AN: Hey, so you know how I was talking about summarizing? I . . . tried that in this chapter. I hated it with all of my considerable might . . . (*flexes hate-muscles*)
OPOD: O.o
. . . but I tried. So, this chapter will probably suck, but at least things will hurry up a bit.

[o{o}o]

Jenny (narrating): A word to the wise: don't ever try to outrun someone —or something— that is almost three feet taller than you. Not only is it basically futile, especially when that someone —or something— can teleport, but it's quite demeaning. For instance: when you are taking four strides to one of his/hers/its, it is quite easy to trip over your own feet and go crashing into the person in front of you, sending you both tumbling down a very long set of steps. Needless to say, the resulting bruises don't help you run any faster.
(Excerpt from Chapter 11 of Not What I Had Planned)

[o{o}o]

Last Chapter: I took a deep breath of clean, utterly Sand-less air. "Here goes probable suicide," I said to the world at large. Shutting my eyes tight, I followed Prince's example and entered the churning confines of the time-warp vortex.

Chapter 9: Fateless

The Sand was harsh, whipping against my skin, but after a moment it stopped trying to flay the hide from my body, instead moving through and around it, disassembling my particles into the stormy ocean that was Time, and reforming them in another age entirely. I was aware of this only on the deepest levels: most of me was occupied with a sort of warm, weightless feeling, which erased all conscious thought for the duration of the passage. When I finally came back to myself it was to the sensation of abrasive, scouring Sand again, and, still sluggish, I staggered out of the vortex.

Prince was there, watching; waiting for me. I didn't think it was completely due to my Sand-addled wits that I saw him breathe a sigh of relief when I emerged. So he does care, I thought, not entirely surprised but pleased all the same. It was true that he was awfully absorbed in his own quest, but he did care, and . . . it felt nice, knowing that I wasn't the only one who'd be a bit upset if I spontaneously combusted.

"The present sure is . . . erm . . . poorly maintained," I observed carefully, reevaluating the environment that had appeared so very plush and luxurious before. The rich red curtains were gone entirely, and the crumbling stone remnants of once impressively grand structures were now moss-covered and darkened with age. "Wow," I said, more quietly. Everything was the same, but . . . different. It was profoundly disconcerting.

"It's been a long time," was Prince's murmured response. He turned from me and passed through the curtain of water, and, grimacing with distaste, I followed as quickly as possible (to minimize the time I spent under the icy waterfall). All the same, it was only with an effort that I held in the exclamation that threatened to escape me at the shock of the cold on my skin. I clamped my mouth shut, though, trudging behind Prince in silent, dripping misery. It wasn't even necessary for me to fight the two Raiders waiting in the corridor beyond the portal-room: Prince, finally making use of the Crow Master's sword, came up silently from behind and struck them down before they even had time to cry out (the saber could dispose of all but the hardiest of Sand creatures with just one blow).

Our path from then on was nearly identical to the one we had taken here, with the exception of the overgrown vines and moss that covered nearly every available surface and a few crumbled ledges and bits of flooring. When I teleported my way in stages down the shaft, I noted the two Raiders waiting at the bottom and decided to remain where I was until Prince (and his handy-dandy Crow-saber) was there to deal with them. Prince reached and moved past me shortly, and when he dropped to the ground I teleported to join him. Unfortunately, the Raiders were forewarned of our presence by the inevitable brassy sound that accompanied my ability. Drat and armadillos, I thought with chagrin, sending Prince a sheepish glance and drawing my sword. I forgot about that.

Fortunately, the royal dealt with these as quickly and efficiently as he had the two previous, blocking their blows with ease and striking back with deadly force once there was an opening. Feeling redundant, I put my sword away again.

Prince headed into the Garden Hall, observing as he took in the changes, "It seems the vegetation has taken its toll on this part of the tower . . . it's completely overgrown." I almost protested, seeing him obliviously pass by the fallen chunk of debris whose height he would need to reach the next part of his journey: the beam atop the slender but strong pillars that I had noted earlier. But I had decided not to interfere (much), and a little mild frustration wasn't nearly enough to make me reverse that decision. So I was silent as we fought (and defeated, of course, though afterwards I needed a drink from one of the numerous pools of water that pervaded the Hall) the four Raiders that awaited us in the Garden Hall, finishing off the Crow Master's sword for Prince. He then wandered about, with me close behind, searching in a grid pattern and poking into nooks and crannies that looked promising. There was a point, though, when his methodical searching gave way to aimless stomping around, glaring at random objects. (I knew the feeling: when I'd tried all of the probable avenues and most of the improbable ones, and I was still stuck, I was probably wearing just that expression as I glared at the computer screen.) Finally he just stopped dead in his tracks.

