Disclaimer: I own only the Larneians and their planet, the rest belong to paramount and the Star Trek universe. No profit is being made from this, only a mild sense of pride and relaxation.

A/N: A sequel to Frozen Fires, set 15 years later. I hope this will be a story in its own right, with no need to read the original.

Chapter One: Reflections

The stars shone proudly down upon her, rewarding her for keeping her fifteen year promise once again. But tonight, as for so many nights, neither their light nor their pride brought comfort to the one time Emperor. In those fifteen, long years, since her love and his friends had brought peace, she had accomplished so much. Not only had, at that time, peace been bought, albeit at the cost of untold thousands, even millions of lives - but she had brought democracy to her people. No longer were the Larneians ruled by a single Emperor, but by a ruling council of seven representatives. The three major cities each had two representatives on the council. The seventh member was a unique individual, with the ability to foresee the future. Her name had long since been forgotten, now she went only by her title. The Oracle of Larnei.

But tonight, Representative Da'Nela Tharn's thoughts rested not on her own people, but on the saviours of her people. The ones who had delivered her people from their warmongering, and then left, without asking for any form of payment. She owed them more than was possible to repay. A fond smile crept onto her jet-black features, a warmth seeped into those reptilian green eyes as she remembered them. The man who had led that crew, Captain Jonathon Archer, but her thoughts strayed continually to his Chief Engineer, the man who had had been her friend and the saviour of her life. Who had been connected to her via the telepathic bond indicative to Larneian females. He had also, for a few precious hours, been her lover. Commander Charles Tucker III, Trip, where was he now?

In her sadness, Da'Nela contemplated the last few treasured moments she had spent with Trip. She had given him a gift, a ring, and now, not for the first time, she wondered if he still kept and cherished that gift as much as she loved the present he had given to her.

"Mother?"

His timing was always perfect. She turned to greet the one she loved most of all in the universe; her son. As he came forward to embrace her, she studied him with the undeniable pride of a mother. He had grown to an inch below her own height of six feet tall. His black hair bore a stubborn badger streak of blonde above his forehead, of which both mother and son were absurdly proud. It reminded Da'Nela of Trip's blonde hair. Ru'Hann Tharn-Tucker was the image of how his father would have been had he been Larneian. In his own uniqueness, Ru'Hann's eyes were not green like others of his people but a deep blue, again reminiscent of Trip. Da'Nela nodded to herself. She hoped that Trip would have been proud of his son.

Ru'Hann regarded his mother with concern. More and more often, she had retreated to this spot, atop the tallest tower. She spent so much time gazing at the stars. He knew that in her heart of hearts, she longed for the return of the father he had never known. It had been worse since Nu'Tenn had died. Nu'Tenn had been Da'Nela's mentor and teacher from birth, her father's closest friend, and even her second in command during the war. He had also been a friend and teacher to Ru'Hann for most of his young life. But two years ago, Death had claimed him and removed him from their midst.

But his mother had never let Ru'Hann fall under the impression that Nu'Tenn or any other Larneian was his father. Ru'Hann knew that he was the son of a hero, and he was as proud of his absent father as any son had a right to be. He understood that his father did not know of his existence, that he could not be with his father, and he loved him no less for it. Or, more precisely, he loved the memory of his father. Those who had met the Commander shared as their memories of him as openly as they could, and Ru'Hann drank in the information like a sponge soaking up water.

"I came to tell you that Eyenon is home. He brought back much with him. Those furs were clearly valuable."

"Then you were right to suggest he take them." Tharn senior nodded sagely. "I will join you and the council for dinner shortly."

"Why don't you come down now?" Ru'Hann tried to insist gently.

"Soon." Da'Nela answered. "Please, son, leave me be for a short while longer."

"Do not get cold. The winds are changing."

"I won't." Da'Nela embraced her son before he turned and left the tower.

Da'Nela sighed as she was left alone again. She had been alone for so long now, so long that it felt as if her very soul was being torn away from her mind and body. Ever since the bond between her and Trip had broken, nearly fifteen years ago. One love replaced by another, but it was not enough. She longed for only one thing, for peace from her pain.

