Terribly sorry for the delay, but life happened... I'll make it up with more chapters though!

|Sewers|

Nuada sat down on the ground next to Rhianwen. The human breathed so lightly her chest hardly moved. The only thing indicating she still lived was the heat radiating from her body. Not even Caer was keen on touching her too often. The goddess appraised him, eyes like the darkest night weighing him against what she knew.

"Be gentle with her, prince," She murmured as she waited for the pixies to finish their work. Nuada was being painted with the same tattoos Rhianwen had used to appear fae during their trip to the troll market. This time it was hoped he would appear human in the dream.

Gentle? With the human? He would find her and fight them both a way to safety. If he returned her, the pixies would support him in his cause. Pip had sacrificed the entire human race because he wanted to keep one safe. Nuada couldn't say he understood the love Pip held for the mortal.

"Good. Take her hand," Caer commanded him, her voice echoing ever so dimly. When he froze her eyebrows knitted together, her lips pursing with obvious displeasure.
"There was a time I made princes kiss maidens who had fallen in slumber. Though obviously that wouldn't work in this case."

In a newfound hurry Nuada grabbed Rhianwen's hand. He didn't know if Caer would go to such extremes and he really did not want to find out. The first skin contact made him feel as if he were touching a lightning bolt. The mortal didn't react when he squeezed her small hand in shock. "Anything I need to know before I venture there?"

Caer tilted her head. "Try not to die in there. It won't be pleasant for either of you."

How wonderfully encouraging. He didn't see why people didn't have little outings like these more often. When he received the next order - and the goddess made very clear she was ordering - to go to sleep he frowned. "Even I cannot simple fall asleep when you wish it so. And as the crown prince of Bethmoora I'd-"

"Hey prince, look here," Lenore shouted.

Out of reflex he turned his head towards the sound. A cloud of glittering dust washed over his face. He vaguely realized he was toppling over. Those pixies… he'd have a serious word with them soon. What had the human called it again?

|Dream World|

"Dusted," He said out loud, raising himself from the ground. He had been dusted. And from the looks of it, so had his sanctuary. The entire room was filled with a thick coat of gray, save for a few lighter stripes across the floor as if someone had dragged their feet. When he looked at his own hands he noted they were still the usual ivory white, the dark blue of the tattoos contrasting sharply. His tunic was the same forest green he'd worn when falling asleep.

It was probably safe to assume that only those who weren't dream figures had color. That should make finding the human a far easier task. A quick inspection of the place showed all of his weapons had been cleared. That was less pleasant. He followed the tracks through the sewers.

The human had taken the shortest route to the surface. Judging from how certain places had all the dust cleared from them she'd stopped for several minutes on at least two occasions. He climbed up the manhole she had used - helpfully indicated by the dark fingers imprinted on the gray surface - and found himself in a mostly deserted street. He froze when he saw a human staring at him. Did the pixie markings work?

"Dressed mighty strange there fella. You're not one of them Sympathizers, are ya?" The man asked, scratching his mustache. He was sitting on a doorstep, beer in hand.

"I assure you I'm not," Nuada answered. He was pretty sure he wouldn't sympathize with anything he saw in Rhianwen's dream.

"S'good, s'good. Nasty business all that," The man mumbled. His face was blurred, like a picture taken at high speed.

Nuada focused on the ground once more. The woman's footsteps led to the busier street. Didn't she ever bother to pick her feet up when walking? He'd known she was lazy but this was pitiable. At least nobody was staring at him, meaning the markings were working. Just as well, since he tried to use a small amount of magic to ease finding her tracks and came up with nothing. He wouldn't have been able to glamor his way out of this.

Still he felt ill at ease walking in the open. He avoided jostling against the humans. They were eerie enough as it was, their features shifting in and out of focus. They sounded as if they were talking across a chasm. Every once in a while he'd see one displaying a splash of color. A red hem on a dress, a white rim on a shirt. Sometimes the footsteps stopped. He'd walk around until he found them again.

He was getting closer. The tracks were getting busier. Sometimes he could note she'd walked this way several times. He also encountered more people with splashes of color, taxis that had a flaring yellow hand print on the door. As he passed a stocky man he blinked slowly. There was nothing of note about the character except the pink hand on his cheek as if he'd been slapped.

In a way the inhabitants of the dream made things easier. They were so eerie they hardly seemed to be human. More disturbing was the way small details seemed to jump in the corner of his eye. A piece of trash could disappear, doors and windows opened and closed without reason. The sparse trees he encountered flickered in between full bloom and autumn colors.

The footsteps seemed to concentrate around an apartment building so high he had to crane his neck to see the top. As he entered the doorman hardly paid him attention. So far so good, though things were going perhaps too smoothly. He walked to the front desk. "I'm looking for Rhianwen Nicolson."

The secretary popped a piece of gray bubblegum. "You're running behind the times mista. Everyone knows she changed her name to Wendy years ago."
She looked up, her bun shifting in the movement. "Oh, lookit you. I didn't know the repair boys were so cute. Miss Wendy's up at the penthouse. Tell Jimmy I said hi."

