Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

Chapter Four: A Brand New World

Harry Potter and the Moment of Silence

The first thing he saw was the High Counselman Aphrozodis Questcinzay. The man looked much as he had the last time Harry had seen him. Toweringly tall, rugged, and Celtic. Beside him stood two boys, one around Harry's age and another about five or six years older. Beside them was an attractive woman of about forty. She was tiny, her waist small and pencil-thin. Her eyes were the same as the two teenage girls beside her, which he recognized as Hallyanka and, surprisingly, an identical copy of her on the other side of a little girl.

It was like being tossed into a different world, which he had, he told himself. Their clothing was absolutely ridiculous, baggy and made of wonderful materials. Except for the women, who wore pretty much the same thing as Hallyanka had the last time Harry had seen her, a long, flimsy material that was mostly see through in worn areas.

Beside Harry, Lycander bowed. "High Counselman," he started in Geyesh, "and the royal blood of yours, may I introduce Romane."

Harry gave a short, practiced bow and said his hellos, again in the foreign tongue. Then he simply looked.

They were in a room as large as the Great Hall, with round tables of worn but sturdy redwood. There was only one rectangular table, and that was placed at the head of the room, where twenty foot, colored glass windows towered over the stone and shot glittering colors onto the stone floor. Hanging over the room, hung by magic about ten feet above the tabletops, was material in raw silk, the color of red and black. In the middle was a sketch of fire in what looked to be floating gold dust that hung a couple centimeters away from the fabric. It was, he decided, most definitely a castle made for royalty.

"What do you think?" Aphrozodis asked smugly.

Harry blinked and hesitated. It had taken him a little too long to understand the translation. The Geyesh language was so very crude at times and mangled what normally would be a very well structured English sentence.

"A little stuffy, but sturdy." His accent was horrible, but he could tell they understood. Aphrozodis' face turned cherry pink and his eyes flashed.

The Head Counselman turned to Lycander. "I will see you in my office this moment, Qaiul. Buernos, follow me."

The males left the room in a silent, single filed line. Lycander looked at Harry over his shoulder, his eyes shooting darts of hellfire. Unconsciously, Harry grimaced, then turned. One of the girls, the twins that looked like Hallyanka, was left. The other females were silently padding across the room to exit in a different door.

Hallyanka did what Harry had learned was a dellicour, the little step that he could remember thinking similarly to a curtsy when he'd first met the morge of the High Counselman.

For a moment, the two teenagers stared at one another. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Are you Hallyanka?" he asked, then cursed when he realized it wasn't in Geyesh. He repeated the sentence again, this time correctly.

The girl clasped her hands, then nodded her head. "Jae maeppulle Hallyanka," she assured him.

I am Hallyanka.

Harry nodded, and muttered, "Yup. Okay." They stood there for a few more minutes, just staring at each other; two models of different cultures, wearing different clothing, standing in different stances, thinking different thoughts, facing the other in the eye.

Hallyanka's face suddenly broke out into a small, gradual smile. "I will show you to our room, Romane."

Harry soon learned what living with a woman meant, although he would bet a million galleons that the women in his world would be so different that he probably wouldn't even be able to compare. She was helpful, of course, but seemed to offer herself (or more like her body) to him on a minutely basis. It was sort of disturbing for a woman to have that much self-respect. It had to be debilitating. So he continued to study the extravagant room and pretended he wasn't seeing her.

It was an hour later when Lycander stepped into the room, and saw the two of them seated on the bed, Hallyanka looking confused and Harry a little angry and desperate. He jumped to his feet when he saw his Qaiul, then shut the door to the bedroom, which caused him a bad moment since the thing must have weighed over a hundred pounds. Helpfully, Lycander smiled and shut the door with the ease of slipping on a sock.

"Don't worry. You'll get the arm muscles soon enough. What is the matter?" he asked, surprised, when Harry only stared at him.

"I hate it here. I want to go home!" he hissed, then began to pace. "This place is like a prison covered in silk and lace and silver cutlery! That girl, Hallyanka, has been dying to crawl all over me and eat me alive! And she won't stop staring at me!"

Lycander's puzzled smile turned into a full-blown grin. "Oh, Harry, haven't you realized it yet? Women are nothing more than portable pleasure, placed there only for your needs. She is there only for you, whether it is for, uhm, personal reasons, or to clean up after you. Don't fret about it."

"Don't fret about it!" Harry shoved a hand into his hair. "I don't need one of your stupid slaves just to clean up after me, or offer herself like a golden platter. It's revolting." He hoped the English equivalent of revolting was what he'd said in Geyesh, and he assumed it must have been close enough when Lycander's face went taut.

"Har- Romane, you must understand. This world is purely-"

"Pathetic, maybe?" Harry slipped in angrily.

"-Old-fashioned," Lycander finished with a growl. "You must respect our ways and mustn't forget that they are now also your own."

"No, they are not! I come from a civilized world where men can take care of themselves and not need women to come pick up after them! This is insanity! I want to go home."

"Oh, well. You've been here for barely an hour, Romane, give it a little time and adjust."

"I want to go home!"

"And I do not care!" Lycander grabbed his arm and pushed his face into Harry's. Harry, too stunned at first to speak, just gazed at his face. "This is your world now, Harry! Get used to it, learn about it, learn from it, and maybe you can -just maybe- become a better person by learning of tradition and from learning about a world that hasn't been spoiled yet."

"A world that still houses slaves and women is shackles! So what if the world is spoiled? So what if we'll all die from the ozone shattering into a million pieces of fire? At least on Earth people live in equality!"

"This is a magical world." Lycander's didn't try to take back Harry's arm when the boy jerked it out of his grasp and snarled. "There are no Muggles here. Everything here is pure, undiluted magic. This is plain, pure, hardcore magic at its greatest glory in the past. You are the first to even step foot in this place. This is an opportunity that they barely opened for even you."

"I wish they hadn't," Harry hissed, "because I find it disgusting and inhumane."

"We aren't human, Harry!" shouted Lycander in exasperation. "Will you listen to me, for once, just for one bloody time? We are not human! We are Mages! Yes, we breath, we eat, we drink, we dance, but we are not human. Do you know any wizard who can sprout an oak tree out of the palm of his hand, or form fire in his lungs and breathe it out? Do you know any Muggle or wizard who can levitate off the ground and walk on water? We are not human."

"That's a pitiful excuse," Harry whispered. "That is a terribly pitiful excuse for enslaving less talented men and women and then using any woman as a sex toy!"

The slap came out of nowhere and had Harry stumbling over the small, stubby wooden table. His face burst into fire at the angry contact of Mage flesh against Mage flesh and his eyes watched as a million red and black fireworks shot out in the middle of Harry's temporary living room.

Lycander tossed down a black garment. "You do not understand. I do not think you ever will. But you better pretend to, or you will wish you were never born."

A threat in Geyesh was so much more intimidating than a threat in English.

