. Do something. There's not much time left to decide.

The next thing he knew, Ilesca was on top of him. Pressing herself against his chest. Placing herself between him and Coraille's weapon.

"I yield!" she cried. "I yield. My answer is yes!"

"No!" John shouted, trying to push her off. Trying to rise. "I can beat him. I can win. I won't let you do this. I won't."

The bright sunlight disappeared.
 
 
 

John awoke to find himself laying in Ilesca's bed aboard the Rowin. Ilesca sat beside him looking at the door. His wounds were bandaged. He felt weak and feverish. His shoulder throbbed. He ribs ached. It hurt to breathe.

"I failed you," he said.

"No," she answered, still looking at the door. "Never think that. You are a finer Paladin than I ever hoped to find."

"But I lost. You are to become Coraille's wife."

"I am Coraille's wife," she said turning to look at him.

The left side of Ilesca's face was bruised and swollen. Her left eye a mere slit. Blind fury welled up in John at the sight. He sat bolt upright trying to throw the bedcovers off.

"I'll kill him," John shouted, struggling to get out of bed. "I'll kill him for doing this to you. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Why didn't I put that spear through his gut instead of into his leg? I had the chance. I let it slip by. And you've suffered for that."

Ilesca put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down onto the bed. She did it with ease. He found he didn't have the strength to stop her.

"I suffer for the decisions I made, not for yours," she said. "I gambled Coraille would be a coward. I gambled he could be bluffed. I gambled he would be a smaller man. A less determined man. On all counts I guessed wrong. You must not blame yourself. I chose you because you were a thoughtful man. You're the Paladin I wanted. I could have had no better."

"But what will your life be like? Will he always treat you this way?"

"No. As he ages, he may calm. Our lives will settle into a routine which we can both live with. Then there will be a child. Coraille will leave me. He will change and move on to have a child of his own. Then I will be free."

"What will you do then?"

"I will take charge of my life. I will rear up and fight as the heroines you admire. I've had a taste of the freedom. I like it. I've learned much from you. I live in hope of finding someone to share my remaining days with. I thank you for showing me there are more ways to live than the Graffin's way. That there can be lasting loves other than that of mother for child. I shall find such a love one day. I will tell him of you."

Reaching to the floor she picked up a package. She held it a long moment before placing it on the bed beside him. She rose.

"Please don't open this until I've gone."

"I promise."

She sat silently beside him for a long time. "Did I ever have a chance to win your love?" she asked quietly. Her voice barely a whisper. She tilted her head so that he couldn't see where she'd been hit.

He hesitated. He could lie to save her feelings. To excuse himself for what he'd let happen. He could tell her that there'd been a time his heart was hers to have. But it would be a lie. He couldn't lie to her. She deserved better.

"No."

"Not even the smallest moment?"

There was pleading in her voice. It tore at his heart. Constricted his throat. He didn't want to hurt her. He couldn't be truthful and avoid it.

"No," he said softly. "Not one."

She nodded. "As I thought."

She brushed a tear from her eye. "We've left the planet's surface. Coraille awaits me in the transport. I must go. He will become impatient." Her hand stole to her face. "I don't think I want to make him impatient. I'll set a course for home before I leave. Tell my mother all went well."

He watched her move to the door. He couldn't think of anything to say. His heart ached to see her go to the life that awaited her. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her. Protect her. Keep her safe. It wasn't possible. His chance at that had passed. She went to the only life open to her. If he cared for her, he would honor that. He would allow her that small dignity. It was all he could do. He knew that, but it didn't hurt any less as she turned her battered face toward him.

"Thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?" she asked. He began to answer when she raised her hand to still him. "Eyes, look your last. Remember me." Then she was gone.

He looked at the package. It was large and thin. He untied the green ribbon which held it together. Inside he found his drawing of Ilesca.
 
 
 

A servant of Ilesca's mother piloted the Rowin to the orbiting Moya. John had endured Rygel's incessant talking with poor grace since the Dominar had boarded. Rygel, however, being Rygel, hadn't noticed John's irritation. It didn't surprise John, it only irritated him more.

