Master of the Ring

Chapter Six: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings

Paul Atreides was thirteen years old, small for his age but already quick and strong. He was being trained, intensively, as the heir of a Duke must be. But he was afraid. Afraid to sleep. He'd had the feeling all day that he would have one of those dreams tonight. The dreams he remembered. The ones that showed him things that either had already happened, long before he was born sometimes, or that would come to pass, maybe many years from now. His mother, the Lady Jessica, had urged him to embrace the dreams, to record them. It seemed important to her, but she wouldn't say why. Paul sighed, calmed himself as his mother had taught him, and closed his eyes.

Tall as he was, the man before him was taller than he. The face was very like his own, but more water-fat, and the eyes were grey. The scar on his forehead was strange, yet familiar, and for a moment Pauls' forehead throbbed with the memory of someone elses' pain. He drew his crysknife. The other, instead of drawing the long sword that hung by his side, produced a thin wooden rod. A rod, Paul knew, that was far more deadly than any knife.

"Come kinsman," the tall man said quietly, "shall we have an accord, or must we fight?"

XXXXX

"You might have warned me!" Deadpool complained. "I'd've brought a fucking umbrella!"

"Shut up." River Song told him. "Stop moaning and put this on!"

She handed him a heavy, hooded cloak made of leather before putting a similar one on herself.

"Kinky!" Deadpool commented.

"Predictable, much?" River sighed. "Wish I'd brought Logan!"

"Why didn't you, then?" He asked.

"The Doctor and I tossed a coin. I lost." River informed him. "Now, hood up, head down and come with me!"

"Yes, Boss." Deadpool answered. "Where and when are we?"

"The city of Annuminas, capital of Arnor and Northern capital of the Kingdom Reunited." River said. "This is Midsummers' Night in the fifth year of the Great Cataclysm, hence the weather."

Deadpool nodded. "Gotcha!" So it was five years since the last descendant of Thongor of Lemuria had raised the Star Sword to defeat a Kree invasion. Captured, along with the Sword, the young Sarkon Thumithar had managed to escape and use the Sword in the Kree base, located miles underground. The energies held in the Sword had proved to be far more powerful than even the Kree had suspected, not only destroying the base but starting a chain reaction which was to destroy the entire continent of Lemuria.

Not forgetting wiping out ninety per cent of humanity! Deadpool mused. Right now, there are about five thousand volcanoes covering the landmass of Lemuria, all belching out smoke and ash into the atmosphere. Blocking the sun, chilling the planet. And this is just the start!

"So, what's the job?" He asked.

"Things are breaking down." River explained. "There hasn't been a decent harvest in the North for four years, now. They've been getting by on surplus sent from the South, but now the climate is changing down there, too and the last two harvests have failed. The King is in the South, putting rationing in place and trying to save enough to share out up here. But people are hungry. Some are migrating South, but there are others, nobles and so on, who want to actually invade Gondor.

"King Denethor left his son, Prince Beregond, in charge here, but he's being assassinated as we speak. The rebels are going to seize the Elendilmir, the crown of the North Kingdom, and put it on a puppet ruler. We're here to get it first and bring it to Harry."

"Because this is the last time and place it was heard of, right?" Deadpool said. "Thought lost in the war that's about to start?"

One of the reasons River disliked Deadpool so much was that trick he had of knowing things he shouldn't, so she simply grunted in reply.

She really doesn't like me, does she?

Nope. She's too used to being the one with all the answers.

Why did you assign me to her?

It's good for her not to have it all her own way. Now get on with it!

And he talks to himself all the time! River thought. "Here!" She said aloud. "This is the main entrance. There's a secret one that the competition is using. We just have to get past the guards. Now…"

Deadpool moved in a blur, there was a whirl of motion, the sound of a few blows, and the guards were on the ground.

"OK, what next?" He asked.

"Top of the tower." She said. "Are they dead?"

"No, just out cold." He assured her. "Figured they counted as good guys."

"I had planned to slip into the alley and scale the wall there." River said.

"Climbing cold, wet stone on a cold, wet, night." Deadpool said. "Who d'you think I am? Fucking Spider-Man?"

"Oh, I wish!" River shot back. "He was cute!"

"Maybe." Deadpool responded. "But he was already taking care of an old lady, remember?

"Now, since we don't have to play Assassins' Creed, let's go!"

The tower was empty. It served only as a repository for the Elendilmir and, unless in time of war, was not garrisoned. They arrived at the topmost chamber without incident, to find a metal casket set on a plinth. A casket with a large and formidable looking lock on the front.

