Disclaimer:  Standard disclaimers apply...LOL Where's I Told You So?  
Well, in the grand tradition of writing multiple stories at one time, 
and waiting a month between updates *gulp*, here's the serious one... 
Gives me something to write on when I'm in both moods, ditzy and serious.

Umm...Names..I got bored with the same old, same old so I kinda changed 
them around.  Its pretty obvious who's who... I just wanted to write 
something besides the same blasted ten names over and over and over... 
But here's a key for reference or whatever...

Serena: Serenais
Lita: Leinta
Mina: Minka
Rei: Rhi
Ami: Aimes

Darien: Darius
Kunzite: Kunzath
Zoicite: Zaite
Nephrite: Nepran
Jadite: Jadreth

			*~Nightmares~*


	The princess moaned in her fitful slumber and shifted, 
throwing the white silk sheets off her slim body.  Blonde hair spilled 
across the bed in lakes of liquid gold as the Moon shone through the 
large bay windows in the bedroom, lighting the room in silver.  
Serenais sighed as she tossed, as her dreams of a hazy future that was 
bright, beautiful in a way that could only exist in her innocent mind, 
darkened and turned on her slumbering self.  She cried out 
involuntarily, hands clenched so tightly her manicured nails bit 
deeply into pale palms.  The Moon wavered before shining stronger, 
banishing the shadows that had crept into the room with a force that 
rivaled sunlight.  Princess Serenais of Bleserd calmed slowly before 
slipping deeper into sleep.  Her hands uncurled stiffly as the dreams, 
the nightmares, were lost to the benign darkness of true rest.


	Leinta tossed in her sleep and woke with a start.  She was 
covered with sweat and shaking.  She had had nightmares before but 
never one with such intensity, such terror, such vagueness that she 
couldn't begin to remember it.  Shivering she rose and padded on 
silent feet out of the tent she shared with her shield mate, lover, 
and best friend, Valan.  
	There were still other warriors awake.  Their guttering 
cooking fires dotted the mountain side that the Defensive Mounts 
inhabited during certain key months.  Horses' tired nickers echoed 
around the camp and Leinta resisted the urge to slip out to the 
corrals and visit Japta.  She would only upset him in the state of 
mind she was in.
	It was almost dawn besides.  Leinta rubbed her arms briskly to 
ward off the slight chill of fall and sighed as her eyes were drawn to 
the distant horizon of their country, Bleserd, and its heart, its 
capital, Blanchant.  She swallowed heavily and ducked back into the 
tent, out from under the night's sky, suddenly eager to feel Valan's 
strong arms around her lanky body, suddenly afraid of the change she 
felt riding on the wind.  
	Varlan barely woke as she slid back under their shared 
blankets.  He planted an absent minded kiss on the curve of her neck 
and pulled her closer.  Leinta allowed it, even as she choked back 
unnamed, unexpected tears.  Sleep did not find her again that night.  

