BedazzleDewdrops: Heya! Thank you for reviewing! And yes, Clouse's full name in this story is Clouse Peran. It's proper to address High Generals (And Lords) by their last name, which is why he's more commonly referred to as Peran in this story. :)

Anonymous7: Thank you! ^_^

Thank you, Kira, for your help~!

Into the Fire

Driniah found Zane in the garden, kneeling before Nya's tree, face paler than the snow that fell around him. It clung tentatively to his hair, his motionless hands in his lap, and his unblinking eyelashes.

"Hey," Driniah said in a hushed voice, coming up beside him. "Josi told me what happened."

Zane gave no indication that he heard her. His slow, steady breathing released no vapor. He must have been out here for a long while if his body was that cold. Was it okay for his body to get like this? She knew he was a Nindroid, but still…

With a labored grunt Driniah went stiffly to her knees in the snow, one hand under her belly. A breath of wind tried to whisper under her cloak and she idly did up a few of the buttons that she had neglected in her haste to find Zane. "You shouldn't be out here without protection," she said, eying his thin gray shirt, dusted like the rest of his body in snow. "Aren't you cold?"

Zane gave a languid shake of his head, eyes still faraway and unblinking.

Driniah looked at Nya's tree, sorrow biting deep in her bosom. The cherry sapling, only a few feet tall, its slender branches blanketed in frost that sparkled in the mansion's late-night candlelight.

"I'm very sorry about your father, Zane," Driniah said. "It's hard to lose someone you love, I know. But-"

"You know nothing," Zane hissed.

Driniah recoiled with a slight frown. "What?"

"I said, you know NOTHING!" Zane turned on her at last, eyes flashing with a fury Driniah hadn't known him capable of possessing. "The woman I loved is dead under my feet. My sister abandoned me. My father is gone, too, likely in a deadthaw storehouse on the other side of the island, forgotten amidst all our country's other misfortunes." A touch of sanity returned to his pale blue eyes, and his hand trembled as he gestured to himself. "The First King chose me for the task of putting this country back together, and yet he is hindering me every step of the way, taking away those I love. You…" He shook his head again, venomously, as though he were repulsed the mere sight of her, and stood. "You know nothing of what I have been through."

Driniah was not aware of rising to her feet. But the next thing she knew she was eye-to-eye with the Northern Lord. She slapped his face. The blow was softened by her glove, but he stepped back all the same, looking scandalized.

"You think I don't know grief?" Driniah demanded. "You think I don't know grief? Let me tell you something, Lord Zane. The last time I saw my son was at his sister's burial. He wasn't even allowed to say goodbye until after the ceremony was over. Kai left after that, and…" Her throat began to tighten with emotion, and her eyes filled with unbidden tears. "…and for all I know, he could be dead, too. The plague could have taken him. Or worse, he might have killed himself, just like his…" The words would not- could not- come. She looked away, tasting hot, salty, bitter tears against her lips.

The last time she'd seen Kaytake, he'd been standing right where Zane was now.

I've got to go, he'd told her, though at the time Driniah had not realized the true meaning of his words. I have to make things right, love. Please, trust me. You'll be in good hands here. A deep breath, a glance at Nya's tree; a final, soft kiss on his wife's temple. Driniah, love, don't worry. I know what needs to be done. I'll be back soon.

A final, tender embrace; a smile that, in hindsight, appeared less than sincere. Vacant brown eyes, searching hers almost pleadingly for a long moment before he turned and left, feet dragging through the fallen leaves. He had not looked back, and Driniah had made no move to stop him.

It was as if he had been begging Driniah to notice that something was wrong. Why, oh why hadn't she seen what was right in front of her face until it was too late?

Zane's expression softened a touch. He looked almost reluctantly to his left at another young tree. Kaytake's weeping willow, less than a dozen paces away, its long, drooping branches quivering in the cold breeze.

"You should be glad," Driniah said at last, thinking it was a great miracle that she was able to speak at all. "Your father lived a good, long life. Both of his children outlived him, and loved him. And his death was no one's fault. Kaytake, on the other hand…"

"It was not your fault," Zane murmured.

