At the Bottom of This Chapter:

Author's Note
Mythological Creature of the Day
Concerning the Chapter Title
References Made In This Chapter
Suggested Reading List
Fairy Tale of the Day

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Chapter Two

Waking the Prince

that is

A Very, Very Short Tale of Much Blood, Some Passive Magic, Someone Like Scheherazade, and a Debt of Honor

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Nuada ignored the screams. The creature he had set as the protector of this sanctuary had waited for the train before crossing the tracks and dealing with his enemies. Now he heard the wet sounds of tearing flesh, the cries of terror, and found no pleasure or pain in them. The Elf simply ignored them.

His wounds burned as iron contamination spread like a disease through the flesh, coloring it the sickly blue of a drowned corpse. Exhaustion beat at him. His muscles ached from the human metals and from the sickness still ravaging his body. A wave of dizziness washed through him, and he groaned. When it passed, he glanced at the mortal sprawled upon the ground by the entrance.

Never before had he brought a human to one of his sanctuaries. He had never had a reason to. But now, because of his thrice-cursed honor, he was forced to keep this mortal from dying because she had risked her life more than once to save him. No human had ever done anything for him, much less something like that. He owed her a terrible debt.

May all the gods beyond the stars curse her.

Nuada looked around the Spartan room. There was a stone fireplace, above which hung a small painting of his sister, one of only two luxuries in the place. His eyes took in the table with two chairs, and several cabinets and trunks which held clothing, weapons, medical supplies, and non-perishable food items. The bed, with a thin mattress and one pillow, stood near one of those trunks. The blanket, a quilt from his old bedroom at the summer palace of Renvyle, was his second luxury.

When a wave of melancholy threatened to drown him at the thought of the quilt and his childhood palace suite, he ruthlessly dismissed it. There were two doors on either side of the fireplace, one that led to a bathing room, and one to a privy. The floor of the main chamber was of cold, clean-swept stone. So he could have access to water, there was a tiny well in a corner, out of the way but within comfortable reach. A young crinaeae, with very little power but a unique and quirky talent, kept the water clean, cold, and sweet.

In the center of the room was a woven mat. It was this that was his aim. He fought another wave of dizziness as he dragged the human towards the mat. With every movement, blood flowed thick and heavy from his wounds. His heart labored to pump in his chest. Sheer determination fueled by rage and self-loathing (A human! A human saved his life! Pah!) gave him the strength to do this.

Panting with exertion and pain, he thought frantically about how he could tend her wounds when his own were so severe. After all, if he passed out from loss of blood, they would both die. On the other hand, he could not treat his own wounds by himself.

The human solved his problem for him by waking up as he set her down upon the mat. She slowly opened bleary eyes, then blinked as shock and fear spread across her bleeding face. A thin, weak cry of terror ripped out of her mouth as she scrambled away from him in a crab-scuttle until she had half-crawled atop his bed.

Wonderful. Now the stench of humanity and iron-laced blood would saturate all of his bedding. Fantastic.

"For Danu's sake, human, I mean you no harm. Be still."

Under more normal circumstances, Dylan would've made some sharp retort at the biting censure in his voice, but even if she'd felt up to it, just then her arms – which had been holding her up - buckled beneath her, and she slid to the floor. She immediately curled in on herself like a snail, holding tight to herself.

Nuada looked her over with keen scrutiny, and the human woman shuddered. Her bruised, bloody, and battered face was positively bloodless. Frightened blue eyes were set within deep, dark circles in her face. Nuada could tell by the bruising that her left cheekbone was cracked. The brunette didn't seem to notice that, nor the blood seeping from the dozens upon dozens of cuts and slashes across her face.

Dylan's gaze found him. Panic stole through her eyes. He could hear the thunder of her heart in her breast.

Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn...

The words came unbidden to her mind. She remembered the story, had read it so many times she had it memorized. And what better time to use those guidelines than now? Dylan felt like she'd walked into a fairy tale... or a faerie tale. Preternatural warriors, magical sanctuaries, war axes like shooting stars... yeah. A fairy story. Complete with blood and slaughter.

