Disclaimers: Farscape belongs to ---- uh -- someone else, SciFi Channel, etc. Mortal Kombat Conquest belongs to other other people. dragon is, of course, dragon.
Setting: Just after "that old black magic" -- our loving and sensual blue priest has deliberately killed, inflicted pain, to save both our lone human character and a world in submission to a psychic vampire. she ain't happy with herself.
Musings
© 1999, dragon
It was the sound of a sigh that alerted her to the visitor in her quarters. She turned to face --
"Ra-de?" Her voice was tinged with wonder. The blue and white clad male was a mentor of the priesthood. He was -- What was he doing here? Oh. Of course. Her backslide into barbarism. She bowed her head before him.
He sat -- lounged, actually -- on one of the work areas against the wall. He clasped his arms around one leg while he let the other one swing, his foot just out of contact with the floor. The silence deepened as he regarded her with deep brown eyes.
She glanced through her lashes at him. Her head came up slowly until she met that gaze. She read both sorrow and sympathy in his eyes. And a hurt older than time.
"You -- are -- not -- angry?" She spoke so softly that only the keenest of ears, or fine tuned of listening devices, could have heard her.
"Angry?" He sounded puzzled. "Why would I be angry?"
"I --I have --" She stumbled over her confession.
"Used those talents that kept you alive until you became a priest?"
She nodded wordlessly, guilt-ridden. She had saved Crichton, saved a world from a monster, yet had destroyed all she had become in the doing of it. All the savagery, all the hateful, horrid things she had been before were back.
"What did I tell you about the path you chose?"
Again her head snapped up. She was puzzled by his question, as she had once been by his words. She frowned at him. What did he want to hear from her?
Again the sigh. He came off his perch and was too close to her immediately. She recoiled, lashed out, inflicted pain. He caught his breath as pain washed over him, yet he did not move away. Instead, he caught her wrists in his hands and held her, gently. A smile flickered around his mouth.
"You will never be fully what you are until you accept what you have been."
She turned her face from him, her skin blazing darker blue with shame. "Savage." The word was an epithet, a denunciation in her mouth. It was all she had turned away from when she sought the enlightenment of the priesthood.
"Ninth Level Pa'u -- yet one slip into the old ways erases all you have done?" he asked softly, pulling her stiff body into his arms. The soft blue draperies she wore slid across her skin as he drew her into a gentle, almost fatherly embrace. "I told you, that to submerge who you were was not the answer," he whispered into her silver ring-rimmed ear. "That to be whole, you must accept what is past as well as what is. Until you have done this, you will not be whole. Yes, you will achieve much. But there is always that darkness you will fear."
"I fear nothing," she hissed into his shoulder. Yet she did. She feared the savage she had been, the things she had done to survive, for pleasure, for just the doing. She feared the instinctive use of her empathic abilities to hurt. She had never wanted to use herself that way again.
Yet to save the human, her companions and to free a world from the rule of a monster, she had gone back. A shudder ran through her. She knew what it had taken to conquer who she had been.
"To conquer requires a great expenditure of energy. To meld and use -- perhaps not so much."
She looked into his eyes. The heart of a star through which lightning flared and sparkled. He read the question in her eyes and laughed. His eyes were dark and warm again.
"Oh, yes. I have made the same choice. I raged out of control. I suppressed my primal self. I broke. Eventually, I became me again. Not the same. Not the rage. But not the priest only, either. I nearly destroyed a universe. You saved a world, and some friends."
She could sense the power in him now. And the pain he lived with. If he could master himself, draw on both sets of passions, then surely she could again master her savage.
Her arms slid around him, returning his embrace. She was not free yet, but the road lay before her.
He laid a warm kiss on her forehead, a better one on her most kissable lips and vanished. She wondered absently what level one had to achieve to be able to do that.
Finis
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