Driniah took a deep breath. She wiped her eyes once more and spoke in a wavering voice.

"You're a fool," she said.

"You've all grown quite fond of telling me that."

"Well, it's the truth!" Driniah said firmly. "No, don't speak! I'm not done yet. I know that you've been through a lot. But we all have. And even if you were suffering more than all the rest of us, you still have a duty to your people." She shook her head adamantly. "I did not give the South to you for you to turn around and kill us all through your stubbornness and pride."

"I am not-"

"No, Zane! You need to straighten up your act. I mean it. This needs to stop!" She grabbed his shoulder when he tried to turn away. "Misako, Josi, and I are here because we want to see Garmadon's regime fall. We want to win- we want you to win. We would help you, if you'd only allow us."

"Help!" Zane spat. "Bah! All you people want to do lately is undermine my authority. Why don't you go follow Peran?"

"Follow Peran-?" Driniah backed up a step, regarding Zane with shock. Then she pointed a finger at him. "He left to find Vara, you Mena-cursed fool! He hasn't abandoned the South!"

"No, he abandoned me!" Zane snarled.

Driniah clenched her fist against a strong urge to strike him again. She glowered at the tall Northern Lord, shaking her head. How could he be so selfish?

"A leader can be judged by how well he treats those under his authority," she said. "Now, how you treat me, the rightful leader of the South, is bad enough. But your disregard for Vara's wellbeing is nothing short of despicable."

"I have more important things to do than chase that girl all across the countryside," Zane snapped. "Put her from your mind. She's safe."

"How could you know that?" Driniah demanded.

"Because I've been watching her!"

Driniah's mouth, already open and ready with a comeback, snapped shut. She blinked, wondering if she'd heard him right. "…What?"

Zane looked upward momentarily. "Nya's Bird," he said. "Cheeks. It's been following Vara since she was kidnapped. She's safe with Garmadon. Last I checked, they were in the King's Keep. And the way things were going, it looked like Garmadon intends for her to stay in Prince Lloyd's old bedroom. She is safer there than she ever was here."

"What…" Driniah said again, at a loss for words. For days she'd been imagining countless horrible scenarios of what Garmadon could be doing to poor Vara. But if Zane was telling the truth… "Why didn't you tell any of us sooner?"

"I told everyone that I had it under control," Zane said.

"Yes, but…" Driniah looked back at Nya's tree. "When's the last time you checked on Vara?"

Zane hesitated. "About a day," he answered. "It's been busy, and she seemed safe enough. So I left her in Cheek's care."

"And Cheeks will be able to communicate with you if Vara's situation worsens?" Driniah asked.

Zane did not answer.

In that moment, like a fire doused by rain, Driniah felt whatever respect she had retained for Zane extinguish. She shook her head. "Unbelievable," she breathed. "How could you be so stupid, leaving her in the King's hand without any supervision! Check on her!"

"I can't," Zane said.

"Why not?"

"Because something is interfering with my connection." Zane shrugged. "I don't know what exactly, but I assume that another Nindroid has bonded with Cheeks."

Zane's offhand tone made Driniah's chest swell with rage. "Another Nindroid," she said. "Oh, that makes everything okay. And how do we know if this Nindroid is interested in Vara's wellbeing?"

"The only known Nindroids are me, my sister, and those that Cyrus created," Zane snapped back. "Under the protection of either Pixal or Cyrus, I have absolutely no fear for Vara's safety."

"Just like you have no fear for the safety of the South?"

Zane looked at Driniah as though she had just pierced his chest with a knife. Driniah knew she was losing herself, but at the moment she did not care: by sunrise tomorrow, she and her baby would likely either be dead or on their way to the Dark Island. The South would either go to war, or surrender. And what would Garmadon do to the citizens then? And what of Borg's men?

Zane spoke at last, voice hardly louder than a whisper, eyes narrowed. "I…have done the best that I can. I'll readily admit, I am not the greatest leader. But I have tried, Lady Driniah."

"Trying is not good enough," Driniah retorted. "In a war, quick and decisive actions are imperative. You have done neither. People will die because you haven't made up your mind. You realize that, right? You are not leading the South to victory- you are leading it to death!"