Closing her eyes against the sight of that white-skinned warrior with the bleeding wounds, she remembered, Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.

On the trail of that thought came another, different, one of her own instead of something read once in a book: he won't hurt me unless I provoke him. With that realization, the paralyzing fear seemed to ease.

A little.

"Where are we? Are we dead?" She asked softly. It never occurred to her to ask who he was. Once she'd made it away from the overpowering male presence of him and put some distance between them, the memories had surfaced fairly quickly. He was an Elf, one of the Kindly Ones. One of them.

One trembling hand wiped at a trickle of blood from a cut right beneath her eye. Remarkably, Dylan felt better. She had complete feeling back in her fingers and toes, and the throbbing, red-hot pain from her pubic bone and pelvis were gone, replaced by a dull ache. The ragged slashes across her face no longer screamed at her.

Her vision wasn't sparkling like white stars against grayness, and the ability to focus at least a little had returned. The floaty sensations from blood-loss felt more like she'd had a few bad cuts that required stitches rather than being gang-raped by a pack of human predators. Remarkably, the battered woman had enough attention span left after the pain to really want a shower.

"Are we dead?" Dylan repeated, then added, "Um, Your Highness."

The air was icy against her skin, which looked gray, even to her own eyes. She was trying not to give anything away to the man in front of her, but her mind raced, and she couldn't hide the panic in her eyes. Body trembling visibly with the urge to get up and run, somehow she knew a mere mortal in her condition couldn't move fast enough to outrun the unearthly man in front of her, even in the bloody state he was in.

But she had to run. She had to get up and run, but her legs shook uncontrollably. Where were they? The scent of roses and lilies clung to the stones around her, but the stench of blood burned her nostrils and tried to swamp the perfume of flowers.

Heart pounding, she bit her tongue to hold herself still. If she bolted, she knew instinctively he would be on her in seconds, and then...and then he...he would...just like the others, just like the wolves, and just like in the basement, he would...

Run, her brain screamed. Run, run, runrunrun!

Can't, the other part of her moaned. Can't, hurts too much, can't...

"No," he grunted. He didn't add, "Not yet," but she heard the implied threat under his words.

Dylan swallowed hard. Her brain was working overtime, now that they were no longer being chased, her mind considering some rather sinister possibilities. What if...what if this person had only tried to help her so that he could hurt her himself? It was a viable concern. How many of the Bright Ones had told her that humans gave especially good sport?

Even as she thought it, she stuck her tongue between her teeth and bit down again, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. Salt-blood flooded her mouth and pain flooded her face like a riptide, dragging at her fear. Pain had always been an anchor for her, and she used it now, even though she knew eventually that would come back to bite her. She'd worry about that later.

Focus on the pain, she told herself, struggling for calm. Taste the blood. Feel the sting. Focus on that. Relax. Just a little-

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN-

Relax! She screamed at herself. I can't even hear myself think when I'm having a freak out.

Drawing a shuddering breath, her side flared with pain. That helped her to focus as well. Carefully, Dylan examined the idea that this tall, muscular, blond, bullet-riddled man had intervened on her behalf just so he, too, could have his turn with her. Would he do that? Could he do it? Or would he do something else to her? Something worse?

He's too badly hurt, the logical part of her mind murmured, while the screaming, terrified part of her mind kept reminding her of all the teens she knew who'd been suckered by a man feigning injury; kept reminding herself of Strands of Starlight, where a girl was raped by a man she healed after a bear had severed his arm. All these things that told her she was being reckless, too trusting.

But she was a doctor. It was her duty to ease pain, heal hurts. Never mind that she was supposed to do that for people's minds, for their souls. She knew enough about the human body that she could make a passable attempt at healing it here. The Hippocratic Oath and all that.

Screw the Oath, she shrieked at herself as the man in front of her shifted position. She pulled her body back as far as she could. Pain smashed down on her like a tidal wave. Forget about the Oath! He's going to rape me!

Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turn. Her brain seemed to trip over the words as they resurged into her mind. Favors will be returned, debts be repaid.

