A Choice and a Chance

A Choice and a Chance

Disclaimer: Animorphs belongs to Scholastic, and the poem "Shadow-Lover" was written by Mercedes Lackey, from Magic's Price ( I'm only going to write part of it, it's long.)

Prologue

Loren was looking at her baby, Tobias. He was perfect, and he was hers, hers and her husband, Bill's. They had had a whirlwind courtship. It had felt as if they had meant to be together. They had gotten married a few months after Tobias' birth, but he wasn't Tobias' father. For some reason, she couldn't remember who had sired her son. This disturbed her. She wasn't that type of woman. These weren't the only holes in her memory. When she counted up her own years, she was physically older than she should be. This didn't make any sense. Plus, even though she loved Bill dearly, he didn't fill the void within her heart. Something was missing, and she wished she knew what.

At night she dreamed. It was something right out of Star Wars. She was talking with a blue creature. She couldn't hear what she said to it, but she knew the feelings that went with them. She felt love. In her dream, she held her little boy, and presented him to the blue creature. It touched Tobias' face and smiled with its eyes. Then it was torn from her. She clutched desperately at it, but there was nothing she could do. He was gone.

She woke up. He? She thought. Earlier, 'he' had been 'it'. With each time she dreamed, a little more came back to her. She gritted her teeth. She would remember. Even if it killed her.

Shadow-Lover, comfort me in pain.

Love, although I never see your face,

All who'd have me fear you speak in vain-

Never would I shrink from your embrace

Shadow-Lover, gentle is your hand

Never could another understand.

Shadow-Lover, you alone can know

How I long to reach a point of peace

How I fade with weariness and woe

How I long for you to bring me release.

Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams

Bring the peace that suffering redeems.

Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made,

Lead me into Shadows once again.

Where you lead I cannot be afraid,

For with you I shall come home again-

In your arms I shall not fear the night.

Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.

Elfangor felt hope, even as Visser 3's jaws closed around him. He knew that the human youths he had given the morphing power to would fight with everything they had. His son was among them, and he had given Earth a chance. Yet, he felt hope and relief for another reason entirely. Now, it was over. No matter what came next, he wouldn't have to fight anymore. No more fear, no more battles, no more shed blood on his hands.

The pain of death raced across his nerves. His hearts desperately tried to beat blood into his shredded muscles, and his punctured lungs labored against the teeth holding them. Nothing was left. Darkness claimed his vision.

Elfangor.

He was aware of watching himself being eaten. He saw Visser 3 chew. He watched as the Taxxons fought for his scraps. He knew all this was happening, but was strangely detached.

Elfangor, take my hand.

He noticed an Andalite standing next to him. His arms were so weak.

Prince Elfangor!

With what little strength he had left, he reached out. The Andalite, a female, grasped his hand. Then, nothing.

He came to himself in a place of cool, silver mist. Everything seemed strangely vivid, oddly more real. It was like he was seeing things for the first time. He turned his eyes around slowly, taking in his surroundings. Then he saw her.

She was cloaked in shadow. He couldn't make out any details about her, save her eyes. All four of them blazed with a light that was far more than mortal. She was a beautiful example of his kind.

Hello, Prince Elfangor, she whispered.

A sense of power shot through him. He wished he was in human morph, so he could drop to his knees. He tried to, anyway.

No, Prince Elfangor. I am but a messenger.

Elfangor thought of all the old stories he had heard on Earth of death coming for people. He had scoffed at the time. Now, he knew differently. Drawing himself to his hooves, he said,I'm ready.

Are you? She sighed.

I don't think I have much choice, do I? I'm very dead. My body has been eaten. What else can I be, but dead?

If you could go back, would you? asked the Messenger.

I- He stopped. Would he? He didn't know.

Death gestured behind her. A gate seemed to open in the mist.

This is not a decision to be made lightly. Ask whatever you will. Rest here for a time, and I will come back for you.

Elfangor looked at her aghast.

She smiled slightly, and stepped away. He looked through the gate, and found a calm meadow. It was a mixture of Andalite and human, but not like the bizarre universe that he and Loren had created. It was perfect.

He stepped through, and the portal shut behind him. He tasted some of the grasses. They were delicious. He went over to a stream. The water was cool.

For a long time he did nothing but run across the sweet grasses. I must be dead, he thought, for peace such as this couldn't exist anywhere else. I love it here.

Birds sang as he rushed past them. Animals of all sorts lived here, but he met no sentient creatures. He didn't care.

Flowers bloomed. Trees sang to him. Everything was right with the world. Slowly, he started to forget.

He couldn't remember before here. He didn't need to sleep, or eat. He just ran. He even forgot being an Andalite.

Sometimes, windows would open up in the sky. He would see great battles, and a hawk that was someone he had cared a great deal for at one time. These images would disturb him, but he forgot quickly.

The joy of running soon began to wear thin. He started to become restless. He wandered around the realm he was in, but met no one. He couldn't understand why this meant something to him, but it did.

Finally, he came across an oddity. It was an artificial structure. Built into a wall, with shelves all around it. A fireplace. Books lined the shelves. A couch, a type of furniture used for sitting, was in front of it.

Memories stirred. He trotted around to the front of the couch, and saw a shadow. A person was sitting there.

Who are you? he asked the figure. The notion of speaking seemed so strange to him.