"Then someone else should lead!" Zane bellowed. "The only reason I've stayed is because Iam and Peran encouraged me to. But now, because of Iam, Peran has abandoned me." He eyed Driniah. "And it seems you have about as much faith in me as they do."

"So clean up your act!" Driniah snapped back. "I thought you were better than this, Zane. I thought you were capable of leading the South; that's why I gave you control!"

"Well, you were wrong!" Zane turned his back to Driniah, one hand gripping the pommel of his Blade. There was a moment of quiet; the snow continued to fall around them, unperturbed.

"You were wrong," Zane repeated in a whisper, and bowed his head, looking haggard in the glow from the keep's windows. "Since I first arrived, I've done nothing but cause you and your realm grief. I think it's time I stepped down."

"Oh! So now you're running, then? Leaving me to clean up your mess?" Driniah crossed her arms.

"Well, what else do you expect me to do?" Zane growled. "I was never good with politics! That was Pixal's strength, and my…my father's. But I am neither of them." He took in a shaky breath. "All of those rioters…maybe they're in the right after all. I don't know why I thought I was able to do this."

The brisk air seemed to freeze Driniah's lungs. She stared in disbelief at the man whom she had once trusted with her life- and with the life of her realm, and her child.

Oh, Kay, she thought. Forgive me. I should have seen this coming.

But how could she? How could anybody? Zane's betrayal had been so sudden, so swift. No one could have anticipated this, save the First King Himself.

"So…what are you saying?" Driniah asked.

"I'm saying that I need to go to my father." Zane released his grip on his Blade and strode toward the mansion, leaving Driniah standing alone by Nya's grave.

Varasach dreamt she stood in a sprawling, colorful field. In all directions, as far as she could see, there was nothing but flowers. Pink, blue, yellow, and orange spots on a flat plain of green that rippled in the breeze. Cool grass tickled her bare feet as she ran- ran, with legs that carried her without tiring!- through the field.

But her elation was tainted by an uneasy feeling deep in her gut. The air, while pleasantly warm, carried a faint, repulsive scent. She paused in a cluster of small blue flowers that hung heavily from their stems like bells and turned in a slow circle, heart suddenly beating far too fast.

She was looking for something she had lost. But what? What was she missing?

Where are you?

She took off again, her thin white dress fluttering around her knees. Faster and faster she ran, until the flowers were a blur of color, mixed paint on a pallet.

She stopped suddenly; turned in another circle- Where are you?- but still she did not find what she was looking for. She kept moving, heart hammering in her breast.

Increasingly it grew hard to breathe. The air seemed to smother her with its hot, horrible scent, and her gut gave a violent jerk. She fell to her knees, stunned. Vomit threatened to rise up her throat. Still her eyes searched frantically. Searching, searching, searching…

Where ARE you?

The hot wind blasted her in the face, throwing her onto her back in the bed of flowers. Trembling, sore, nauseas, she tried to rise, but the wind smacked her down again. She lay frozen as her heart, pounding violently, rose into her throat. She coughed, curling around her belly, as the smell in the air became recognizable: blood.

She wanted to cry out, but her heart choked her. She clawed at her neck, willing the far too large object that had lodged itself in her windpipe to come loose so she could breathe again. Her face grew hot. Her limbs shook, and her eyes filled with tears as, little by little, her heart came free, and she coughed it out.

The heart pumped in the grass, spurting blood furiously. Varasach heaved a gulping breath and grabbed it in both hands- it was slippery, and she dropped it once before getting a good grip on it.

Rising to her knees, she stared at her heart, beating even as it lay in her hands. Blood ran between her fingers.

And then, as she watched, the convulsing heart in her hands shrank. Morphed into a preborn child- a boy- small enough to fit in her palms. His little mouth opened and closed as he gasped and writhed in her fingers, bleeding from a deep gash in his belly.

No, Varasach thought, horrified by the sight, but unable to look away as the child bled, crimson rivulets streaming between her fingers. No, no, NO!

Her dress turned blood-red, and the flowers around her became red as well. And then her hair, piled around her shoulders in loose red curls, turned to blood and flowed into the dirt. Soon, all the flowers as far as she could see were red.