"Dwarf-made lock." River said. "It's going to take time for me to pick it, even with the sonic. The others will be here soon. Keep them off me. And keep quiet!"

She set to work. Deadpool waited, watching the door. He heard feet on the stairs, then half-a-dozen men came into the room. One of them drew a long sword, and opened his mouth. Whatever he'd been about to say was lost in a gurgle as Deadpool deftly slit his throat. After that, things were fairly lively for a bit. Taken by surprise, and using long swords that needed room to be effective, the conspirators were up against one of the best close fighters ever to wield a knife, or two in this case. Deadpool seemed to be in a dozen places at once, crowding them and pushing at them, never leaving them room to swing or even stab, while his own blades flicked lethally through the tangle.

It didn't take long, but by the time he was done, River had opened the casket. Inside it was a smaller box, made of black wood, and with a smaller, but more intricate, lock.

"Damn!" She said. "This is Aeldari work. It's going to take forever to open!" She ran her finger over the plate, and the box sprang open! Puzzled, she lifted out the circlet with its blazing diamond.

"Oooh, shiny!" Deadpool said. "But I thought you said…"

"I did." River allowed. "But someone….Hold on, there's a note here! Now what?"

She handed Deadpool the note. A scrap of paper on which a sprawling hand had written: I laugh at locksmiths! J B DiGriz.

"James Bolivar DiGriz." Deadpool said. "Alias Slippery Jim DiGriz, also known as the Stainless Steel Rat. One of the most legendary thieves and con-men in several universes, and possibly the only one who could pick an Aeldari lock and leave it intact."

"But what was he doing here?" River wanted to know.

"Helping us out, obviously." Deadpool told her. "How or why are questions it's probably better not to ask!"

You're cheating, Mr Argonaut!

Of course.

Or loading Chekhovs' gun?

Perhaps.

"Come on." River was saying. "Let's get out of here!"

XXXXX

The Reverend Mother was becoming increasingly frustrated. Yes, there were many people, some in positions of great influence, who resented both the Federation and the UEA. These people were in contact with each other, but too often their aims and ideology differed too much for them ever to act in concert.

Once, it would not have mattered. Gaining control over a key world in any sector, a breadbasket world or an industrial powerhouse, would have ensured that, once it had seceded, the rest of the sector would have been forced to go with it. But this damned replicator technology had put an end to that. Now, even the poorest world could shovel dust and stagnant water into tanks, and have the machines transform it into anything they needed.

So the task was rendered more difficult. The UEA could afford to shed an occasional world or system without suffering serious economic dislocation. No individual world could ever summon up enough military power to be a threat to this StarFleet. There was no single resource upon which the whole depended, either. In the Enclave, control of the spice meant control of everything, but here, even the anti-matter and dilithium needed for their Warp drive could be synthesised from common earth.

There was no single lever to move, no single tool to break, this Federation. So she must create one. A unified movement against the UEA, against the Federation. To her relief, she had discovered that, further away from Earth, the Missionaria Protectiva was in somewhat better condition. A mere shadow of what it should have been, but a place to start, at least. She would begin there, building influence, forging a belief system. It had to be subtle and complex, the people here, outside the control of the Sisterhoods' breeding programme and the faufreluches class system, were clever, independent-minded and proof against many of the Sisterhoods' traditional techniques. It would be a long task, but the Sisterhood were accustomed to thinking in terms of generations.

XXXXX

The Black Ship skimmed silently over the desert landscape of Serala III, stirring up clouds of grey dust as it did so. Sarek wondered if Quark had misled him, it was hard to imagine anyone or anything ever living here. His visit to Deep Space Nine had been brief and informative. Rangers were not required to report in to Command on arriving anywhere, so he had been spared the task of avoiding the curiosity of Captain Paris and Commander Torres, the married couple who ran the place for StarFleet. The continued absence of Constable Odo also saved him some prying.

Sarek had gone straight to Quarks Bar, and had soon found himself in conversation with the owner. The ageing Ferengi was still as sharp as his reputation made him, and had recognised the image of the green gem at once.

"It's like the badges the Exodites used to wear." He said. "Is that the original they were based on?"

"Maybe." Sarek had said. "Who were these Exodites?"

"People with things to sell that I could sell on for a profit." Quark told him. "Half a dozen of them would turn up in a runabout maybe twice a year. They'd have a few crates of samples. Food, wine, that kind of thing -never technology but some artworks and crafts. They'd tell me how much they had back home, I'd name a price – always latinum, never credits – they'd agree, then go. I'd send a freighter out and it would come back with what I'd ordered. No haggling, no cheating. Profitable but boring."