	
	Minka let her last customer for the night out and locked the 
door behind him.  She sighed and pulled on a robe made of fur and 
feathers.  It was gaudy, but warm enough.  She sat on the stool in 
front of her vanity mirror and sighed again as she stared at herself.  
She was beautiful enough, and that wasn't arrogance speaking, only 
truth, but she hated the cosmetics Malda insisted all 'her' girls 
wear.  
	Minka reached for a cream and spread it over rouged lips, 
cheeks, before smearing it across heavily shadowed eyes.  She rubbed 
hard with a cloth and scowled in distaste at the oily make up that 
came easily away.  She reached back and undid her hair, letting coiled 
tresses fall free in a waterfall of platinum.  Minka arranged the 
freed hair clips and cream and other various bottles of perfume and 
cosmetics on her dresser/mirror.  
	Slender fingers hovered briefly over a simple ring she had 
forgotten to put away.  Normally she hid it in one of the drawers 
during working hours.  Minka started to touch the unadorned gold band; 
a ring set with a small chip of sapphire.  She kept it to remind 
herself why she was in the business she was in, and to give her the 
anger she needed for strength.  The ring had been her future...  She 
swallowed.  
	Minka understood metal.  It was what it was.  A ring was a 
ring.  But the man who had given her the ring?  Prince and scoundrel 
were apparently interchangeable personalities for men.  She drew away 
from the ring and swallowed again before looking at the mirror.  Had 
she ever been young enough, naïve enough, to accept such a promise on 
faith?  Angry at herself Minka stood, whirled away from the dresser 
and The Ring.  
	Whirled and gasped.
	Minka stumbled under the weight of darkness that fell upon her 
like stones, darkness and a terrible sense of purpose.  She closed 
hard sapphire eyes and panted as she sunk lower to the floor, until 
only one knee supported her, and then nothing as she curled up into a 
ball, trembling from the sudden release from the blackness that had 
temporarily gripped her soul.  
	She rose on unsteady legs and stumbled to her balcony doors.  
Minka threw them open and was greeted by the cool night air that was 
full of the smells of a large city; smoke, refuse, and a myriad of 
other assaults for the senses.  She couldn't see the stars under the 
ever present cloud that hung low in the skies over Rosha, capital of 
Roshana, but she could sense them.  
	One last tremor ran through Minka's curved body and, 
unsettled, she drew her flimsy robe closer, but did not enter her room 
again.  She stayed on the balcony till dawn, needing with a longing 
that would not be denied, the gentle rays of dawn, but not even 
sunlight warmed her to her chilled bones.    

	
	Rhi flexed cramped fingers and rubbed tired, blood shot eyes.  
Her candle had burned too low again, and wax had melted all over the 
desk.   Bourne would have a fit when he saw it, if he saw it.  The 
reason she was in here at all was because Bourne wasn't competent 
enough to run a simple, well founded business.  But then, she had 
chosen him, most specifically for that reason.  Her mother had raised 
her to be loyal to no one but her people.  Her father had taught her 
to think like a merchant, his legacy to her, and she had used that 
knowledge to carve a place for herself among nobility.
	A rare accomplishment indeed for the daughter of the Landless 
Ones.  Her mother had been one of the Landless, a group of people who 
roamed from kingdom to kingdom, country to country, selling their 
services in magic, fortune telling, and entertainment.  Her father had 
been a widowed merchant, king of a vast trading empire who was loathe 
to marry but desperate for a heir, any heir, even a woman.  He had 
saved Rhi's mother's life on a whim, when a city guard in Rosha had 
taken a fancy to her.  To repay her debt she had asked Rhi's father to 
name a price.  He wanted a child.  
	Her mother had agreed and on that night, twenty three years 
ago, Rhi had been conceived.  But Landless did not bear unwanted 
children and Rhi, created under the bizarre circumstances that she 
was, was still cherished.  She had spent the first eight years of her 
life traveling with her mother.  On the eve of her ninth birth 
anniversary she had been deposited on the door step of her father's 
main house.  Thus began her years of training to become more than a 
cultured woman, to become a lady.       
	Rhi had done, did, all that was asked of her, first as a 
merchant's daughter, then as wife to one of a minor noble's second 
son.  But she never forgot all that she had learned at her mother's 
knee.  She fit in here, belonged here, among the privledged, but given 
the choice she would become Landless once more.  Because that was who 
she was, at heart, at spirit.  
	Yet... yet Fate was one mistress the Landless knew all too 
well, and Rhi knew, with uncanny, unfailing certainty, that this is 
where she had to be, here, where Destiny had guided her path.  She 
reached for an ink pot, started to dip the quill in, and paused, 
foreshadowing making her hesitate.  That was all the warning she 
received.
	Rhi doubled over in her chair and gasped; the pen clattered 
from numb, uncaring fingers to the desk where it rolled and knocked 
over the unsteady candle, putting the room into darkness as complete 
as the one laying siege to Rhi's soul.  She panted for several minutes 
as the wave eased, ebbed, and disappeared, breathless, one hand 
clutched to her heart.  
	Fate had made its next move.  
	Rhi straightened in the darkness and fumbled around in the 
desk drawers for a minute before trembling fingers brushed against a 
box of matches.  She lit one and stared at the flickering flame for an 
instant, unaware of the pallid orange it cast her dark features in, or 
of the red glints it added to her pale amethyst eyes.  She swallowed 
and carefully re lit the candle.  
	Re lit the candle and tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as 
the shadows fled from the unpredictable but heartening glow of the 
single, almost guttering candle.
	

