Liebestod

Apokalypsis
Part Two:
Liebestod Jewel Faulkner
jfaulkne@brynmawr.edu

         Intro: "Liebestod" is the name of the *one* genuine aria within Wagner's opera Tristan und Isolde. It is the finale of the opera, and the time when all of the chords and music finally cadences in the piece. Not only that, it is the scene of Isolde's death, when she literally wills herself to die so that she may join Tristan in death, which, as the theme of the opera states, is the only way that a love such as theirs can truly be fulfilled; the connection between Eros (Love), and Thanatos (Death). "Liebestod" is German for this idea, literally 'Love-death'.
         Ironically enough, "Xanatos" is an alternate spelling of the god of death's name, Thanatos.
         Oh, and remember: time passes *far* differently on Avalon than it does earth.
         Legal stuff: the gargoyles, the fey (aside from Thoth, Hecate, and the Fates--this conceptualization of them is mine), and Alexander belong to Buena Vista. Mark Adams is Scott Iskow's. Everyone else is mine.

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Summary of "Egli era nato:"
Titania has decided that the power that Christian has is too great to allow him to live. She won't break her word to Christine, but she decides that, if nothing else, she should evaluate his 'threat.' She appears in his room one night while he sleeps, and is shocked by what she finds. Christian has grown into a man so handsome that her breath is taken away, and she decides that she won't kill him--not yet. She instead begins an affair with him. But she tires of him, as she knew she would. But she is obsessed with him. She won't let him live; he's simply too powerful and also not for someone else to one day have--he is hers to destroy. She decides that she will destroy him--but in such a way as to not be blamed. She knows Christian, and she knows his weaknesses and fears. He fears becoming Shiva. So she begins to give him false visions of him as a murderer. But soon, she discovers a better way to drive him to suicide. Because, more than his fears of becoming evil, is his dependence on Hope. In order to have him truly drive him to suicide, Titania has to drive Hope away--or rather, force Christian to drive her away. So she sends Christian hallucinations of his physically attacking and of raping Hope. Horrified by what he's seeing, he separates himself from Hope. But he is dependent on her, and slowly being driven insane by his false visions. Hope, however, refuses to be driven out of his life. Christine, after being tipped off by Thoth that all is not right, calls Hope and tells her to see Christian. Hope confronts Christian, and he literally runs out, not able to handle everything.
Christine, meanwhile, confronts Oberon. She's furious because Titania has broken her own oath, to not interfere with her family. She tells Oberon that Titania "has been screwing a 21 year old boy, yes." and insists on *his* oath that no more fey will interfere in their lives. But when she opens a portal to Avalon, the Weird Sister notice the "Feather of Judgment"--the Feather of Ma'at. They get Oberon, realizing that she is one of the "Seven." Christine could care less about their prophecy, she simply wants to get an oath from Oberon. She insists on a blood-oath and pulls out the sais she had used to kill Hecate. When he realizes that she *has* killed Hecate, Oberon is suddenly cold--Hecate had prophesied that her death was the forerunner of the Götterdämmerung, and the fact that Christine's sais *do* draw blood from him frightens him. He gives her the blood oath, but has no intention of keeping it.

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What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.
-Nietzsche