"This is my world, your world, everyone's old world. This is not a game, Harry. This is a harsh world, one you must survive in order to leave it."

One you must survive in order to leave it.

Harry struggled to push himself up onto his elbows, but quit when the world started to revolve in slow, sick circles.

"Lycander, wait-" But the door was already shutting with a loud, booming thud.

The door to the bedroom was slowly pulled open. Hallyanka studied him, then hurried to kneel beside him.

"If it matters," she said in that slow, honeyed voice that made Harry's stomach clench, "I think you understand perfectly."

* * * * * *

That day was the first time he'd had so much trouble getting dressed in his entire life -or at least the part that he remembered. It felt weird to wear some sort of flimsy silk toga-like thing, then put on the top that he had to have Hallyanka help him with.

"This part goes in the front, Romane." She stood up from her seat upon the wooden table that he guessed was there for eating snacks or something. Even though he could see a wooden bowl of fruit on the larger table -some types that he'd never seen before- he wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was just there for decoration.

Her narrow fingers were a little dirty with the nails slightly chipped from hard work. Her wrist was strong and wiry, and led up to a tanned arm that ended in that disgustingly dirty cloth that she wore. She flipped the uppermost part of Harry's costume over his head, then tightened it around his neck.

"Ow! That's too tight!" It was a good sign that he'd said it in Geyesh, since that meant he was beginning to think in the foreign language instead of his home speech.

She gave a slight chuckle, then silenced as if laughing wasn't allowed. Harry frowned. "You can laugh at me if you want, Hallyanka. I don't mind," he told her gently, and watched her fingers fumble slightly as she artfully placed the little black and gold, two-sided flaps around his neck.

"I will never laugh at you, Romane," she said, her pupils dilated. "Never. You are a man that comes rare in this time and day."

"In my time and day," Harry countered, "you would be treated like a lady, and an equal. You would go to school and giggle with your friends in the dorm room. You wouldn't be locked up in this stuffy old stone prison all day, cleaning and fluffing after a bunch of cavemen."

Again, there was a small giggle, but she still covered it up. Harry grabbed her wrists and held them between them.

"Okay, you are not moving until you laugh."

"What?" Her voice clearly told him he was being absurd. "What do you mean by this foolishness?"

"We are going to stand here," Harry told her slowly, "until you show me that women here do laugh and smile. I think I have only seen you smile once before, and that was when I insulted your father, I believe."

She stared at him. "You are lying. I have never laughed at the High Counselman."

"But I saw you," Harry argued, then laughed. "It's okay, Hallyanka. I won't tell anyone. Just admit it."

Her chin fell down to her chest. "I do not know what this is you are talking about, Romane. You are not making much sense at this moment."

"I saw you smile. You have a wonderful smile. You should do it more often. Now laugh, please."

"Laugh? I will not."

Harry laughed at the both of them and tightened his grip a little bit when she tried to pull away.

"Unhand me, Romane. I do not wish to-"

Harry did let go of one of her wrists, but it wasn't to let her go. Instead, he pressed his fingers to just below her ribcage and began to tickle her. He was satisfied when he got a loud, shouting laugh. Hallyanka's knees buckled and her eyes were wide with amazement and fear. She weighed quite a bit. She wasn't skinny like Hermione and Ginny was, but rather curvy and filled out. He set her in a chair and went to button the back of his neckband or whatever the hell it was called.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Harry asked.

"That-that thing you did to me just now. Romane, what was it?"

"In English, it's called tickling," he explained with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Do not do it again," she said firmly. "I did not like it and it most assuredly is not appropriate."

He turned back to her, the amusement in his face vanishing. "Neither is offering yourself to a man you don't know just because you are told to."

She stood up, then stiffened when Harry reached out and grabbed her arm. She winced as if preparing for a hit, and he instantly loosened his grip.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he told her quietly. "Please, don't ever be afraid of me. I have a temper and I'm stubborn, but I don't hit women, in this world or my own. I won't hurt you, and don't expect me to toss you down and make you have sex with me. If I had the choice, you'd be back to sleeping with your mother and sister, but I don't, so we are both stuck. If you help me while I'm here, I'll even give you a gift."

There was tenderness in his voice, as if he was talking to a wounded animal that he'd almost drove over in his car instead of an almost grown woman. She blinked suspiciously wet eyes and tried to tell herself not to trust him. Men were all the same, bastards and cruel and uncaring. It didn't matter how handsome he was, or how different and clueless.

He was a man nonetheless, and to Hallyanka Questcinzay, that was the lowest any person could get.

She turned her head away, knowing that her silky black curls followed the movement of her head seductively. Her mother had told her she must look stunning to please such an honorable guest. The resentment washed to the surface, but she stayed silent, as she'd been taught to be, until Harry released her wrist.

* * * * * * *

He'd surprised her. Harry knew that without seeing the shock outline those gorgeous blue eyes, the way she'd straightened. He shifted on the hard, stone floor, then groaned. His back was literally killing him. The slashes still hurt like the devil, and sleeping on a stone floor wasn't helping at all. But at least he'd taken just one more step to earning Hallyanka's respect.

He would get it. No, he amended, I will earn it.

The first day in the Souriom de Solfiace had been worse than he'd imagined. Hell, when he'd imagined this world, it hadn't come a bit close to the reality, the majesty of pure, unspoiled earth. That was one thing that Lycander hadn't lied about. Nobody could ever understand the beauty of a land unspoiled by skyscrapers and roads made of tar, of an endless valley of hills, trees, forests, and rivers. The High Counselman's merges, Airon and Brae, had taken him for a short hike. Airon was already married and had a Qauileey, which Harry rightfully assumed was the little girl that he'd seen when he'd first arrived.

He didn't mind the two men, although the older of the two seemed to be in complete control of his younger brother. He'd bet that if Airon said jump, Brae would ask how high and when to come back down again.

He pitied the teenager his lack of will, and wondered how Lycander could possibly say that this world was purer, stronger, than the regular one, when people like Brae Questcinzay hated themselves.

But, of course, he had a feeling that he only recognized it because it showed a similar setting to his old self.

He tensed when he heard footsteps. He looked up, and decided it came from the bedroom. He could see two feet under the niche at the bottom of the door, and grinned. Little Hally, as he'd taken a liking to calling her both in his mind and outside of it, wasn't sure what to do or think.

He'd really be enjoying this if it hadn't been forced on him. And if he'd only been an honored visitor instead of a training Qaiulee.

The food wasn't all that different. The apples were the size of watermelons, and there were a dozen different kinds of fruits that he'd never even heard of, but they weren't that bad. The protocol and the never-ending speeches sucked, but he'd had fun staring at Hallyanka and freaking her out. Hell, he'd almost gotten in trouble for making faces at her when Lycander saw him.

