Hi :)  My name is Hsiu.  I've been lurking on the FFML for a couple of months, 
and finally have produced something to post.  

This is my newest fic, the latest in a vaguely organized Slayers series, 
though as a stand-alone fic it should be fairly easy to 

grasp what's going on.  C&C greatly appreciated, especially for the last 1/3 
of the story.  I have a feeling it's too rushed and not 

as fully detailed compared with the first 1/3.  Thanks :)

Disclaimer: The Slayers and its characters are copyright of Hajime Kanzaka, 
Rui Araizumi, and Kadokawa Anime (I think).  No 

profit is being made from this fanfiction.

Sweet Dreams/Flying Machines : Chapter 1

The clock hanging on the wall dropped dry, precise seconds into the room.  
Zelgadis sat at the table and drank his coffee, shakily.  Gourry Gabriev sat 
opposite him, big hands crossed atop the tabletop as if in prayer, calluses 
from long years of swordsplay lately softened by dishrags and soil from the 
garden.

"So," the former swordsman said, jarringly bright against the ticking of the 
clock.  

Zelgadis took another shaky gulp of coffee.

Two solemn faces peered around the doorway.  Fourteen-year old Thom and eight-
year old Lori had taken advantage of tonight's strange happenings to ignore 
their bedtime and watch their father's old friend break down in the kitchen.

"Tell me what's happened," Gourry said more gently as the clock slotted 
another second into the night.  "Lina and I haven't seen you since -"

"The wedding," Zelgadis said dully.  His stone fingers, cased in rough cloth 
soiled and torn, curled tightly around the coffee mug.  The mug rattled 
against the china coffee saucer in a rapid staccato tap.

"Yes," Lori piped up.  "Tell us what's happened, Uncle Zelgadis."

Zelgadis could not help flinching.  A few drops of coffee swished out of the 
mug and sent dark patches of wet spreading across the worn white tablecloth.  
The last time he had seen Gourry and Lina, Lori had not even been born.  The 
chimera stared into his coffee, unable to look at his friend, at the boy 
gazing at him out of frank red eyes, at the girl-stranger who so casually 
called him Uncle.  Tell them what happened.  A harder task never before 
attempted.  And yet he had to.  He wanted to tell.  Hadn't he come here, 
stumbling in from the night rain because he had nowhere else to go?  He wanted 
so badly to tell.

Zelgadis raised his tired eyes.  Gourry was looking at him, kind and unhurried 
as always.  Calm, reassuring Gourry.  The last constant in a mad world.  
Zelgadis took a breath, weak but unwavering now.

"Ten years ago," he began, "at Amelia's wedding...

**~**~**~**

As you remember, I arrived at Seyruun the morning of the wedding.  The city 
was decorated for the event, white flowers and silk banners everywhere.  Even 
inside the palace, we could hear the crowd as everyone gathered in the square 
to celebrate.  I remember talking with you and Lina for an hour or so, and 
playing with Thom - he must have been four or five.  I can't recall what we 
talked about.  Something about how time flew, and how amazing it was that 
Amelia was twenty already.  Lina asked me what I had been doing since the 
Darkstar incident.  I had been travelling, seeing the world outside of the 
barrier, looking for a cure.  I hadn't wanted to come back, but...well.  I 
hadn't wanted to come back, but I felt I owed it to Amelia.  And it was a very 
good reunion, after all.  

Two hours before the ceremony, a page summoned me into Amelia's private 
rooms.  I was mystified.  Prince Philionel had told us that we would not be 
able to talk with Amelia until the reception.  But I followed, thinking she 
wanted her bracelet back, now that she was getting married.  The page admitted 
me into Amelia's sitting room.  She wasn't there.

"Amelia?" I called out.

"I'm in here," came her voice faintly from further in the suite.  I followed 
her voice into a smaller sun room, decorated heavily in pink.  Amelia was 
sitting at a table near the full-length windows, looking out towards the 
eastern sky.  She was wearing a plain blue dress and her hair hung to her 
shoulders.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" I asked awkwardly.  Though I hadn't wanted 
to come, I had not anticipated my first words to her to be those.  Amelia did 
not seem to notice.