"What are they like?" Sarek wanted to know.

Quark shrugged. "A bit like Vulcans or Romulans – same pointed ears and thin faces. But they were taller, nearly three metres, and thinner. They never said a word they didn't have to. Polite but distant."

"When was the last time they were here?" Sarek asked.

"Years ago." Quark answered. "Last time they came was just after the Federation took over this station. They just stopped coming. I sent a freighter to see what was going on. It never came back, so I didn't bother again. There wasn't enough profit in it."

"But you know where they are?" Sarek pressed.

"I have the co-ordinates for the place they wanted me to send the freighter to." Quark said. "I don't know if that's where they live or lived. What's the information worth to you?"

"What's staying in business worth to you?" Sarek asked. "I'm a Ranger, you know that or you wouldn't have come over to speak to me. Which means you also know I could order Captain Paris to shut this place down and kick you off the station in what you stand up in! So, what were those co-ordinates again?"

"You don't sound like any other Vulcan I ever met!" Quark said sourly.

"That's because my father was human." Sarek informed him.

"A species of apple which never falls far from the tree." Quark growled.

XXXXX

"I have something." Erebus announced. "Course 36 degrees, seventy kilometres. Buildings and a cluster of life-forms."

"Engage cloak and take me in to about a kilometre." Sarek ordered.

The ship came to a halt near a great arch that stood on a ridge. In the bowl below the ridge there had once been a great city. A city of graceful towers and elegant houses once, perhaps, but now just broken stubs and piles of rubble.

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings." Erebus quoted. "Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"

"Aren't we in a cheerful mood today?" Sarek said. "Seems as if there's at least one building still intact, there in the centre."

"That's where the life-signs come from." Erebus said. "They seem to be Aeldari of some kind, but subtly different."

"Well, we knew that." Sarek pointed out. "Exodites are Aeldari who left the Craftworlds and colonised planets. If something's changed them, it might explain why they stopped trading with DS9 and let the city fall into ruin. How many are there?"

"Hard to say, the readings they give are unstable." Erebus allowed. "More than twenty, less than fifty."

"Right!" Sarek decided. "I'm going to go and take a look. Stay here, stay cloaked and keep track of me. Be ready to give me air support or beam me out when I tell you!"

"Acknowledged." Erebus said.

The air was breathable, though if Sarek had not been half-Vulcan he would have found it uncomfortably dry. The sun was setting, and splashed the great arch in a pink glow. It was Aeldari work, Sarek saw. Large sculpted panels showed the history and activities of the Exodite colony. But between them, in the spaces classic Aeldari art left blank, were other images. Just as skilled, just as finely-executed, but in a very different spirit. Solemn portraits of revered leaders were flanked by others, showing the same individuals in a variety of lewd poses. Grave courts of justice were beside depictions of sadistic punishment; scenes of heroic, honourable combat on the one hand, cowardly assassinations and cruel massacres on the other; joyous celebrations set against riotous orgies; dignified rituals against bloody sacrifices.

What in Merlins' name happened here? Sarek wondered. He was about to slip on his night-vision goggles when, one after the other, the planets' twin moons rose, bathing the city in a soft, blue-white light. More than enough for him to see by. He followed the broad road that led toward the only intact building. As he passed, he noted that many of the ruined buildings bore the marks of artillery bombardment. There had been a battle here, then, within living memory by the look of it.

They came out of the shadows and they were very fast, but not fast enough. All Vulcans are low-level Psykers, and Sarek sensed them and their intention to kill a second before he saw them. More than enough for trained reflexes to take over and two were dead from Killing Curses before they'd covered half the distance. Sarek let the third get close, sidestepped the knife thrust and straight-fingered him in the gut. The tall figure doubled over and Sarek applied a neck pinch.

He moved the bodies into a nearby building, then investigated the one the attackers had come from. Inside there seemed to be some kind of guard-post. A rough sleeping pallet, a small device that gave out a dim light and a little heat, food pouches and bottles of wine. Rather too many bottles for a really effective guard. He carried the unconscious one back. For all the fellows' height, he was lighter than a Human or a Klingon.

Sarek bound him with incarcerous, then studied him. Aeldari, but not quite. The Aeldari were pale-skinned, but glowed with an inner light; this ones' face was corpselike in its' pallor, and even to Sareks' limited Psyker talent, he radiated a terrible hunger. Was it possible? The Drukhari, the Dark Aeldari, were thought a myth by many, and the Asuryani, the true Aeldari, refused to speak of them. But if these people were Drukhari, it would explain a good deal.