Heavenly Father, what do I do? I'm freaking out, help me. I need help, I need a hospital, and so does he, and I don't know if it's safe to be around him. Tell me what to do, please...

In church, she'd often been told to wait ten or fifteen minutes for an answer to prayers. Generally, that was the minimum time between the end of a prayer and the receipt of an answer. But this time, the answer was practically immediate, and so strong that she felt it in her teeth:

Help him, or you will both die.

Her heart skipped a beat. Slammed against her sternum. Hammered in her chest. Dylan swallowed several times, trying not to gasp for air, feeling as if she'd just been sucker-punched. She had to help him. She could feel it in her bones, but...but going near him made her want to cry. To scream. To break down and never get back up again. What if he hurt her?

Now, the feeling insisted, pushing at her. Already, he fades. You must begin now.

Fades?

She noticed he was sitting on the floor, his chin on his chest, his face hidden behind the curtain of his hair. His pale skin was tinged with a sickly blue undertone, slicked with sweat, and he shuddered continually.

At the sight of him, Dylan started in surprise. The blond man looked half-dead already. Shoving her long hair out of her face, she leaned in and peered at him, ignoring the way her skin prickled and her panic screamed. Her eyes found the holes that bled sluggishly. Adrenaline surged through her veins at the sight. He was still hurt, way worse than she was! How could she not have remembered?

"Whoa! Lie down!" She ordered.

He looked questioningly at her, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Do it!" Dylan yelped, voice laced with panic.

Don't argue, she begged silently, motioning for him to make himself horizontal. Please, just do what I say before I have hysterics.

"We have to get those bullets out right away! Or the human metals will infect your blood."

What was the old saying about fighting the Other Kin with metals? Holy silver, burning iron, cold lead, blessed electrum. Iron and lead could kill a faerie creature if they managed to infect the blood. And didn't gunpowder have salt in it?

"I suppose you know how," he replied sarcastically. "Because as you can see, there are no others here."

Dylan panted shallowly as panic threatened to overwhelm her, trying to fight it back. She couldn't afford to be intimidated or frightened by her rescuer and his harsh words. Even as she was thinking this, she made the abrupt mental switch she'd learned at the institutions, going from panic-stricken fear and hurt to deep, deep rage.

Glaring at her rescuer with something akin to venom, despite the fear coiling like worms in her belly, she crawled to her purse lying several feet away and dragged it back. She glanced at him. Blue lines were bright against his pursed lips. Her rescuer was in pain. Both irritated and admiring of his stalwart stoicism, she unzipped the thing which looked more like a medium-sized leather messenger bag than a purse and dumped its contents on the floor.

The mortal woman was muttering something under her breath. It sounded to Nuada like, "If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can, ease its pain."

Rifling through the contents of her bag, the blue-eyed mortal pulled out a lighter, scissors, a pair of long tweezers, hand sanitizer, and a plastic spool of white sewing thread with an old-fashioned, four-inch tapestry needle stuck through the top.

She found these items amongst so many other things that Nuada was surprised they all fit inside the bag. The sheer number of items made his head spin.

"Interesting collection."

His sarcasm could've cut through bone. Something dark pulsed through Dylan as she shivered and thought desperately, Don't get afraid. Get angry.

"Well, Your Highness, you never know what might come in handy," she wheezed. Her head suddenly began to throb, but she ignored it, focusing on the metal tweezers as she flicked open the lighter and called forth the flame after sanitizing her hands. Holding the tips over the dancing tongue of fire, her eyes watched the metal begin to glow as it heat up. "This will hurt."

"You are actually going to attempt this," he gasped. His vision was starting to phase in and out. He gritted his teeth against the poison-induced nausea. "Are you a...healer?"

"Sort of," she whispered, and bade him lie down.

Too exhausted to argue, Nuada tried to obey, and ended up collapsing upon his back, seemingly unconscious. She'd been right in thinking he was worse off than she. Right in guessing what the metal would do to him. The iron from the blade and the lead from the bullets, gestalted by the iron-sickness and the last traces of dipsa venom in his system, were already beginning to poison him. The pale-skinned man was as weak as a kitten now. Luckily, he was also out cold.