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         Christian put his hands on the keyboard quietly. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, then began to play. He'd always liked Beethoven, for some reason. He supposed it was because he could let go when he played Beethoven--there was no other time when he could, but when he played... Oh, God, the music. He could feel with this dark music, with the raw emotions behind it. His aunt had taught him to play long ago, and he thanked God for that, that she had taught him.
         He began to play the Adagio cantabile of the Pathètique piano sonata. He let go, not looking at the keys as he played, not needing to. He knew, as he began, that there were people passing in the hall, stopping and listening. But he didn't play for them, even though they listened. He was like Hope, he knew--his music was as private for him as hers was for her. The music didn't come with the ease it did from Hope, or from his aunt, but it was still there. Hope used to say sometimes that while she may have had more technical skill, he had gotten the feeling and the passion. He had to struggle for and with the music, but when it came...God, when it came...
         He played. The music came from him and his hands, moving over the keys. Yes, Beethoven fit him and his mood. There was something desperate within the music that called to him. The music...
         For a few precious moments, he didn't have think. He could relax, if only for an instant in time. He let his weariness overtake him. He was so tired. So tired. He relaxed as he played, ignoring the fact that he knew he had listeners on the other side of the door. That knowledge faded away as he gave into the music, playing only for himself.
         When he was little, he used to sit with Hope at Christine's side when she would play. He could remember the way Hope would lean against him and he would watch the way that Christine would sway as she played. They had done that for years, for as long as he could remember. The music, how Christine played, and the way Hope would sigh against him, her eyes closed and her head resting against him. He sighed to himself as he played, thinking about those old days...he could remember sometimes Mark would be there. Mark's eyes would never leave Christine when she played the piano, and there was always something there, in his eyes, a kind of hunger and need that Christian hadn't understood. He'd only begun to understand some of it as he'd grown older, when he realized that there was something sensual about all of it. He'd felt strange, one day, when he'd realized that there was something bordering on the sexual about the whole thing...he had to have been twelve or thirteen...he could see Christine flowing back and forth with the music and Hope leaning against him. He'd enjoyed it all in a way he never had before...and it disturbed him how it felt different. He'd always liked how everything felt, but for the first time, he'd felt guilty about it, and he didn't know why. He didn't know what was different, why everything struck him like it did...the why was beyond him, then...maybe even a little still beyond him now...maybe...
         He kept on playing, despite his thoughts and remembrances, switching to the Adagio sostenuto of the Moonlight sonata. He needed to be lost in his musings. This was something Christine had played, that day. Something in the music, something in the way he'd felt--it had been overwhelming for him, suddenly noticing the sensuality of it all, and feeling that it was wrong of him to notice or to think that it was there. Hope had settled herself against him, wrapping her arms around his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder, her knees brushing against his thigh. He had liked how that had felt, and it bothered him. It had all been overwhelming, actually--the music, the way his unaging aunt had moved--her entire body rocking in time with the music and highlighting the dynamic changes, her breasts brushing against her arms, and the expression on her face one of something Christian couldn't explain at the time, the look in Mark's eyes when he watched her, the emotions that were radiating from the man, the way Hope had felt against him, and the way his arm had felt with her arms wrapped around it. Some part of him had known what pressed so softly against his arm were her just-forming breasts, and that realization shocked him. He'd closed his eyes and sighed, torn for a while between tensing up and just relaxing about it. He'd gotten tenser and tenser as everything had overwhelmed him. He'd felt like his senses were whirling out of control, everything out of control. That was when he'd felt Hope take his hand and smile at him, running the fingers of her other hand through his hair. He remembered that smile, and then how she'd laid her head back on his shoulder. He'd relaxed, then--if Hope hadn't looked at him with disgust, then whatever he was feeling wasn't bad. So he'd relaxed and rested his head on hers, closing his eyes and listening to the music, feeling no shame about the way she felt against him or the way that that made him feel.
         Christian sighed. The only reason Hope hadn't been disgusted was because she hadn't known what he'd been feeling...that had to be it. She wasn't an empath, and he had to continually remind himself of that. Her psi abilities were relatively weak, aside from her psychokinesis. God, if she'd known...and his dreams that day when he'd slept...all vague and undefined, a feel of hair here, a feel of soft, unidentified flesh here...but still, there was something there, something suffusing it all like the sensuality of it all had suffused Christine's playing and the way that Hope had felt against him, and the way that it had overwhelmed him and his senses, even in the vague dream-memory he'd had of it that night. He played.
         "Christian."
         His hands missed the keys when he jumped.
         Hope locked the door firmly behind her. She had a passcard to the same practice room as he was using. She had called Christine immediately. And then...then, what Christine had told her, about Christian and Titania, about what Titania was doing to him now, everything he had been having visions of...dear god, now she knew what had been so wrong with him, why he had been so afraid. But he had no idea it wasn't him. She had known. She had known this wasn't him. She didn't fear him. She had never feared *him*. She could fear what others would try to turn him into, to do to him...but she could never fear *him*, and she knew he had to know that.
         He hadn't even heard her come in, he'd been so lost in his thoughts.
         They were alone.
         "Christian...we have got to talk." the girl said, her eyes deadly serious. "We have to." She'd watched him play, feeling a lump in her throat as she'd watched him, his eyes shut, his large hands moving unerring over the keys and ripping sobbing emotion from them. She'd never been able to do that, never, no matter how much she practiced. She may have learned the music with ease and mastered it long before he did, but...when he played, there was a gripping, pure emotion to it that she knew far exceeded her and her technical abilities. He was like Christine in that--he poured all of himself into the music, feeling it and therefore making it felt by anyone listening. There was a basic, throbbing yearning in that music, a need for something she knew that he couldn't understand or express, so he would let the music do it for him. That music pulled at something inside her, made something quicken and beat and her hands shake. That was why she had stopped him, because it frightened her--both to see him as a shattered man exposing his emotions for the world and because of how she felt, and it reminded her of why she had searched him out in the first place. She wanted to run to him, to smooth away the knots in his brow, the weariness in his face. She wanted to hold him, his head resting on her breast, rocking until he was calm and whole again, and to feel him against her, seeking her emotional stability like he often had and to give him that willingly; to let him inside so that he could calm the overwhelmed torrent in his mind.
         Christian closed his eyes, laying his hands on the keys again. "Please, Hope, not now...just not now." he whispered.
         "Yes, now." she said, putting her hands on the top of the piano, her eyes meeting his. He stared at her, and she suddenly felt so small...but she wasn't afraid of him. How could she be? Even after everything she knew...how could she be afraid of him? She sighed again. He looked at her.
         No...this was bad...the timing was bad, it was, this was a mistake; she should have left the tortured genius alone to his music...but how could she? How?
         He began to play again. She felt tears seep into her eyes. The way he played, the way he looked when he played, the emotions that it all sent through her...she began to cry, silent tears that she barely even noticed. Christian's eyes were closed, as they always were when he lost himself in the music like he was now...she walked behind him, leaning against his broad back, shaking with emotions and silent tears. Was he going to be so cruel to her? To block her out, to not let her inside, while torturing her with this music that laid bare his soul? Her arms wrapped around his waist, her head against his back, feeling his long hair beneath her cheek and his heartbeat resonating in his chest, her tears falling down her face. How could he do this to her? Didn't he know what he was doing, what this was doing to her? Didn't he?
         With a sudden cry, he wrenched himself free of her, jumping to his feet and enveloping her in his arms, lifting her off her feet and nearly crushing her. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shake with his own tears, feeling his shaking body surrounding her. Soon they were on the floor, her sitting and him curled on the floor, his head on her lap and her arms around him, his hands on her arms tightly and desperately, assuring him that she was there and she couldn't go anywhere, the words coming out in a torrent. She rocked with him, fighting back the tears she knew about, not sure how to proceed but glad that he was here and she was here; that they were together... She looked down at his hands. They were so large...those hands, the ones that could rend solid steel, but could also play such music, and hold her with such desperation and tenderness... She looked at him, in awe of this giant man she held who needed her so much. He was so powerful, but so fragile...he needed her and she needed him to need her. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and over his shoulders, bending over to rest her head against his. They stayed like that, neither saying a word, silent. They reassured each other with their silence, with their quiet need of each other and quiet reassurance of the other that they were there.
         Normally, that was enough. But now, after all of this...
         They stared at each other, their faces almost touching, their eyes unmoving. One of them moved, neither really knew who, and there was a tumult, a hazing in Christian's mind of where one thing ended and another began, of where she ended and he began; of who was who and who was separate. One and two, two and one, who was who, where was each, how did it end or begin? This was not a dream; this was nothing like those hallucinations and nightmares that had haunted him. There was a sharp reality in all of this blissful haze, in who and what they were and who and what they were now, in all of it. He cried out her name, knowing that she was there, with him, because she wanted to be and no other reason, and she called out his, and so it was, so they were, and so they would be. There was only this that was real, only this merging and reforming, only this primal exhibition of the bond they already shared and which was unchangeable and immutable, binding them more than any physical act could, but which culminated in this.
         When had he changed? Hope realized suddenly that she was in over her head, she was losing herself in him and all of this. She had thought she had known what she was doing, but now she saw that she hadn't at all. Was this Christian? No and yes. This was Christian, not the image of him she had in her mind. He slammed the image of him away as he had been with every movement he made. This was not Christian! This was not the child she had always seen him as, even as she watched him grow older! She let this new knowledge wash over her, losing herself in him and this realization as he moved within her body. She lost herself in this understanding, almost detaching herself from her body and the sounds that it made, the way that he was making it feel, but not doing so because she knew she was losing herself in this man. She knew again, more than she ever had, that she had been made for him. Her entire existence was because of him. She reaffirmed to herself that she would be whatever he needed her to be--not because of a sense of duty, but because she wanted to. She would willingly be what he needed. This was not a task, not a burden, but what she wanted. She wanted to be where she was, with him and moaning, even if she hadn't known what she was getting into. She was his and he was hers, she knew just as he knew that now this was forever. Who else could protect him from himself? This man was hers as much as she was his, and she willingly gave herself up to him as she felt his need for her--not just this act, but for *her*--crescendo and build, knowing that it frightened him how much he needed her and always had, and his fear that he would lose her was overwhelming to him. There was a desperation in him, as he seemed to assert that she was has and that he needed her. She tried to calm the desperation by giving him all that she was, holding back nothing, feeling his mind reaching for hers with more desperation than his body driving into her. Open and inviting, she let him inside of her, mentally and physically, knowing that to hold back anything would destroy him. She knew that she had power over him; a power he and all of his magic and strength could never hope to match, and with that came more responsibility than he could ever know.
         Then they lay next to each other, neither speaking because no words were needed. Both knew then that this was far more forever and binding than what they had been before. Both, independently, wondered what had led them to these events. But neither spoke, because both knew how the other felt. They were each other's other halves; they always had been and always would be; there was no fighting or denying this, no way of negating. It was as they knew it would be. They had only each other, and it was all they would ever need because they knew it would be all they would ever have.