The Great Hall, the main room of what had once been the FireWolf castle and headquarters, was alive and bustling with Larneians and their joyful chatter when Da'Nela entered it. It had changed so much, become a happy place to socialise, instead of having soldiers wolfing down food before retreating to their bunks to snatch what little sleep they could. The same tables, the same chairs, mostly the same people, but the aura of the room had changed beyond belief.

Upon the dais sat other the six representatives, three with their partners, two with their sons. The Oracle sat beside Ru'Hann, the only one of the eleven Larneians to be silent. She was listening intently to Ru'Hann, the child was talking with a concerned frown on his face, glancing up from his goblet occasionally to see the Oracle nod wisely. Finally, the fragile Larneian spoke, and the few words she spoke were enough to silence the boy.

All this Da'Nela had taken in whilst crossing the Great Hall. All around her, her people were rising to their feet and bowing their heads. It was something that even over ten years of democracy had not been able to eradicate from their ways. Even now, in some ways, they still treated her, and her alone, as the Emperor she no longer wished to be. As she rose onto the dais, politeness called for Da'Nela to indicate that they should sit and continue their meals.

"Even now, they would have you as their sole ruler." Representative Eyenon Arens, who had been leader of the Ice Falcon clan after General Gelsar during the last few moments of war and, like Da'Nela, had led his clan into peace, acknowledged a little sourly.

"They long for nothing more than a united voice." Da'Nela observed quietly. "Welcome back, Eyenon."

"Thank you." Eyenon returned. "I must congratulate you. Your son has an eye for quality."

"As does his mother." The Oracle intervened, her eyes sparkling at Tharn brightly. "We must talk, Representative Tharn."

"Gladly."

The Oracle welcomed Da'Nela wordlessly into her basement abode with characteristic grace and mystery. The smell of herbs seemed to ensnare all her senses at once, fogging the mind and forcing the Representative to grope her way to the chair that the Oracle always prepared for her. Once her target had been located, Da'Nela sank heavily into the throne-like chair, an ungainly action compared to the elegance with which the Oracle swept back her cloak and sank delicately onto her cushion. Between them rested a golden tray, upon which was sat a great golden bowl, a lidded jug of silver, and a tripod set over a great, cylindrical candle with three burning wicks.

Silence remained as the Oracle placed the bowl over the flames. From the jug, a liquid of the deepest crystal blue was poured into the bowl, and the jug set aside. After only moments, the liquid began to hiss and bubble, producing a thick, choking blue smoke that filled the room in seemingly no time at all. The Oracle quickly extinguished each flame between thumb and index finger. With an air of secrecy, as if Tharn herself should not have been there, the Oracle cupped her hands into the rising steam and inhaled a large amount of the thick smoke.

All of this Tharn had seen many times before. She had become to rely of the advise of this Larneian that was so fragile in frame and stature that it seemed as if the slightest breath of wind would snap her in half. She stood so much shorter than any other Larneian, at only five feet tall, and her emaciated body was merely one sign of the strains her profession placed upon her. The difference was, since being freed from Gelsar's service, the Oracle made her own decisions and carried out her practice only when it was deemed necessary by either herself or the forces she read. Her health had returned and her skin was now the same glossy jet-black true to the Larneian race, instead of the deathly grey it had been when the two women had first met.

And so it was no surprise to Tharn when the Oracle began to rock gently backwards and forwards, and finally four green eyes locked in a private battle which neither woman could win.

"Your future is clouded to me."

Whatever Da'Nela had expected, it was not that. In the fifteen years that the Oracle and Da'Nela had been associates, only once before had the most powerful Larneian on the planet admitted that she had not or could not foresee something. The Oracle had always seemed so sure of her abilities, what had changed?

"I sense your loneliness, your desire for companionship… I sense conflict within you. But where you go from here, I do not know."

Da'Nela said nothing. If the Oracle had expected to give Da'Nela some miraculous advice or a cure for her loneliness, she had failed to provide anything. Somewhat disappointed, Tharn watched as the Oracle inhaled another handful of smoke.

"An old friend is lost."

"Which friend?" Tharn asked urgently. A frown flashed across the Oracle's face as she reached for an answer.

"I do not know. Souls rest on minds, minds are drawn from bodies. For some it is already too late…"