10/?
A pause, pregnant with the potent mixture of hostility and desperation, met the faery's words. With unflinching resolve etched into his features, the hunter stood squarely beside Marguerite, who flashed an aggravated glare. "John," she muttered.
Roxton's head jerked toward her. "No, Marguerite. I won't give in on this. The Plateau is not worth your life."
"What about Challenger's? Or Veronica's or Ned's? Haven't you at one time or another risked your life to save theirs?"
"'Risked,' Marguerite. There's a helluva lot of difference between risk and a bloody foregone conclusion."
Mab fluttered edgily, knowing that her options were rapidly slipping between her tiny hands. "Will you not reconsider?" she asked the chieftan's son.
A sardonic eyebrow cocked in her direction was his only answer. He held the power; he knew it and was willing, even eager, to force his father's executioner to pay dearly for what she wanted. If she didn't force Marguerite into his hands, he would still win for the Plateau would be destroyed and his miserable existence would come to an end.
Marguerite stepped away from Roxton and countered, "There's no need for reconsideration. I've made the decision."
"Marguerite, no!" Roxton yelled, gripping her arm firmly.
Shaking off his hand, she replied, "It's my choice. I choose the Plateau, regardless of the consequences."
The hunter trained his pain-filled eyes on her and shook his head, the action a combination of disbelief and regret. The pride he felt for her selfless action was overwhelmed by the sense of impending loss. He had long ago believed that he had lost everything of importance to him. But that had been before Marguerite. She had resuscitated him, had resurrected the old John Roxton from his self-imposed damnation. He was strong again. Invincible. All because of her. But as strong as he was, there was one thing he knew he was unable to do. "I can't watch you knowingly destroy yourself."
Marguerite nodded, accepting that once again, no matter how much they had so faithfully promised each other, she was alone. Some part of her knew that this moment would come, but that knowledge didn't lessen the blow. Squeezing his arm in an effort to reassure him and offering a tight smile, she murmured, "Make sure Challenger and Malone get back to London safely."
Roxton agreed with a slight lift of his lips. Hating himself for his weakness, he turned away. She watched him go and felt her soul tear in half. A moment before he quit the room, he glanced back over his shoulder, allowing himself one last glimpse of the woman he loved, the woman he would never marry, would never see again. Her gaze sought out his, her eyes speaking the words that her lips could not. When she saw her love reflecting from his eyes, she pressed a kiss to her fingertips and raised her hand, a last good-bye. She turned back to the chieftan's son and nodded. "Let's get started. Mab?"
The queen glanced from Marguerite to Roxton as he turned away and walked out of the throne room then fluttered toward her pupil. "If this is your wish, then I am grateful." Taking their hands in hers, Mab indicated they should do the same. "Now, close your eyes, and as before, clear your mind. Picture the Plateau and nothing else."
The air around them, heavy with the possibility of profound success, stilled. Mab gently slipped into Marguerite's mind, the ability, after so many hours in training, now second nature. She then reached into the son's thoughts, but instead of finding a calm, centered arena, a fearsome storm of emotion buffeted against her. Hate and loathing were the predominant feelings that far out-paced the remaining one of fear. Doubtless, his reactions were justified, but at the same time...
"Your mind must be clear of all but the Plateau. Emotions are secondary, only the facts are needed at this time. Your beliefs and attitudes cloud your thoughts and will destroy us all. You must focus."
The cheiftan's son, knowing he risked his future if he did not comply, stifled a resigned sigh and banished his normal reactions to any thought of the Plateau to the nether regions of his mind. It was, under the circumstances, the best he could do. When Mab was satisfied with his efforts she reentered his mind. "Remember, think only of the truths. Any deviations will have disastrous consequences for us all."
The mist swirled through the room, slowly engulfing the trio. Marguerite realized that the puzzle was now complete; she could feel it in the distinct pull of good versus evil and also felt the Plateau responding.
"Good!" Mab praised, her dainty wings fluttering at a rapid pace. "Now, see the Plateau as it is today. As it was when you each first arrived. Focus on the image, keep the storms at bay, in the distance, they are no threat in this world."
Marguerite smiled as she watched the tree house edge from the outskirts of her vision to the forefront and wondered what Challenger, Ned, and Veronica were up to. Had Ned even returned from his journey? Suddenly, an ache engulfed her. As she watched them go about their lives, she realized how much she wanted to be with them. To return to her family. And knowing she couldn't nearly ripped her apart.
Squaring her shoulders, she squashed the feelings and reminded herself that what she accomplished here today, no matter what happened to her, would save them. It was a small price to pay to protect the only family she had ever known.