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You were borne from the wreckage
Of your silent reveries
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find
Some comfort here.
-"Angel"

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         Hope stared at Christian as he slept, running her hand down his cheek, relieved that he finally could. She let him rest, her own thoughts whirling. There were going to be repercussions, she knew. Big ones. She was going to have to handle this; she would try her best to not burden him with them.
         The first were their parents. If...when, she amended, knowing there was no way of keeping this from an empath and a telepath, they found out, things were going to all hit the fan. What if they try to separate us? Hope tightened her arms around Christian. No. They would both refuse, and they wouldn't be forced on this issue. He needs me too much for me to leave him, she thought, laying her head on the top of his. In his sleep he sighed and Hope smiled. She would protect him from all of this. He had to be. He was in too fragile a state for her not to.
         She sighed to herself. And she began to speak. There was a lot she knew that he didn't. Like about Titania's role in this. She told him everything Christine had told her before she had come looking for him this time. Things were going to be more difficult now, she knew. She knew. Christine would never accept this. Belinda would never accept this. And Mark...she didn't even want to think about how loudly he wasn't going to accept it. The only problem was that they had to. She twined some of his hair around her finger and he opened his eyes. He raised his head and looked at her, his face serious.
         "Things are all messed up now, aren't they?" he said in a small voice.
         She smiled at him and ran her fingers through his dark hair. "No. Some things are complicated now, but...but not messed up."
         He sighed. "You don't have to protect me, Hope."
         "Yes, I do." she said seriously. "And you know it. You need me."
         His eyes were dark. "Yeah. I do. But I...I won't...you..."
         She smiled, knowing what she meant, as she always had. "You can't force me to do anything, and you know I would never do anything just because I felt I had to. I'm where I am because I *want* to be."
         "God, Hope!" Christian finally said with a sob, breaking down, burying his face in her stomach and wrapping his arms around her waist, shaking with emotion and exhaustion.
         Hope cried as well.
         "How could she do that to me, Hope?" he finally said. "Making me think I would hurt *you*...how could she treat me like that? How could she mess with my head like that? I *trusted* her, and she..." He stopped talking and looked up at Hope, still irrationally terrified for one moment of hurting her, but touching her face and realizing just how impossible that was and always had been. He'd trusted Titania. And look what she'd done. How could he trust anyone?
         Hope took his hand. "And she hurt you. And you don't know if you can trust anyone like that again." she whispered.
         Christian and Hope looked at each other, silent. "I can trust you." he whispered, touching her face again.
         "Yes." she whispered back, just as quietly, her eyes never leaving his. "Always."
         His arms tightened around her, his head lowering again to rest on her breasts. He closed his eyes, resting against her. "So where do we go from here?" One hand gently ran down the curve of the side of the breast his face didn't rest on.
          "I don't know." she said, sighing and closing her eyes, leaning into his hand slightly. "I just don't know."
         Christian rolled onto his back, taking Hope with him. She rested her head now on him, his arms wrapped tightly around her. She raised herself and felt his hands on her breasts, his large hands enveloping them. She leaned down and kissed him, sealing their bond. His hands went down to her waist, encircling it. She could remember when Christian was as small as she, when they were children...how had he grown into this man? She ran her hands over his chest. Once, this chest had been thin and narrow; when had he changed so much? She felt his hands on her hips, and knew he wondered something similar about her. Time had passed, and they were no longer children. They proved this to themselves now, through exploring the changes in each other that they had never noticed because they had seemed so slight as they developed. She had known he had grown up, but she hadn't seen him as a man until now, until after this act, when he had shown her that he was no longer a child. She had gone into this without that understanding, and now it overwhelmed her. Yes, she had known superficially that he was no longer a child; after all, he was taller, stronger, and bigger than her and had been for a long time. But that had all been so superficial. Now, for the first time, laying with him in her arms, she truly knew that he was a man, one who was taller and stronger and larger, not just Christian, but now...now something more. These large hands did not belong to the boy she had once innocently assumed Christian to always be. Her eyes were opened, and now things could never go back to the way they had been.
         "When did you grow up, Hope?" Christian finally whispered, running one lone fingertip down the side of her body.
         "When did you?" she answered back, shivering from the sensation caused by his finger, then leaned down over him to kiss him again. Now his hands tightened over her waist, protective of her as his and now needing her. She answered his silent question with another kiss, this one different from the gentle kiss of before, this one proclaiming that she was his to do so with as he liked--that now she knew what was truly involved in this. But there was a hint of a warning in it, that by so doing, he was also hers. To gain her, he had to lose himself, and to gain him, she had to do the same. She gave him the option of pulling back and them making their lives fold back into some simulacrum of what it had been. But there was no question of this being done. As they kissed, then eventually began to touch and move and sigh, they both knew that this was a forever thing, now. They cried out together, her hands tightening over his chest as she felt him within her, then when he pulled her down so she lay on him, her head under his chin and arms wrapped around her so that she knew thoroughly that she was his and he would protect her even as she protected him, his every movement within her seeming to reaffirm this and his total possession and need of her. And she welcomed him into her, needing him with the desperation that she had felt from him earlier, needing to know that he needed her, her hands tangling in his shining hair and her head on his chest, closing her eyes to this feeling of possessing and being possessed, and of everything growing to a point, rolling over her, of her entire existence being explained as this and now. She felt him begin to move faster, and she closed her eyes and tightened her hands in his hair, feeling the inexorable pull of reaching and reaching and reaching for fulfillment, for the moment when the world would stop and her heart feel as if it was about to explode. It was building, coming closer, growing in intensity and in her need for it. Her body strained for it, growing more desperate as the moment came closer and closer, tiny whimpering sounds coming from her throat, echoed by the sounds she heard resonating in Christian's chest. Closer, closer, closer, then, then the shuddering body and the weakness that always came. Dimly, she felt him suddenly tense and grow weak from his own release, and then they lay together, silent and drowsing, still joined together, still possessing and possessed, their heartbeats thudding into a rhythm that settled as they fell asleep.