It was a very good thing they were at different tables. The Qaiuls ate at one table, while the Qaiulees sat at another, and then the royal family, which Harry was a part of unofficially, and the royal females and the little, lonely Qaiuleey, who sat under the colored glass windows. The Grandelie had nearly been silent, most everyone glancing curiously at a brooding Harry. He could tell that they thought him weak and stupid (and short!), but he figured they'd learn not to underestimate Harry Potter after a while. They'd barely seen him. Since it was his first day he was only in the Sariz, the Practillez room, for a short hour to see how things were run and the entire point of it. He had to agree, when one hundred of the best Mages in the entire Gray Dimension all moved together on one word in a complex step that was hard and strenuous, it was definitely intimidating. Pointless, but intimidating. Harry knew most all of the moves, except for a few new ones that Lycander said he could learn on demalia, the six hours of free time he and the other Qaiulees got once every three Geyesh days.

He sighed and shifted onto his side, moaning a little as the skin on his back stretched painfully under his thin, unhelpful shirt, or whatever the hell they called it. Amused, he snorted. They called a lot of simply named things those stupid, complicated Geyesh words.

Hallyanka began to pace in the bedroom suite floor. Harry continued to shift and mutter. And think.

* * * * * *

"Delis de furan!"

The bellow came from the Qaiul in charge. All the Qaiulees stood in rows, the room echoing with the rapid words. Lycander and one other man, a tall, dark-skinned man named Jebadiah, switched off with the commands. Lycander's eagle eye was on Harry, who constantly muttered to himself in the back of the room. On his request, he'd been placed in the back row, in a corner, but, although Lycander had agreed, he paced along the side where Harry was, his dark, brilliant eyes following every move the raven haired boy made. Mistakes and curses were both constant, as was fumbling and a damn near permanent blush on his cheeks. Some of the other Qaiulees were continually watched him, and even more of them laughed, but that only made him mess up even more. The other hundred teenagers, ranging from eight to twenty, skinny to big-boned, could do it without even thinking about it.

"Delis de furan!" Lycander repeated close by Harry's ear. The teenager glared at him, but completed the task, if out of rhythm with the other Qaiulees.

He was panting and sweating like a stuffed pig. His practice robes, an identical set of clothing to the ones he wore yesterday, were a little less black and more blue, and there wasn't gold stitching on the hems but silver. It stuck to his overheated skin and seemed to suck up every ounce of air that came his way. They'd been at it for barely an hour, and he was almost dying of heat and exhaustion. When the Qaiul-in-charge did Practillez, it was so much faster than what he was used to. Lycander had done it with him back home, but had forced him to do it over and over again while explaining his mistakes. It took a while to get out of the habit of stopping after making a mistake and trying to discern it and, instead, go along with the flow into the next command.

"Fein de cu!"

Harry did the next one right, but the next three completely wrong. Instead of twisting his right shoulder blade to bring his right arm in a powerful arc over his head, he used his left and accidentally hit the blonde boy next to him. The blonde boy had bright blue eyes, and more than once Harry found them focused on him. He missed another cue, and got confused. He shoved a sweaty hand through his damp hair, met Lycander's glare face on.

"Keep going!" he hissed to Harry, then bellowed another command so that it echoed both throughout the room and in his sore, aching head. "Don't stop moving. It'll get better."

He scrubbed his face, watched as the room moved as one for two commands, then started up again after another two orders passed him by. The next time Lycander came near him, he whispered, "Straighten your back, and tense your arm muscles." Harry obeyed, but missed hearing the next command. The next move he didn't know, and nearly ended being smacked in the face by the blonde boy as the entire group of Qaiul's shifted over two feet and threw out their right arm. Harry ducked and thanked Merlin for good reflexes. Again, those blue eyes watched him, but this time there was amusement there instead of curiosity.

Seething, Harry got the next five commands correct, but his hands were shaking. When Jebadiah whistled and called out for a five-minute break, he gave a sigh of undeniable relief, and then nearly slapped himself on the forehead as Lycander grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

"What do you think you are doing?" his Qaiul hissed furiously.

"What am I doing?" Harry repeated in exasperation. "I was trying to keep up! You can't possibly expect me to fall right in with these people. I mean, come on! We never worked Practillez this fast! Maybe-"

Lycander shoved a finger in his face, his voice low and ominous. "I do not want excuses. I warned you, and it is your own fault you did not bid my advice."

"Advice?" he repeated again, stunned. "You didn't give me advice!"

"Well, I am giving it to you now!" His voice was much more testy when he grabbed Harry's arm, straightened it under the eyes of mostly every other person in the room. "You hold your arm like this! How many times have I told you that you will strain a muscle if you hold it out like that and just yank it back? I do not care if you get a strained muscle. You will go through every Practillez session while you are here, whether you are sick, dying, or have a broken arm! Understood?"

He'd never seen Lycander this uptight. His Qaiul's moods had been so much more angrier, so much more stressed, than they had been in Harry's world. But that was probably due to the fact that he was being watching by people who knew just as much as he did and had certain ideas on how to be a Qaiul. Not to forget that they were probably worried that Lycander would create another Olean. He rolled his shoulder blades, then looked up to see Brae watching him from across the room, surrounded by some of the other Qaiulees who were laughing. Probably at Harry, too.

It was a good thing he was a loner, he told himself, or else he might have felt lonely. He let himself sit down against the stone wall, and then let out a whoosh of breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

"Break is over, kiddies!" Lycander said harshly, his eyes staring daggers at Harry.

Harry's mouth gaped open.

"Get up, Romane!" came a hiss to his left, and he realized everyone had gotten into formation at the first sentence. The blonde -or at least he thought it was the blonde who had spoken- was looking forward, his face blank, shoulders straight and pulled back like a pompous git. Harry was used to it. Technically, it was a piece of unofficial protocol he'd learned as soon as he'd come into the Sariz. For a moment, he sat still, and then he yanked himself to his feet.

His eyes, a cold, hard green, were on Lycander the entire time. There was fury and hatred on both sides. But this time, unlike the many others, Harry didn't know why his Qaiul despised him.

He couldn't remember doing anything wrong. Sure, there was the comment he'd made to the Head Counselman, and the making faces at Hally during breakfast and dinner. But had he done something else that had upset the man?

Practice ended just as it started around six hours later. Lycander took charge as Jebadiah left the room to prepare for lunch. He made them stand, straight up and tall, muscles tensed and straining, for a half-hour before dismissing them. Harry was stiff as a board and starved as five men, but instead of going to the Grandelie, he went to his and Hallyanka's housing quarters.

And then he paused and stared when he entered the living room and found a clutter of women everywhere. The room went silent when they saw him, and Hallyanka jumped up from her seat next to her twin sister.

"Romane!" Hurriedly, she pulled her gown up to mid-shin and gave a quick, but respectful, dellicour.

Awkwardly, he stared at them, the fear in their faces, the way they all looked down and away from his eyes. They were all wearing the worn gowns that he'd seen Hallyanka wear day after day. There was a few younger children, one as young as a year and a boy as old as eight. Undoubtedly, he would begin training soon. There was a young red-haired girl around nine. Now, even the baby was silent in fear.