	Aimes  smiled wearily as she deposited the squalling, 
screaming, red faced infant into her father's surprised arms.  "It's a 
girl," she said softly.  The fisherman, face aglow, tenderly touched 
his child's cheek, oblivious to the knowing smiles from the rest of 
the once anxiously waiting group composed of other men.  Most of their 
wives were inside the cottage, making Slef as comfortable as possible 
after such a difficult birth.  
	Aimes met the eyes of a few of the gathered men and returned 
their smiles.  Most of them here tonight were veterans of multiple 
pregnancies.  A few avoided her gaze, and the beautiful sight before 
them though.  Aimes sighed.  Life was cruel, unfair.  She tried to do what 
she could but even with all she managed not everyone survived in a 
world meant for the strong.  She could not boast that she had never 
lost a patient, she had, several times, but there was only so much one 
solitary girl could do on an island as isolated as Ocean's Love was.
	She was the only one on the ten mile island that knew any 
healing and even then it was only the basics... how to set a broken 
bone, how to nurse a fever, the finer points of being a midwife.  
Serious accidents usually ended in death.  It was one of the risks of 
living in the rural countryside or in small, isolated communities.  But 
every man, woman, and child who lived here wanted to live here.  Those 
who did not belong on Ocean's Love soon left.
	The island was harsh, a rocky inhospitable place covered 
mainly with rocks and jetties, and littered with caves and coves.  The 
little vegetation on the island was mostly wiry sea grass, a tough 
yellow plant that thrived on the sea air and damp, malnourished soil.  
Few trees survived sap-hood and those who grew to old age were 
twisted, warped, into things of terrifying beauty by the ocean's 
wind.  
	But there *was* something beautiful, enduring, about the small 
stretch of land constantly fighting the cold, gray waters for life, 
for existence.  Something that took hold of your soul and refused to 
let go.  Something that would stay with you no matter where you 
traveled, or how far.  
	Aimes wandered down a well worn path to the water's edge.  She 
stood upon brittle sand, and crossed her arms over her breast as she 
stared at the distant horizon where false dawn was already painting 
the line that would separate the dark waters of the sea and the cold, 
empty sky.  Subdued waves lapped at her feet and she slipped out of 
her sandals, shivering a bit as the frigid waters eagerly touched her 
skin.  
	Darkness, bright, searing in its suddenness fell upon her 
unprotected mind and Aimes gasped as she fell, as the coldness of the 
ocean invaded her entire body as she thrashed in the shallows, 
instinctively fighting for control of her own traitorous body.  It 
seemed like an eternity until the pain ended, before Aimes could rise, 
spluttering, trembling, from the sea, and stagger back to the beach 
where she lay, shaking.  
	She managed to sit a long while later.  She touched her head 
and winced as the sun streaked the suddenly bright sky gold and red 
and orange.  Aimes coughed and bit one pale lip.  She swallowed and 
closed cerulean eyes, afraid of what she had just experienced, and all 
that it might mean, all that it might change.  
	

