2-5-01 Challenge

TRIO CHALLENGE: Canada, a broken sword, a button

QUOTE CHALLENGE: "I must confess, it was I."

Authors in alphabetical order:

Anthony, Eliza

FAMILY MATTERS

QOS characters belong to the lovely people who provide us with the glory and splendor that is The Queen Of Swords television series. The only ones that I make any claim to are the ones whom I invented - though TPTB are welcome to them.

ARCHIVE: Only if you ask me first.

NOTE: The Dominion of Canada only came into existence after the Fenians tried invading it - which was immediately after the Civil War.

This takes place in the past....think of it as a 3rd-Person POV flashback. :)

~~~~~

Not a single freckle marred this young lady's face, but the accent gave her away: Irish. "You are here by invitation only," Robert Helm growled at the woman his kid brother'd brought with him. Why, Robert wondered, why did Gill have to go exploring in that God-forsaken land? There's plenty of places in England for him to go.

"Oh come now, soldier," Agata told him, as Robert was still in his uniform, "We're not all bad. Some of us are actually pleasant."

Robert fixed an unsettling stare on her. "Undoubtedly, and that's why there's been terrorism in London and Belfast no doubt."

"We're here to enjoy ourselves today," Gill Helm says as he comes up on the two, clapping a hand on his brother Robert's shoulder, "not to fight, understand?"

Robert fixed his younger brother with an equally quelling glare, though Gill - being a Helm - was accustomed to it. "Yes, fine." First his brother refused to enter into His Majesty's Service, and now he was courting an Irishwoman? He followed the other two into the dining room; dinner promised to be a tense affair, certainly.

~~~~~

BELFAST, 3 YEARS LATER

"Ready men?" Robert asked the troops. Nods and 'yessir's answered him. He made doubly sure his pistol was reloaded before leading the charge in - better now than later, with the rebels all over you, he knew. The rebels here'd put up a valiant stand at this cottage, but in the end, it was inevitable that His Majesty's soldiers would prevail.

Peering inside the cottage door, Robert Helm saw nobody standing. "Clear," he said, indicating that it was safe for the rest of the troops to fan inside. All the fallen bodies in here had holes in them, fatal and not-quite-fatal gunshot wounds.

And there, crouched in a corner, was Gill himself, reaching for the pistol which lay in the grip of a fair-faced brunette. Robert's men surrounded him in an instant. Robert suspected that his brother had only been trying to remove incriminating evidence from her hand...but one couldn't be entirely sure just how much his loyalties had shifted. The soldiers grabbed Gill Helm and carried him back to face his brother. "Orders, sir?" asked a young lieutenant by the name of Cahill, one of the more trustworthy Irish.

"Take him away," Robert said, not quite meeting his brother's eyes. As he was taken away, "For God's sake, get your hands off me, I'm not a prisoner!" Gill yelled at Robert's troops.

"I'm sorry," Robert Helm whispered. Only the wind heard him.

~~~~~

HELM ESTATE, ENGLAND, TWO WEEKS LATER

The Irish uprising quelled finally, the Helm young men were back home in England. Right now, they were all in formal wear - dress uniforms for two of them, standing at attention, waiting. Robert Jr, Donald, and Gill Helm.

Their father, Robert Sr, entered the room, also in his own uniform, looking at his sons... his eyes coming to rest on Gill, the one who the ranks were now calling 'traitor.'

The disobedient Helm, though a young man, stood stock-still, as though bracing himself for an inevitable beating. What happened was far worse: his father tore off the topmost button from Gill's service coat. The symbolism was plain, at least for a Helm: the collar would never again shield his neck for very long.

Gill could see what was going to happen next, even before it took place: every Helm had their own weapon - his sister's was more of a dirk, but it was the symbolism that counted, being a Helm. Gill could already hear the mallet pounding at his sword, he could see the sword shatter into two large pieces - and an untold number of little ones. Disinherited.

Then he opened his eyes. His father, Robert Helm Sr, had placed Gill's sword flat on the table, still unbroken, and gave one tap with the hammer. No break, no lines to indicate weakening.

Gill had a bad feeling about this.

"I've arranged for you to go to India, Gill," his father said in a voice made gravelly by instructing soldiers for long years. "Consider this your last chance. Do you understand?"

Gill nodded, trying hard not to look too meek. This was just as bad as being disinherited - he had been told to go to violent and oft rebellious India...and not to return, short of a matter of life-or-death.

"The servants have already packed your things," Father said. "Say your goodbyes, and be off."

Gill nodded, and left the room.

It was then that the eldest Helm in the house turned to look down at his other sons. "Robert, Donald, you have my congratulations on fine military service. Now, which of you would care to visit your mother's family?"

"I volunteer," Donald replied. To him, those relations of his who served the law in Quebec had almost as hard a time with the French Québécois as he and Robert'd had with the Irish. Besides, Robert was courting a lady...while Donald had no prospects he thought highly enough for marriage - the only lady he thought appropriate for him was the daughter of the French ambassador - and that was as bad as Gill's affair with the Irishwoman, given current events.

THE END

CHALLENGE#3 - WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

by Eliza
[email protected]

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be, wouldn't dream of exploiting them for money.

Inspired by "Fear in Three Parts" and "The Queen to Death" by Rodlox

*-*-*

She was standing by his bed, mesmerized by the scarlet stain covering his nightshirt. His face was peaceful, as if he was asleep -- as if he had not woken as the blade pierced his chest. She knew, by instinct, exactly what had caused the wound.

"Who would do this?" she whispered. "Who would kill a man while he slept?"

"I must confess it, it was I."

She turned at the voice, sure of who was there before seeing the figure in black standing by the window. "Why?! There was no need to kill him."

"He was a murderer. He had killed scores of people."

Tessa sat on the edge of the bed. "He was doing what he felt was his duty."

"That is the justification," noted the Queen of Swords as she moved to stand behind Tessa. "Then there is all the pain he has caused you. Why allow that to continue?"

Tessa looked down at him, knowing the Queen spoke the truth. Still, his death seemed an extreme and final payment.

"You can always stay my hand. You have always had the power, Tessa." The Queen took Tessa's hand and put it over the wound. Moving back to the corner by the window, the Queen of Swords faded back into the shadows.

Tessa continued watching his face. Then, under her hand, felt his chest rise and his heart began to beat. When she looked down, the blood had disappeared, as had the night shirt. Her hand was resting on warm skin. Her breathing quickened as she remembered being close enough to feel that there was well developed muscle under his shirt -- and the rest of his clothing. Part of her wanted to see if the sheet had disappeared as well, but she couldn't bring herself to look. She let her hand glide softly over the curve of his pectoral to his shoulder, then to his neck. This neck she had studied carefully from a distance, now she mapped it with her fingers. As her fingers reached his throat, her gaze was drawn to his mouth. Strong sensations erupted in her at the memory of this mouth on hers. She couldn't resist the temptation to touch those lips again. She gasped as his eyes opened at the brush of her thumb along his bottom lip. The blue eyes dared her to a bolder touch and his hands went to her waist to pull her closer. Just before their lips met, she let out a soft sigh, "Luis."

"... such a lazy-bones. You are usually up before I am."

Tessa blinked at the bright light streaming in her windows. She felt disoriented -- unsure of where, or even who, she was.

"So, you are awake." Marta moved from the window to sit on the side of the bed. "Are you feeling all right? You seem a little flushed." With a worried frown, she reached to feel Tessa's face.

Tessa caught her friend's hands, but quickly released them. She did not need Marta to have a flash of insight at this moment. This dream she intended on keeping all to herself.

THE END

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