"Did I interrupt something?" he asked, nervously shutting the door behind him, making sure that his movements were slow and steady.

Hallyanka seemed to stutter. "Of course not. We were just talking. I am sorry, Romane. I was not aware that your lunch had been cancelled."

"Cancelled?" he repeated, feeling just like the intruding male he was. He sighed. "It was not cancelled. I'm just not hungry."

Hallyanka's face paled. "But you will get in trouble if you do not attend!"

Harry jerked a shoulder and leaned back against the door. "I'm used to it." He studied the women in the room, debating, hesitating, and then he gave another deep, regretful sigh. No hot, miserable basin to scrub the sweat and dirt away, he told himself regretfully.

"So, who are your friends? I do not recognize anyone but the royal females."

One of the little girls giggled at the term, the little Qaiuleey he'd seen before. Airon's little one, he had learned since he'd first seen her. Her mother's head jerked up and she glared at the little girl.

"Oh, it's okay," Harry said hurriedly. "I do not mind if she laughs at me. What is your name?" he asked the younger one kindly. She glanced at her mother, who continued to glare at her and didn't make an encouraging move. Hallyanka, however, nodded to her quickly. The little blonde stood, gave the small, required dellicour, and kept her head bowed.

"My name is Lawnci, asieur Romane." Her Geyesh was probably as good as Harry's, but her accent was true and she didn't try to conjugate words together as much as he unconsciously tended to do. "It is my pleasure to meet you."

He grinned. "No, I believe the pleasure is all mine. Would you shake my hand?" He held out a sweaty, dirty palm, and she set her smaller, frailer one atop his, puzzled. Then she let out a surprised yip when he shook it. Her eyes large with surprise, she looked at him. "This is what you call shake hands?"

He chuckled. "In my world, shaking hands is what we would call dellicour, except that both men and women do it. Are you hungry?"

Again, she looked around for guidance, but many of the other women were looking just as confused as she was. Lawnci looked up at him, finally figuring pit she was on her own this time. "Yes, asieur."

Asieur, he knew, was a Geyesh equivalent for sir or mister.

"Just call me Romane," he told her, then added, "but only when we are alone. We wouldn't want to get in trouble, would we? And we better keep this between us." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a bag of hard candies from Zonkos. Fred and George had given him normal candy instead of pranks. They must have realized that he couldn't afford to get in trouble in this world. He handed her a pink one, and watched her lift it to her mouth. Then he laughed and took her hand gently in his.

"You have to unwrap it first." He did it for her, making sure she saw what he was doing, and then watched as she popped it into her mouth. She gave a little noise of surprise and pleasure. "You just suck on it. Do you like it?"

"It tastes like..." She sent Hallyanka a dazzling smile. "Like..."

"Cherries? Strawberries? Melon?" he listed, wondering if they had any of the fruits he'd listed. Obviously one had rung a bell since her face lit up.

"Strawberries! It tastes like a strawberry, Mama!" Her mother kept her head down, as if in shame, and Harry felt bad for the little one. He slid another candy into one of her pockets, and gave her a handful. "Why don't you give these to your friends? But make sure the baby over there doesn't have any. We don't want them to choke, okay?"

She gave a shouted thank-you and dashed off. Harry straightened, rubbed his back.

"I'd introduce myself to all of you, but I really am tired." He gestured to the bedroom. "I'm just going to wash up and head on down to the Grandelie."

Once the door shut behind him, he heard a wave of hisses and shocked whispers break out.

"What was that he gave to her, Deirdre?"

"She said it tasted like strawberries!"

"Does he always act that polite, Hallyanka?"

"How is he in bed?"

"It is so nice to see a man with manners!"

The last was said by an elderly lady, he knew, because her voice was gravelly and, just, old sounding. Smiling a little, he went to dunk his entire head in the cold water wash basin beside the bed. And then he rubbed his chest, right above where his heart lay, beating heavily from the exercise. It had hurt, he realized, to see such a pretty young girl so scared and hidden from the pleasures of the world.

* * * * * *

"Parl de Centrui!"

Harry did the movement quickly, but not as quickly as everyone else. He'd been doing better, he knew, although he hadn't gotten any praise from anyone telling him that he had. The third day of living in a different world had been just like the others: tedious, annoying, bleak, and boring. He'd woken up, scrubbed himself in the pathetically small basin, dressed, ate a meal while his back ached with a familiar pain that began to haunt him even worse since he'd taken up stubborn residence on the hard, stone floor of their quarters. Hallyanka hadn't said anything, but had looked so worried and guilty when she'd woken him up that morning and saw how he'd winced and stretched.

"Darma de diagio!"

He didn't know that one, so he studied the mass of people. In the front row was the little boy he'd seen just yesterday. His name, Harry had heard, was Ashiou. He was one of the Counsel's, and therefore respected nearly as much Harry himself was being treated lately, even though he could feel a lot of the distrust, uncertainty, and the plain dislike from many of the people he'd been introduced to.

This time, Lycander wasn't there at all. Isaiah, a tall man with curly brown hair and kind green eyes, was shouting, but it was little more than a question instead of an order. The other Qaiul-in-charge, a man named Dmitry, was a little rougher and louder.

Harry was dripping sweat by the time they called for staziz, which was when they stood stock-still and straight, body stiff and tense, for a varying time. This time it was only twenty minutes.

The day wasn't even half over, either. He had yet to eat lunch, and then he had the dueling and meditation part of the day, which was both easier and more arduous for Harry at the same time. Today he would actually have to duel, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

As the room emptied, Harry sat down against the wall. Neither of the Qaiuls would stay, so he was pretty sure he could just sit there for a while until he had to get up again and simply be alone.

He was surprised when the blonde boy that stood next to him during Practillez crouched down beside him a few minutes later and shoved a pewter cup of water in his face.

"You look ready to pass out."

"Oh, really?" Harry said sarcastically. When the guy just sat down, he scowled. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"

"I am Enrique. I just came to tell you were doing everything worse than yesterday."

He glared at him. "Well, if that's what this is about, then leave me the hell alone."

Enrique's heavy eyebrows lifted. "What if I am comfortable right here?" he asked smugly.

"Go...away," Harry snarled, glaring at him.

"Make...me." Enrique paused to let Harry think about it. He knew, just as Harry did, that he, being an original, well-trained Mage, would beat his arse if Harry even tried.

Harry stared at him, his heart still pounding like a stallion's after a forty-mile dash, sweat dribbling down from his temples into his eyes.

"Tell me, Romane, why you seem determined to hate everyone you come into contact with"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I see you all as a bunch of bloody idiots who have to have women to care for their every move and clean up after them."

Enrique's brows shot up into his fraying blonde hair. "That," he said slowly, "was not what I expected."

What he'd expected, Harry mused? Who cared about what the bloody imbecile expected?

"So you do not approve of our women, then, is that it? I'm sure Head Counselman Questcinzay would not mind selecting another more to your tastes."