	Prince Darius of Roshana clasped his father's dying hand in 
his own.  His handsome face was carved still as a statue, seemingly 
serene in his acceptance in the ways of Fate but inside, inside, oh 
how he seethed!  How he raged against the inevitable, against the 
wasting sickness that killed his father, his blood, helplessly, as he 
watched.  But the world saw him for what he had to be, become, not a 
grieving son but heir, King.  And Kings did not cry.  
	"My son..."  Darius choked back his tears and leaned down to 
hear his dying father's last whispered, pain filled words.  
	"Yes, father..."  He dared to use that title here only, when 
they were alone in King Trennan's private rooms.  
	"The darkness... its coming..."  Darius's grip tightened on 
his father's hand and he swallowed convulsively.  
	"Father..."  King Trennan coughed, a wracking cough that made 
Darius's soul ache in empathy.  "Father?"  Face pale Trennan continued 
doggedly.
	"The darkness Darius," he breathed shakily.  "The darkness is 
coming..."  Darius slid from his cushioned seat to kneel beside his 
father's bed and his withered form.  
	"What... what darkness?"  He had to ask but he knew...  He 
KNEW.  With dead certainty, with dead, terrifying certainty.  
Trennan's pale, red ringed eyes closed, as if heavy with the weight of 
the knowledge he bore.
	"The darkness of the Sleeping Ones my son.  The Sleeping Ones 
are coming... Are awakening..."  Darius bowed his head.
	"But father... the Sleeping Ones...  They were only defeated 
with the help of the Five and that was hundreds of years ago...  How 
can we hope to stand against them?  They must be stronger now... Last 
time, even though we triumphed, destroyed half of the known world..."  
Trennan coughed again and Darius's own face blanched in response to 
his father's lingering agony.
	"The Five..." he coughed again.  "The Five are eternal 
Darius... always remember that.  Find them, they know their destiny.  
Find them, or we are all lost..."  He coughed violently one last time, 
and with a shuddering sigh seemed to sink into himself.  Darius 
grasped his father's hand tighter, until his knuckles whitened.  
	"Father... Father!" and when that provided no response he 
tried the title that his father would answer until... until his 
death.  "King Trennan!  King Trennan..."  Darius's voice broke away in 
a sob as he gathered and clutched his dead father to his breast and 
cried the last tears of a prince, for now he was king.  And the 
darkness was coming.      
	
	
	Kunzath stood at attention as his liege, lord, friend, and 
almost brother exited the royal apartments.  Training allowed him to 
remain that way, stiff, unemotional, when Prince Darius came out, head 
bowed, tear tracks still visible, as if his red eyes wouldn't give him 
away anyway.  He relaxed at Darius's weary nod.  
	"He... he deserved peace Darius, after so much pain, so much 
responsibility."  Prince Darius ignored his captain, his now general's 
attempts at solace.  Hard, sorrowful sapphire met Kunzath's pale 
silver gaze for one forceful moment.  Kunzath fell silent.  
	"The darkness is coming.  The Sleeping Ones are awakening.  We 
have work to do if we want to save the world."  Kunzath nodded and 
bowed deeply to the new king, face a carefully neutral mask.
	"Aye my lord, my King."  Darius winced and Kunzath looked 
away, unsettled by Darius's weakness.  Darius's very human weakness.  
The new king licked his lips in a nervous gesture Kunzath was familiar 
with.
	"See... see to the funeral arrangements and the public.  Raise 
the army's standard.  We'll need the troops ready soon."  He paused 
and blinked.  "What time of the day is it?"  Kunzath coughed.
	"Its just now dawn my lord."   