Dylan's fear began to recede just a little more, and she leaned over him. Shivered, knowing she was on the edges of control. Only the numbness of shock and the ember of warmth in her chest kept her from shattering completely. She tried to ignore the burning that began in her knee and raged through her body all the way to her bruised, lacerated, and probably cracked cheek. Feeling nearly done in, the brunette forced her hands to remain as steady as possible while she carefully pushed the now sterile tweezers into the wound at his belly.

The human woman had been wrong about one thing – Nuada was not unconscious. He was barely conscious. He did not even have the strength to open his eyes. He could only lay there, trying to conserve his strength.

Then the human moved, began working on his injuries. Fire ripped through him, and the Elf found himself paralyzed by iron. The metal in the instrument scorched his skin, but she unerringly found the bullet lodged in his body and plucked it out. Fresh blood flowed, and Nuada sank into blissful oblivion.

"Gotcha," she hissed. "Tricky little sucker."

She grabbed needle and thread and hastily stitched up the wound.

"Four years of med school really paid off," she muttered to herself as she repeated the performance on both of his arms. Only two bullets left. She'd even removed the fragments of concrete and ceramic that had ricocheted off the walls.

She was grateful that he was unconscious. What pain would he probably be suffering if he'd been awake? His eyes had gleamed as if with a fever. Maybe he was sick. Maybe the metal was poisoning him worse than she knew. She only knew stories, nothing solid. What did she really know about doctoring an Elf? That was one faerie she'd never encountered in this sort of situation before. And Dylan wholeheartedly believed that that was exactly what this pale, blond man was. His grace, his power, the whiteness of his skin and the oddly familiar, deep gold of his eyes – all of it was so blatantly fey, blatantly Elven.

Dylan could tell up-close that her patient wore no makeup, no contact lenses. This creature was something right out of a storybook, something right out of her greatest and oldest dreams. She'd seen his kind before. Was known to his kind. And there was something so oddly familiar about him...

Dylan had suffered eleven years in a mental institution because she believed in people like him. Claimed to have seen them. Had dedicated her life to helping them survive in a world of concrete, steel, and poisons. And now she had the chance to help one of the Shining Ones again.

Any whisper of excitement, however, was dull and tasteless when compared to the overwhelming fear of the large man on the ground in front of her knees. Every time he so much as twitched, her heart jumped into her throat, and she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. The impromptu doctor had tried reciting poetry in her head, something to focus her conscious mind on to reduce her fear, but Dylan had quickly realized that in order for the Elf to survive this surgery, she had to pay total attention to him.

How am I going to turn him? She thought suddenly. How am I supposed to roll him over? I have to get him on his stomach so I can deal with those other wounds. I don't think I can turn him, not as weak as I am.

He solved her problem easily – he woke up.

Bronze eyes rimmed with crimson snapped open. She would've screamed, but the only sound that managed to escape her mouth was a breathless squeak of fear. She jerked away from him.

Black lips pulled back in a snarl. Her eyes went wide. A pale hand shot out, wrapped around her throat, and began to squeeze.

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His cell phone rang, making him jump a mile high. He glanced at it and saw it was his uncle calling. He flipped the cell open and said, "Hey, Uncle Thad."

"John, Dylan's in some kind of trouble."

Well, that would explain the nervous tension. For the last few hours, he'd been pacing back and forth in his office, ice cold and unable to get warm, with a strange, restless tension building in his joints and a wicked headache brewing at the base of his skull. And now his uncle had called to tell him that his older twin sister was in some kind of trouble.

"What's up, Uncle Thad?"

"I was expecting her hours ago to give her her birthday present, thought maybe she'd forgotten about me. But after a few hours, I fell asleep and had one of my dreams. There was a pack of wolves chasing a little girl in a red dress, and something else, a huge white lion prowling after the wolves. I don't know what that means, but I'm worried about Dylan. John, you're in New York. Can you find her?"