Harry shook his head, then let it lean against the stone wall. "I do not want a woman, Enrique. I want to go home, where things make more sense than it does here."

"You do not want a woman?" This time Enrique looked a little anxious. "Are you homosexual?"

Harry didn't just stare this time. He burst into great, whopping shouts of laughter.

"No, I am not homosexual. I just don't appreciate the fact that the women here have no self-respect. You snap your finger; they come over and do what you want. They don't do it because they want you, but because they have to. Do you not want a woman who loves you, who actually wants to live with you and share your life?"

Enrique relaxed and chuckled a little. "What is this foolishness you speak of, Romane? Love is for the pheasants outside of Pour Deign. The only thing women are good for is cooking, cleaning, and breeding."

"They are just like you and me!" Harry would have punched him if he'd thought it would have helped. "They have feelings just like you and I do. If you hit them, they feel pain just like you and I. If they cut themselves, their blood is red. I swear, if you were to place a woman in the Sariz and gave her a chance, you'd be surprised how quickly they'd learn. They have Mage powers; do you think they're unable to use them or something?"

"Why do you talk of stuff like this?" Enrique stood, his face hard, his eyes cold. "This is the way women are. They are useless, Romane. Maybe you should open your eyes."

Harry stood as well, and shoved the cup of water he hadn't even drank from back to the blonde. "Maybe you should open your eyes and look at the women who are the sole reason you're standing here today. Maybe I'm not the one who needs to open their eyes and take a good look around. Maybe, Enrique," he mocked, "your world is wrong and unjust."

Harry leaned back against the wall, his ankles and feet screaming, and watched the blonde storm out of the room.

He was right, Harry mused stubbornly. He knew that. Now all he had to do was make it so some of the men and women here knew it as well.

Maybe -just maybe- he could do some good here in the Souriom de Solfiace.

* * * * * *

He just had to be paired up with Enrique. That night, after meditation and dueling, two of his fellow Mages had to help him back to his room. For once, he let himself be helped by two goons who smirked and sneered the entire time he was with them. But they got him back to his rooms, where they let him fall into a wooden chair, so Harry was grateful.

"What happened?" Hallyanka was at his side instantly, taking away the rag Harry held to his nose.

He yelped at the slight touch and snatched it back as blood spurted began to spurt. Muttering curses, he elevated his head back against the hard rail of the chair. Pain reverberated from his toes to his hair, from fingertip to fingertip, making him shut his eyes in an attempt to block it out.

Hally murmured to him. "Come on, Romane, it is okay. Just let me take the rag."

She took it gently, then placed two fingers on both sides of his nose. The blessed coolness made him relax slowly, although his breath was still haggard and rough.

"Can you stand?" She thought she saw him shake his head, and carefully, gently, she slipped an arm around his neck, her other going around his waist. It was a trial to get him to the bed, but she managed with his slightly clumsy help.

"Just relax your head. There we go." She removed the cloth again and placed her fingers back to their earlier position. "I am assuming dueling did not go exactly like you planned."

"Go to hell, Hally."

Instead of listening to his angry, pain-stricken voice, she used her right hand to help him get his shirt and bottom shirt off.

Her breath left her in a big whoosh when she saw the lifted, angry looking marks on his chest, the bruises that the more recent dueling had caused. She traced one, then yanked her hand back when Harry yelped. Hally met his eyes.

"Did Olean do this?" she asked quietly, her voice unsteady.

"No." His hand went to the wrist that held her cool palm on his hot skin. The contact made a small blue spark, but Harry was used to that. It happened most times when a Mage had physical contact with another Mage. "Voldemort did that." He was surprised to see Hally's eyes sparkle with fury, but then she stood and he couldn't see them anymore.

She settled the wash basin by the miserly hard mattress made of hay with a silk casing around it, and settled herself beside Harry's stretched legs. She placed a hand next to his hip and leaned forward since his head was slanted back against the stone wall. He winced when she took the cloth and started wiping the blood around his sore, aching chin and lips.

"I am sorry," she murmured. "Does it hurt much?"

"No," Harry said miserably. "It feels absolutely lovely."

Her lips twitched, and since she just wanted to hold and cuddle him until he felt better, she let herself smile.

He grinned. "Maybe I should break my nose more often if it makes you smile."

She dunked the bloody rag in the basin. "How about you do not break your nose and I smile then?"

He closed his eyes. "Okay, then."

"Do you want to tell me what happened in there?"

"I'm guessing it is what most Mages would call a rite of passage. Know what that means, Hally?"

Since his eyes were closed, she answered instead of shaking her head. "Not really."

"It means they were extra hard on me to see if I should be considered an actual Mage. You see, I haven't been doing too well in my Practillez. I am much worse than anyone anticipated, even myself."

"I am sure you will get better. Can you not ask your Qaiul to come and tutor you after Practillez?"

Harry sneered. "I'm not asking anything of Lycander. He can go to hell for all I care."

Surprised, she placed a hand on his cheek. Warily, he opened his eyes. She was still leaning over him, close enough to kiss. He only had to grab her dress and pull her one-centimeter closer, and their lips would meet. His heart pounded and he fisted his hands to keep from snatching at her.

"You are a great person, Romane. No one will ever be able to match your strength. Practillez, for Mages... it is just a way for us to show off. There is no war here; there is nothing for them to do but sit in their rooms, day after day, generation after generation, practicing something that they know very well they will never use. They beat and whip little girls, pound on their sons until they are nothing more than an order obeying ward. They do not care; about us women, about their true family, about themselves. Nothing is to them. That is why I think the Fates chose you to come to us. You are different. You are stronger than any number of them."

His throat ached with the ball of grief and despair that had somehow attached itself there. "I cannot help you, Hallyanka. There is nothing I can do but sit here, watch, and run my mouth."

Her smile was more than a little sad. "Do you not think that that little bit does not help?" She shook her head, making her dark, curly hair fall from her shoulder onto his chest.

He didn't have enough willpower to keep himself from touching it. He took a gentle hand down the silky, thick slope, his hand curling to pull it between his fingers. His mouth was dry when he looked back into her eyes. The look there, that desperate, lustful gaze, was familiar to him. Ginny had worn the same look in her own eyes that night.

And look at what had become of that incident.

He let a hand go to her hip so he could simply touch her. Then, because he figured it had to be uncomfortable the way she was positioned, he nudged her so she was beside him. Instead of removing his hand, as his mind kept screaming at him to, he put his other on the nape of her neck and pulled her closer.

The kiss was gentle. Hally's breathing, already as rapid as her galloping heartbeat, took another dive. Harry's lips were gentle, which was just another first she'd never experienced before. She'd been told what to do by countless of the other women, but this was different. The only thought that came into her mind was where in hell did she put her hands?

"Relax, Hally. I won't hurt you."

Since he was nuzzling a spot between her chin and her neck, she shifted slightly.

"Harry?" She pulled back.