The figure was a human female, dressed in a flowing white gown. White hair fell over her shoulders. She was reading a book. She ignored him.

Who are you?! he demanded, feeling angered when she wouldn't answer.

Without looking up, she replied," Who are you?"

I am, um- He paused. He struggled to regain a measure of who he had been. It was hard, very hard.

I am- He was sweating and trembling with the effort.

Suddenly, images burst into his mind. A giant red eye looked at him, and urged him to forget. He had done so enthusiastically.

I am Elfangor! he declared.

"Good," the human commented, still not looking up.

Who are you? he asked again, more calmly.

She finally glanced at him, before returning to her reading.

"Call me Emrys."

Are you dead too, or just passing through? Elfangor said sarcastically.

"Yes."

Make some sense, damn you!

"Feeling alive again, I see?"

Huh?

"It's about fragging time."

She again paid him no attention. Frustrated, he started wandering around the area. There was a table in a corner, with a chess board on it. The pieces looked like himself and Loren as king and queen on the white side. The youths he had given the morphing power to made up many of the other pieces. Vissers 1 and 3 were on the other side. He looked up briefly, and glanced at the fire. Images of his life, and others flashed through it. When he returned his attention to the board, the pieces were different. Now, creatures he had never seen made up the game. Thinking he had to be seeing things, he started looking at the books. They included science, histories, poetry, so many subjects that his mind boggled. He tried to return to ones that sounded particularly interesting to him, but they, too, had changed.

What is going on here? He queried, turning to the couch again. Again, things had changed. A red-haired woman, shorter than the first, wearing a black gown, sat on a wooden bench.

"This is the World of Dreams, lad. Nothing stays the same here. Stay too long, and memory wanes. I keep these books to help me remember."

How long have you been here?

"I have always been here, or, perhaps I should say, I always keep coming back."

Elfangor sighed. This was like, as the humans said, pulling teeth.

Why are you here?

"I have to have someplace to go between lives, don't I? The real question should be, my dear Prince, is why are you still here?"

I don't understand, he answered, feeling confused.

Emrys sighed and put down her book.

"You are needed back in the mortal realms. Even more so, back on earth. Your son is there, and so is Visser 3. You died, yes, but you still have a choice, which Crayak doesn't want you to make. He helped you to forget. He couldn't do it completely, because the Dream World is mostly beyond his control. But then, there are a lot of things beyond both Crayak's and the Ellimist's control. They hare pawns themselves, who think they are the players. I digress. The One Who Rides a Pale Horse has given you time to think, and you wasted it running. Why in the Pit of Doom are you here, boy?"

I, I don't know. I don't really want to go back.

A dead weight seemed to settle over Emrys shoulders.

"Death is lighter then a feather, but duty is heavier than a mountain."

Reality blurred.

Again, he stood in a place of cool, silver mist. Before him stood Death, looking like an Andalite.

Have you any questions?

Ah, yes, I do, he replied. He thought of his conversation with Emrys, and the pain in her face as she made her final, cryptic, comment.

What are my choices?

A life of suffering or, she smiled softly and opened her arms, myself.

What have I got to go back to?

Pain, death, and war. Down one road, if you loose, all that you have ever loved will be obliterated. You will become a Controller. Down the other, you may be asked to make a sacrifice that will destroy you. You will be alone to make that decision. Both chances are likely.

He gathered his courage to ask this final question.

What will happen if I don't return?

For you, peace, and an end to the nightmare of war.

For myself, he thought. But what for everyone else?

"For my people? My son?" he asked, realizing he has spoken aloud. He looked down at himself, and saw he had regained his human morph.

"They will come to me, in greater numbers, faster and in worse ways. All free peoples will be threatened, and the Andalites will lose, and earth will be lost."

Elfangor saw that Death, too, had taken on a human guise. He hung his head. The peace he had felt was one that he felt he had earned. In a fair universe, by all rights, he should get to stay there. Yet, he of all people knew that the universe wasn't fair.

"I haven't come for her, you know."

"Come for whom?" he asked, looking up again.

"Loren."

He gasped sharply. Tears started down his cheeks.

"You won't be able to do anything to change the past, but the future has yet to be written. Loren is out there, and you need to find her. Tobias, your son, needs you. They all do. The sacrifice I told you off isn't what you are expecting, and will be worth it. Life can be lived," she added, compassionately.

"I will go back," he choked past the knot that had formed in his human throat.

"I have never been more happy than when I lose," she murmured, taking him into her embrace.

He felt so tired right then. So, so tired. So he cried himself out, in Death's arms. Finally she kissed him, and held him, with all the kindness and compassion that only Death can have.

When he finally pulled away, he asked, "How am I supposed to go back? My body was eaten."

"Elfangor's body was," she said. "But Alan Fangor's body didn't."

She blurred before his eyes.

He said desperately," I won't be able to do anything as Al Fangor!"

He woke up.

He was in his human morph, albeit many years older. He was in a hospital gown. He was hooked up to monitors, and an IV was in his arm. While taking in his situation, he heard a voice whisper in his mind, Yes you will, you'll just have to find out for yourself.

Epilogue

Loren rocked and crooned to herself a lullaby. The padded walls of her cell seemed unreal to her, as did the straightjacket. She didn't know how long she had been there. Maybe forever. All she could do was wait, and hope that the doctors came back. Then she would have someone to talk to.

Comments? Want me to continue?