But the grass stayed green.

"Where are you?" Varasach whimpered, clutching the dying child close, eyes searching the field for whatever- or whoever- she had lost.

The only answer she received was from the wind, which shook the scarlet flowers so they bobbed like tiny heads. Laughing at her.

Princess, they tittered. Princess…oh, there's the Princess…

Varasach had to find it. Where was it? She stood, but when she tried to run the plants snaked around her ankles. Princess, oh! The Princess! Don't go. Oh, Princess…

Varasach fell again, and the flowers wrapped their leafy hands around her entire body, stroking her skin. Before she could resist they took the child from her. A cluster of blood-red flowers gathered around curiously. He is hurt, Princess! Oh, Princess. Ohhh…you hurt him.

Varasach tried to get her child back, but the other plants kept her immobilized. She tried to scream, but when her mouth opened, they slithered down her throat, choking her. Her lungs felt like fire and, as they wriggled down into her belly, she vomited blood.

I hurt him.

...I hurt them.

A new creature appeared without warning in the midst of the group of flowers, snarling with yellowed teeth. A large gray dog.

"Get out!" it barked, and the flowers scattered. "Get out, get out!"

It turned its cold eyes on Varasach and lunged for her throat.

"Get out!" a voice bellowed, shaking Varasach from her nightmare. "Have you all become slugs? Get out! NOW!"

Confused, Varasach got an arm under herself to try and sit upright, but her elbow slid in something slimy. A foul smell lingered in the air- was she still dreaming? She caught herself and got up again carefully; her head pounded. She blinked a few times to get the dark spots from her eyes.

Alerik was still bellowing orders. Unlocking chains, shoving the to-be slaves from the small pantry.

What…? Now more awake, Varasach watched Alerik work with alarm. Her stomach hurt, and her heart- inside her chest- throbbed painfully. She tried to speak, but coughed instead.

Alerik turned to her, fear and rage broiling together on his pale face and behind those livid blue eyes. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to shout at her, but he seemed unable to decide what to say. He fled the room with the last captive besides Varasach- the small girl, Bela, who looked at Varasach with sheer terror- and they were gone, leaving both the pantry and front doors gaping open.

More confused than panicked in her drowsiness, Varasach stumbled to her feet. She pulled at her chains, still secured to the wall. This wasn't a problem: Alerik would come back for her, she was certain. But what was the emergency?

Putting her chains out of her mind for the moment, she looked around the room outside the tiny pantry. Aside from the odd- but familiar- bad smell, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was a fire in the stove, cracking energetically. Outside the open door, thick clumps of white snow fell from the cloudy sky.

Alerik reentered the shack and looked at Varasach from across the room.

"What is happening?" Varasach's voice cracked: she hadn't realized how sore her throat was until now, and she swallowed with a grimace. A terrible taste lingered in her mouth. Blood and bile. Recognizing these two distinctive tastes made her feel even more queasy: she shuddered and sank back to her knees, hardly having the sense to pull her hair from her face before vomiting on the floor.

Alerik cursed and disappeared through the trapdoor by the stove.

Varasach had only eaten one meal- bread and a bit of dried meat- while trapped in this pantry, so she assumed there would not be much for her stomach to throw up. She was wrong: her stomach was still wringing itself out when Alerik reappeared carrying a large knapsack over one shoulder and a sloshing jar under his other arm.

"P-please," Varasach croaked weakly, spitting the last of the bitter vomit- mixed with large black blotches of blood- from her mouth. "I…I can't… Help me, please."

Disgust and panic twisted Alerik's face. He unscrewed the jar with shaky hands and began to pour the contents in streams around the room, from the table, to the rug under the window, to the other room on the opposite side of the house. Finally, he came as close as he dared to Varasach, still on all fours on the floor, and sloshed some in her direction; the oily substance splashed on her hands and arms. She recognized it with a gasp, trying to shake herself clean. Lantern oil!

"Wh-what are you doing?" Varasach demanded. She had little success cleaning herself off, and instead stood unsteadily and came as close to the pantry door as her chains allowed.

