Thanks for the reviews, peoples! Um, looks like I haven't updated in quite a while… hmm… ah well, better late then never, I always say.

Lily (Lena) Evans: Glad you loved it! I hope you like this one too!

Cathy7: Chris is sick in one way, but not the other…

K'Arthur: squeals I'm not worthy of a second review from you! This is like ten reviews all in one! Thanks for all the helpful tips. Help is always appreciated, since that is the basic purpose of a review. And I'm glad you enjoyed Borus and 'Percy's' discussion.

Water kokoro: It's good to see so many people like the Chris-Borus pair. I guess some people think Borus is evil or something…

pikinanou: I'm trying to bring the Chris/Borus relationship along slowly. The kiss was just the beginning! And I hope that one day your Chibi-Borus will give you a kiss on the cheek, too.

For those of you haven't seen it, I have a picture up in my profile that I drew. Check it out if you get a chance.

………

Chapter 9: 'Tis Almost the Season

All was dark as a man in black sat silently on his shadowy steed, watching a camp slowly begin to settle down for the night. A night breeze fingered his clothing, but he paid no mind to it. No, his attention was on more important things. The battle he had ordered that day had been a complete success. The Master would be pleased. He did not care that almost every one of his solders were killed; that did not matter. What did matter was the confirmation of a previous plan's accomplishment.

His eyes lit up with interest as he saw a dark figure stab one of the soldiers on night watch in the back. The Zexen soldier made no noise, and simply slid to the ground, dead. The dark figure then proceeded to drag the dead soldier behind a tent where his rotting corpse would probably be found in the morning. Looking back and forth, the figure seemed to melt in with the shadows, slivering up the hill towards the man on horseback.

Upon reaching him, the figure knelt on one knee. "Milord. Lightfellows's sickness has been confirmed. Her rune remains restless. Permission to send out an order for Phase II?"

"Granted," the man on horseback said, waving his soldier off. The soldier disappeared into the darkness of the plains. The man smirked. "This," he said to himself, "should be quite interesting." He turned his horse, ready to return to his base, when he saw movement down at the Zexen camp. The soldier that had been stabbed was moving, crawling toward the entrance of the nearest tent. The man spat. Stupid Zexens, he growled to himself. They don't know when to give up. He thought about what to do next. He could kill the man, but that might start a commotion. He could let the man live, but that might give them too much information. He could… no wait. What's this?

Another soldier was approaching the injured one. "Damn," muttered the man under his breath. With swiftness from many years of training, he had pulled out a cross bow and was already loading a bolt in. The dark man had seen the second soldier come from a pavilion that was a bit larger than the other sleeping tents. The injured soldier must have been moaning or something, because there was no way in Hell that anyone could see him. The second soldier approached the first cautiously, then ran to his side. The man on horseback began loading the second bolt to his double-bolt custom crossbow. With a click it was in, and he began judging the exact angle needed to hit them both in one shot. 'A centimeter apart should do,' he decided. He aimed quickly. Then, twang. The first arrow struck the second soldier in his left shoulder. The second arrow struck the already injured soldier with deadly precision in the head. His piercing scream was the last thing the man in black heard as he turned his horse, smirking, and galloping away into the moonless night's darkness.

……

The scream was the cherry on the ice cream sundae for Chris's dream. She awoke, panting and sweating, despite the cold that engulfed her body. All the dream had contained were voices. Many voices. Talking about her. She did not remember the entire dream, but at one point, she recognized one of the voices.

"She cannot control it," one voice had said. "This rune does not belong with her."

"I agree," another voice said. "In all my years with it, it was easy to control. So why should it be any different with her?" Other voices had chimed in their agreement in the matter. Then another voice came to. This one was louder than the rest.


"The runes are the ones that chose, not us," he rumbled angrily. "We have no right to judge their decisions. Theirs is final."

"How do the runes choose, might I ask?" said a quieter voice. "Is it simply choosing the strongest person they can find who will fight for their purpose?"

"Does it matter?" asked the loudest voice of them all. "She may be my daughter, and I do love her, but even if she was not, I would still think she deserves this chance. I brought this upon her. If it calms you, I will help her out of it."