*** *** *** ***          Thoth sighed to himself. The Götterdämmerung was beginning. It had begun long ago; the wheels had been set into motion. He had watched for so long...in a way, he looked forward to the End. But, ah...it could have so easily been avoided. But it was done; much as the mythical Ragnorak was to be brought about by the Gods' own folly, so was this true one. The End was near.
         This was no longer a world where magic could reign. It had for too long outlived its usefulness. The old Gods had outlived their usefulness. And now...now came the Götterdämmerung.
         He sighed again. How many thousands of years had culminated in this? In the dawning of the Twilight?
         He flapped his wings and flew. *** *** *** ***          "Fair Ones, hear us!" Oberon said from the caves of the Ladies. The Trinity goddess, all of them--the Fates-Norns-Parcae, the Furies-Eumenides-Dirae--had their locations, all far from Avalon. The Fates had their home far beneath the earth, far from even Avalon. He had never before entered their realms. It was dangerous. For even the king of gods was not destined to know his fate. But now he was here, because he had to be.
         "My Lord Oberon." he heard a voice say. As he stared into the darkness he slowly became aware that they were there, weaving and twisting.
         "My Ladies. We have come..."
         "We know why you have come." the youngest of the eternal replied. "You come seeking to know if you can stop what is coming."
         "Yes. We command you to..."
         "*He* commands *us*?" the "eldest" said. Oberon did a double take.
         "He-Hecate!"
         Atropos laughed. "I am not Hecate. But we are Hecatae. It is one of our names. Hecatae. Eumenides. The Norns. The Dirae. The Parcae. The Ma'ats. The Fates. The Werde Sisters. The Prophetesses. All are our sisters and ourselves, my Lord Oberon. Even the failed trinity of Hecate-Belinda-Erika is a part of us. For it did not fail completely. For a moment they were trinity and so forever they are us. Two may be dead...but they are still of us." As they spoke, the three had blended and morphed, each for an instant appearing to be the people of whom they spoke--the Hecatae, Artemis Demeter Hecate; the Parcae, Clotho Lachesis Atropos; the Eumenides, Megaera Allecto Tisiphone; the Weird Sisters, Selene Luna Phoebe; the failed trinity, Erika Belinda Hecate; then finally a child hybrid crying tears of blood from her left eye, a pale and almost emanciatedly thin woman with short curly red hair, Belinda again--all this before returning to the Fates.
         Oberon felt his heart pounding in his chest. What had he done? Come here, alone, into the lair of the Fates?
         "You seek your fate." the middle said, measuring carefully. The eldest snipped and then the three weaved.
         "What weave you now?"
         "A Twilight."
         "Is...is it my..."
         The Fates laughed. "There are many Twilights that we weave. Many Ragnaroks, of men and gods. Yours was but one. Leave here, little Lord." Clotho said, not looking up from her cloth.
         "The answers you seek we cannot give to you." Lachesis said as she looked at the tapestry, nodding.
         "The outcome to this is woven." Atropos said as she weaved the thread she had just cut into a tapestry.
         "We can not help you. For even we are bound." the Three said as one, in the voices of all of the Trinity goddesses.
         What bound the Fates? Oberon backed away, eyes wide.
         "But you are not. Not even by your own oaths." the child crying blood said as the three vanished into the blackness of the cave.
         "Great Ladies, I pray you. I need your aid." he said into the empty cave. Slowly, oh so slowly, he became aware once more of three women weaving in the darkness.
         "So the little Lord would stay for his future." one of them said. He startled.
         "Be-Belinda!"
         She walked out of the shadows, smiling, walking with a slight switch in her hips. "Am I, Lord? You come seeking your fate. *I* am Fate. I am *your* Fate."
         "Y-you are not Belinda..."
         She smiled. The same smile, that grin with those two dimples, her tail swishing behind her. "Aren't I?"
         "We--we do not..."
         "You seek your Fate, do you not, my Lord?"
         "We...we seek to know..."
         "Then sit, my Lord." Belinda, said, still smiling, her eyes veiled. "Sit, and shuffle the cards."
         Slowly, warily, he sat on the floor, taking the tarot cards from her hands. He shuffled. Belinda sat in front of him, cross-legged, taking the cards when he returned them. She dealt the cards just as slowly. Three cards, only three.
         "Past." a voice said. The voice of that child. The child he had seen once before. She was a vaguely familiar looking. She stared at him.
         "Present." a second voice said. The red-haired woman he had seen before, only now she was of a normal weight, her hair long and curling, hanging halfway down her back, her dark blue, almost violet eyes staring into his own. She came forward, her dark blue eyes boring into his.
         "And finally, Future." Belinda said, smiling at him.
         He felt a chill.
         Belinda flipped the card of the past. The hybrid child came forward. "The Lovers." she said. "Reversed. A bad choice in love has been made." As she explained the card, slowly, a drop of blood welled up from her right eye and rolled down her cheek. Then from her ear, and finally, her nose. She stepped back into the shadows as Belinda flipped the second card.
         The woman stepped forward. "The Moon. Fluctuation and change; dark elements and uncertainty. The feminine." As she spoke, her hair shortened, and she became thinner, growing paler. But her eyes stayed the same, staring at him, boring into him, as she faded into the shadows.
         "And finally, your future." Belinda said, turning over the card with a seductive smile. "Death."
         Oberon jumped to his feet, sliding back, eyes wide. The three smiled, changing into the Fates. Suddenly, suddenly the cave vanished into nothingness, leaving him alone in am empty field, no sign of the a cave having ever existed in such a place as this.
         "Fare thee well, Lord Oberon." the voice of Hecate called out of the emptiness. "Fare thee well."
         Oberon fled. *** *** *** ***          Belinda stared forward blankly, shaking her head harshly. What on earth had...she looked down. She had...she had just done a spread. She frowned--she didn't remember setting out the cards, or even picking them up. But she looked at the cards, puzzling.
         "The Lovers...the Moon...Death...?" She frowned. After a moment, her head cleared. This was a warning of some sort, she knew. But of what? And why would she only do a three card spread? She frowned again and gathered the cards. All she had used where the Major Arcana. She shuffled the cards again, and dealt a second spread. She did a spread with only the Major Arcana, this time, for a reason she didn't know herself, set out seven cards. Underneath, she placed three cards.
         The first card was the Chariot. The second card, the Devil. The third, the Moon. Strength. The Magician. The Tower. Judgment.
         The three cards underneath: The Hanged Man; Temperance, the Hermit.
         She frowned, staring at the cards, trying to make sense of them. It was not coming.
         The Chariot. Turmoil. Struggle within. Being pulled by different forces.
         The Devil. Malevolence. Bondage. Fatality. Violence. Self-destructive.
         The Moon. Disillusionment. Selfishness. Deceit. Craftiness. Disgrace.
         Strength. Courage. Conviction. Action.
         The Magician. Masterfulness. Self-control.
         The Tower. Unexpected events. A breakdown of false structures.
         Judgment.