"Uncle Thaddeus, I'm on the job."

Technically. They'd stuck him outside on security detail, pushing the curious civilians past when they tried to stop and gawk at the federal agents swarming around the skyscraper where witnesses claimed to have seen aliens.

"She could be in danger, John!"

John Myers sighed and checked his watch. It was three in the morning. He didn't feel like scouring the New York subway system looking for his sister just because his uncle had a bad feeling after waking up from a weird nightmare. But...there was the restlessness. The itchiness beneath the skin, and the odd headache, that meant he ought to be at least a little concerned about Dylan.

"John, please-"

"Okay. I'll look as soon as I get off shift. And I'll call you when I find her."

"Hurry, Johnny. I don't know what's wrong, but she's going to be in the middle of something big if you don't find her soon."

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Don't worry."

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Author's Note: I don't know WHY this chapter is so short. Um... well, whatever. It's okay. So, who saw that coming? I mean, the part about her being John's twin sister (John being our oh-so-mortal love muffin from movie 1)? Anyway, hope you guys are enjoying it so far. Keep on trucking! Anyway, onward to the daily mythological creature bit (this only popped in after the fifth or sixth revision of this chapter, because chapter 13 was posted around Lughnassad, and has a little blurby on leprechauns in there. The reason for this is explained in chapter 13). Anyway, so on to that.

Mythological Creature of the Day: The aos si (aka, the sidhe)! In Irish mythology, the aos sí, known in even ancienter days (I know that's not a word) as the aes sídhe are a supernatural race comparable to the fairies or elves of England. They typically live underground in the fairy mounds across the western sea, or in an invisible world alongside the mortal realm (known in some places as the Twilight Realm). Aos sí means "people of the mounds" in Gaelic. In Irish literature the people of the mounds are also referred to as the daoine sídhe, and in Scottish Gaelic literature as the daoine sìth. Commonly known as the sidhe, thought sidhe actually means "the mounds" in Gaelic, and is thus a misnomer.

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Concerning the Chapter Title: "Waking the Prince" is a short story retelling of "Sleeping Beauty" with gender reversal, by Kathe Koja (she wrote the Blue Mirror, amazing modern "Bluebeard" novella; you must read it, and it's short), found in the anthology Ruby Slippers, Golden Tears. I figured it fit since we have a sleeping (see unconscious) prince and a "princess" who wakes him up. He's just not that happy about it.

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References Made in the Chapter

- A crinaeae is a Greek water nymph specifically associated with wells and fountains.

- Danu is a goddess in Irish mythology. The name "Tuatha de Danaan," which are the Sidhe of Irish mythology, also translates as "People of the Goddess Danu." So it would make sense for Nuada to say "Danu" instead of, say, "God."

- "Trust those that you have helped to help you in their turnc Favors will be returned, debts be repaid." These are two lines (set at different intervals) in the story "Instructions" by Neil Gaiman. The same goes for "If it cries to you that it hurts, if you can ease its pain."

- "A Sound Like Angels Singing" is the name of a retelling of "the Pied Piper of Hamelin" by Leonard Rysdyk. But the title has always seemed to me a brilliant auditory descriptor.

- "Don't get afraid; get angry" is a line from the Hogfather, though I think it's only in the film and not in the book by Terry Pratchett; it's a piece of advice offered by Susan Sto-Helit, a governess to two rather unusual children.

- Scheherazade is the main character of 1001 Arabian Nights and the one telling the stories.

- The white lion imagery is inspired by the fairy tale "The Singing, Springing Lark," which is number 88 in the collected stories of the Brothers Grimm. Although the lion is not said specifically to be white, he is white in the episode of Jim Henson's The Storyteller entitled "The White Lion," based on this and similar stories. I use the white lion image instead of the white cat, as Nuada reminds Dylan of Puss in Boots in chapter one.

