AN: I'M BACK!  LOL... Did ya'll miss me?  I missed everyone...  I know, 
I've been awful bout updating this little baby.  Ahem, stupid Labyrinth 
fic has taken over.  My creative juices are a little tired from putting 
out about a chapter every two to three days.  I want the story OUT of 
my head but I've been getting great feedback, currently 150 reviews, 
so I'm not really complaining... hehe... I'm trying a new tactic with 
this one, shorter chapters.  We'll see if I update more.  I get this 
happy feeling, think Scooby Snack, whenever I complete a chapter so if 
I complete them faster then I write faster.. etc etc... 

I hope. 

Standard disclaimers apply, as always.... =)


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Nightmares: Chapter Six~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Frouth, Klarth, Tergan, and Gerith, Lords of Nightmares, Kings of the 
Sleeping Ones, bowed before their King, their resplendent, terrifying, 
King.  They were all fearsome to behold.  Shadows of men overshadowing 
beasts...  Flat yellow stares, fanged smiles, long knotted limbs, 
fingers that curled into claws.  All wore armor of obsidian and 
rubies...  Breastplates of black, arm shields of blood stained red.  
Each King carried a sword that was the size of a mortal man, wicked 
blades- once white- burnt rust with the blood they had drunk, had 
sought, had found.  And yet still they bowed before the one they 
claimed as their own King.

Verl...  He was more human than the others, smaller, quieter, 
deadlier.  None, none had stood before him unbowed.  All, even 
Sandere, had been awed by his power, by his aura, by his savageness.  
He was life before civilization, before humanity.  He was the 
refinement of a being without a conscience, or a soul.  He was 
perfect, inexplicably, unattainably, fearfully perfect.  He was King.  
Not a King but King.  The King.  He ruled all that he saw, all that 
withered at his touch.  He was darkness' child.  He was hell's blade.  
He was ready to reclaim what was his, the world.

He studied them dispassionately, his minions, with a glare that held 
gold.  A poet would have found him beautiful...  Found him beautiful 
and wept that such evil, such utter lack of goodness could exist in a 
world that paled next to this one King's capacity for dark deeds. 

Verl waved one hand imperiously.  On perfect command his four most 
loyal, most deserving, subjects rose partially, only partially.  
Deadened yellow stares remained fixedly on the ground.  Verl's smile 
curved into a pleased smirk.  

"Triumph shall be ours.  The Five are dead.  It is time to reclaim the 
world.  Start with the country, countries now, that defied us, the 
undefiable, the unstoppable.  Raze, pillage, plunder, burn the towns.  
Destroy them... there is nothing to stop us and I weary of humanity's 
pitiful state.  Put them out of their misery, slowly.  

"Go."  Three of the four Kings bowed swiftly and turned to leave but 
one...  Frouth resolutely refused to move.  It was defiance that Verl 
had not expected.  It amused him, for now.

"Speak," Verl said, lazily, though sharply.  Nothing of him was soft.  
Frouth spoke.

"The Five..." he began.

"Are dead," Verl finished swiftly.  Frouth looked up and dared to 
meet the terror of Verl's gaze.

"I've felt them..."  Verl hissed, amusement fading, anger taking its 
place.  

"You've felt shadows, whispers, echoes of the past.  They are DEAD.  
I've tasted the breeze.  I've felt what you have.  Chase shadows on 
your own time, once the world belongs to its true master.  Whatever 
traces of your enemies you find will be just that, traces.  The Five 
are gone, dust, destroyed by Time.  You forget Frouth, that all 
humanity bows to that taskmaster- even if we don't.  

"Now go."  There was still something, a glint of rebellion perhaps, in 
Frouth's cold eyes but he bowed and did as he was bid, for now.  Verl 
laughed.  Who would have thought that Frouth would be the first to 
challenge his leadership.  Tergan, Gerith perhaps... but Verl had 
never considered Frouth.  The following months should prove 
interesting, and entertaining.  It had been centuries since Verl, King 
of Kings, had pained the earth red.                                        

And so they came, the Sleeping Ones, living Nightmares, the stuff of 
evil, the shadows of night.  They bled from the sky and seeped onto 
land, an oozing tide of ethereal warriors that were born before there 
was a heaven and hell, before judgment, before damnation.  Creatures, 
frothing beings who had breathed Earth's first air.  

They came and humanity bowed before them.  Towns burned, and, like 
locusts, fields, trees, life was consumed in their viscous onslaught. 
 People died and the land was once again red.  

The wave continued, undaunted, unstemmed, unhalted by valiant heroes, 
heroines, and desperate men, women and boys.  All who stood against 
the Sleeping Ones were mortal and they all died, martyrs for humanity, 
sheep.  The Earth accepted their bodies and wept with at their loss.

The Sleeping Ones pushed onward greedily, tasting victory, as they 
quested for the split heart of their enemy, Rosha and Blanchant.  Once 
united, now divided, and most supremely, doomed.  

********************************************************************

Jadreth looked silently at the gates of Rosha's castle, face 
shuttered, unreadable, unpolished marble, granite.  There were 
memories there, in every stone, in ever corridor.  He had lived here, 
had grown from boyhood to manhood under the watchful eye of his Uncle, 
King Trennan, and companionship of his young cousin, Prince Darius.  

He had been Heir.  He had once looked upon Rosha, upon Roshanna, and 
had known that, that one day all who lived and worked here would bow 
to him.  Would love, would respect him, would name him their ruler, 
their King.  Jadreth turned away as his mount shifted uneasily beneath 
him. 