"I'm not getting married," she said without turning around.

My stomach dropped.  "What?" I said, hoping I had heard incorrectly.

"I'm not getting married to Prince Peter," she repeated, and this time she did 
turn to face me.  

I stared, rather taken aback.  Amelia had changed in the five years since we'd 
last seen each other.  Even sitting, it was obvious that she was taller.  Her 
face was thinner than before, and though all her features were the same, they 
now were the features of a woman, not a girl.  Only Amelia's eyes resembled 
their former selves.  They were perhaps a shade darker dark blue, and a little 
graver.  Her eyebrows had formed permanent worry creases between them.  But 
the old gleam was still there, full of hope and misty romantic dreams.  I 
could not say if I had missed that gleam, only that it was my only connection 
to Amelia the champion of justice.

Finally, realizing that I had been staring at her for some time, I attempted 
to recover my composure.  "You have to get married," I said dumbly for the 
sake of saying something.  "Your father's already got the orchestra ready."

Amelia surged out of her chair, her eyes gleaming desperately.  "But don't you 
see?" she cried.  "It's wrong, all wrong!"

My stomach sank further.  I thought of kidnappings, of assassinations, of 
Mazoku in the palace.  "Is Prince Peter trying to kill you?" I asked quietly 
to avoid being overheard.  Slowly, I shifted my into a fighting stance and 
placed a hand upon my sword.  

It was Amelia's turn to stare.  "No," she said, stamping a bare foot.  "No 
one's trying to kill me.  I'm not getting married to Peter because I'm not in 
love with him" she said, emphasizing each word with a stamp of her foot.

"Oh," I said, relieved.  "Is that all.  But you knew your marriage was going 
to be --"

"A political one," Amelia finished.  "And it is.  Daddy's done very well 
setting up an alliance with Peter's country.  He's from outside the Barrier," 
she added.  "And he's very nice, and we're friends, and it's nice that he's 
willing to stay here as Prince Consort, but --" she broke off suddenly to look 
at me with pleading eyes.  "I'm in love with you, Zelgadis."

And though I had been expecting her to say just that from the moment I saw her 
in her plain blue dress, my heart still skipped with pity.  "That can't 
happen," I said quietly.

Amelia drew closer, almost in tears.  "But it has happened," she cried, her 
voice full not of heartbreak but of desperation, begging to be saved.  Her 
eyes were gleaming feverishly now.  "We'll go away," she babbled.  "I've got a 
bag packed, and we'll go out the window, and have Lina and Gourry wait for us 
outside the gate, and it'll be like old times.  We'll go away together."  It 
was terrible to see how the hope in them struggled against time and fate, how 
quickly the dreams were drowning in those midnight-blue irises.  

How could I tell her?  Why she was not in love with me, and why I could not be 
in love with her.  I was a dream.  I was the dark mysterious stranger.  I was 
freedom.  I was a million miles from corruption and murder attempts and the 
sight of blood splattered across the walls.  I was the opposite of the 
terrible reality that is Amelia's past and will be her future.  

"That can't happen," I repeated, bracing myself for another outburst.

None came.  Instead, Amelia turned back to the window.  Her shoulders 
slumped.  "Of course," she said quietly.  "I have been very silly.  I expect I 
was just nervous about the wedding.  I have a country to govern and you have a 
cure to find.  We shall both be very busy.  Of course."  Her voice sounded far 
away, beyond reach.  "I'm so sorry you had to see me act so childishly. Thank 
you so much for coming to the wedding.  It's so nice to celebrate it with 
friends.  Thank you so much."

"Your bracelet," I said, drawing it out of my pocket.  I half hoped that she 
would tell me to keep it, as a reminder that we had indeed once been friends.

She turned around one last time.  Her eyes were dry and so dark that I could 
no longer tell what she was thinking.  "Leave it on the table," she said.

I didn't stay for the wedding.








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