His stomach was in knots, but he pulled back obediently. He didn't want to scare her away.

"What's wrong? Do you want me to stop?" Please, no, just a little bit longer, he wanted to beg. Just a couple of minutes more.

She shook her head frantically. "It is just- Where do I...?"

He nodded encouragingly. "What is it, Hally?"

"Where do I put my hands?" she managed, then shut her eyes closed in mortification.

Harry chuckled. "Where do you put your hands? I have no clue. I do not have that much experience when it comes to necking."

Her eyes fluttered open. "Necking?"

"Uh, what we were just doing. Kissing, I guess, is the same. Now." He took both of her hands, pulled them to his mouth to kiss them. "Where do you want to put them?" At her blank look, he chuckled again. "What feels natural to you?"

"Uh." She nibbled on a corner of her lip. She put her hands on his chest, then slid them up around his neck. The line between her eyebrows furrowed. "I think this may be where they belong."

"You think?" Amusement made him grin.

Color rose on her cheeks. "You should not laugh at me, Romane. You may not have much experience but that is more than I have."

"It is funny, though. Laughing at someone isn't always bad, Hal. I mean, I am laughing right now because I am happy."

"You are happy?" Her eyes studied the healed nose. "I may have healed that nose, Romane, but it must still sting."

He jerked a shoulder. "A little." He tugged on her hair so she leaned towards him. He gave a chaste kiss on those pouting lips and smiled. "But, surprisingly, you make me happy."

Instead of continuing, Harry leaned back against the wall and gently nudged her head down on his shoulder. He kissed her temple in a rare show of affection.

"We should get to sleep so I am ready for another round of dueling tomorrow night."

She sighed and blinked viciously at the tears that wanted to fall. "You will do wonderfully, Romane. You just need to use your own style instead of the Mages."

Harry lifted his head to stare down at her down turned head, his eyes widening.

You just need to use your own style instead of the Mages.

* * * * * *

The way Mages dueled was two Mages stood for one round, just one, and they had to last at least fifteen minutes. There was a dome of light that protected the observers, which were mainly the Qaiuls and their hundred or so Qaiulees.

Harry was silent as he watched the first two hours of it. A lot of people didn't go because of the amount of both time and duelers. Lycander, however, thought Harry needed to go every day to get in as much practice as could be done before he had to return to his own world.

As he watched Brae compete with some other Qaiul with ham-sized fists, he took out the rag he'd used the day before to clean up his broken nose. Hally had cleaned it that morning so there wasn't even a speckle of blood or dirt on it. His nose was slightly crooked now, but Harry hoped it didn't offset the way he normally looked that much. His hair was pulled back in a stubby pony tail, which automatically separated him from the rest of his classmates physically...if you could even call Mages classmates. They were all more like competitors if anything. Sighing in resignation, he wrapped the rag around his right hand so that it covered the knuckles where a large pebble sized rock lay.

What he had in mind, he wouldn't be surprised if he broke a knuckle tonight.

"What are you doing?"

Enrique stepped beside him as a loud cheer went up as the ten-minute whistle blew. Only five minutes left before Harry had to go.

"Does it matter to you?"

Enrique studied his nose. "Your woman did a good job at healing that."

Absently, he fisted his hand a couple of times to check flexibility. "Hally's a good Healer."

"Hally?" Humor bloomed on the Qaiulee's face. "You gave the royal morge a nickname? How...bizarre."

"Better to be bizarre than a puss-faced blonde boy who cannot even get his own woman."

Enrique grabbed Harry's collar and hauled him an inch off the floor. Harry smirked.

"Come on, Enrique, there is no need to get frisky?"

"Romane! You are up!" Lycander's booming voice had Enrique hurriedly dropping him.

When Harry went up to his Qaiul and the Head Counselman, who observed all of the dueling matches and blew the minutes whistles, Enrique went with him.

The blonde boy bowed to the Head Counselman and kept his head tilted down and his hands behind his back in protocol.

"Permission to speak, Qaiulee," Questcinzay granted.

Enrique did not look up. "I wish to fight Romane again, asieur. He has challenged me."

Oh, great, Harry mused when Lycander's fiery gaze whipped to face him.

"Romane, did you indeed challenge Enrique?"

"Yes, asieur." He had, had he? Oh well. It just meant Enrique got to get his face bashed in. In the dueling dome, two Mages could kill each other and no one would have been able to interfere. Harry had already seen a Challenge duel, and although not all ended in death, it was a likely occurrence.

"Qaiul," Questcinzay barked at Lycander. "Do you give permission?"

Helplessly, Lycander turned to look back at Harry again. That was when he realized he probably wasn't supposed to be getting into life threatening situations in this world.

Again, oh well.

"Of course."

Questcinzay asked the same of Enrique's Qaiul, a tall, bald man with muscles that looked more like cinderblocks then flesh and blood.

"You think you can handle me?" Enrique asked when he and Harry stepped into the pale blue shield.

Harry sighed. "Doesn't matter what I think." The only thing that mattered was him surviving what happened.

They took their places ten paces apart, facing each other, their right arms leaning forward and their legs braced for the sole purpose of balance.

The first move had to be magical. There was no way Harry would be able to move close enough for contact.

And when the whistle met his ears, so did the bright neon pink flash.

* * * * * *

"It was amazing!"

"That is an understatement, Lyon."

"What happened?" Hallyanka pulled Lawnci onto her lap and settled into a chair in front of her sister. Her brows were puckered in a way that Harry would have recognized, but he was gone, at dueling practice again. It had been two days since he'd come in with two cracked knuckles, a split lip, and a sour attitude. "Romane will not tell me a thing of what happened except that he had won against Enrique."

Hallyanka's twin sister Lyon Anvil smiled. "You are very lucky, Hallyanka. Aydenz said that what he did was absolutely riveting. Of course, I was not there." She sent her mother a look. "But Mother was."

Deirdre pushed a piece of black hair behind her ears. She was a stern looking woman, pale but with small indentures on her skin from age and hardship. Her hair was just like her daughters, but longer as was traditional when you got older in the Geyesh community.

"I have to admit it was very impressive the way he found out Enrique's weaknesses."

"Mother," Hallyanka said impatiently, "tell me."

"Well, it started out normal enough, except that Romane challenged Enrique, so it was not just a normal duel. Lycander was looking ready to faint by the time they stepped into the dueling dome." At her daughter's blank look, she expanded. "Lycander has been very worried over the boy lately. Supposedly," and her eyes twinkled at Hallyanka, "our boy from the Old World is a very big troublemaker. Seems he has a mouth of fire on him, and it has nothing to do with the Majestic abilities."

"What does he talk about?" Lyon asked Hallyanka, sipping her cup of watered down juice.

Apprehensively, Hally looked down at the floor. "A lot of things, really. His old world, equality between men and women-"

"I heard about that from Enrique's Qaiul," Deirdre put in. "Aphrozodis was not happy to hear about it."

