Crusader: Fireborn

By Icewyche

A.N.: Based on the "Arusian Crusade" series by Aqua Lion. Which is incredibly meta, when you think about it.

A big, big thank-you to Aqua Lion, who was not only gracious enough to let me play in the AC sandbox, but also provided details, reviews, and lots of encouragement and anticipatory squees. Shout-outs also go to the members of Snarktron Force – Aqua Lion, Cheetoy, Raelee514, and SnyperLady – for their support, humor, plot bunnies, and late-night Twitter snarkfests that kept me up and laughing long after I should have gone to bed like a responsible adult. Rock on with your bad selves.

Prologue: First Breath

They hadn't planned on another child. Hadn't even wanted one, really; life on Valkan VI was, while not exactly hardscrabble, not luxurious either, and they already had three others. More than enough mouths to feed. But things happened, and one night they just weren't careful, and that was that.

The baby was born in high summer, during a fierce heat wave. The grass was brown and crackled underfoot, the rivers and lakes were lower than anyone could ever remember them being, and there were warnings of brush fires. Not the most auspicious time to welcome a new life, but this child didn't seem to care. It was determined to be born; the midwife would later say she'd never seen a child so eager to enter the world. And so the baby boy arrived almost before anyone had time to realize what was happening, his first breath a fierce howl of what seemed almost like...impatience. As if he had things to do, things that didn't include being small and weak and helpless. He yelled as he was cleaned off, and continued yelling as the midwife wrapped him in a blanket and gave him to his mother.

The mother gazed tenderly down at the tiny, red-faced, indignant bundle in her arms. Another son. Well, that was all for the good – she loved her one daughter, but a brace of strong sons was a good thing to have. And she knew just what to name him, too...she'd been reading a book of ancient tales about a king named Arthur and a round table and brave knights. "Lancelot," she murmured. "I want to name him Lancelot."

The father rolled his eyes good-naturedly; he was used to his wife by now. She was a practical woman for the most part, but sometimes she was given to flights of romantic fantasy, especially when it involved her precious books. "For heaven's sakes, woman," he protested affectionately. " 'Lancelot'? Do you want the boy to be teased for the rest of his life?" She looked mildly crestfallen, so he added, "We'll call him Lance. Lance Charles, after my grandfather. Does that suit you?"

She nodded. "Lance Charles McClain. It's got a good sound to it." As if he'd understood her, the infant stopped screaming and looked up at his mother. His eyes were deep blue, as all babies' eyes were, but she knew they'd turn to brown soon enough. And there was almost an intelligence to his gaze, something she hadn't seen in any of her others when they were born. Yes...this one would be special. She just knew it. She didn't particularly believe in signs or portents, but somehow she knew this baby was destined for great things. How could he not be, named after a knight of legend?

It wasn't until later that she heard. As she'd been birthing her son, a fire had started at the other end of the village. No one really knew how; perhaps just a careless spark. But the parched grasses had eagerly seized that spark, and by the time it was over three houses had burned to the ground. None of their occupants had survived. Nothing left but ashes.

There were those who would say such a thing was an ill omen – a tragedy at what should have been a time of joy, such terrible death just as a new life came into the world. But not her.

After all, she didn't believe in omens.