He looked at me; I looked at him. This went on for some time.

At length I threw up my hands, making a small growl of frustration and dropping my eyes to glower at the soil beneath my feet. "Alright, alright," I grumbled, peeved. My arm jerked up sharply to point in the direction we had come from, though I never glanced away from the ground. "That way; you're heading up."

When at last I looked up at Prince, though, he was smiling with satisfaction, and suddenly I didn't mind so much anymore that he'd gotten the best of me. He backtracked to where I had directed him and promptly discovered the correct route, climbing up onto the stone block and running up the wall, then using his legs to launch himself away from the wall and catch onto the narrow beam that struck through the center of the hall. Hurriedly, I looked away; just watching him sway, his arms outstretched to help him maintain balance, as he edged along was enough to make me feel vertigo. The strange thing was that I was rarely very disturbed when I was the one at lofty heights, not unless I was truly in danger of falling. Maybe it was only that I trusted myself not to fall, while I hadn't yet reached that point with Prince.

I followed his route as he leapt from beam to beam, walking beneath him and glancing up occasionally to mark his position. I hesitated when one of these glances revealed that he had moved out of sight, then shrugged, backing up until I could view the terrace I had last observed him on (battling some Sand creatures), and, fixing my gaze there, thought, There. When the light-blindness cleared from my vision, I was positioned in the exact place I had been looking at merely moments before; I spared a moment to be inordinately grateful for this talent, which allowed me to perform such incredible feats. It was all too easy to grow used to things, and take them for granted, but every now and then it would strike me all over again how incredibly weird my situation and everything that came with it was. And, though my thoughts automatically shied away from contemplating the issue . . . it was starting to grow difficult to believe that all of this was nothing but a dream.

I swept my gaze over the Garden Hall. Sure enough, from my newly elevated position I could now see the royal, around a corner from where I had been standing before, and sidling along the top of an almost perfectly level tree bough that had wrestled its way through the wall-stones from outside. I decided against calling out to him, afraid that it might startle him into losing his balance, and instead waited several long moments as he leaped from the branch to a ledge to his left, then lowered himself to another limb, along which he moved until he could reach the decidedly well-worn tablet that the funny-headdress-man still held (his headdress looked even weirder when it was covered with the craters and various imperfections it had collected over the years). I recognized this portion of the Hall, now: the jagged opening that was Prince's goal was one that I had already been through twice, both times in the past. We're going to the gardens again, then, I reasoned. This section of the tower was a little hazy in my memory, mainly because I'd spent the majority of the time playing it on autopilot. Most of this section was acrobatics; there weren't many traps or battles, and those few weren't very challenging, and so had required very little of my attention. Although . . . I bet if I had to fight those 'unchallenging' battles now I would give them all my consideration. I grinned a little at the thought: I'd discovered the hard way that 'routine' battles were never really routine when there was actual danger involved. Not for me, anyway.

Prince jumped up and pulled himself from the 'tablet' onto another tree bough, which he edged cautiously along until it ended beneath the gateway, at which point he pulled himself up into the opening and vanished from sight. Blinking with surprise upon realizing how long I had remained in one place, watching him, I focused on the 'tablet' that he'd just left, and promptly teleported there. Then I paused, biting my lip to hide a smile, although the subterfuge really wasn't necessary as I had no audience. It had occurred to me that I'd been following Prince for quite a while, and he was still (as far as I could tell) completely oblivious to my presence. How long could I keep this up? I wondered, eyeing the opening he'd gone through speculatively. A small, mischievous smirk curved my lips, matching the silent laughter that bubbled in my chest. It'd been too long since I'd laughed. Might as well find out.

I waited several minutes (until I was fairly certain that Prince would be both out of sight and out of hearing distance) before teleporting to the gate opening, to the ledges below it, across the hall, then to the corresponding opening there. A considerably more dilapidated courtyard than I had last seen greeted my eyes, completely void of turnstiles, but it still took a moment for me to register that something was wrong; I did a double take.

There was no gate. Where my lovely non-ledge gateway should have been, there was only an unreasonably massive avalanche of rubble. Oh. Well. This should be . . . fun.

It was actually easier than I had expected it to be. I climbed along ledge after ledge, teleporting occasionally when I had a visual, but I never came even close to losing my balance. Eventually the nervous fluttering in the pit of my stomach eased, and I began to enjoy the fact that I could do this, could climb, feeling for toeholds with my nonexistent feet, instead of being confined to a wheelchair. It wasn't the real thing, but it sure as heck felt like it. I traveled like this for a while until I reached the Garden, and there retrieved a new sword from a weapons rack. The weapon I'd been using was hardly worn, but I didn't want to take any chances.

