Had to try my hand at Seven Kingdoms. It's a bit of a crossover between Fire and Graceling, and a guess at what might be happening in Bitterblue when it comes out. Enjoy. =)

I'm not planning on continuing this, so let me know if you want more chapters. I'll think of something. =)

He fell asleep. Usually, when Po dreamt he dreamt of colors, the rainbow hues he'd known all his youth. It had only been a month or two since his blindness - blindness, he called it, yet in truth, he'd gained so much more than he'd ever had.

He could tell if a bird was behind him, where it intended to go in relation to him, how many feathers it had. He could feel the currents in the air and in the water, and count the hairs on Katsa's head.

But he liked dreaming because it made him remember what beauty felt like, what it looked like. Po was eager to fall asleep, to delve into a land where brightness was simple and as commonplace as it used to be.

Lately he had been noticing his dreams were tinged in grey, and the last one was black, as black as the world was itself. He hated it.

So Po was especially pleased to see some colored landscape now, after so long in the dark. It was not an especially colorful land, and he looked out over it. It could not be anywhere in the seven kingdoms, and especially not Lienid, which would be snowfilled.

"Brigan, you can't go. Hanna. Think of Hanna, Brigan. Think of me. What should she do if her father suddenly left and never came back? You don't know what could be on the other side of the Eastern mountains. There could be armies of Gracelings waiting. You cannot take the chance. Think of what Leck could have done if he had met Nash." The woman's tones were musical and soft, low.

She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Or looked at, even. More accurately, thought of. Her stature was short and small, she would hardly come up to his chest. She had fine features, prominent cheekbones, beautiful, clear eyes. She was not shapely, but more beautiful than anything. He lost his breath. What stunned him most was her hair. It was the most color-filled thing he had ever seen.

It was a blazing fire, a river of lava. It was red, so red it looked like sunset. The oranges and golds wove into it, seamlessly intertwined, highlighted with fuchsia. Not as beautiful as Katsa, he tried to convince himself, but it was of no use. While extraordinarily beautiful, especially for a Graceling, she looked as plain as a rock compared to this otherworldly creature. She had to be in her twenties, not very old but looked much younger than she probably actually was.

The man had a firm, regal mouth and hard, crystal eyes. Brigan, she had called him.

And they feared armies of Gracelings like King Leck of Monsea to their East.

Rationally, that meant they must be on the other side of the mountains, to Monsea's West.

And if they brought armies like the thousands and thousands of men beneath them, for they were standing on a rise above a valley packed to the top with soldiers, they would easily overwhelm Bitterblue's kingdom, and possibly the others. Lienid might be safe, if they had no knowledge of it.

"It's not safe to let them go any longer, Fire. I've spent years training these men, especially in their minds-"

"And you know the Gracelings will overtake them in a moment," Fire continued, strongly, her fine eyebrows drawn together in passionate protection. "They don't know we're here. We're safe, unless more fall through the mountain. And if they do, they will be too weak, to childish to do a thing about."

"You're wrong, Fire." Po noticed, as Fire gestured angrily with her hand, that she was missing several fingers. He couldn't fathom why, then noticed other things that marred her astonishing visage - teeth marks, scrapes, scars all over. He couldn't imagine who or what would want to harm her.

"Oh, am I? How, Brigan? I've killed him. He doesn't know. He was only a child. He can't have survived."

Po began to put the pieces together. So the wicked, dead King of Monsea, father of his cherished cousin Bitterblue, had fallen through the mountain when he was young? This would be where the fanciful stories he had charmed the court with came from. Even Po could see the extraordinary colors of the most mundane of animals there, including raptors soaring above.

In the smallest fit of temper, Fire stood, gripped a bow, notched an arrow, and carelessly shot through the neck of one of the raptors. It fell in the midst of the men, and two detached themselves from the rest, racing for the prize to bring to Lady Fire. She turned away, a look of small concentration, and they followed suit, walking back toward their fellows.

Was she Graced, but she didn't know of Gracelings? It was debatable.

"I outrank you, Fire. I can do what I want."

Fire stopped talking, and instead, Po sensed they were speaking, arguing in their minds. Both Graced?

Strange. Or – Brigan had mentioned training the soldiers in their minds. Perhaps everyone could do it.

Her face went through a range of emotions: rage to disbelief to simple sorrow.

Brigan set his jaw and didn't say anything.

Finally Fire broke down and spoke aloud. "Fine, but I'm going with you."

Brigan started, and Po chuckled. He of all people could understand a woman's need to get involved in everything moderately dangerous.

"No, Fire."

This time, when Fire spoke with her mind, Po could hear her, too, as if she was sending her feelings and thoughts to everyone on the ledge.

You need me to come. What will you do if you meet other Gracelings? There is no better person than me to help you and perceive if they are dangerous. Besides, what would the court do with me without you there?

Brigan laughed lightly, but conceded, and they stood over their troops, watching the units race and weave between themselves.

Unexpectedly, Po was pulled from sleep, to the endless darkness he was used to. He needed to warn Katsa, and she was already looking at him with concern, propped on her elbow on the floor of his little hut.

Why in Lienid did this have to be so hard?