	
	Zaite cursed as he shoved the girl out of his tent.  "Bloody 
hell!  Get out!  What were you thinking?!"  Sharlene spluttered as she 
gathered her wadded clothes around her nude form in indignation.  
	"I don't know Zaite... you sure sweet talked me last night... 
You know, before you bedded me."  She raised her voice towards the end 
of her sentence and he winced.
	"Are you nuts Shar?"  Sharlene sniffed and turned her nose 
up.
	"So asks you.  The man who bedded me!"  Zaite actually paled 
this time, paled and turned to run as a voice was raised in answer 
several tent columns over.  
	"Zaite?!  Sharlene?!"  Sharlene smirked in satisfaction as 
Kolan, her lover and Zaite's equal ranked officer in the Roshana Army, 
lumbered through the rows of tents.  And lumber was the right word for
it.  No one that big could simply walk.  The giant caught sight of his 
woman, undressed, and Zaite, half dressed and distinctly panicked.  
Zaite took off at a dead run as Kolan's bellow of inarticulate rage 
woke all the men not already conscious.
	Zaite raced nimbly through the rows of tents, jumping lithely 
over tent poles, guttering cooking fires, men, women, and an 
assortment of animals like sleeping dogs and angry cats as Kolan 
jogged after him, his meaty face purple from anger.
	Zaite skidded to a halt though as one single, clear note of a 
bugle rose in a crescendo over the camp.  Kolan stopped behind him, 
one large hand clasped on Zaite's shoulder.  There was no lingering 
fury in his touch though.  Personal business was left behind when that 
note rang.  For that note called them to their duty, to battle, to 
war.  Later, if there was a later, then he and Kolan would deal with 
whatever issues still lay between them.  Now they became what Fate 
called them to be, soldiers, men who trusted each other implicitly 
because their bonds were forged in pain, in desperation, in blood.  
They were equals and they had jobs to do.  
	"Assemble the men, I'll get our orders!"  Kolan released 
Zaite's shoulder and nodded in mute agreement.      
	
	Nepran grinned ferally as he threw the dice down on the table 
with one practiced, smooth gesture.  The grin, already wicked, turned 
into a smirk that only widened when one die landed on one, then 
another.  Snake Eyes.  
	The entire crowd surrounding the poker table let out one 
collective sigh of relief as Nepran gathered his earnings to his 
already large pile.  The three other men at the table snorted in 
disgust and stood, as one, faces resigned.  "That's it Nepran," Joson, 
a llama trader spat good naturedly enough, considering the sums of 
money he had lost that night, "We're all calling it a night, or a 
morning by the look of it."  Nepran's mocking cobalt gaze flickered 
to the shuttered windows of the tavern, where the first few rays of 
dawn were streaking the nearest tables with stripes of pale pink and 
orange.  
	"Are you sure boys?" he asked, with that same irritating grin, 
as he stood as well to shake his opponents' hands.  All three men 
nodded emphatically as Joson spoke again for them, dryly.
	"Quite sure Nepran.  Good sales..."  Nepran echoed the 
sentiment and firmly grasped each trader's hand.  Wishing them all 
well, and with a wave for Birk, the bartender and long time 
acquaintance, he gathered his winnings and made for the stable.  He 
collected his own personal mount, a large roan who had carried him, 
through the best, and worst of times, named Freidan, before calling 
Stify.  
	The small mutt came hurtling through the barn, barking a 
familiar and comforting welcome.  Gathering the reins Nepran reached 
down and scratched the oversized ears as Stify wagged his wiry tail 
furiously, tongue lolling out.  "Come on boys," he whispered to the 
dog and horse, "let's get our merchandise to Bleserd so we can make a 
profit."  
	Nepran mounted in one smooth movement after leading Freidan 
outside of the barn, and leaned down from the saddle to open the gate 
to the pasture where his precious babies had spent the night.  
Stify barked excitedly as he raced through the open gate, small legs 
moving at a breakneck pace as he hurtled around the pasture, barking 
at his loudest to round up the sixty horses Nepran was taking to the 
outskirts of Bleserd to action off and sell.  
	The horses, well used to the small dog's presence, obeyed, but 
calmly, more annoyed than frightened by the frenzied barking of the 
small white dog.  Nepran smiled as his herd trotted out of the gate 
and automatically began on the road out of Roshana and into Bleserd. 
Not many herds the size of sixty could be driven, untied, across a 
country by a lone man and his dog but Nepran trained, and sold, only 
the very best.  It was why he could demand the prices that he did, and 
why he was one of the few the infamous Defensive Mounts bought mounts 
from, which was exactly where he was going.  
	He waved at Joson, who was driving his own herd of llamas out 
of a neighboring pasture, and called a command to Stify who 
immediately began to drive the horses down the left lane in the fork 
that branched directly outside the Lusty Wench.  Nepran smiled as the 
herd followed Stify's guidance and he took up the rear.  The sun 
peaked over the horizon.   