Jimmy turned out to be the bodyguard. Nuada mumbled something about repairs and was let inside the room without a hitch. Things were going far too smooth. Had this been a rescue attempt during the wars he would have suspected someone ready to jump him at any moment.

No enemies waited for him once he entered. Instead he found a spacious room, a large television playing on mute near a sofa. Most of the room was in full color, only the ceiling a dark gray. A large dining table on the other side played host to the person he was seeking. At least there was no mistaking the dark red waves that signaled Rhianwen, though they seemed to be even messier than normal. She leaned on the table, head resting on one of her arms. Eyes pale as glass noted him before they drifted away again.
"Jimmy's not supposed to be in here now… is he?"

Nuada stepped closer, noting she was playing with something that looked very familiar to him. It was his lance, reverted to its smallest form. The human was making it twirl, staring at the motion. "No, didn't do anything in this version to make him come inside… maybe the dream is broken? New game?"

She sounded as gray as the world outside. And apparently she was mistaking him for Jimmy. He would have been insulted if he didn't know how the pixie markings worked. He stopped his approach when she looked at him again, this time with more apprehension.

"Jimmy doesn't have color. Don't come closer," Rhianwen grabbed the Silverlance on the table so hard he could see her knuckles turn white. But the way she talked disturbed him, as did how she glanced around the room. The inflections were those of a child that had seen too much. Her general air, wary of every movement, betrayed the dream was not as peaceful as he had assumed it.

"Calm down woman. I'm here to aid you," Nuada spoke softly, like he would have done with a startled horse.

Rhianwen shook her head, mumbling to herself. "Lies. Everything is supposed to hurt. If it's not hurting you're not doing it right… Everything…"

She startled, looking at the Silverlance in her hand. Then she stood up and started to pace near her chair, ignoring him. She bit her thumb, looking at the lance all the while. "Did I miss something? Did I forget? No, no. Who is dead here?"

Something icy crawled across his spine as he observed her. He could still catch bits and pieces of what she was saying. Something about changing the rules and unfair. How she wasn't going to lose the game. The elf walked towards her slowly. She didn't acknowledge him save a few glances and increased muttering. She was listing names and dates.

The mortal stopped her pacing when he grabbed her by the wrist. It was obvious from the way she looked at him she didn't see Jimmy anymore. When he reached for the lance she slapped his hand and struggled to get away from him. "That's not yours!"

"What are you talking about?" he growled. Even if this was a dream, he was the wielder of the Silverlance. When he reached for it again she slapped him with her full hand. The blow didn't hurt much, but the sting of shame did. Her words stopped him from following his passion.

"This is Nuada's lance. Not yours. Can't have it…" Her voice drifted slowly as her anger dissipated. Her eyes looked past him towards the muted television.
"He can't feel any pain here. Not anymore. No, this isn't real. He never felt the pain."

Tears formed in her eyes. Quickly she blinked them away when she noted he was still holding on to her. What had happened here? "Woman… I will get you out of here. I've given my word."

"No, can't leave. If I leave I break my promise. My word. I only have my word here."

"Rhianwen, listen to me!" He commanded. His harsh tone had the desired effect. She stopped her struggle to get away from him. As if seeing him for the first time she looked up at his face in wonder.

Tentatively she raised her hand. With one outstretched finger she touched his tunic, so lightly he had to imagine feeling pressure. He bit his tongue, allowed her this. Her eyes snapped to his face and then back to the green tunic. "Phobetor always calls me Regalia."

Ice cold hands ran over his cheeks, thumbs rubbed over the markings on his face. Nuada increased his grip on the humans shoulders but she didn't stop. Tears welled up again and this time she did nothing to stop him. "You're alive!"
When she stretched her arms open he held her at arms length. Things were going far enough as it was, he didn't need that much physical contact. When she couldn't reach him in a hug she swept her hands to his wrists, a shaky laugh bubbling from her throat. "You're alive. Oh, thank you. Thank you."

He did not know who she was thanking, but the thanks sent shivers down his spine. Never had he expected her to express any convivial feeling about his presence. "We have to get out of here. Do you have any idea where the exit might be?"

She looked at him, with eyes so pain filled he felt a tug of pity. That was a dangerous emotion to feel for a human, and yet at this moment he did not rebuke himself for it. His words had the effect of a slap on her, sending her reeling back into this perceived reality. Her tousled hair rearranged artfully, tumbling down her shoulders. The sweater she wore wasn't ratty anymore, but a fine, warm garment that felt soft against his hands. Fuzzy bunny slippers kept her feet warm. For a moment she was not Rhianwen anymore. At least not the real one.

"You are supposed to be dead," the sneer coming from her lips was haughty and cold. But the eyes in her face widened in horror at the words. At once she slammed her hands in front of her mouth, wailing. Her hair went back to its tousled state, the slippers disappeared.

"I'm sorry! That wasn't me, I promise that wasn't me! It's the dream!" Rhianwen nearly choked on her own voice, pressing the Silverlance close to her chest.