He placed his fingers on his prisoners' katra points and shocked him awake. The eyes opened, silvery irises flecked with blood-red, the pupils vertical slits. The sensual mouth curled in a grin, showing teeth filed to wicked points.

"You kill well, cousin." The voice a musical tenor that sent cold chills down Sareks' spine. "But, oh, too quickly! No joy in that!"

"I didn't do it for fun." Sarek told him. "I'm no cousin to you!"

"Are you not?" A cold chuckle. "Vulcan and Aeldari both spring from the Vadhagh! But your blood is not pure."

"My father was human." Sarek said.

"Ahhhh!" A long sigh. "Long ago, Vadhagh and Mabden could not interbreed, but their descendants can! Improvement or decline, who knows? Such are speculations of the Asuryani. For us it is enough to know that humans are fell in battle and, for all their mortality, do not die easily, but die well.

"But what do you want of me, cousin? Not pain, for such is not the way of either of your bloodlines. Then it must be information. Ask."

"What happened here?" Sarek asked. "What became of the Exodites?"

"We killed them, of course!" The Dark Elf shrugged. "Some quickly, to subdue them, the rest slowly, to feed She Who Thirsts. We desired their wealth, the fertility of this land, the power of the Elessar. But the light of the Elessar faded as the Asuryani died, and the land returned to desert. In a last act of defiance, the Asuryani destroyed the Webway Gates and stranded us here. Now we drink the cold water of the deep springs, and devour each other, sacrifice by sacrifice. Such a delicious jest!"

His laughter this time was high, and shrill, and mad and ended in weeping.

"Kill me, cousin!" He begged. "Swift and clean, in the way of your folk. Let me for one time cheat She Who Thirsts!"

Sarek did as he asked, there was nothing else he could safely do. Then he summoned Erebus.

XXXXX

The Temple Hall was roofless. They had not repaired it – the Drukhari do not build, unless they have slaves to do the work – but made their homes in the side rooms and chapels where the Asuryani officials had worked and studied. But now all – all that remained, some thirty from the hundreds – were gathered in the Hall. In the centre, still on the altar the Asuryani had built for it, rested the Elessar, it's great green stone dull and unreflective. To touch it was death, as the Dracon had found to his cost, and none had approached it since.

Nearby was an X-shaped frame upon which hung a blind, skinless, mewling thing that a short while ago had been a Drukhari warrior. Before him stood a Priestess of Slaanesh – She Who Thirsts, knife in hand, considering where to make a cut. Behind her were ranged the roasting pits and boiling cauldrons, ready to receive the meat she would cut from the living body, taking care to keep the victim alive as long as possible. Hunger among the Drukhari is not wholly, or even mainly, physical. More important is the suffering of the victim and the cruelty of the butcher, because only they will satisfy, for a while, the demands of Slaanesh. Left unfed, She Who Thirsts will devour her devotees from within, gnawing at their spirits until nothing remains.

Then the Hall was plunged into shadow, leaving only the fires and torches to illuminate the space. All eyes turned upwards to see the menacing shadow of a black ship hanging above them. Then there was the shimmer of a Transporter beam and a figure stood beside the altar, holding a phaser pistol.

"My ship could destroy this building and everything in it in seconds." He said calmly. "If you kill me, it will do just that. I've set this phaser to wide beam; I could kill half of you in one blast. I'm here for the Elessar, that's all. I'll just take it and leave. Don't try to stop me, I don't want to kill anybody else today."

"Take it, then!" The Priestess shrieked. "Take it and may its' darkness mock you as it has mocked us for decades!"

Not taking his eyes from the crowd, Sarek reached out and grasped the brooch. The moment he touched it, the gem came alive, filling the space with a green and gold glow as if the sun were shining through spring leaves. The effect on the Drukhari was terrible. Some simply fell on the spot. Others turned on each other, fighting savagely to mutual death. Some few fled, howling, into the night.

The Priestess stared at the gem for a few moments, then stepped forward and killed the hanging victim with a single thrust, before using the knife to calmly and deliberately cut her own throat.

"Shit!" Sarek said. "Erebus, get me out of here!"

XXXXX

"It wasn't the Stone, it was them!" Rose explained. Once again, they were sitting on the balcony, but this time the Elessar itself lay on the table between them. "The stone was just trying to do what it does, to heal them. But for the Drukhari, being healed leads to death or madness – usually both!"

"Because of this She Who Thirsts?" Sarek asked.

