Nightmare Dance

a Damara story
(c) 2000 Deb Atwood

from Chaos Theory by Michael McGovern

I was never meant for society bullshit. Skirts swirled far too heavy around my ankles, swishing and tangling there until I felt like I could hardly move. I was more comfortable in leathers, which might have been heavier but I felt less encumbered when wearing them. And then there was the music, light and skipping around me, without any real feel to it to make my feet move in the dance. There was nothing inspired about it, no heart within it. And the chatter I heard was all nebulous, little chitters of polite small talk.

A felt myself frowning as I reached up to smooth a stray curl back to the elaborate style that had caught my strawberry blond curls back from my face, spilling them down my back over the lace of the dress. Why *was* I here?

I scanned the room, searching for an answer. There had to be *someone*, some *reason* why I was dressed up in what felt like a costume to me, without even a small blade to protect me.

As I stood there, people whirling around me in a dazzling array of color and music, I felt someone's eyes upon me. I turned slowly, wondering who it was.

The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet, the breath kicked from my gut. "Agrivar?" I breathed, taking two steps forward, one hand out. The skirts tangled, twisting around my calves, and a stumbled, falling forward.

Hands gripped my arms from behind, just below the armbands, fingers digging painfully into my muscles. I was yanked backwards again, pulled up sharply, eyes blurring at the shock of the movement. "Agrivar!" I screamed, but there was nothing there. If he ever had been.

"Who is Agrivar?"

His voice was sleepy, yanked from the arms of dreams and sounding confused in my ears. I sat up in the bed, still gasping, the remnants of the dream clinging to me as closely as the sheets tangled around my feet. My lover rolled over to stare at me, shivering in the cool air.

"Someone... someone who died a long time ago." I shook my head, the dream still fogging my mind, almost still hearing the music. "Go... go back to sleep, Donovan."

His hand slid over the skin of my arm. "Damara." His voice was low and smoky, and there was a concerned smile on his face. "Come back to bed, woman. Forget your dreams."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching, pushing the covers back over Donovan. "Not now. I'm not in the mood."

We were in the officer's barracks, and Donovan's room was large. I walked over to the window, grabbing a sleep shirt on my way. The night was cold, and I could feel the goose bumps on my arm rising. I hugged myself hard, shivering as I sat down on the windowsill and looked out into the darkness.

I heard myself humming lightly, the music still shimmering inside my mind. It wasn't anything I had ever heard before. Wasn't any place I remembered ever seeing before. And I drifted off to sleep again, sitting there with my lanky body curled in the window frame.

I awoke to Donovan's touch on my shoulders, sliding beneath the collar of my shirt, touching my skin. I smiled, leaning back and into his touch, enjoying the feel of him. Lips whispered against the skin at the back of my neck, and with a low chuckle I gave in to his desires this time. More than an hour later we lay atop tousled sheets, over half of them spilled onto the floor, and we were both smiling now.

"So what had you all caught up last night?" Donovan's hand tangled in my hair, pulling me towards him for a kiss as he asked the question.

I stiffened in his arms, the pleasant languor disippating quickly. "What do you mean?"

I had been with Donovan for several months, and he had learned the tone of my voice. Yet it never seemed to bother him. He grinned at me, his eyes brilliant blue and sparkling, as his hand slid over my skin, trying to distract me. Red hair curled over his forehead as he shook his head. "Damara, don't try to get away without talking. Hells, you know you were talking in your sleep. And I don't care if it was another lover you were screaming to. I just want you to open up and actually *talk* about something that's obviously bothering you."

Through the entire speech his voice had that low smoky quality to it, just a hint of teasing on the edge of it. I enjoyed being with Donovan, but all along I had loved that he didn't try to get inside my shell. Didn't pry into my past. Didn't even seem to care. Once again the thought crossed my mind... why?

With a faint frown drawing my brows together, I moved back, sliding out of his grasp. "Why?" The blunt question slipped out, and I didn't wish it back.

He shook his head, expression clouding. "Damara, you're a damned fine soldier, and a hell of a woman, in bed and out. But if you don't figure out what to do about all the hell you're carrying around in your head, its going to come up and swat you in the middle of a battle, and you'll lose control. And possibly your life along with it."

I sat there, stiffly, through his concerned chiding. Then I shook my head. "Donovan, my life is *my* life," I snapped, feeling the fury growing. "Just leave it alone and I'll be fine."

Hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to him and kissing me hard. "Gods, Damara," he breathed. "Just stop arguing. Don't get pissed at me for caring whether you live or die."

He was trying to distract me, and even though I knew it, hells, he was good at it. So I let him, and an hour later he pulled the covers over me, promising to send in a bath while went to deal with plans.

Two more nights, two more dreamless nights, and we had reached the time to move out. The time to do battle. I moved from Donovan's quarters and into the barracks with my men. Cavalry. I had never liked to do battle from horseback, but that was where the job was, so that was what I would do.

By the time we stopped traveling, we had ridden hard. Night had fallen and we kept going, towards the river that lay on the border between this country and the next. We expected to arrive early the day after next, but tonight we kept strong watch, knowing that our proximity meant we were at risk for attack. They knew we were coming. We just didn't know when they'd do something about it.