"Don't come any closer!" Alerik thundered, though he must have known she was trapped. He cursed again. "Damn you, girl… Now I've lost a safe house."

Varasach did not ask him what he meant by that. She was too busy watching as Alerik splashed the container around the stove, then opened the door and threw the mostly-empty jar into the fire. Immediately the flames rose up, a bluish color, and spouted out of the opening. The oil on the floor around the stove caught fire, and within seconds the flames had reached the into every corner of the main room. Varasach tripped over her own feel to get away from the flames before they could touch her clothes; she scrambled as far back into the pantry as possible, gaping at Alerik's venomous eyes, unable to speak.

"I'll see you in Hell," Alerik snarled, and he fled the shack.

The brightening flames cast shadows across Varasach's terrified face. "N-no!" she stammered as Alerik slammed the front door shut. "No, please! Why are you leaving me?"

If Alerik had answered, his words were lost to the roaring of the flames, which were spreading at an alarming rate. The air grew hot; Varasach began to sweat profusely. She seized the opportunity to try and slide her oil- and sweat-slick hands through the shackles, but to no avail. She pulled at the wall mounts again as hard as she could, but experienced even less success: the bolted metal plates might as well have been one with the wall behind it.

It was no use. She was trapped. If the smoke didn't suffocate her first, the flames would consume her- I'll see you in Hell.

Hell. Varasach trembled. Was that where she was going now? She had seen God once, and he had welcomed her with open arms. She couldn't imagine God condemning her to Hell.

But why had God sent her back to this world again? Why allow hypothermia to kill her once, only to bring her back to be killed by the other extreme mere weeks later? Was he toying with her? Surely her God did not delight in making her suffer like this! There had to be a reason- there always was. As her Way-following friends had told her, there were no accidents. God never allowed his people to suffer needlessly. Everything was a part of his perfect plan.

But how could this be a part of your plan? Varasach demanded. She laid down on her belly to get as far under the smoke as possible, but even so, her lungs and eyes burned as she coughed on the thick, dark smog. Why take me from your perfect afterlife just to give me the plague and kill me again?

Varasach froze.

Oh, Hosts… She began to shiver despite the intense heat. I have the plague again. Considering her current predicament, she wasn't sure why this realization shook her so much. She closed her eyes: the smoke grew too thick, and the flames too bright to see through. Thankfully, none had yet crossed far across the threshold to the pantry. Alerik's fear to come too near her to pour the oil properly might have bought her a few more minutes of life.

…If only she hadn't tried to escape Garmadon. There, at least, she would have been safe.

Though, it might be better this way, she reflected, coughing again, bringing up more of that cursed bloody vomit. Dying by fire might be better than letting this sickness eat me for days on end. Again. She shuddered, feeling deep down in the pit of her stomach a familiar, cold emptiness. Despair.

She should have acknowledged the signs sooner. For days she hadn't been feeling well- not since Tavi, the sick servant, had served her food. But stubbornly, fearfully, she'd ignored all the warnings. As if pretending her headaches and queasiness weren't there would make them go away! Maybe if she'd voiced her concerns to Garmadon sooner, he would have been able to get her some help.

…Help him, Vara. The memory of these words felt like a slap to the face. Help him!

This was why God had brought her back from the dead, she realized. All of the Way-followers had been praying for almost seven-hundred years for change; for someone to hear their cries for help. And then Varasach had been delivered directly into the lap of the one who could change the course of history. But instead of embracing the opportunity, Varasach had scorned the King and taken matters into her own hands, running away. As if she knew more than God about what was best for her.

Tears welled in her stinging eyes, and she began to feel lightheaded. The flames licked at the pantry's doorway, still seeming reluctant to enter, though, through smoke and tears, she could see the wall behind the stove was now completely consumed, as was a portion of the ceiling.

I am sorry, Varasach prayed, unable to stop coughing. She curled around herself, trying to shield her face from the heat. You trusted me with so much, and I disobeyed you.

She heard a tremendous crashing noise and raised her head, trying to open her eyes and see what had caused it.

Perhaps the ceiling had collapsed: she could see nothing but flames and large, blazing bits of debris now. At this point, it could only be counted as a miracle from God that her pantry was still mostly flame-free.