"I think it is sweet," Lyon murmured. "What a world he must have come from! What else, Hallyanka? Has he bedded you yet?"

Heat flared in her cheeks. "No. He thinks I offer myself unjustly. I believe he wants me to get, in his words, self-respect."

Her sister let out long, wistful sigh, but didn't respond.

Deirdre continued. "Back to the duel, girls, we do not have much longer. As I said, it started out normal. Romane looked ready to pass out after five minutes. He did not hit Enrique at all, even when the opportunity presented itself several times. The second portion he fended off Enrique's blows, but you could tell he was weakening, minute by minute. The room was silent except for the slap of flesh against flesh. Lycander refused to even watch after a few minutes. It was a sight to see, I must admit, Romane ducking, Enrique nearly flying with energy and triumph. And then, with merely five minutes left, Romane seemed to come alive. He had only his bottoms on and a silver necklace. It seemed to be a snake with a rebalon."

Hallyanka almost sighed. Her mother had always been the one to tell stories the best. And she had always been a bit of a romantic with a wistfulness for heroism. If it had been anyone but Romane, she would have probably asked someone else. Someone who did not have such a flair for dramatics.

"What happened?" she asked, resigned to the fact that she would not be getting any clear, blunt answers.

"He started out by tripping Enrique. The room was stunned, especially Lycander, who looked up at the intake of breath. Then he just started punching him, over and over and over again until the bell rang and Enrique fell flat on his back, knocked unconscious."

Hallyanka and Lyon looked at each other. "That is it?" they said instantaneously.

Deirdre scowled. "Of course that is it. Do you not understand the ingenious of it? The pure strategy and strength?"

Lyon giggled. "Mother, I do believe you have been spending too much time as a king's wife."

"What? Why? What are you talking about?"

Hallyanka, Lyon, and Lawnci burst into even more laughter.

The sound was sweet to Harry when he opened the door. Sweaty, dirty, and once again exhausted from a hard day of exercise, it was just what he needed to cool down and relax. Hallyanka smiled at him when he saw her, as did little Lawnci, but Lyon and Deirdre straightened and let their heads lean towards their chest.

"It's okay," he said absently, then went to guzzle down water from a pewter cup that sat next to another basin of clean, magically cooled water. "How are you, uh, I never did get your names." He could tell which one was Hallyanka though, because she gave him that shy, almost inviting, smile.

"My name is Deirdre, asieur Romane, and this is my daughter Lyon Anvil."

Harry managed to remember that they didn't shake hands here, but it caused him a bad moment of homesickness. He bowed slightly, but not as deep or as sincere as it was supposed to be. He was aching horribly and he thought he'd pulled a hamstring in his arm during dueling. Rubbing it, he smiled at the group of women.

Lawnci grinned at him, and his heart melted on the spot.

"Romane, do you have more candy?"

As he'd done the day he'd met her, he reached into his practice robes and pulled out the bag. He grabbed a handful, held it out for Deirdre. When she hesitated, he smiled. "They are good. From my world." She took one, as did all three of her daughters. Since Lawnci had pretty much ripped it open in her eagerness, he put the rest of them in the single pocket that swayed at her left hip.

"Mine does not taste like strawberries." Lyon frowned over it. "It is more of a tart taste."

"What color was it?"

"Was what? The candy? Oh, it was yellow, I believe, with a hint of green."

"It's lemon."

"Lemon?" Puzzled, she concentrated on the taste for a moment, and a grin that could have battled with Lawnci's nearly split her face in half. "You are right, Romane. It is lemon, although it is more sweet than the fruit."

Hallyanka's family left after only a few minutes. Sadly, Harry took Deirdre's seat and frowned at Hallyanka when she came behind him to massage his shoulders. He winced as she hit a sensitive nerve.

"You do not have to do that, Hally."

As if she minded, she mused to herself. He had such wonderful shoulders. He was not a big man, but his shoulders were well muscled from his current exercise load and they were broader than an ordinary man's was. They were not shoulders to place cinderblocks on, but to rest your head at night.

She knew that his world had been pathetic enough to place its well being on the shoulders of the man she was desperately afraid she was falling in love with.

"No, Romane, I do not have to, but I want to. Your eyes are screaming with exhaustion. Would you like to lie down? I can do your back as well."

They moved into the bedroom and Harry laid down on the bed, belly down, on the uncomfortable padding. His chest was bare since he'd pulled off his sweaty (and extremely smelly) tunic for Hally to wash in the morning. That had become a constant battle between the two of them. Harry wanted to do his own washing, and Hallyanka was scandalized by even the thought. That was a part of her duty, she'd told him stiffly, even on the first night he'd been in the Souriom de Solfiace.

Frankly, he'd given up. She was even more stubborn than he himself was.

Hallyanka hesitated, then straddled his lower back. Her hands were cool against the flame of his skin, and unbelievably soothing.

"Do you want to tell me about tonight in dueling?" she asked after a few minutes.

Harry folded his arms beneath his head, and sighed. He'd become the focus of attention during dueling practices. Nobody had challenged him and yet he combated against someone on a nightly basis.

And he won, although Merlin knew how. If Harry had been forced to explain his winnings, he'd have had to say that he kept changing his style. One time he'd wait till a minute before the buzzer, and others he'd start the beating the instant Questcinzay started the fight. He barely ever used magic. In fact, he was afraid to lose with magic. The people in this world already thought he was an inadequate Qaiulee. In dueling practice, at least he had something that not even Enrique could beat him at. He was sure someone in the Pour Deign was better at it than him, but he had yet to fight him.

"What is wrong, Romane?" Her hands still moved, massaging, soothing, healing, but her voice was worried enough to have him closing his eyes.

He didn't want her to worry about him. Everyone who worried about Harry Potter got their lives ruined. That was simply a fact, not a coincidence.

"Nothing. I am fine, Hally, just tired."

Sighing, she struggled to loosen a knot that had seemed to take up habitation on his lower back and was planning to take permanent residence there. She scooted back, so their centers almost met, and missed the hiss of frustration by Harry.

He fisted his hands on the rough, raw material of the bed and mentally swore both him and the lady causing him such distress. Hallyanka Questcinzay had no clue to her power over him.

"This world is not healthy for you. I am almost happy we will be leaving in only two weeks for your world."

"You're coming with me?" Had someone mentioned that to him before? Harry wondered. Hell if he could remember.

She tensed. "If you do not want me to go with you, then I shall talk to the Head Counselman. I am sure he will understand and switch women for your return. I-"

She gave a surprised yelp when Harry quickly rolled up, out from under her, and almost knocked her off the bed by the action. He grabbed her arm an instant before she would have tumbled, and hauled her until her breasts were crushed again his bare chest. Through the thin material, she could feel his skin. Her mouth opened slightly, and then her hands fisted in his hair when he took advantage of that and plunged his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss was hard, hot, arousing. It was not a sweet one, like the kiss he had given to her the night before, but was filled to the rim with frustration and lust. At first, she was not sure if she should push him away - but that would be against what she had been raised to do- or pull him closer. She had been born to give men pleasure, not tease them with it. And then she wanted to clutch at him just as he was clutching her, until neither of them could think about what they both wanted and what was demanded of them.