After the Garden Hall, though, the terrain was a little different, more filled with trees and wall-runs than beams and ledges. As a result, rather than following Prince's route directly (I never saw him, as I made sure to move at a moderated pace so that he would stay well ahead, but, combined with the memories I had of Warrior Within, my powers of observation made it relatively easy to work out where he had gone), I had to improvise a bit (meaning that, instead of purposely sticking to Prince's roundabout course (A.K.A. "the slow way"), I was now being a bit more direct, and dawdling a smidgeon longer in between teleports to use up the extra time).

When I teleported from a grassy terrace to a blocky, rectangular stone archway, I found myself rather relieved to find a fountain (across a short gap) in the corridor there, despite the fact that I wasn't tired in the slightest. I had been starting to feel as though I would go mad if there weren't some sort of break in the monotony of teleport after teleport.

Then I went through the next archway.

Be careful what you wish for? I wondered half-coherently, staring in speechless disbelief at the bevy of traps that stood between me and the next solid footing. This was the last straw: there was definitely an oak-tree spirit (nymph, dryad, whatever) with an evil sense of humor shadowing my every move and monitoring my thoughts for anything it could take advantage of. It had spotted my wish for non-monotonous-ness and snatched up the opportunity with a high-pitched goblin giggle of wicked glee, then proceeded to somehow producing the traps that now lay before me out of thin air. I looked around and above me suspiciously, as though the poltergeist would somehow appear out of thin air.

But hey, this can't be so hard! I just have to get my timing right. . . . Easy, I thought optimistically, not believing a word of it. After watching the two crushing-slabs and multiple horizontal spinning spike-poles for a while, I decided that it would be best to do it all in one teleport, rather than in stages. That way I have less opportunity to mess up.

I observed and recorded for a long time, practically memorizing the patterns, until I had the exact right moment to go fixed firmly in the front of my mind, in time with the sound of the traps. ZzzzZBOOMZzzzZBOOM. I listened: ZzzzZBOOMZzzzZBOOMZzzz—

There.

I teleported; miraculously, upon reaching the other side, I was unscathed. Quite of their own volition, my hands patted over my hair and down my sides, as though confirming that I was, after all, not chopped into infinitesimal bits by the Spinning Scythes of Doom.

Satisfied that I hadn't died again, I left the octagonal room (my teleporting destination) through a doorway to my right, leaning against the frame and peering out and around to get some idea of where I would be going next. I glanced around the crumbling, widespread hall until I caught sight of my next goal (an open gateway, on the same side as the door I stood in now, but above and further left), then took the correct steps (or teleports, I suppose) to reach it, first teleporting to a ledge across the hall, then, now having a visual, through the open gateway.

The room I stood in now was a straightforward one, so I didn't bother to teleport. I just walked across the floor and up some crudely formed steps until I stood in the opening of the tall, imposing doorframe on the far side.

A curious sight met my eyes. There was a vast amount of open space before me, filled only with sporadic and chaotically placed trees, blocks, and beams, the bizarre-looking remainder of whatever structure had once stood here. But this only held my attention for a moment:

"AkahaD eht epacse tonnac uoy!" the Dahaka roared, tossing aside the limp black thing that he held (I believe it was the Crow Master). His gaze was fixed on something to my left, and I had the niggling suspicion that it wasn't Oprah Winfrey. ["You cannot escape the Dahaka!"]

I followed the line of his vision in time to see Prince stagger to his feet from where he had been catapulted from the Dahaka's blow; the frantic, fearful flame of desperation that usually smoldered, barely tamed, behind his eyes had burst into a raging inferno. He fled like his life depended on it (most likely because it did), running across the wall nearest him to get to a ladder, then swiftly sliding down it and leaping out to swing across two poles. Finally reaching solid ground, he was still moving so quickly that my eyes could barely focus on his running figure; yet he never missed a beat (this may have had something to do with the fact that he could go back in time and fix things if he ever did).

Then my thoughts caught up with me, and I realized that I was standing there, calmly observing a certain demonic acquaintance of mine chase down the only friend I had in this world (not to be confused with the other world), with every intention of killing him.

There, I thought forcefully, teleporting to directly beside Prince (actually, I had to guesstimate and go a few feet in front of him, so that by the time I actually got there it would be next to him).

Prince was so horrified to see me that he actually slowed down a little. Not for long, though; he roughly seized my arm, dragging me along with him. The sudden change in pace jerked my shoulder painfully, and I cried out in protest.