         There was something within the cards. Something it was telling her, if only she could figure it out. She stopped, then went to the three cards beneath the seven.
         The Hanged Man. A sacrifice. Life in suspension. Great loss for a later gain.
         Temperance. Moderation. Harmony. Good influence. The mixing or bringing together into a perfect union..
         The Hermit. Self-denial. Withdrawal. Regression. Fear of discovery.
         Confused, she set out two more cards. She flipped them. Death and finally the Wheel of Fortune.
         Death. Transformation. Clearing the old to prepare for the new. Death.
         The Wheel of Fortune. A course of events from beginning to end; the hand of Fate.
         She knew that there was something in here. She knew. And it frightened her, because she suddenly knew that there was something far greater than her involved. She felt it within her, stronger than she had ever felt anything before in her life. Something was coming.
         It was coming.

*** *** *** ***          Titania's eyes met her husband's. "Yes. I did sleep with him. And it was only sex, my husband. Nothing more."
         "*Only* sex? Nothing *more*?" Oberon fumed.
         "Yes. Nothing more. You so dallied with the mother--was it so wrong for me to do the same with the son?" she said, her voice a smooth monotone as she coolly raised an eyebrow. Oberon still fumed, angry. Yes, it was wrong. She was his wife and it was wrong.
         "That is unimportant, my Lord!"
         "The Ma'at of Ma'ats!"
         "The approaching Götterdämmerung!" the Weird Sisters interrupted.
         Oberon frowned, and looked at them. "Yes...yea, Sisters, the Twilight comes." he said flatly. Titania's eyes widened.
         "The Twilight?"
         "Yes. The Ma'at has been chosen."
         She knew from the look on his face that what he was going to say next was not going to be good. "The Ma'at is Christine, is it not?"
         Silence.
         "She will not be a fair judge!" Titania cried out.
         "Perhaps you do not deserve one." Oberon answered back. Rage still filled him. He would kill this bastard child who had dared to touch his wife. It was of no importance to him what Titania's oath had been--he had not made the oath, and he was Lord of Avalon. He would do whatever he so wished in this matter. And as for his vow to Christine--well, that mattered not. This was a matter of pride, now. The boy had...had dared to touch his Lady Wife. He would seek revenge for that act, and then leave them be.
         Yes, the boy would die. As he should have the instant he had taken his first breath. And then he would strip the magic bond binding Christine and Belinda to each other.   Then they, too, would die. Belinda for her crimes; Christine to stop the Götterdämmerung. The vow he made was now moot, because he had to protect Avalon from the coming of the Twilight. Besides, his only oath to her was not to interfere as Titania had...and he would not interfere in the ways that she did.
         He smiled. *** *** *** ***          Thoth shook his head. They were so certain in what they were doing...they had no idea all they did was serve to draw their Twilight ever closer. The Destroyers would come first, before the Judge--and they were creating the Destroyers now with their actions. Of so many chances at saving themselves, the gods had failed. The fey were bringing upon themselves their own destruction. The bones were cast.
         He closed his eyes.

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

If you knew all that I knew all that I knew,
My poor Jerusalem,
You'd see the truth,
But you'd close your eyes
But you'd close your eyes.
While you live, your troubles are many,
Poor Jerusalem.
To conquer death, you only have to die.
You only have to die.
-"Poor Jerusalem," Jesus Christ, Superstar

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

ONE WEEK LATER

         Christine stared out of the window. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Her fingers tightened and dug into her shirt; she bowed her head and let her hair fall over her distended stomach. She could feel her baby moving, but her thoughts were miles away from that.
         She was not going to cry. She was not. Even though she felt overwhelmed by all of this. She knew what was happening. Thoth had whitewashed over nothing. She knew.
         How did this happen? Hope...Christian...how? They were just children...
         "Christine?"
         She looked up suddenly. "Hunh?" She rubbed her eyes tiredly.
         "Are you all right, Christine?" Mark asked, kneeling down next to her. Christine managed a faint smile, but one that never reached her eyes.
         "You're not answering me." Mark said, raising his eyebrows.
         She managed a more genuine smile, then. But it didn't last long. Mark wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against him, closing her eyes.
         "You still aren't answering me."
         "I have...a lot on my mind." she said after a long pause. She sighed. "But...I don't feel like talking about it, Mark." she said quietly. "I just don't."
         He breathed in deeply, but said nothing. OK. If she didn't feel like talking about it, there was no way in hell to convinced her to. It always worried him when she kept things to herself. It always would. But that was who she was--when she wanted to keep silent, she would. If she wanted to talk to him, she would. If she didn't, she wouldn't.
         Christine just stared forward, leaning her head back onto his chest.