Strangely enough, though, she felt no more fear as she examined the burning house. Even her sickness seemed to have left her as she stood- the floor was hot under her shoeless feet- and looked over the flames. It looked like a part of the ceiling had collapsed; she could see sky through the smoke and flames, cold and white.

She wiped her eyes, still coughing, and looked back at her chains. Kneeling, she touched the wall next to the mounts. Hot to the touch: the room on the other side of the wall must be entirely in flames. Curious, considering how her own room was still mostly flame-free. Perhaps Alerik had poured lots of oil into that room, knowing that the flames would eat through the walls and go where he would not dare.

The heat and unbreathable smog made her head foggy, and she struggled to stay on her feet as she gave the chains a sharp tug. Come on! she prayed. Please, let it come free-

The tension on her chains was released suddenly, and she fell backwards, hitting her head hard on a shelf behind her. She blacked out for a few moments, but, willing herself not to pass out, she gritted her teeth and rolled back onto her feet, examining her handiwork with a triumphant grin- though she supposed it might be more like a grimace with all the pain in her head and other parts of her body.

Two gaping holes in the wall where the mounts had one been revealed that the room on the other side was indeed on fire. Varasach had at last succeeded in freeing herself, but there was no time to celebrate: she still had to find a way out of the house. And even as she watched, long tongues of flame licked through the walls where the mounts had been seconds prior.

You gave me a job, Varasach prayed, and I want to finish it, if you will let me. Please, find me a way out so I can help him.

Feeling more confident than she had in ages, Varasach spun in a circle, investigating her options. They were very slim. She could try to run through the flames to the front door, but even if the ceiling hadn't collapsed, there was no way she could get out of the house without catching fire. She had no boots, and even where she stood the floor was far too hot. She couldn't make it outside- not without extensive bodily harm, at least.

Maybe I don't need to get outside, she realized, looking beside the table at where Alerik had left the trap door open.

Alerik had mentioned when she'd first met him that he kept his batches of soup frozen down there. That meant it was cold. And it would also be below the smoke. Maybe if she got down there, she could wait out the fire until either help came, or the fire died down enough for her to leave on her own!

Mind made up, Varasach crept out of the pantry, navigating gingerly but hastily around glowing patches of burnt flooring. The iron shackles around Varasach's wrists began to burn her skin, and one of her socks caught fire- she hastily stepped on her toes to smother it, not daring to pull the sock off with her oil-covered hands. Still praying for help and guidance, she pushed onward and made her way as quickly as she was able across the floor. The walls on all sides were encased in bright, hot flames. She narrowly avoided bits of flaming debris that fell from the ceiling. Her vision fogged until she had no choice but to go to her hands and knees and close her eyes, relying on her sense of touch to keep her on course- and to make sure she didn't fall headfirst into the basement when she finally found it.

She seemed to be making good progress until a terrible pain stabbed her leg, and she realized falling debris had caught her skirt on fire. Without thinking, she batted blindly at the burning bit of clothing, which, with her oil-doused skin, only made it worse, and severely burned her hands. Her mouth opened wide; her lungs didn't seem to know whether they should be making her scream, or forcing in another gulp of smothering, smoky air.

She never got the chance to decide, because at that moment, something heavy fell on her head, and her world went dark.

Whoo. This was...an interesting chapter, I guess? 0_0 Goodness. I apologize on Zane's behalf, because I don't think he'll be making any apologies himself any time soon.

And Vara, huh? Heh. She's quite the character. If any of you understood all of the elements of that dream...whee. I'm sorry on her behalf, too. That was a difficult scene to write. Vara's not very happy that I brought that stuff to light. She's very good at keeping up her illusions, and would have preferred to keep it that way until the end of the story. Dream sequence had to occur eventually and spoil everything, huh, Vara? Sorry, girl. I love you. It's time you got some closure.

Also, did anyone notice what I did with the chapter title? (Hint: look at chapter 124) Hahaha...ha...ha. ...I feel my sins crawling on my back.

Thank you all for your support! Reviews are the meatballs to my spaghetti. See you all soon with the next chapter! Have a great week, and God bless.