Rose nodded. "Slaanesh, they call her. I've also heard her called Xiombarg, Queen of Swords. But her real name is Shub-Niggurath, the Goat With a Thousand Young, one of the Other Gods."

"That makes sense, then." Sarek allowed. "What about the Vadhagh and Mabden that captured one told me about?"

Rose shrugged. "The First Ones were the Q, the Shobogan who produced the TimeLords, the Shadows, the Vorlons and the Travellers. After them came the Elder Races; the Vadhagh, Nhadragh, Mabden and T'zen. The Vadhagh are the ancestors of the Aeldari, Vulcans, Romulans and Minbari; the Nhadragh of the Klingons, Cardassians and Kazon; the T'zen of the Gorn, the Narn, the Jem-Hadar and the Silurians; the Mabden gave rise to humans, Betazoids and Bajorans, among others."

"So that's why he called me cousin." Sarek said. "Just one more thing. Why did the Elessar revive as soon as I touched it?"

"Because you're entitled to use its' power." Rose told him. "It was made by Asuryani for the use of Asuryani. As a wizard on both sides, you carry Aeldari gene markers. Also, your paternal bloodline is the Line of Luthien and the Kings of Numenor, and the Elessar was gifted to that bloodline millennia ago.

"But now, Commander, you have more work to do! Report to Admiral Riker at StarBase 477 for your new assignment.

"Live long and prosper, Sarek!"

He left. Rose looked after him for a while, then said: "That boy will go far."

"Chip off of the old block!" The gravelly voice from behind her calmed and reassured her, as it always had.

"You're as good as you ever were." She remarked. "Better, maybe. I didn't know you were there until after Sarek left!"

"I used his noise to cover mine." Logan came out onto the balcony and sat beside her. "And o'course, the wind blowing into the house pushed my scent away from you."

"Doesn't explain how you got past the magical alerts!" She pointed out.

He chuckled. "Your Mom, and Harry, taught me a few tricks over the years! Even muggles can get around magic if we know how!" He looked at the Elessar. "Sure is pretty."

"Powerful, too." Rose allowed. "Depending on how it's used, and who's using it, it can improve fertility, climate, health and longevity over a massive area. If Aragorns' descendants had used it, instead of leaving it on his body, it would have helped the Kingdom United get through the Cataclysm in one piece. In the right hands, it can be used to heal people, if the user has the talent."

"Huh!" Logan grunted. "Harry's a heck of a field medic, but he's no doctor!"

"He has the talent." Rose stated. "It starts with compassion and empathy, and Harry has a ton of both! It's in his blood – Luthien was a Healer and it gets passed down. But Harry was so set on being an Auror that he never got tested for Healing. Also, that kind of testing usually gets done on Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws – nobody really expects Gryffindors and Slytherins to be Healers!"

"Always thought that House thing got taken too far." Logan said. "Puts limits on people -that's why Neville had such a hard time in Gryffindor. Guy had balls of steel, but at heart he was just a gentle soul.

"Never mind. OK, so we got the sword and the star, now we have the gem. White, Duncan and Deadpool are takin' Harry to Numenor, we need to meet them there with this."

Rose sighed. "There's a problem, Pop. The lore says that the Elessar must be a gift of the Queen, and we don't have one! Galadriel gave it to Aragorn, but that was on behalf of Arwen. Even if White has talked the Aeldari into coming, she can't do it this time!"

"Then you'll just have to give it to him." Logan said.

"Dad!" She said, but Logan cut her off.

"Forget it, Rosie!" He said, more softly than was usual with him. "Did you, either of you, think you could hide it from me? You've been in love with him since you were sixteen! I knew it, your Mom knew it. Harry knew it. He felt the same way, but back then he had a lot of baggage and he was too old for you.

"But that was centuries ago, kid, and there ain't no real age difference no more. You know that. You two've been seein' each other on the down-low for a long time! You think I didn't notice his scent on you and around this place? Or yours on him when he came back from a 'private' trip?"

She stared at him, then laughed. "Busted!" She allowed. "But I'm the Sorceress Supreme!"

"Last I heard, that don't require celibacy!" He told her. "Anyway, who better as consort to the King of Men?"

She shook her head, laughing again. "OK, Pop, I'm sold! But Harry's going to be so mad when he hears you knew about us! We thought we were being so discreet!

"I'm gonna need to pack. Give me an hour?"

"You got forty minutes." He growled. "What did I teach you?"

"I know, I know!" She told him. "If you can't get it all in one footlocker, you got more than you need!"