	
	Jadreth  laughed as the sea sprayed his rugged features with 
cold mist.  He turned the wheel and marveled as the ship, his ship, 
obeyed his command.  The sea was all around them, a vast thing of 
rolling gray.  In the distance flying fish, flanked by dolphins, leapt 
out of their murky home and for one, brief instant, claimed the sky as 
theirs.
	It was a clear morning, not cloudless, but calm, empty.  Few
of the men were up this early but Jadreth reveled in it.  In rising 
with the stars and beating dawn to the world.  It was fanciful imagery 
to be sure, but it was a part of him, of every man who made the ocean 
his life.  It got in your blood, in your heart, and clasped you to its 
breast more firmly than any lover, no matter how skilled.  Being a 
sailor often meant early death but to die in the waves?  To surrender 
your last breath to a mistress more bewitching than any mortal woman?  
Oh what a death!  If you must die the only true death is the sea!  
	Jadreth rocked back on appreciative heels as the sun's crown 
of gold rose from the sea, its main jewel that shining thing called a 
sun.  Its light, still weak, lifted his spirit and warmed his cold, 
tanned skin.  His smile widened, revealing even, white teeth.  The 
smile faltered though as coldness crept along his back.  Jadreth, who 
had been sailing towards the sun, and Roshana, shivered as forbidding 
stirred in his heart.  He swallowed and cursed softly as the air 
behind him chilled still further.  His hands unconsciously gripped the 
wheel, knuckles whitening as his back stiffened.  
	Jadreth took a deep breath and turned away from the sun, mouth 
set in a grim line.  His face, already set in an unmovable mask, 
paled.  There, behind him, behind his ship, was darkness, and not the 
gentle darkness of night. 
	The sea boiled where this malevolent darkness spilled, from the 
far away western horizon, and though still far away Jadreth could see 
that the blackness was pushed forward, across the ocean, towards him, 
on towards the lands beyond, with a grasping, desperate, vengeful 
reach.  Creatures, blessedly unidentifiable at this distance, rode the 
front of the wave of darkness, and the light granted by dawn fled the 
touch of the unnatural wave that encompassed both land and air.  
	He cursed violently, once, and wrenched himself away from the 
terrifying sight, before calling to his men, voice hoarse, trembling 
with suppressed fear.  His men poured out from below deck, grumbling, 
murmuring, rubbing weary eyes.  Their grumbling stopped abruptly as 
each man saw in turn what was hurtling towards them, unstoppable... 
death.  One by one weathered faces paled and clenched hands tightened 
to fists.  Jadreth allowed them one moment for composure's sake, 
nothing more, before barking commands.  
	As one stunned men manned their stations and resolutely turned 
their backs to the darkness, even though none of them were capable of 
ignoring it.  They quietly put all of their combined effort into the 
only thing that might save them, sailing as fast as they could to 
Roshana, to Bleserd, to the countries that had stopped the Sleeping 
Ones the last time they had awoken, hundreds upon hundreds of years 
ago.  
	The darkness mocked their futile attempts to escape, mocked 
and pushed harder as it covered the miles that separated them, not 
just from Jadreth and his men, but from its ultimate goal, the place of 
its past defeat, and future triumph.  The land that, once one, was now 
two, the countries of Bleserd and Roshana, where the cursed Five still 
lived, in some shape and form, waiting to be crushed.  The Sleeping 
Ones laughed and the world, bowing before the nightmare, trembled.



Author's Notes: Yeah yeah..I'm a bad fanfic author for not updating..
don't yell at me..I'm sick...very sick..and quite miserable I assure 
you.  And yes, I'm one of those whiney people who complain the whole 
time until I get 100% better...*sniffles* LOL  Make me feel better and 
email me... 

inspiredthoughts@hotmail.com 

and visit my web page 

http://www.geocities.com/keitree 

and tell me whatcha think of the little web graphics section I put up..I 
love suggestions, etc! Toodles! Till next month! *kidding!*