"The exit. Where is it?" he demanded. He needed to give her a sense of purpose, something she could focus on. She was liable to break down if he let her be. And the reversion to her nightmare self was bad enough once. He didn't want to risk it happening again.

She nodded, taking deep breaths. With a growing sense of alarm he saw the Silverlance move, growing slightly larger. Even if it was only a dream version, it was enough to send icy spikes over his spine. Rhianwen nodded, wiping her sleeve across her eyes. "You have to go. It's not safe here, not for you. I'll bring you to the exit."

When the mortal broke in a quick dash to the door, Nuada followed. He didn't utter the words that it wasn't safe here for her either. What did disturb her was that she had not escaped herself, despite claiming to know where the exit was. What was it that stopped her? When they went outside, her clothes shimmered between a summer dress and winter parka. The bodyguard started to talk to the air, and for a moment Rhianwen reeled and took a step towards the spot where the bodyguard aimed his idle chatter. With a groan she turned away, running to the elevator. "We have to be quick. If I don't follow the dream, Phobetor will come checking."

"We are in the dream," Nuada pointed out, preferring her incoherent explanation over the nervous nailbiting she reverted to when silent.

She shook her head impatiently, bouncing on her heels in the elevator. "No no, the dream is a game. And games have rules. Phobetor made a story, and the story has to be followed. I can make choices…" Here she trailed off, looking at him with a look that spelled guilt in capital letters.

"What kind of choices?"

She opened her mouth, started and stopped. When the elevator reached ground floor she started out again, practically racing to the door. Around them the faded mock humans continued their empty charades. It seemed the woman felt more comfortable discussing this when she didn't have to meet his eyes. "I choose who dies."

Nuada caught the tremble in her voice, and the tightening of her knuckles. "This is a dream," he repeated again, hoping to reach through to her.

She hadn't heard him. "I'm not allowed to die anymore, not before the story ends. If I choose Pip, Lenore and Lena die. If I kill Pip, his child lives for three weeks before they're caught. I choose you, Wink dies and so do the other trolls… so many… blood…"
She shook herself loose from the memory, starting in a jog. Nuada kept up with ease, sickened to his stomach with what he heard. "If… if you die, more live. You have a rebellion you know, and few live but they fight. If you're gone, they hide. But in the end… everything dies in the end. Again and again and it just starts over and it needs to stop!"

"Stop," he commanded her in a low voice. She'd broken down in ragged sobs again, but kept running.

"We're close now. I'll save you. Thank you for coming, but you're not safe here!"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that," a voice drawled behind them. Rhianwan wailed in fear, freezing in her steps. When Nuada turned around he saw one of the men who had been standing near Rhianwen after she'd fallen asleep. The man made a mocking bow, an unhappy smirk on his face. "Your Highness, Crown prince Nuada of Bethmoora. How unexpected to see you here. Welcome to my playground. I am Phobetor."

Nuada moved in front of Rhianwen. Human or not, right now he only saw a woman who needed protection from someone who embodied her worst fears. "We are leaving."

Phobetor tilted his head, interest glinting in his eyes. "Are you now? That's interesting. I don't believe the Regalia is ready to leave. Are you? Will you give us what we want?"

Rhianwen shook her head.

Phobetor casually flicked his wrist. A hole appeared behind Nuada and Rhianwen. All Nuada could see was a rolling green field, drenched in sunlight and dancing butterflies. The color hurt his eyes, but it looked so good. He wanted nothing better than to escape there.

Phobetor smiled. "I will let you leave if you say you want to go. Well then, Regalia? Your answer?"

"No…" a broken sob, as she pressed her knuckles against her mouth.

Nuada grabbed her by her wrist. "What are you doing?"

Rhianwen looked at him, and though her eyes were wild he suspected it was the first time she truly saw him. For the first time she was speaking directly at him and not at some shade from her past. "I can't! If I go there, I cannot refuse them any longer. You can go, this isn't your dream."

"It's not yours either. This is a nightmare!" Nuada shouted back at her.

The mortal looked past him, to Phobetor. "I will not go!"

The god grinned, holding up a finger. "Last chance. After that, your dashing prince will leave. Renounce me once more, and we start anew."

Rhianwen swallowed. Nuada saw the resolve in her eyes. At a later time he would commend her for it, he told himself. But now he clasped his hand firmly over her mouth. Her eyes opened wide, but the sounds she made were muffled and incoherent. Instead he locked eyes with Phobetor. "I leave, and she goes with me."

"Don't you need to ask your dear lady's opinion?"

Nuada didn't glance at the struggling Rhianwen. Her hands beat against his chest, as powerful as a butterflies wings. "I speak for her in this instance. We leave."

Rhianwen shook her head, screaming at Phobetor. The god held up a single finger. "Once more, that is all I need."

Nuada walked backwards, forcing Rhianwen with him. For a moment he thought she might try to stab him with the Silverlance. But then she stopped and simply clasped one hand over the one that covered her mouth. When he grabbed her shoulder with his free hand, she struggled briefly. From behind them, sunlight warmed their backs. He could hear birds singing. Rhianwen screamed incoherently.

She had survived this world. She would be able to handle the next. "We leave."