Suggested Reading List

- Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop (the first book in a trilogy known as the Black Jewels Trilogy, in the Dark Jewels Series; a story of an extraordinary girl who, among other things, is incarcerated because she tells stories about unicorns and dragons)

- Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier (a beautiful and expansive retelling of "the Wild Swans" set against 5th century Ireland and Britain)

- East by Edith Pattou (though based mostly on "East of the Sun, West of the Moon," does share some similarities to "The Singing, Springing Lark")

- "Hans My Hedgehog" from Jim Henson's the Storyteller

- Heir to the Shadows by Anne Bishop (sequel to Daughter of the Blood)

- "Here There Be Dragons" by Laurell K. Hamilton (a story of a young woman with psychic powers who shelters a young monster)

- The Hogfather by Terry Pratchett (also a great movie)

- Peter Pan by JM Barrie (book and 2003 movie)

- The Secret of Roan Inish (a film about how one little girl fixes up an entire island to gain favor with the fey folk of her homeland)

- "A Sound Like Angels Singing" by Leonard Rysdyk (a retelling of "the Pied Piper" found in Snow White, Blood Red)

- The Spiderwicke Chronicles by Holly Black

- "The Springfield Swans" by Caroline Stevermer (a short story retelling of "the Wild Swans," mentioned here in honor of Daughter of the Forest; this version, however, is set in the 90s and involves baseball; found in Snow White, Blood Red)

- Queen of the Darkness by Anne Bishop (sequel to Heir to the Shadows)

- "The White Lion" from Jim Henson's the Storyteller

Fairy Tale of the Day: "The Singing, Springing Lark."

Once upon a time, a man goes on a journey and asks each of his daughters what she would like. The oldest wants diamonds, the second pearls, and the youngest a singing, springing lark, which he is unable to obtain. On his journey home, he sees a tree with a lark, and orders his servant to catch it. A lion springs out and threatens to kill him for trying to steal the lark. To spare his life, the lion demands the man bring the first thing to meet him on his return home, and gives him the lark. The man fears it will be his youngest daughter who greets him, but his servant persuades him to accept the bargain. His youngest daughter is the first to greet him. When told of his promise, she sets out the next morning. At the lion's castle, she is greeted by lions. She marries the lion whose lark her father had tried to take and lives with him, sleeping by day.

One night the lion tells her that her oldest sister is marrying and offers to send her with his lions. She goes, and her family is glad to see her. After her return, the lion tells her that her second sister is marrying, and she says he must go with her and their child. The lion tells her that if any candlelight falls on him, he will be transformed into a dove for seven years. The youngest daughter has a chamber built to protect him, but the door is made of green wood, and it warps, making a crack. When her sister's wedding procession goes by, candlelight falls on him, and he turns into a dove. The dove tells his wife that for every seven steps she takes, he will drop a feather and a drop of blood, and perhaps she can track him by that, and flies off.

When the seven years are nearly up, the youngest daughter loses the trail. When she climbs up to the sun and asks after the white dove; the sun does not know, but gives her a casket. She then asks the moon, who does not know, but gives her an egg. She asks the night wind, and it can not help her but tells her to wait for the others; the east and west wind can not, but the south wind says that the dove was again a lion and fighting a dragon that is an enchanted princess near the Red Sea. The night wind advises her to strike the lion and dragon with a certain reed, to allow the lion to win and both creatures to regain their form, and then to escape on the back of a griffin. It gives her a nut that will grow to a nut tree in the middle of the sea; which would allow the griffin to rest. The youngest daughter stops the fight, but the princess also regains her form and takes the man who had been a lion with her on the griffin. The daughter follows until she finds a castle where the princess and her husband are to be married.

She opens the casket and finds a dazzling dress in it. She brings it to the castle, and the princess buys it from her, the price being that the daughter is to spend the night in her husband's bedchamber. But it is to no avail because the princess has a page give him a sleeping draught. Though the daughter pleads with him, he thinks it is the wind's whistling. The next day, she opens the egg. It holds a chicken with twelve golden chicks. The princess again buys them for the same price, but this time her husband asks the page what was the wind the previous night, and the page confesses to the draught. He does not drink it the second night, and he and his wife flee on the griffin to their home.