The last week he'd spent alone on the Rowin ranked among the worst of his life. It had been filled with pain and loneliness. Pain in his body and his soul. Loneliness in his mind and heart. The days had been filled with aches from which he could find no relief. The nights with dreams of betrayal and death. He'd gotten no rest.

Every moment found him trying to second guess his actions from the minute he set foot on the Rowin. Trying to figure out where he went wrong. When he'd lost his balance. How he could've let the things happen that had happened.

He was no closer to the answers to these questions as the Rowin entered Moya's docking bay than he had been a week ago. He'd done so little right in his time on the Rowin. Never before had he let his guard down so far. Always he'd kept a tight rein on himself. His feelings he'd never tried to hide, but he'd acted on them so seldom. And then always with such caution. No matter how much he'd wanted something. No matter how much he told himself it wouldn't matter if he did act.

And then Ilesca. He'd thrown all caution to the wind. On the Rowin he'd felt safe. He'd felt at ease. She made him feel that way. He'd told her the contents of his heart. She never laughed. He told her of his home and she asked to hear more. She was a balm to his lost soul. The only secret he had kept hidden from her was Aeryn. And despite his care, she'd seen that too. Had known what Aeryn meant to him. And still she asked him to stay with her. Of all the bad decisions he'd made on the Rowin, that was the worst. The one he most wished he could take back. A moment of weakness. A moment when blind desire had gone to his head and clouded his judgement.

He shook his head. No. He was lying to himself. If he were honest, he would admit he knew what he was doing. He knew and still he did it. There was no excuse. He couldn't undo it.

The door of the Rowin opened and the ramp lowered. Rygel shot down the ramp on his hover chair and glided into Moya. John followed slowly after carrying his bag, his package from Ilesca tucked under his arm.

"Ah," Rygel said. "Home at last. It's good to be back."

"Welcome home, your Highness."

John recognized Aeryn's voice. He heard no others. She must be the welcoming committee.

"Is Moya well?" Rygel asked.

"She is almost completely recovered."

"Excellent."

John descended the ramp and stepped onto Moya's deck. Home. Aeryn was crossing from the corridor to met him. There was a smile on her face. Rygel was already gone.

"How did the ceremony go, Warrior Crichton?" she asked throwing a fist out to punch him good-naturedly in the shoulder.

For a moment he thought she wouldn't actually hit him. To late he realized she intended to. John dropped what he was carrying and tried to step back out of the way. His ribs groaned from the sudden effort. He was too slow. Aeryn's fist struck him in the chest. He gasped and fell to one knee.

Aeryn knelt beside him. Her brow knit with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Things could have gone better," he answered.

"You're hurt!"

He nodded, struggling for breath. Aeryn hovered over him. Examining him. Looking as if she wanted to help but didn't know how.

"How? What happened?"

"It's a long story," he said. "A very long story. Ask me again some other time. Right now I just want to get some rest."

"Let me help you," she said, taking him by the arm.

"No!" John shouted, shrugging off her grip. "I don't want anyone doing anything for me. I don't want you doing anything for me. Debts cost too much to repay. I don't want to owe anyone." He grabbed his bag and slowly rose to his feet. "Just leave me alone, Aeryn."

John felt like he was standing in quicksand. Like he could never get free. Trapped by his past. By his mistakes. By his desires. And now by his guilt. It was guilt that drove his tongue. He'd never promised Aeryn anything. Nor had she ever declared her feelings for him. Still he felt he'd betrayed her. As he felt he'd betrayed Ilesca.

Without looking back, he headed down the corridor toward his room.
 
 
 

John hadn't been laying in his bed for long when he heard his cell door swing open. His room was dark. He turned to see Aeryn standing in the doorway framed by the light of the corridor. Wearily he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly sat up.

"What?" he asked. It came out harsher than he meant.

Aeryn stepped into the room. "Illumination," she said.

The lights came on. Aeryn had his package from Ilesca in one hand. In the other was his drawing of Ilesca.

"You dropped this in the corridor. The picture fell out of it. Who is she? She's beautiful."

"Ilesca."

The answer took her by surprise. Her brows shot up. She looked at the picture again.