He could never be a King.  

He had not fled, Princes do not flee and even then, even as he left 
with a small pack filled with travel rations, he had been a Prince.  
He had been a Prince until he had stepped off of a swaying dock, onto 
an old, leaking ship.  A ship where he had shed Jadreth The Prince and 
had become Jadreth The Man.

He had scrubbed and cooked and worked until his hands had bled raw.  
He had fought and laughed and drunk, as an equal, with other men.  He 
had made friends and all the kingdoms in the world couldn't compensate 
for that.  And after a decade of work Jadreth had become someone else, 
he had become Jadreth The Captain.  

And that's who he was still, who he'd always be.  He turned back to 
the castle, jaw set, and smiled tightly at Aimes who waited, silent,
pale, beside him.  "Are you ready my Lady?" he asked softly.  Aimes 
turned wide eyes on him and clamed under his own façade of confidence.

"Promise me something Captain," she said, voice breathless.  He 
regarded her gravely, suddenly very aware of just how frightening all 
this must be for her, the girl who had saved hundreds.  How very very 
scary Rosha must seem to someone who has called Ocean's Love home for 
their entire life.

"I..." Aimes continued, beautiful cerulean eyes downcast.  "You've 
promised me so much, your friendship, your protection but 
Captain... I...  I can't go in there unless I know that, that whatever 
happens you won't leave me alone.  I... I couldn't handle that.  I'm, 
I'm not real big on politics."  Jadreth smiled weakly at the last.  

'Bravely said Lady Aimes...'  Jadreth bowed gallantly from his saddle, 
his eyes never leaving Aimes's beautiful, delicate, fearful face.

"You have my word, my oath, my promise my Lady."  Aimes smiled 
radiantly, exasperated.  

"Should you really be calling me a Lady here Captain?"  Jadreth 
laughed, tension easing between his shoulder blades.

"I wouldn't feel comfortable any other way.  Would you prefer to call 
me Prince?"  Blue sculptured brows rose at the last and Aimes snorted.

"Point taken Captain, point taken."  They urged their steeds forward, 
to speak with the guards who stood watch at the palace gates.

Jadreth took a deep breath when asked to proclaim his business before 
replying, bearing regal, chin raised, proud, strong, and Princely.  
"I am Prince Jadreth of Roshanna.  Send a message to my cousin, the 
King, and announce my presence immediately."  Jadreth was back, gods 
help him, he was back home.  

******************************************************************

Serenais cradled her crude earthenware cup in cold hands, savoring the 
warmth of the strange, strong drink as she sat on a log by the roaring 
fire of their camp.  Soldiers milled around, around but not close to 
her.  She was a Princess, their Princess.  A person, a title, a thing 
to be treated with respect, care, and a certain amount of wariness.  

The leader of the Defensive Mounts was the one exception.  Valan's 
sure strides carried him to the empty seat next to her, Princess of 
Bleserd.  Serenais wasn't afraid of the rough, dark man next to her, 
dark in eye and manner...  Not the darkness of the Sleeping Ones, but 
a man of shadows.  She didn't fear him but she didn't understand him 
either.  

She was no fighter.  She was smart enough to know that but she could 
wield a dagger if she had to, even a knife.  She would never be a 
soldier but she could defend herself, if she had to.  It didn't mean 
that she didn't understand men who made death their life.  The Royal 
Guards were a very real part of her life.  It was common practice to 
even take one or two for lovers.  Other monarchs before her certainly 
had, though Serenais had never felt inclined to do so herself.

This man reminded her of one of them, in the way he carried himself, 
the way his hands strayed reflexively to his weapons.  And the 
familiarity did not stop there.  She was quite sure that she had never 
seen him before but the lift of his brow, something, perhaps his dark, 
dark, black eyes...  Something tugged at a shred of a memory, of 
remembrance.  

"Do, do you miss your mother Princess?"  Serenais started at his low 
voice and blinked, dragging her bright eyes away from the depths of 
her mug and to meet the soldier's questioning gaze.  She flushed and 
wondered why he unsettled her so.  

"I..."  She started to answer but stopped, abruptly struck speechless 
by the sheer boldness of the question.  No one, no one but a close 
guard would have dared to be open.  The startled her still more as he 
continued swiftly in her awkward silence.

"Forgive me Princess.  I forgot myself.  I would not presume to be so 
forward."  The man, Valan, looked away, jaw tight with some unknown, 
unexpressed emotion.  Of pain or anger, Serenais couldn't tell.

The silence stretched between them, as they sat, Princess, fighter, on 
a rotting log at the base of the mountains of Bleserd, several days 
journey to the camp of the Defensive Mounts and their destination.  
The stars hung overhead, silent as well, as they observed the scurry 
and life of humanity far below them.  

Serenais broke the silence first, tentatively, but broke it.  "Yes 
Valan.  I miss, I miss my mother very much indeed."  She rose and 
waved the man away as he scrambled to help her up.  The Princess put 
the cup carefully down on the log and paused, biting one full lip.

"Good night Valan," she said finally, and left.  He stared after her, 
the fire light casting his rugged face in deep shadows and unearthly, 
red light.  A slow sigh was torn from his throat and his hands, which 
had been balled unconsciously into fists, relaxed with a forced effort 
as he contemplated his daughter, Princess of Bleserd, Serenais. 





AN2: Hehe... in case you noticed, yes I made up some of my own words 
because the spell checker and I had an agrument and I decided I was 
right.  Soooo, yeah.  I am aware of them. =) 

EMAIL ME! (please...)