We made camp, and as I crawled into my cold bedroll for the night, I realized I missed Donovan. I didn't imagine myself in love with him. I had no desire to get that entangled. But I'd certainly enjoyed his company, enjoyed his warmth and his presence in my bed. Or mind in his.

Sometimes it felt good to take a break.

All of a sudden sleep was the last thing on my mind. I got up and walked out of camp, nodding at the guard as I passed. I needed to walk, needed to stretch my legs. It wasn't all that uncommon, the energy before a battle. I needed to loosen up, and then I'd be able to relax.

I walked a bit away, finding a stream that I knew led down to the river... right where we were heading. I sat down on the bank, pulling off my boots and sticking my feet in the cold water. I stared down at the reflection, shimmering and shifting as my feet moved the water.

I don't remember slipping into the dreamlands, but there I was. Still sitting on the bank with my feet dangling in the water, but the stream was larger... a river now. "Damara!"

At the shout behind me, I turned to see Agrivar approaching me, a cloth-wrapped package in his hand. My hands slid up my arms, touching the bare spots where my bracers began. The scene moved in fast forward, and then the bracers were on my arms again, and Agrivar was holding onto me. I clung to him, eyes watering with the memory of what happened. The sheer horror of the memory, pure and clear within my brain.

I pushed back, saying quickly, "Aggie, trust me... something's going to go wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong."

"Who's Aggie?"

Donovan's clear eyes stared down at me, his red hair tousled over his forehead. "Damara? What's going to go wrong?"

Was it still a dream? Something felt wrong... a quick glance, and yes, the stream still roared past as a river. Daylight, not yet gone to evening. This couldn’t be real. But I felt Donovan's arms on mine, could almost feel his concern radiating off of him. Saw the muscles bunching in his arms as he drew me to my feet. "Damara?" he said again, pulling me in close. "What in all the hells are you talking about?"

Music. There was music suddenly, and Donovan began to move with me in his arms. Heavy skirts swirlign around my ankles, tripping me. Entangling me. All the while he watched me, wondering. "Why are we here?" I whispered as the music clanged. A metallic sound, the beat underneath the strings and piano.

"We are here to fight the war. On whatever front it needs to be fought," Donovan said, with an eyebrow raised. "We do what we have to do, Damara. And we go on? Now... who is Agrivar?"

It was only a dream, and that made it safe. Just my mind repeating my restlessness back to me. Making conversation with myself.

"A friend," I said slowly. "He died five years ago. In an ambush." I hadn't spoken of it since then. It had been so long. So long and I hadn't thought about it. But now, all of a sudden I knew without a doubt that it had been exactly five years. And now I was sitting again on the bank of a waterway and we had a day before the battle was joined. "My brother," I whispered. "Ever since he found me."

Donovan smiled then, although it was tinged with pity and sorrow. "Why does he scare you?"

My eyes snapped to his as he spun me around. The music ended with a martial clang, and then it shifted and changed, becoming slow and romantic. Dreamlike.

"He doesn't scare me," I whispered. I felt out of sorts. Off-kilter and confused. Why was I dancing? I hated places like this. Situations like this. This was not me. Could not possibly be me.

Donovan touched my cheek, stopping the swirling dance and cradling me in his arms as we swayed there. "You wake up screaming," he said softly, brushing a kiss after his touch.

I shook my head. "I remember his death. It was..." my breath caught in my throat. "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. His death... all the blood. Everything." I hiccuped, and for the first time since it had happened I lost control. Swaying in Donovan's arms I began to sob, falling forward as he held me there. "Oh gods..."

He kept me close to him, cradling me, whispering soft things as I cried. All the while the music changed, shifting, and we still swayed in a close slow dance. He touched my chin, tipping my face up to meet his gaze. "We will not die," he said in that low smoky voice. "We will not die here. Not here, and not now. Remember the dance, Damara. And go on."

He bent to kiss my forehead, just a whisper of his lips there. "Let go of the past, Damara. Don't let it seize you in battle. Doesn't it feel better to tell me?"

I had to smile slightly, even knowing how red my face was, how puffy the eyes from the tears. "Yes," I admitted. "It does."

His smile grew, fond and caring, and he kissed my forehead again. And swept me into the dance.

I awoke back at the camp, curled up tight in the bedroll and waking slowly as I always did. My horse was nuzzling me as I awoke, and I pushed him away almost roughly as I sat up. Had I ever left? Taken that walk?

A bit uncertain, I looked around, but no one was treating me any different. One of my men pressed a cup of hot coffee into my hands -- they already knew how terrible I could be in the morning. Everything was going according to plan. Routine.

But *I* was different. As we traveled that final day, and as we went into battle the next, I knew exactly where we were going and why. And I never doubted that we would win. The spectre of that one battle had finally left me.

If you are a member of the Chaos Theory campaign, please do not read these stories unless specifically directed to by the player or GM. These stories contain background information about Damara which is not generally known.