Subj:	 [ffml] [MW] Non-conformity
Date:	00-09-01 11:29:18 EDT
From:	raumkatze2@aol.com
Reply-to:	ffml@egroups.com
To:	ffml@egroups.com

     Lance lay awake in his bunk, long after all of his twins had gone to 
sleep.  Ever since he had cleaved back at Hiel Keep, he had the strange 
feeling that he was somehow different from the others.  When he had arrived 
at the Southvale camp and seen the avariel, they reminded him of something, 
but he couldn't put his finger on it.
     For hours, he tossed and turned, but could not sleep, for he was haunted 
by feelings of individuality from the rest of his kind, and the feeling that 
this individuality was somehow connected to those winged elves from another 
world.  He decided that the cool night air might do him some good, so he 
quietly got up and left the sleeping tent.

                                          * * *

     As she did every night, Nighthawk was flying over the camp.  But 
tonight, she noticed something out of the ordinary.  It was a lone Henriksen. 
 This surprised her, because from what she had observed of the Henriksens on 
her own and through Triu and Torbeno, they never exhibited individual 
behavior unless the situation called for it, such as when one had stepped 
forward to explain the nature of their asexual reproduction to Tim.  She 
decided that he must be on some sort of important business.  She kept 
watching, and became puzzled.  He did not seem to be doing anything 
important.  He was just strolling around.  She considered the possibility 
that maybe he was doing the same thing she was, observing.  But he was not.  
He seemed to be absorbed in thought, oblivious to anything around him.
     Curiousity overwelmed Nighthawk, so she decided to land and ask him just 
what he was doing.  She figured that this would not cause any trouble, since 
from what she had gathered, the Henriksens were not suspicious of the 
avariel, like the Domans were.  She touched down before the man.  When their 
eyes met, the Henriksen looked like he had just seen a ghost, and Nighthawk 
felt as if she was looking upon a familier face.

[You can pick things up here, Larathia.  I think you know where I'm going 
with this.  :-)  ]


Date:	00-09-01 11:57:32 EDT
From:	larathia@mcs.net (Larathia)

Evil, evil boy. All right, you've one upped me, I'll play the hand :)

**********************

The image of Nighthawk in the moonlight roused a strong sense of deja-vu in
the Hendriksen. She was both here, in her black and silver within the fort,
and somewhere else, where another clear elven voice spoke alien words of
benediction while she wore a gown -- a gown! -- as green as her eyes.

"Under the eyes of Sehanine Moonbow, the lady of dreams, and with the
blessing of Aerdrie Faenya, I declare the bond true," said the voice. "Be
blessed." And the voice spoke two names, one being Nighthawk's, and one
that was his...but it was not Lance Hendriksen.

Another image...he felt younger. He wore two longswords of fantastic
quality and design, the guards made to resemble a tiger's stripes, with
large tiger's-eye stones set in each pommel. The blades were so enchanted
his hands almost tingled when he touched them. He remembered he had not
eaten or drunk in days, listening to the voice of the forest and waiting
for his name, the name of his true-self, the magical name. When in the
image the name came to him, he realized that he wasn't hallucinating, he
was remembering.

He had been an outcast elf, half of the reclusive mountain kin, half of the
desert, a master bladesinger, a wandering knight of the elf kind. He had
loved Nighthawk, and she him, and they had been bonded together for life.
That was where it had started. That life had been pretty typical, but then
Nighthawk had become a world-walker...immortal.

Every time he died, of old age or any other cause, he was reborn somewhere
near Nighthawk, and she was alone until he remembered his name. He wasn't
always an elf, or even humanoid...up until a month or so ago in fact, he
had been called Smeauer, and been an elf-cat. It all depended on how well
he lived, and what sort of life was near Nighthawk at the time. But Smeauer
wasn't his true-name either, any more than Lance Hendriksen was. That was
just the birth-name. He knew who he was, now.

Nighthawk watched the Lance Hendriksen's face change from what she'd come
to recognize as its typical set, take on a distant expression, and then
stare directly into her eyes with a look half of love, half of mischief.
Surprise rooted Nighthawk to the spot as the Hendriksen reached out and
touched her cheek gently with a finger. The gesture was so familiar that
for a moment she did not react, giving the Hendriksen time to say,

"Hello again, my love. I am Aelis-Re."

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A witch who is bored might do *anything*...the last thing you want a witch
to do is get bored and start making her own amusements, because witches
sometimes have famously erratic ideas about what is amusing.
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