*** *** *** ***          Owen looked up suddenly. "Coyote!"
         The Trickster had appeared in Owen's office, quietly, waiting until he was noticed. To Owen, that alone was a bad sign.
         "Brother. I have come to warn you." Coyote said flatly. "It's coming."
         "What is coming?"
         "*It*." Coyote said emphatically. "Surely, my Brother, you have not been gone from Avalon *that* long."
         Owen's eyes widened. "Wha...it is coming?"
         Coyote nodded. "Yes. Hecate is dead."
         Owen found suddenly that he couldn't breath. He raised his hand to his mouth, covering it. "Hecate...is dead?"
         "Yeah. And killed by your little hybrid. Christine."
         "What?"
         "That was why I came to warn you. Puck, she's one of them."
         "Christine...Christine is *not* one of the Seven! How could she be? She is...?"
         "Brother, she opened a portal to Avalon, proclaimed herself the Ma'at, and threatened Oberon."
         "There is more to this than you are telling me."
         "Indeed there is, Brother." Coyote said sadly. "We must talk, my Brother. There is much that is happening on Avalon. There is so much..." *** *** *** ***          She spoke suddenly. "I have to go, Mark." She pulled away from him, slowly. She knew what she had to do, but it weighed on her as much as her inaction had before.
         "Where are you going?" he asked, brushing her white streak of hair out of her face. She smiled faintly when he did so, then her face once again took on the tired, determined look it had had before.
         "The Eyrie. I need to talk to Owen." She rubbed her eyes tiredly.
         "Christine, what's wrong?" he asked again. Now his face was more set, more determined. Something was wrong.
         She shook her head. "I...I'll explain it all when I get back. Right now, I don't quite know all of what's happening. A whole hell of a lot has happened in the last few days, Mark. It's going to be hard to explain. But I promise I'll try when I get back. I'm hoping Owen will have some answers for me." She closed her eyes. Mark said nothing, frowning.
         "All right." he said, shaking his head. He watched as she left, his mind whirling. Christine moved in so many circles sometimes--there were aspects in her life that had always been beyond the world he knew. Something was happening in one of those other worlds that had lately been so easy for him to forget about. She left, climbing to the roof and gliding in the night. She rarely ever did that, since it always exhausted her, now more than ever. But he knew that when she did choose to glide anywhere, it was usually because she needed badly to relax. As painful as flying was for her, there was also a release in it that she had never been able to adequately explain, only saying it was her instinct.
         He was disturbed by her going. Not because she was going to Eyrie. But because...because she was going to Eyrie. To see Owen. Something he couldn't put his finger on about Owen and Christine disturbed him. He couldn't say what exactly it was. He couldn't even say why it disturbed him.
         There was a knock on the door. He opened it. "Belinda! Hi. Come in. But Christine's not here."
         She didn't look surprised. She came in, frowning slightly. "She's not here? Great. Oh, well. Maybe you'll have a clue what�s going on." she said as she headed straight for the refrigerator. She pulled it open and started rooting through it immediately. Mark managed to hold off a snort.
         "If you look behind the milk, you'll find half a chicken." he finally said. "And a container of peirogies."
         "Thanks, Hunter." she said, pulling them about. "I also saw a container of lima beans. Could you grab them for me?"
         "Freak." he said, getting them while she started warming the food up. While she was warming up the food, she grabbed an apple with her tail and started eating it. "Didn't you eat before you came?"
         "Yeah, I did, but you guys have better food than I do. 'Tine's always been a better cook than me. You want any?"
         "Will there be any for me? I've seen you eat."
         She swatted him with her tail. "Ha, ha. You want any or not?"
         "No, that's OK."
         "So how's Angie?"
         He grinned. "She's doing great. She's at a sleepover right now. One of her little friends."
         "Smart of Christine to think about putting a glamour on the kid so she could go to school."
         "Yup."
        "Looking forward to the new addition?" she said as she carried the food to the table. "And you could give me a hand, you know."
         "Yeah, I could. Or I could just watch you do it." he said with a grin. She swatted him again, only this time he was quicker and moved out of the way. "And yes, I'm definitely looking forward to when the next little rugrat shows up."
         "I bet 'Tine will be even happier. Girl looked ready to pop last I saw her."
         He laughed. "She's still got a while. She only just hit the third trimester."
         She laughed. "I remember how much she swelled up with Angelica. People thought she was going to have triplets. So what are y'all thinking about for names?"
         "Joshua for a boy and Theresa for a girl."
         "So you still don't want to know which it is?"
         "Nope. Christine wants the surprise. Me, I'd like to know."
         Belinda snorted. "You just want to know if this time you get a son."
         "Hey!"
         She laughed. "The last thing you need is another little girl to get you wrapped around her little finger. Angelica just smiles and you do whatever she wants you to. She had you from the second you saw the little bologna loaf. And I fear for the safety of any man who ever tries to date her when she hits the teenage years."
         He grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. Christine has told me the same thing more times than I can count. So what did you come over for, besides to eat all of the leftovers?"
         "Actually, I came to ask if she knew what was happening with Christian. I was hoping maybe Hope and told her something." she said, frowning. "Christian's been a wreck, lately. He won't talk to anyone. I was hoping that maybe...?"
         Mark shook his head no. "She hasn't told me anything. But...but something is definitely up. Christine's looked just this side of death warmed over the last day or so, and she headed over to the Eyrie to see Owen. She flew."
         Belinda's eyes widened. "Shit. Something is going on. Dammit, I hate being left in the dark." she said angrily.
         "Well, she promised to tell me what was happening when she got here."
         "And she's going to be telling me, too." Belinda said flatly. "If it involves my son, oh yeah." *** *** *** ***          She'd needed to make innumerable stops on the way over, but now she was here. At the Eyrie.
         She landed on the roof carefully. She had not bothered to let anyone know she was coming, so she was greeted when she landed. Brooklyn. He was so much older than she remembered him best as. He was at the age where he often remained behind, as the younger gargoyles would go out on patrol, at an age where he knew soon he would pick a successor for leader. "Christine?"
         "Hello, Brooklyn. Have you seen Owen around anywhere?"
         "He's inside." he said, nodding faintly. She appeared so much the same, so young. There were times when he envied her her immortality. But, he thought to himself, he couldn't trade his life for hers. Her immortality had come at a price that was far too high.
         "Thanks." Christine said, brushing her hair out of her face.
         "So when is the baby due?"
         "Not for a few more months. You'd never guess that from how big I'm getting. Ugh." she said with a faint grin, rubbing her stomach. "I'm already beginning to feel like a cow." She shook her head. "Excuse me. I really need to talk to Owen."
         She walked past Brooklyn, her thoughts whirling. She walked into the Eyrie, ignoring everything around her, until she reached Owen's office. She knocked on the door, and there was a long pause before his voice answered.
         "Enter."
         She went in, to find Owen sitting at his desk, writing. He looked up and his eyes widened imperceptibly when he saw her.
