A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews of the first chapter and for embracing the concept of this non-canon pairing.

All errors are mine though I have tried to keep them to a minimum, If you find one let me know and I'll amend it.

Chapter 2

Trust Me or Die

Helia's eyes opened to the silent intruding light beaming through his shutters. It had been weeks since the blue sky deemed to show its face, though the bright morning rays didn't shine for long as another cloud passed overhead. Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress he eyed a photograph of Flora on the day they got engaged. He had planned every miniscule detail, from the wine they drank to the orchestra, his drop to the knee mid dance to catch her off guard, the perfect ring that was exactly her size, thanks to some detective work from Miele - it had all been perfect. It had showed him a brilliant future, the beginning of a new life of love and happiness. And instead, it had all been taken away and replaced by a world of constant pain, never ending sadness and frequently visiting broken dreams.

"I'm sorry, Flora," he whispered, hoping her ghost would hear him wherever she was, if she even felt the need to watch over his lonely and guilt filled spirit. "I should have done more - been more - maybe you wouldn't have… if I just-" he sighed, using his fists to wipe the sandman's sleep from his tired eyes. His elbows found their way to his knees as he hunched forwards. His shoulders jolted up and down in unsteady rhythm, his eyes becoming prickled with the start of salty tears which managed to leak from the confines of his own burdensome reality. He blamed himself for so many things, had replayed the event night after night in his dreams, and yet nothing he did, nothing he tried to do, prevented him from seeing her death over and over again.

From seeing the black shadow cut the moonlight from their bodies, to watch her fall to the grass in one heap, to see the crimson liquid that kept her heart beating and life in balance now pouring from her wounds and onto the innocent blades cradling her body.

His eyes opened as the image replayed once more and he willed his body to move and seize the day. Once up and dressed he heard a bang come from the other room and remembered his mysterious guest.

The mysterious woman who had tried to kill him just hours ago with her bare hands, whose mark on her wrist had struck at Helia's curiosity and whose bizarre appearance had him questioning exactly who or what she could be.

Stepping down the hallway, his feet were tentative; almost as if they were afraid of making a single creak in the wooden floorboards that would alert her of his presence. But when he lightly knocked on the door with his knuckle and opened it, he was happy to see her eyes weren't filled with the rage and pure hatred they held before. Instead they seemed distant, cold, such a beautiful rich blue. Between her fingers she held a photograph, just one of the many he had stored in the boxes and piled into the corner for safe keeping.

"What are you doing?" He asked, phrasing the question carefully, unsure of how she would react.

"And good morning to you to," she smirked, turning and pointing to Flora in the photograph. "Who is she?" she asked softly. He snatched the frame from her grasp.

"No one of your concern," he answered. "More to the point, who are you?"

"Icy," she answered, "and you are?"

"Helia."

"Helia," she recited, turning around and looking directly to the night stand, to see a wet cloth laying haphazardly there, a dried spill stained the floor with red and she looked back into his eyes. He was a handsome young man, that much was certain, tall, stoic and yet there was something oddly familiar about him, as if she'd seen him before in a dream. "Thank you, for whatever you did for me, but I must be on my way."

"Do you remember much of what happened?" Helia asked, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows slightly with concern. The cuts on her arms and legs didn't come from nowhere, neither did the gash on her forehead and, though he was desperate to know the answer, he resisted the urge to ask about the mark on her wrist, the six pointed star with one point seemingly burnt out with white.

"No," she answered, "honestly most of it's a blur, but I do remember walking to the graveyard…it was raining and I saw someone there…then nothing. I suppose that person was you?" Helia nodded, wondering if she'd ask about the state of the room or about the hand marks around his neck, which although he was unsure of how much they showed, certainly burned with vigour every now and then.

"Thank you," she spoke, bending down to pick up the box she had pushed over accidentally. Helia knelt by her side and helped to sort the items back into their proper places. They both reached for the same toppled piece of material and Helia's hand landed first. He watched Icy retract her hand, placing the other to her side in the process. Her eyes closed and her jaw tightened to restrain the pain. Placing a hand on her shoulder she swiftly moved away from his touch.

"Don't," she warned before getting to her feet unaided. Her body still swayed from left to right, her head pounding like a wild African drum, and heart beating at what felt like a breakneck pace.

"You should rest."