Mab had witnessed Marguerite's momentary lapse and was ready to intervene should the need occur. Once again, she was proud of her charge's abilities to focus on the matter at hand. Not so with the chieftan's son. She delved further into his mind and discovered the struggle to master his emotions had not been one he had won. The red-orange haze of rage tinged with the purplish-blue of despair clouded his mental image of the Plateau.
She tried to intercede, slipping through the emotions, interjecting her own calm, but to no avail. The battle waged on and, in the last seconds when she was certain he would be victorious, the haze engulfed him completely, overwhelming his control. Marguerite cried out in shock as her link with him severed. One leg of the triangle was wrenched away. The Chosen One opened her eyes, knowing that to do so would risk a break in her concentration. Her mouth dropped open in shock.
In the place where he had stood now remained a blackened heap of ashes. Pain shot through her as she lost her grip completely on the image she had constructed. She stumbled back intent on moving as far away from the son's remains as possible when she collided with a solid, warm figure.
"Shh, Morrigan. Cuchlain is returned," whispered a voice she knew.
Mab opened her eyes at the sound, and then widened them in surprise. "So, its true," she murmured in awe, "he has returned for her."
The mist, had it been able, would have smiled, for it had known the truth from the start.
"I refused you once, my love," Roxton soothed as he placed his hands on Marguerite's shoulders. "It is not in my ability to do so again."
It was then that something even more spectacular than the events around them occurred. Marguerite's body turned, her eyes glowing with the green fire of her people's emeralds, and smiled. "My love," she greeted. "Even after our final parting, I always knew we would see each other again. How fitting it should be now." She drew her knuckles down the hard plane of his cheek, a caress of welcome, of remembrance, and of love.
"You must take his place," beckoned the mist. "His presence allowed us to break past the barriers his father erected, but we still are in need of grounding. You will provide that."
Roxton/Cuchlain nodded and joined the circle. Power rushed between them cementing the windows into place then blocking them entirely. One by one, they were closed for evermore. As the molten energy abated and slowly dispersed, Morrigan and Cuchlain disappeared with them and Marguerite and Roxton were returned to their senses.
"Marguerite?" Roxton gasped in wonder as he pulled her into his arms. "How the hell are you still here?"
She shook her head, trying to realign her dazed thoughts. "I don't know. The last thing I remember was seeing the chieftan's son after he had been burned up. After that, everything is blank."
"We seem to have had a little help," Mab interjected with pleased relief.
Roxton stared blankly at her. "What do you mean?"
"She means," the mist answered as it coalesced back into human shape, "that your other selves took over and saved the Plateau."
"You knew!" the fairy queen accused, her irritation at being left out of the loop evident.
The mist chuckled and settled itself on a nearby stool. "I knew all along."
"Well, pardon my curiosity," Marguerite retorted with asperity as she withdrew from Roxton's embrace, "but would someone like to tell us just what you knew?"
The mist inclined its head and began, "You have known for some time of your Chosen One status, Marguerite. However, Roxton has never had the opportunity to become acquainted with his own history. Your souls were mated millennia ago, you as Morrigan to Roxton as Cuchlian, a great Celtic chieftan and warrior. But circumstance and pride kept you apart, allowed you only friendship after several years of mutual hatred. Your assumption of Morrigan and her subsequent efforts to save the Plateau called him forth, encouraged him to finally put to right the error that was made."
Brow furrowed, Roxton looked at the mist figure with incredulity. "So, I'm supposed to be the reincarnated soul of this chieftan? I don't believe it."
"Believe it or not, the truth remains the same, although your powers engendered from the reincarnation have now disappeared."
The lord nodded, taking small comfort in the fact that he had somehow returned to normal.
Mab, having listened to the tale in silent regard, now joined the couple. "My dear, you truly belong with us. Your powers will only grow stronger if you remain and allow us to nurture them."
Marguerite heard the promise behind the words, but knew a question remained. "What will happen if I leave?"
"You will retain your memories of this place and your linguistic skills, however any other powers that you cultivated while here will remain here. Additionally, I must warn you, that you are in grave danger if you remain unprotected. The son may be gone, but there are many other hazards on the Plateau."
Marguerite glanced over her shoulder to Roxton who tried to mask his disappointment behind an unsuccessful grin encouraging her to stay. Wrinkling her nose, she whispered, "I think I have someone to discuss this with."
She took his elbow and steered him toward the far corner of the throne room.
"Marguerite," he began, his confusion obvious, "what needs to be discussed? You should stay here. The future is spread before you. Take it."