"Does that not tell you how much I want you?" Harry demanded when he pulled back. He was a little more than shaken, and could tell that he'd stunned her speechless by the way her eyes were glazed and her nails unconsciously bit into his shoulders.

"Do it again," she demanded and pulled him back towards her with her own arms.

He'd expected to find her confused, considering he was the first to even touch or kiss her. He'd expected, if not confusion and desire, anger. He had not, however, expected this virginal eagerness, this curiosity. But it was hard to think anymore with her hands -those damn, curious, virgin hands- stroking around his stomach, searching, exploring.

Their tongues danced, fast, mercilessly, and neither of them realized how natural the reaction was, or that it seemed so right. They were too steeped in their world of spinning, dazzling emotions to think much of anything.

Harry let his hands sink into her hair as he changed the kiss. He couldn't pull back. Even if his newfound desire could have been stopped, he wouldn't be able to stop it. But he was determined not to make the same mistake twice. He'd hurt a girl he had inadvertently loved.

He would not allow it to happen twice.

With the pace subtly changed, he curled his fist around a hunk of her hair and tugged it back so he could move on to the dusky skin of her chin, her throat, and then onto those dainty, yet exceptionally strong, shoulders. He kissed her there, and moved his hands down to her waist as she shuddered. Her hands fluttered somewhere around his shoulders, uncertain, but it didn't really matter. He was taking over her -body, mind, soul. He slipped through the seams of her defenses and had her slowly shattering to a million tiny piece of want. Her bones melted like butter left out in the sun too long when he moved lower, to nip at her breast through the rough cotton. She let herself slant, her back bowing towards the bed in a graceful arc.

She was so mindless. Harry hitched her dress -he seriously despised the thing- so he could find a space between her legs. His breath hitched in, then out, and he placed a palm onto that triangle that was so unguarded, that was so precious to the women in his world.

Here, it was forced to be given, and it stopped being a gift for a young woman to give away. It was something to be bartered with here, and that, more than anything else, infuriated him. He refused to let it be the same with Hallyanka.

She'd shivered at his touch. No one had touched her there. No one had dared to touch her there. He was so silent, so pensive, that it confused her for a moment why he wasn't there. But then, almost as if by magic, he was there again, kissing her cheeks, her eyes, the corners of her mouth, as he pulled her dress up, up, over her heaving breasts, until he could toss it away like he wanted to do, but more permanently.

"Do you want me to stop?" he murmured in her ear as his hands found their way to her chest. Softly, he molded them to his hands, watching her eyes flicker with heat, with the emotion of feeling, experiencing, something new and beautiful.

"No." She shook her head, but only managed to do so once. Her head seemed so heavy. Almost as if by being in his presence it had inconveniently filled with a mixture of lead and water. "No. Do not stop, please." It was not supposed to be like this, she mused, her hands fisting in the bed material as he lowered his head, much as his hand had, to that private place. Her lungs were squeezed as if by a fist and she gasped out, her back arching, as he did wonderful, wonderful things to her. She had been around women her entire life, and they had all agreed that the men were pigs and that this...this first initiation was painful.

This was not painful, her mind woozily placed. It was superb, wonderful, splendid. Her breath came whooshing back when he lifted her hips to get better access. This was the boy who had said he had no experience. Her mind, although a little misty about the memory, recalled hearing him say that to her. And he did not lie. At least, not that she knew of. She could not see Romane lying to her, especially about something that had, and still did not, mean much of anything to her. To her, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

If he'd had been able to read her mind, he would simply have said there wasn't much to do wrong when there was gentleness and affection on your mind.

"Hally, look at me."

When he leaned back over her, so their eyes were on equal levels, she did look at him. The long, curling hair, the scars -both infamous and small- those brilliant green eyes, so alert, so focused, so stormy, she saw herself in them. Her lips were swollen and her hair tousled, but she did not mind. She was beautiful like this, with him like this. Romane wanted her, so of course she was beautiful.

He untied the rope that was in the place of a belt and tossed it, along with his bottoms, somewhere towards the door. Her eyes, already widened with the amazing emotions zooming through her blood, glazed even more with the sight of him in the nude, but this time he detected a little fear. Going slow, even though the blood raging in other regions of his anatomy than his head urged him to do the exact opposite, he placed his hands on her cheeks. Her breath was hitching again, but it did not make her feel all glorious inside this time. He kissed her, and put his emotions into it. It was a sweet kiss, rather tentative on both of their parts, but it deepened until her hands started to get restless and roamed around his neck, than clasped.

"I won't hurt you," he murmured, not realizing it was in his native speech instead of Geyesh. "I promise it'll only hurt for a few moments."

He slipped into her in one smooth, powerful thrust of his inexperienced hips. Her mouth trembled open and her arms unconsciously brought his face closer to hers. He paused inside that warm, wet glove that was wrapped around him tighter than skin, and struggled not to just plunge into her until the frustration, the thoughts, leaked out of him, but he resisted.

"You okay?"

Instead of answering, she pistoned her hips up and took him in deeper, closer, and shuddered at the sensations that ravaged her. She wanted him in deeper, closer to her heart, where his name and face already lingered like a daunting shadow. She wanted him. Her hands grew selfish and slid to his chest, her hands leaving a slight glow that lasted a few seconds on the skin her fingers slithered over. Her fingertip trailed down his chest, then around his waist, until they spooned his buttocks. She grabbed them both and boosted him even harder, closer, to the core of her soul.

The speed had started slow, but it grew fast, turning into a dance rather than a luxurious feast. They matched in rhythm, their eyes never leaving the others, their breaths merging in the inch their mouths were separated by. Then, because he wanted to prolong it, he kissed her with as much passion as she urged him inside her.

He hurried the pace, sweat beginning to pool down at the bottom of his back. Their lips were sealed as tightly as their loins were, and he felt the instant she surrendered, -utterly, completely- and let herself go.

When she came, he pushed deeper, to aid her, but held himself back as her body convulsed with the pleasure of flying for the first time. It was dazzling to see her eyes glaze, her arm fling back to grasp the corner of the bedside table as her mouth trembled with the pressure, the delight, the full blast of it. Then, when she went limp, he linked both of their hands together and nibbled at the flushed, slightly damp neck and started off slow until her hips began to move again.

"Romane," she gasped, her fingers tightening over his as the pressure built again. "I cannot."

He plunged into her fiercely at that and crushed his mouth to hers. "Can't you?" he whispered. "This is what life is." It had to be. This was the first time he'd felt alive in years. "This isn't something you have to do. We are doing it for ourselves. This is for us. Only us." Again, he kissed her as she clamped tightly around him and came. And this time, at her muted scream of pleasure, he gave one last rock inside her and tumbled in after her.

* * * * * *