"Then do so, or she will die of cold," said a much quieter, far away voice. That was the end of the dream, but the familiarity of the loudest voice was sent even more chills down her spine. Father…?

Within seconds, she was out of her tent in a light tunic and long pants. A soldier ran up to her.

"Status?" she asked, walking in the direction of the scream.

"Milady! Sir Marrot was found dead, a sword wound in the back and an arrow through the head!" Chris's eyes widened, then narrowed. Sir Marrot had been a good soldier, and a good man. "Not only that, milady, but Lord Borus was hit with an arrow as well. Right in the shoulder. Now Chris's eyes widened and stayed so.

"Which shoulder?" she asked hastily.

"Ah, the left one, milady." She let out a sigh of relief.

"Then at least he cannot feel it…"

"Pardon?" the knight asked, unable to hear her. She shook her head.

"Nothing."

Borus did not even grimace as the arrow was yanked from his shoulder. He looked up as Chris entered the Infirmary, surprised to see her out of bed. "Milady, you should not be up. You are not well."

"Yes, Borus. I suppose I'll have to request that all knights do not scream when they die." She was angry. Quite so, Borus could tell. She lightened up. "Forgive me. I am not used to having a good man die in my sleep." She sighed. "What happened?"

Borus took the rag offered to him by the mender and applied pressure on his wound. "I came from your tent and heard moaning––"

"You came from where?" she interrupted. A slight tint of red began to climb up Borus's cheeks. Chris noticed this and raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, well…" he trailed off, unable to find an excuse that would not be obvious to anyone around him.

Chris shook her head. "I see. This explains the other three blankets I found piled on top of me. Thank you very much, Borus." A hand went absently to her cheek, a spot that remained a bit warmer than any other part of her. She noticed that her teeth were not chattering any more. She briefly wondered why before she found herself distracted. "No, Borus, you must apply pressure, not just hold it there. Here." She took the already bloody cloth from Borus's hand and properly held it down on the wound. "Now continue."

Borus watched her carefully. "I heard some moaning coming from around the supply tent. I walked carefully around it to find Marrot…" he shook his head at the memory. "He knew something was very wrong if someone was to go through the trouble of killing him. He was moaning as loud as he could. But as soon as I made it to his side…" He looked toward his wound, then to the hand that was pressed down on it. The mender had left the tent, and the few other patients in the area were asleep. He gingerly placed his warm hand over Chris's cold one. She froze. Her eyes slowly traveled to his face, which was looking down sadly.

"Before he died, before he screamed, he had whispered to me, 'Lady Chris… sickness…phase two…'" Borus looked up at her. But you are not sick, milady, are you? He did not say this, but the words were shown in his eyes. Chris watched him, trying desperately to ignore the warmth that came from his hand.

She held her stony complexion just long enough for the mender to reappear through the tent flap again. Borus slowly let go of her hand, and he thought for a moment that she was going to slap him. But instead her eyes saddened as she removed her hold on cloth over his wound. The mender wrapped the wound with bandages he had probably gotten from the supply tent. Borus turned to him.

"You will have to stay here for the night, Lord Borus," the mender said. "I know you cannot feel it, but just incase infection shows up, I would like for you to be here. Now, milady Chris," he said turning around, "I have heard that… you… were…" He stopped himself upon seeing that she was not in the tent. "Now where did she go?"

Borus had watched her leave from the corner of his eye. The look on her face covered just one feeling. Guilt. Guilt for what? he asked himself. He sighed. She was just so confusing! "Do not worry about her," he said to the mender. "She just has a couple things on her mind."

……

Early the next morning, unexpectedly, it snowed. A brilliant white covered the camp when Borus stretched his good arm the next morning. According to the mender, he was almost past the stage where his wound could become infected, and it had not become so thus far. Chris was up and about, ordering that a road be made in the snow from all the important tents to the main throughway, which had already been cleared. He walked up behind her and cleared his throat.

She turned, a bit surprised to see him up. But she smiled warmly, something neither he nor she was used to. "Good Morning, Borus. I trust you had what good sleep you could get?" She turned away after he nodded. "And isn't this a surprise," she said, motioning to the snow.

He nodded again. "It seems winter has come early."

………