She was surprised by the surety in his voice. Marguerite turned and looked at Mab and her faery courtiers which had unknowingly joined them, then returned her gaze to the rugged hunter. With a smile of loving assurance, she replied, "You're right, John. The future is in front of me. And I will take it, with both hands." So saying she reached down and linked their hands together twining their fingers. An endearing mixture of confusion and dawning awareness drifted over his face as she turned back to Mab.
"Thank you for the offer, but I believe I belong with someone else." She lifted her lips in a self-deprecating smile. "But I think you must have realized that from the beginning."
"Well, I can't say that your decision is a surprise. Morrigan, herself, would do the same." The queen glanced up and with a soft, secretive smile, added, "And I believe she has."
"What will happen now? Will I ever return?"
Though the question had been directed toward Mab, the mist answered, "That is for fate to decide. But do know this: though you have decided against furthering your abilities, you will always remain a Chosen One. And one day, you will be called again into service."
The queen fluttered toward her and placed a tiny hand on her shoulder. "For now, enjoy the destiny you have chosen."
Taking Roxton's hand once more, she turned and walked toward the wall of water, the only exit and entrance that she knew. Mab raised her hands, but stilled them as a thought occurred to her. "Oh, and one more thing. I'd better get an invitation to the wedding."
The water opened up and they disappeared before either could answer the directive. In the stillness, the queen sat silent in her throne, the courtiers once more surrounding her and seeing to any need. The mist, quiet as well, waited for the question it knew would be quick in coming.
It didn't have to wait long.
"Do you think she chose wisely?"
The mist inclined its head. "She followed her heart and that is all any mere mortal, Chosen One or no, can do."
***
finis
***
Author's note: Cuchlain was a Celtic chieftan and contemporary of Morrigan. It is said that she once offered him her love, but he spurned her. They maintained a love-hate relationship for several years until she tricked him into healing fatal wounds she had obtained in a battle. After that, they were close friends.
I hope you enjoyed my little trip into Marguerite's Chosen One status and that, if not believable, it was at least entertaining.
Further note: I want to thank everyone who has ever reviewed my fanfics. You are tremendously appreciated and do offer encouragement for current and future stories. For now, though, circumstance and inspiration are forcing me to take a break from writing for "The Lost World." As for "Revelations," I would be honored if you would let me know if the ending (late in coming, I know) was worth the effort.
A pause, pregnant with the potent mixture of hostility and desperation, met the faery's words. With unflinching resolve etched into his features, the hunter stood squarely beside Marguerite, who flashed an aggravated glare. "John," she muttered.
Roxton's head jerked toward her. "No, Marguerite. I won't give in on this. The Plateau is not worth your life."
"What about Challenger's? Or Veronica's or Ned's? Haven't you at one time or another risked your life to save theirs?"
"'Risked,' Marguerite. There's a helluva lot of difference between risk and a bloody foregone conclusion."
Mab fluttered edgily, knowing that her options were rapidly slipping between her tiny hands. "Will you not reconsider?" she asked the chieftan's son.
A sardonic eyebrow cocked in her direction was his only answer. He held the power; he knew it and was willing, even eager, to force his father's executioner to pay dearly for what she wanted. If she didn't force Marguerite into his hands, he would still win for the Plateau would be destroyed and his miserable existence would come to an end.
Marguerite stepped away from Roxton and countered, "There's no need for reconsideration. I've made the decision."
"Marguerite, no!" Roxton yelled, gripping her arm firmly.
Shaking off his hand, she replied, "It's my choice. I choose the Plateau, regardless of the consequences."
The hunter trained his pain-filled eyes on her and shook his head, the action a combination of disbelief and regret. The pride he felt for her selfless action was overwhelmed by the sense of impending loss. He had long ago believed that he had lost everything of importance to him. But that had been before Marguerite. She had resuscitated him, had resurrected the old John Roxton from his self-imposed damnation. He was strong again. Invincible. All because of her. But as strong as he was, there was one thing he knew he was unable to do. "I can't watch you knowingly destroy yourself."
Marguerite nodded, accepting that once again, no matter how much they had so faithfully promised each other, she was alone. Some part of her knew that this moment would come, but that knowledge didn't lessen the blow. Squeezing his arm in an effort to reassure him and offering a tight smile, she murmured, "Make sure Challenger and Malone get back to London safely."
Roxton agreed with a slight lift of his lips. Hating himself for his weakness, he turned away. She watched him go and felt her soul tear in half. A moment before he quit the room, he glanced back over his shoulder, allowing himself one last glimpse of the woman he loved, the woman he would never marry, would never see again. Her gaze sought out his, her eyes speaking the words that her lips could not. When she saw her love reflecting from his eyes, she pressed a kiss to her fingertips and raised her hand, a last good-bye. She turned back to the chieftan's son and nodded. "Let's get started. Mab?"