"I've stayed here enough."

"No you haven't. You're injuries still need time to heal."

"I can't stay," she resolved, hastening out the door and into the hallway, Helia quickly followed behind.

"Look just stop, and rest for one more day."

"I can't.

"Yes you can. I can't just let you walk out that door without knowing you're going to be okay." She still walked, determined, never turning back. He managed another hand on her shoulder, her long white hair brushing gently over his knuckles in the process. "They won't stop so I can't!" She snapped, stopping her assault for the front door and pivoting square on her heel. She stared into the young man's eyes for a moment to emphasise the point before pushing him away.

"Who are you talking about?"

"I've already said too much," Icy spoke, "look just leave me alone and live your life, thanks for the help but mind your own business." Her heeled shoes stopped before the front door and she took no time in turning the knob, flinging it open, stepping outside and slamming the door shut back against its threshold.

Release a somewhat puzzled breath and brushing his hand through his hair, Helia started pondering what he would have for breakfast when a loud yell and bang echoed from beyond the door. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Icy burst back into the room and flattened him to the ground.

The wind escaped his lungs as a massive beam of green magic speared the air above and blasted into the rear end of the house with a bang. The ceiling above was eclipsed in smoke as the rafters struggled to hold their weight and, eventually, gave way. Icy's thin blue shield protected the two from the falling rubble which creaked, snapped, squeaked and crackled around them.

Another beam blasted through the wall to their right, tearing the bricks from their mortar and shredding into the rest of his property, his home. It disintegrated the walls into ash, the foundations to nothing but dark abysses and everything that he loved was broken in pieces. Through the smoke and haze, just outside the shield, he saw it – the photo.

It was the one thing he treasured above them all, above every possession he owned and, desperately, he shuffled from under Icy's weight and plunged his hand through the shield to get a hold of it. "Stop!" The witch screamed, but it was already too late.

Another attack loosened the beams above and one landed directly onto his arm, crushing it against the surrounding rubble. He screamed louder than he ever had before and Icy's hand found its way over his mouth to silence him. His eyes widened with confusion but she held her other hand to her lips, ushering for his quiet. He complied, breathing through his nose in quick bursts and trying not to focus on the searing agony that, if only for a moment, had masked the pain of a guilty heart.

The firing stopped, and, as muffled voices started to converse among themselves, Icy quickly helped lift the beam to allow Helia his freedom. He clutched his damaged hand to his chest before smashing the frame against the bricks, freeing the photo from its glass imprisonment and into his bloody hands.

Beams of light shone through the haze as Icy helped Helia to his feet and started pulling him away, out toward the hole in the back entrance and to the woods that surrounded their village. "Where are we going?"

"Just shut up and follow me," she cursed, wondering how he could even question why she was running, they were nearly blown to pieces after all.

Crossing the grassland and entering the forest, Icy hid behind a bush and observed their attackers, her eyes piercing the smouldering pile of rubble carefully. In her head she mentally counted how many there were, she used the lights projected from their hands to determine their power source, had wondered how much time they would spend looking for her and if she should run now and try and flee or stay where they were, out of sight.

Helia stared, his jaw to the ground at the devastation as he took deep breaths and dared to look down to his arm. "Come on," Icy spoke, "we have to get out of here."

"Why should I?" He snapped. "Who the hell are you?!"

"Will you shut up, keep it down," she warned between gritted teeth. "I can explain later but not here – not now."

"Why not now?"

"Because it's more complicated then you think it is and we need to move!" Helia's hand grasped Icy's wrist as she made to leave, his eyes looked down to her tattoo and she quickly pulled herself from his grasp. "Look, stay here if you want, it's your funeral." Icy's eyes drifted to the bloodied picture still clutched between his fingers. "But I guess if you'll risk your life for a piece of paper, then maybe that's what you really want."

"How can I trust you?" He asked, his head burning with confusion and eyes clearly showing his distrust. Icy couldn't really blame him. After all, he'd helped her in a moment of need and ended up losing his entire house and all his possessions in the process. She didn't know a thing about him, who he was, what he wanted, who the woman in that photograph was, but she did know that if he didn't follow her then he was as good as dead.

"You can't," she replied honestly, "but if you don't at least try to, then in less than ten minutes, you're going to die."

A/N: Thanks for reading and please review.