         "Owen, I have to talk to you." she said, shaking her head slightly, walking to his desk and then tiredly dropping into a chair. She didn't look at him. She just looked at her hands. They had...things had been strained between them. She didn't really know why. She supposed it was because she had died in front of him, and for five years, he thought she was dead. And then, to suddenly remember a memory of her from almost five thousand years before...he just didn't quite know how to deal with it. So things had been...strained. She had felt it. Everyone had. And there were times when they looked at her strangely. The only hard thing was that it wasn't strained just on his end. It was strained on hers as well. So many years had passed. So many. The people of her past were...different. As if she saw them through different eyes. Trying to shoehorn herself back into her past roles, trying to shoehorn past people into past roles she barely remembered, was doomed to be a dismal failure. Perhaps that was why they hadn't tried. Why there had been a strain of some sort between them.
         "And I must speak with you." he said, standing. He began to pace, seeking words. "Christine...child...something is happening on Avalon. They are afraid."
         "They should be. Do you know what's happened?"
         "Yes." he said softly. "Please, listen to me. This is more important tan anything else has ever been, Christine."
         She stared at him, eyes wide. He was shaking. It was slight, so slight than any one else would not have noticed.
         "It is coming, Christine." he finally said.
         "What's coming?"
         "The Twilight." he said softly. "The end of the fey. The end of Avalon. It's coming."
         She stared at him blankly.
         "Among the fey, there is a prophecy. Hecate proclaimed it when she was banished, and it has been repeated often in other oracles. The prophecy is that Seven will come. Who these Seven are, we have never known. We only know that they are the Destroyers, the Avengers, the Forerunner, and the Judge. We had believed that Shiva and Belinda were the bringers of the Twilight. And since they had been defeated, it was thought the threat was over. But there was something that was forgotten. That in Hecate's prophecy, she told us when it would begin. It would begin when we learned of her death...at the hands of the Angel of Music and the Princess of Death." He looked at Christine. "Is it true, Christine? Is it true *you* have killed Hecate?"
         "Yes. I did. She threatened my family, what else could I have done?"
         "Dear Fates." he whispered. He grew so pale that Christine feared he was about to pass out. "Dear Fates...I never thought...never dreamed...never truly believed..."
         "What?"
         "The prophecy states that there are Seven Angels of corrupted blood. They know that you are one of the Angels, Christine." he said, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her arms.
         "Who are the Seven? Do you know anything about them?"
         "Of course I do. All of us know the Prophecy. All of us. Seven angels. The Destroyers shall come, seeking to destroy what has tried to destroy them. The Avengers shall arrive after with the Destroyers. Two linked by blood and one by soul to both Avalon and Earth. The Forerunner, who foretells Judge. And there are also three prophets: the child, the mother, and the crone who is not."
         "Owen, be reasonable. I have no intention of getting near Avalon. I just want to know why Titania has broken her oath? And why she did it like she did."
         "Fate." he said in a whisper.
         "Owen, *please*. This silly prophecy has noting to do with why Titania tried to drive Christian insane!"
         "Christine, it is the truth. The Fates have done this. Your path was woven by them and was long ago, before even Avalon." He stood up. "Please...I must be alone." he said in a whisper. "Please."
         "I...all right." she said, standing and backing out. He was terrified, she could feel it. Terrified. Of her.
         She fled. *** *** *** ***          Oberon paced. Paced. What else could he do? The Twilight was coming; his card of Death had been flipped. But...but was the card truly his? Or was it the Fates telling him what to do?
         He thought back to what they had said and what cards had been flipped. They had said that "We can not help you. For even we are bound. But you are not. Not even by your own oaths." He thought about this. And then the cards that had been dealt. The Lovers, reversed. The Moon. Death. The Lovers, a bad choice in love. That was Titania and...and that *boy*. The Moon, his present, was fluctuation and change; uncertainty. But the future was Death.
         But. But he was not bound by his own oaths. The Past card had not been him but Titania. The Present was how he was not. Perhaps...perhaps the Future was *not* his Death, but what he was supposed to do. Yes. He was *not* bound by his oath.
         The Fates had told him what to do. Yes. It was not his fate to die, to but kill. To *cause* the death. To break his oath and free himself. He was not bound unless he bound himself, and it was only if he did that would he die and the Twilight begin.
         Oberon began to smile. Yes. The boy was obviously one of the Seven, and had proven that he wished what belonged only to the Lord of Avalon. The boy had to be destroyed. Once one of the Seven was gone, the prophecy was moot.
         His oath to Christine had only been that he would not interfere as *Titania* had. And he would not. There would be none of her mind games. None. This also was his responsibility as Lord of Avalon, to protect his Kingdom and his Children.
         He was not, after all, bound by his oaths. *** *** *** ***          Christine knew she had more questions than answers, but at least now she had an idea of what was going on. She sighed as she flew, landing at her home heavily. She knew now that she had one of the hardest tasks in front of her--she had to tell Mark about all of this. And Belinda. Oh, God. Telling Belinda was going to be harder than telling Mark. Christian had been everything Belinda lived for--her son was everything to her. Knowing what Titania had done to him was going to kill her. But there really wasn't much of a choice; she had to let them know what was going on.
         "Christine?" Belinda said when Christine had walked in. She and Mark had been sitting on the sofa, talking about something or another. Christine felt her stomach sink, then shut her eyes. Might was well get both over with at once...
         "Don't get up." she said, putting her hand out. She walked over to them and sat down tiredly. She shut her eyes and rolled her head back, feeling wearier than she had in a long time. Then she sighed, opening her eyes and looking at them. "You want to know what's going on, don't you?"
         "Yeah." Belinda said, nodding. "What's going on, 'Tine? Why has my son been a wreck lately and refusing to see anyone? And why do you look like shit?"
         "It's...there's a lot to explain. But I'll try. I only know the basics. And I know that there's a lot going on that I don't know about. And I know that this is just the beginning." she said, rubbing her face. "Titania was going to kill Christian. But instead, she...Lin, this is going to be tough for you."
         "Just tell me." she said, setting her jaw. "It involves my son. Just tell me. It can't be worse than not knowing."
         "She started having an affair with him. And when she got tired of him, she tried to drive him to suicide."
         "What?" Belinda hissed angrily, her eyes glowing for a split second. "That...she...my *son*?   But she *swore*...no!"
         "He's...he's OK now. Because of Hope. Titania tried to make him have nothing to do with her, so..."
         "Fucking *bitch*!" Belinda snarled.
         "...so she gave him 'false visions' of...of hurting her. That was why he was such a wreck. He needs her too much. She keeps him stable. Without her...and with Titania messing with him like she was, it was almost too much for him. Hope...she...she..." Christine didn't know how to say what she knew. So she just didn't. It would come out sooner rather than later, but she couldn't do it herself. "Hope refused to let him. So he's OK. And they know about what Titania did." she finally said, knowing it was a cop-out. but not caring anymore. She rubbed her temples. "I confronted Oberon. And...they saw the Feather of Ma'at. And...Belinda, remember that prophecy you told me about?"
         She frowned. "The fey one? About the Seven and the Twilight?"
         "Yeah. They're...they're convinced that I'm one of the Seven. And Christian. I found this out from Owen." she closed her eyes. "He...he was *frightened* of me."
         She couldn't say anything else. There was only silence. Belinda began to speak. "Christine...a while ago, I...I did a spread. But I didn't remember doing it. That's never happened before. I didn't understand the cards, so I did a spread after, and I spread out, without knowing why, seven cards. And..."
         The phone rang. *** *** *** ***