The queen glanced from Marguerite to Roxton as he turned away and walked out of the throne room then fluttered toward her pupil. "If this is your wish, then I am grateful." Taking their hands in hers, Mab indicated they should do the same. "Now, close your eyes, and as before, clear your mind. Picture the Plateau and nothing else."
The air around them, heavy with the possibility of profound success, stilled. Mab gently slipped into Marguerite's mind, the ability, after so many hours in training, now second nature. She then reached into the son's thoughts, but instead of finding a calm, centered arena, a fearsome storm of emotion buffeted against her. Hate and loathing were the predominant feelings that far out-paced the remaining one of fear. Doubtless, his reactions were justified, but at the same time...
"Your mind must be clear of all but the Plateau. Emotions are secondary, only the facts are needed at this time. Your beliefs and attitudes cloud your thoughts and will destroy us all. You must focus."
The cheiftan's son, knowing he risked his future if he did not comply, stifled a resigned sigh and banished his normal reactions to any thought of the Plateau to the nether regions of his mind. It was, under the circumstances, the best he could do. When Mab was satisfied with his efforts she reentered his mind. "Remember, think only of the truths. Any deviations will have disastrous consequences for us all."
The mist swirled through the room, slowly engulfing the trio. Marguerite realized that the puzzle was now complete; she could feel it in the distinct pull of good versus evil and also felt the Plateau responding.
"Good!" Mab praised, her dainty wings fluttering at a rapid pace. "Now, see the Plateau as it is today. As it was when you each first arrived. Focus on the image, keep the storms at bay, in the distance, they are no threat in this world."
Marguerite smiled as she watched the tree house edge from the outskirts of her vision to the forefront and wondered what Challenger, Ned, and Veronica were up to. Had Ned even returned from his journey? Suddenly, an ache engulfed her. As she watched them go about their lives, she realized how much she wanted to be with them. To return to her family. And knowing she couldn't nearly ripped her apart.
Squaring her shoulders, she squashed the feelings and reminded herself that what she accomplished here today, no matter what happened to her, would save them. It was a small price to pay to protect the only family she had ever known.
Mab had witnessed Marguerite's momentary lapse and was ready to intervene should the need occur. Once again, she was proud of her charge's abilities to focus on the matter at hand. Not so with the chieftan's son. She delved further into his mind and discovered the struggle to master his emotions had not been one he had won. The red-orange haze of rage tinged with the purplish-blue of despair clouded his mental image of the Plateau.
She tried to intercede, slipping through the emotions, interjecting her own calm, but to no avail. The battle waged on and, in the last seconds when she was certain he would be victorious, the haze engulfed him completely, overwhelming his control. Marguerite cried out in shock as her link with him severed. One leg of the triangle was wrenched away. The Chosen One opened her eyes, knowing that to do so would risk a break in her concentration. Her mouth dropped open in shock.
In the place where he had stood now remained a blackened heap of ashes. Pain shot through her as she lost her grip completely on the image she had constructed. She stumbled back intent on moving as far away from the son's remains as possible when she collided with a solid, warm figure.
"Shh, Morrigan. Cuchlain is returned," whispered a voice she knew.
Mab opened her eyes at the sound, and then widened them in surprise. "So, its true," she murmured in awe, "he has returned for her."
The mist, had it been able, would have smiled, for it had known the truth from the start.
"I refused you once, my love," Roxton soothed as he placed his hands on Marguerite's shoulders. "It is not in my ability to do so again."
It was then that something even more spectacular than the events around them occurred. Marguerite's body turned, her eyes glowing with the green fire of her people's emeralds, and smiled. "My love," she greeted. "Even after our final parting, I always knew we would see each other again. How fitting it should be now." She drew her knuckles down the hard plane of his cheek, a caress of welcome, of remembrance, and of love.
"You must take his place," beckoned the mist. "His presence allowed us to break past the barriers his father erected, but we still are in need of grounding. You will provide that."
Roxton/Cuchlain nodded and joined the circle. Power rushed between them cementing the windows into place then blocking them entirely. One by one, they were closed for evermore. As the molten energy abated and slowly dispersed, Morrigan and Cuchlain disappeared with them and Marguerite and Roxton were returned to their senses.
"Marguerite?" Roxton gasped in wonder as he pulled her into his arms. "How the hell are you still here?"
