A/N: So here we are, at the epilogue! A big thank you for all who read this little foray into the Starcraft and Doctor Who universes. I might write another Starcraft fic in the future. A comedy, most likely.
On an unrelated note, in my head, this adventure takes place during the several weeks Amy and Rory leave during The Power of Three, but I think it can work just about anytime between The Big Bang and Angels Take Manhattan.
Disclaimer: I do not own Starcraft or Doctor Who.
Epilogue: The Eternal Stewardship
Unknown Location
Eight Hundred Years Later
James Raynor awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window and the gut feeling that something was amiss. His finely-honed instincts, however, told him they were in no real danger and thus he elected to stay in bed for a little longer. He smiled as he glanced down to see a mass of tendrils nestled against his bare chest. He gently stroked Sarah's back, drawing little circles where skin weave met carapace. Bone wings were draped over both of them, and Jim set about the unenviable task of figuring out how to extract himself from under his wife without waking her.
"Another round, Jim?" Sarah moaned sleepily, and Jim abandoned the futile task.
"I didn't hear you complaining last night, darlin'," he quipped back.
"Eight hundred years and still a pig," she laughed, tilted her head back to look him in the eye as her arms snaked up around his neck.
The suggestive smile fell off her face as she saw her husband's serious expression.
"Somebody's here."
Jim hurriedly dressed and grabbed his revolver out of their bedside drawer as he headed towards the front door. He paused briefly to glance at the suit of CMC armor, pilfered when he and Sarah intervened in the Sontaran invasion several years ago, standing in the corner. He heard footsteps coming down the path, and he knew that that he wouldn't have time to don the armor and settled for strapping his revolver to his hip. Taking a deep breath, he pushed opened the front door and stepped outside.
"Alright, keep your hands where I can see them and listen up. If you found this place by accident, you're the luckiest—or unluckiest, depending on your perspective—sonuvabitch in the sector. If you sought us out, well, we need to lay down a few ground rules first."
Jim kept his arms by his sides, though his right hand drew ever slightly closer to the holster at his hip. The revolver looked distinctly unimpressive, especially in the face of the handheld energy weapons that now dominated infantry warfare in the Korpulu sector, but the modified rounds it fired could easily punch through the shields and torso armor of a Dalek travel machine.
"Any surveillance devices, recorders, or weapons stay with me. You'll get them back when you leave."
"It has been a long time, Terran Raynor," a once-powerful voice, now stooped with age, greeted.
"Artanis," Jim cautiously returned the greeting, "How did you find this place?"
"I am old, Terran Raynor, even by the standards of my people," the Hierarch slid the psi-blade emitters off his arms and let them fall to the ground, "Even if I meant harm, even if I had come with the entire Golden Armada at my back, what threat could I possibly pose to an ascendant Xel'naga?"
With shaking hands, Artanis removed the khaydarin focusing crystals embedded in his armor, and the stones joined the gauntlets at his feet.
"So why did you come here?" Jim pressed, relaxing his stance slightly.
"I come—alone—to talk, and nothing more."
If the Hierarch was surprised by the former Queen of Blades decloaking in front of him, he hid it well.
"Artanis," Sarah greeted coolly.
"Kerrigan," Artanis rumbled in return.
"How did you find us?" Sarah demanded after a brief uncomfortable silence, "I went through a great deal of trouble to make sure nobody, especially not the Protoss, could find this place."
"You and Raynor are bonded?" the ancient Protoss abruptly switched topics, his eyes settling to the simple metal band hanging from a thin chain around Sarah's neck.
"You said you came to talk," Sarah ground out while pointedly ignoring the question, "So talk."
"Why?" Artanis asked, elaborating when he saw puzzled expressions, "With so much power, you could have ruled, and none could have stopped you. So why did you instead choose to protect the Koprulu sector?"
"A man—a good man, though he would never admit it—taught me that these powers are not a gift, but a burden. They carry an obligation of eternal stewardship," the former Queen of Blades held up her claws to drive the point home, "And this form is a reminder of all the sins I have committed to deserve such a punishment."
"And so you followed the sinner into Hell so she would not have to suffer alone," the Hierarch rumbled as he shifted his gaze towards Jim, laughing at the curious expression on the Terran's face, "I have had plenty of time in my old age to pursue Terran literature. I have always found it fascinating."
"So what's threatening the Koprulu sector this time?" Sarah interrupted, "Daleks? Sontarans? Weeping Angels? Vashta Nerada?"
"An army of metal men, billions strong," Artanis recalled the many fierce battles in the past and those currently raging, "Our blades felled them by the thousands, yet they continue their advance. They harvest our dead and wounded to replenish their numbers, stripping them of all emotion and free will and imprisoning them within cold metal shells! Every warrior we lose only swells their numbers!"
"Cybermen," Jim and Sarah answered as one.
"Thought we chased 'em off centuries ago," Jim whispered to himself.
"Very well: you'll have our aid against them," Sarah took a step towards the Hierarch, "Though I will have to wipe your memory of this place before you leave."
"I do not intend to leave, if you will permit me," Artanis took Jim and Sarah's raised eyebrows as license to continue, "I do not have long left: less than a rotation, if even that. I would like to remain here until I pass, to spend my final days witnessing the ascension of a Xel'naga."
The Raynors shared a meaningful glance, and one did not need psionics to sense their silent conversation.
"You need not worry about the Daelaam searching for me. The Khala has long since withered, and all Protoss are convinced I wish to spend my final days meditating in a secluded citadel," Artanis raised his hands reassuringly, "The new Hierarch is a worthy successor, and I have taught him all I know so that he need not seek out my counsel. Praetor Talandar is the only other aware of your return, Kerrigan, and I have sworn him to secrecy."
"Very well," Sarah nodded after a long while, "You may stay. We'll discuss this further once we've dealt with the Cybermen."
Artanis cautiously walked through the doorway, briefly leaning against the frame for support. The doorways were built to allow Sarah to walk through without needing to fold her wings, and so even a fully-grown Protoss could pass through unbowed. The former Hierarch glanced around, taking in the simple furnishings, and ran his hands across the nearby wall. Even his failing eyesight could still appreciate the painstaking hand-craftsmanship.
The aged Protoss reckoned he had entered a solarium of sorts: the far wall was constructed entirely of glass, giving him a breathtaking view of the sea as the planet's sun slowly rose above the horizon. A pair of sunloungers were placed side-by-side next to the glass, and Artanis gingerly lowered himself into the one without a dog-eared tome laying on it. Books from all over the universe, hundreds in all, were stacked high around the chairs. The former Hierarch randomly took one, realized it was written in a language he did not recognize, and quietly placed it back. An easel bearing a partially-completed painting of the horizon stood a meter away.
The comfortable silence was shattered by the whirring of CMC armor servos, and Artanis glanced over his shoulder to see Jim walking towards the front door with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Sarah walked beside him, and the couple paid the Protoss no mind.
"Another adventure?" Jim turned to Sarah, the corners of his mouth curling upwards in a faint smile.
"Another adventure," she smiled, quickly leaning up to peck him on the lips.
Jim wrapped his hands around his wife's smaller clawed ones, and in a flash, the two were gone.