ONE HOUR BEFORE

         He found the boy quickly. A magical signature as powerful as Christian Maza's was was impossible to *not* find. The boy's weakness, really. He had never learned to properly mask it. Pity for him, really it was.
         They were in a room. A relatively small one. The boy sat at a desk, the girl quietly sat on the bed, reading a book. But she jumped to her feet when Oberon appeared in the room.
         "Who are...Oberon!" Hope said, eyes wide. She had been expecting this sooner rather than later. Not quite this soon, not only days after all of this had occurred and everything was still so up in the air. Only a week had passed since the practice room. Christian's hallucinations had stopped, as had the nightmares. But still, he was a wreck. She hadn't left his side since then. Nor would she.
         Christian turned in the chair when he heard Hope's yell. Oberon said nothing, only stood there, his face showing his rage. Wordlessly, the king raised his hand, pointing it at Christian's back, not even giving him time to get to his feet. A blast of blue light burst from his hand, and then Oberon vanished.

*** *** *** ***          It had registered with Hope the second she had seen Oberon, and she had reacted. She waited until he had attacked. The same instant, she jumped, physically and telekinetically shoving Christian out of the way, praying she would get to him before the blast did. The only was she was bale to do it was because of her telekinesis--as fast as thought, she had both projected herself *forward,* between him and the blast in case she wasn't fast enough to move the chair. One or both would save him. His chair flew out of the way at the same time as the blast hit her.
         Vaguely, she heard him scream. He'd still been hit; his right arm had still been in the way. But more than that, she was aware of pain. Of a lot of it. More pain than she had ever felt in her entire life.
         "Hope! Hope!" Christian yelled shrilly. She didn't respond. "Hope!"
         He held her limp body, rocking and tears streaming down his face. Oberon was gone, but right then, Christian didn't care. "Please, please, Hope, open your eyes. Please."
         She cracked open her eyes. "Chris...tian...I..." Shaking cut off her words, and blood began to run from her mouth. "Call...help...ambulance...." she managed to get out, knowing he was too shaken to even be thinking. And then she realized that he was also in pain--his arm. He had still been hit. His right arm--from half of his arm past the elbow down, it was *shattered*. And his hand...his hand was beyond shattered. Far beyond that.
         He nodded and ran to the phone, calling frantically for an ambulance. When he got back, she was shaking even worse, and he skidded to his knees by her side, ignoring the blinding pain in his arm as best as he could. "Hope...oh, God, Hope..."
         She tried to force a smile, but couldn't when another shaking fit hit her. God, the pain. The *pain*... "Ch-Christian...you...you OK?"
         He started to cry. "You want to know if *I'm* OK? Oh, God, Hope!"
         "Oberon...aiming...at you..." she managed to get out. "He...he'll come back...when...when he sees..." she began.
         "Sshh, Hope." he whispered, smoothing down her hair. "Ssssh."
         She had to prepare him, she knew. "Christian...I don't think I'm..."
         "Ssh!" he said, not wanting to hear her words. He held her gently, cradling her against him. He couldn't think. He couldn't. He was trying. But it hurt too much. His arm...some part of him knew he was going into shock. Some vague part. He also knew he was losing a lot of blood. "Everything's going to be fine, Hope. The ambulance is on its way, and..."
         "Christian." she managed to whisper. She knew her mouth was full of blood, but had no idea where it was coming from--all she knew was that her abdomen was a knot of pain, and felt strangely...inchoate. And she guessed that one lung was punctured. She tried to not think about how badly she was hurt, but part of her scientific mind knew that she was hurt. Bad. And that she very likely was not going to live. She knew that because of the way the pain seemed to be fading. The pain was fading, and it was getting harder to focus on things. And she felt so *cold*.
         "I can't lose you, Hope." he whispered. "Hope, you can't...you can't...you..."
         She shook again, but this time it didn't cause the ravaging pain it had before. "I'm so sorry." she whispered.
         "Hope....you have to hold on....you have to..." He could hear the sirens of the ambulance. She just had to hold on a little longer.
         She managed a wan smile. "I can't." she whispered. She managed to raise a hand enough to touch his hair for an instant before her hand fell away limply. "I'm sorry..." she whispered, then closed her eyes.
         "Hope!"

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

To Be Continued