"Ilesca? It can't be."

"It is. I told you, it's a long story. One I don't want to go into right now."

"Did Ilesca give this to you?" she asked.

"Yes. I mean, no. I made it."

"Why?"

"Look, Aeryn, I told you I don't want to talk about it. Don't push me."

Aeryn's brow raised again. "Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry," he shouted.

"Yes, you are. What happened?"

"Just give it back, Aeryn."

Aeryn crossed the room and handed him the drawing. He found his hands were shaking. He felt weak. He never meant for Aeryn to see this.

She looked into his eyes a moment then said, "How it grieves my heart, to be so far apart. In the early hours, memories flow back to me. Rivers to salty seas. And no one there to comfort me. Had I wings to fly, after you, I'd surely try. But I can't pretend. It would never be the same, and there is none to blame."

John felt as if he were falling down a deep well and he couldn't stop himself. The words were from a song he'd sung to Ilesca many times. How did Aeryn know them? He'd never sung the song for her.

"Where did you hear those words?"

"They're written on the back of the drawing," Aeryn answered. "What do they mean?"

"They're the words of an Earth song. I can't tell you what they mean, Aeryn, because the words of a song mean different things to different people."

"It seems Earth songs aren't a very efficient method of communication."

"That isn't true, Aeryn. They say more than words. They say what the heart would if it could."

John turned the picture over and looked at the words written there in a language he couldn't understand. He hadn't thought to look at the back of the drawing. He ran his fingers over the symbols. Ilesca understood the words. She truly understood.

"What's going on here, John? What happened while you were gone? How did you get hurt? Why is this picture so important to you?"

"What's it to you?" he asked bitterly.

She looked shocked. "What do you mean?" she returned. "Why would you say that? You're hurt. Of course I'm concerned."

"Are you?" he snapped. "How could I know you'd be concerned? You've never let me close. Not like she did. I've never shared with you what I shared with her. You never asked me to share myself with you. You never offered me what she did."

"What are you saying? What did she offer you?"

"Her love!"

Aeryn dropped her head and looked at the floor. She was silent for a long while. Just as John thought she might never look at him again, she raised her eyes and gazed at his face. He couldn't read the expression on her face.

"How do you know I've never offered?" she asked quietly.

This question stopped his heart dead in him. What was she saying? He remembered vividly each moment they'd spent together. Never once had she mentioned anything more than a brief, passing interest in him. They'd shared kisses but nothing more. Certainly nothing spoken.

"Never," he said. "I never heard you."

"You weren't listening," she answered.

Aeryn turned to go then stopped and looked at the package she held in her hand. With a grunt, she tossed it at him. She didn't wait to see if he caught it. She marched out of the room, closing the door behind her.

John hadn't been ready for the package to be thrown at him. It hit him in the chest. The picture of Aeryn he had put there flew out. It drifted to the floor and landed at his feet.

Had he been listening? Aeryn was a woman of few words, but what of her actions? What did they say?

He remembered her staying up through the night sewing that damn jacket. The one he hated now because it reminded him of how he'd failed Ilesca. The one with the gaping hole in the shoulder and his blood on it. The one he'd thrown away.

He remembered Aeryn's hands as they worked on that jacket. Swollen, bandaged hands. He'd seen, but had he heard?

He rose and left his room.

It took him only a few moments to catch up to Aeryn. He fell into step beside her. She avoided looking at him. He matched her stride for stride, but knew he couldn't keep it up. Not in his present condition.

"Wait up," he said. "Slow down a sec."

"I thought you wanted to be alone."

"I have to say something to you," he said, trying not to pant between the words.

"What?" she asked, stopping to fold her arms and look at him. Her brows were knit with anger now.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Forgive me."

"What? What for?"

"For more than I can ever tell you. For all the past wrongs I've done you and for all those I'll do in the future. Forgive me because it's what I need. Because it's more than I deserve."

"For all that?" she asked.

"And more," he answered.

Her features softened. She uncrossed her arms. The furrow between her eyes disappeared. The hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. Then he saw them. Two of the fairest stars in all the heavens. Shining in her eyes.