"RUN, JENNY!" Prince shouted. I realized with a shock that my delay, even as short as it had been, had given the Dahaka a great advantage; he was closing fast.

I sprinted alongside Prince, but yelled right back: "Let go of me, you great lummox! Just keep running, I'll be fine!"

Prince sent me a panicked glance, and I realized with warmth that his fear wasn't all for himself. "I'm not leaving you!" he insisted. But I couldn't run as quickly as he could, and both of us knew it; his gaze was switching back and forth from the path ahead of us to our pursuer so quickly that it was making me dizzy.

"Trust me," I said firmly, almost as though I could make him believe me by sheer force of will.

There wasn't really any time for argument, or even for a deep, searching moment. The royal's decision was made in a split instant, when we came to a gap: with one last 'I really hope you know what you're doing' glance, he released my arm, running along the wall to the other side . . . and the Dahaka reached me.

I turned around, arms akimbo. "What do you think you are doing?" I questioned rhetorically, my annoyance clear in my tone.

Prince, still fleeing as quickly as was humanly possible, almost stopped dead in his tracks at the words and tone, but then (apparently remembering the situation) continued on, skidding around a corner and out of sight. The Dahaka, though, halted abruptly just before colliding with me (which probably would have resulted in a Jenny-pancake and an unfazed Dahaka, but he stopped anyway, much to my relief).

"SseletaF, EVOM!" he roared with ear-shattering volume, his white-eyed glare insurmountably menacing. ["MOVE, Fateless!"]

"Um . . ." I said. "You know you could just go around me." I paused, realizing something. "Hey, I almost understood that!"

Ignoring the latter part of my words, the Dahaka unfortunately heeded the first, moving around and past me with earthshaking, distance-eating strides.

"Armadillos," I muttered under my breath, teleporting so that I was in front of him again. "You know that he is going to escape his fate, in a roundabout sort of manner anyway, so why do you keep chasing after him? Is this really necessary?"

"Sey," the Dahaka answered shortly, this time teleporting beyond me. I was fairly certain that the Prince was safely away by now, but I gave chase anyway. ["Yes."]

"Oh, come on! Just because you're the Guardian of the Timeline doesn't mean that you don't have a choice about anything!" (There,down a long shaft, completely skipping the ladders) "Can't you give a guy a break now and then? Why not just go up to the Gods or whoever it is you work for and say," (There), " 'YOU CAN'T FIRE ME, I QUIT!' . . . You know, except in Backwardsahaka?"

I was panting at the pace, despite the fact that I had been using my ability frequently, and so I sighed with relief when, coming around a bend, we finally caught sight of Prince just as he launched himself through the curtain of water that led to the portal-room (my relief may also have had a tiny bit to do with the fact that he was now guaranteed safety, at least for the time being).

The Dahaka had the opposite reaction: he howled, the sound wild with unsatisfied rage. "Etaf ruoy epacse tonnac uoy," he growled, glaring through the waterfall at the panting royal. Those words, at least, I knew the meaning of: You cannot escape your fate. He crouched slightly, as though preparing to leap away, but then he paused, turning glowing white eyes to me. For the thousandth time, I wished that he had a face that could be read.

"Gnihton od nac I," he rumbled. ["I can do nothing."]

There with the rumbling again, I thought exasperatedly. Unlike his face, though, the Dahaka's voice could be read, and something about it impressed upon me that this was important.

"SseletaF, gnihton od nac I," he said again, insistent. ["I can do nothing, Fateless."]

Somehow, I understood. "You really don't have a choice, do you?" I questioned, my voice sounding as stunned as I felt at the realization.

The Guardian of the Timeline didn't reply, but there was something of satisfaction in his posture as he bent his knees, raised his face to the sky, and launched himself upwards, vanishing in a cloud of thick black smoke.

Blinking (whether still from shock or because of the smoke I wasn't sure), I glanced around for something else to focus on; I found it in the form of Prince, staring at me through the water's curtain with an astonished expression that surely mirrored mine.

Oh, drat and armadillos. This is going to take some explaining.

[o{o}o]

AN: So, Jenny has a new nickname! First Freckles, now Fateless. Um . . . I don't know about you guys, but when I was playing the game I always thought that the Dahaka was kind of dumb—I mean, half the time he's just standing there waiting for Prince to get away so that he can teleport again to catch up. In this story, though, I'm attributing that to something other than a vast amount of stupidity: reluctance. He knows his duty, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.
Um . . . I'm a little concerned now that this chapter may have been a bit anticlimactic, after all of that "be patient" crap I was spewing at you. Please leave feedback and let me know! I always love to hear your impressions of a chapter. :)

~Killer Zebra