She shook her head, trying to realign her dazed thoughts. "I don't know. The last thing I remember was seeing the chieftan's son after he had been burned up. After that, everything is blank."
"We seem to have had a little help," Mab interjected with pleased relief.
Roxton stared blankly at her. "What do you mean?"
"She means," the mist answered as it coalesced back into human shape, "that your other selves took over and saved the Plateau."
"You knew!" the fairy queen accused, her irritation at being left out of the loop evident.
The mist chuckled and settled itself on a nearby stool. "I knew all along."
"Well, pardon my curiosity," Marguerite retorted with asperity as she withdrew from Roxton's embrace, "but would someone like to tell us just what you knew?"
The mist inclined its head and began, "You have known for some time of your Chosen One status, Marguerite. However, Roxton has never had the opportunity to become acquainted with his own history. Your souls were mated millennia ago, you as Morrigan to Roxton as Cuchlian, a great Celtic chieftan and warrior. But circumstance and pride kept you apart, allowed you only friendship after several years of mutual hatred. Your assumption of Morrigan and her subsequent efforts to save the Plateau called him forth, encouraged him to finally put to right the error that was made."
Brow furrowed, Roxton looked at the mist figure with incredulity. "So, I'm supposed to be the reincarnated soul of this chieftan? I don't believe it."
"Believe it or not, the truth remains the same, although your powers engendered from the reincarnation have now disappeared."
The lord nodded, taking small comfort in the fact that he had somehow returned to normal.
Mab, having listened to the tale in silent regard, now joined the couple. "My dear, you truly belong with us. Your powers will only grow stronger if you remain and allow us to nurture them."
Marguerite heard the promise behind the words, but knew a question remained. "What will happen if I leave?"
"You will retain your memories of this place and your linguistic skills, however any other powers that you cultivated while here will remain here. Additionally, I must warn you, that you are in grave danger if you remain unprotected. The son may be gone, but there are many other hazards on the Plateau."
Marguerite glanced over her shoulder to Roxton who tried to mask his disappointment behind an unsuccessful grin encouraging her to stay. Wrinkling her nose, she whispered, "I think I have someone to discuss this with."
She took his elbow and steered him toward the far corner of the throne room.
"Marguerite," he began, his confusion obvious, "what needs to be discussed? You should stay here. The future is spread before you. Take it."
She was surprised by the surety in his voice. Marguerite turned and looked at Mab and her faery courtiers which had unknowingly joined them, then returned her gaze to the rugged hunter. With a smile of loving assurance, she replied, "You're right, John. The future is in front of me. And I will take it, with both hands." So saying she reached down and linked their hands together twining their fingers. An endearing mixture of confusion and dawning awareness drifted over his face as she turned back to Mab.
"Thank you for the offer, but I believe I belong with someone else." She lifted her lips in a self-deprecating smile. "But I think you must have realized that from the beginning."
"Well, I can't say that your decision is a surprise. Morrigan, herself, would do the same." The queen glanced up and with a soft, secretive smile, added, "And I believe she has."
"What will happen now? Will I ever return?"
Though the question had been directed toward Mab, the mist answered, "That is for fate to decide. But do know this: though you have decided against furthering your abilities, you will always remain a Chosen One. And one day, you will be called again into service."
The queen fluttered toward her and placed a tiny hand on her shoulder. "For now, enjoy the destiny you have chosen."
Taking Roxton's hand once more, she turned and walked toward the wall of water, the only exit and entrance that she knew. Mab raised her hands, but stilled them as a thought occurred to her. "Oh, and one more thing. I'd better get an invitation to the wedding."
The water opened up and they disappeared before either could answer the directive. In the stillness, the queen sat silent in her throne, the courtiers once more surrounding her and seeing to any need. The mist, quiet as well, waited for the question it knew would be quick in coming.
It didn't have to wait long.
"Do you think she chose wisely?"
The mist inclined its head. "She followed her heart and that is all any mere mortal, Chosen One or no, can do."
***
finis
***
Author's note: Cuchlain was a Celtic chieftan and contemporary of Morrigan. It is said that she once offered him her love, but he spurned her. They maintained a love-hate relationship for several years until she tricked him into healing fatal wounds she had obtained in a battle. After that, they were close friends.
I hope you enjoyed my little trip into Marguerite's Chosen One status and that, if not believable, it was at least entertaining.
Further note: I want to thank everyone who has ever reviewed my fanfics. You are tremendously appreciated and do offer encouragement for current and future stories. For now, though, circumstance and inspiration are forcing me to take a break from writing for "The Lost World." As for "Revelations," I would be honored if you would let me know if the ending (late in coming, I know) was worth the effort.