1 Prologue: Not a Word

Xena felt the weight in her arms shift. She readjusted her arms to better carry the squirming bundle of blue cloth, a cloth so different from the fine pink silk of her sleeves, a cloth woven on a wooden loom and not machine-made.

The palace halls made no attempt to aid her quest for silent movement. Each rustle of silk and globule of rainwater she left behind echoed her presence, in time for nationwide silence this was no time to be loud or interrupt, especially considering her already fragile position in the Xandrian high society. And yet she was willing to risk it all, for if her high priestess liked what she held in her arms then her position and even her great-grandchildren's positions would be untouchable. It was a risk worth the reward.

The silence intensified as Xena neared the rooms of the high priestess, the only disturbance being the pounding of her own footsteps and the groans of disdain coming from the guards posted outside. Catching her breath, Xena stopped herself from trespassing without clearance by skidding to a halt.

"Lady Beatrix needs to see this." Xena panted out, putting on a more feminine tone to ease whatever pre-conceived impression she may have made on the two guards. It didn't seem to work. The one to her right exhaled in annoyance,

"This is a sacred time! No noise and no visitors."

"My Priestess needs to see this." Xena retorted. "Let me in or I shall scream."

"Shut up! Do you want us all expelled from the high ranks?" The guard to her left hissed with as much quietness as sternness would allow. Xena unwrapped the bundle of blue cloth and showed the swaddled babe to the guards. Both looked at each other in a silent confirmation before lowering their guns and allowing Xena to enter, as she passed they glared at her from beneath their helmets.

The rooms of High Priestess Beatrix were not as impressive as her husbands, but nevertheless impressive still. Everything was pristine, there was no clutter in the corners or on desktop surfaces, the jet black walls of the interior were polished to a greater degree than the regular walls of the Xandrian palace and were decorated with intricate red designs at important intervals like the frame of a door or window. The windows here faced south, windows themselves in Xandrian society were rare. Xena had only looked out of seven windows in her life. These ones were huge and spanned the length of the entire southern wall with two black intervals between them. In the rain-light of the central window was High Priestess Beatrix on her knees with one of the finest Xandrian doctors performing the operation. Lain out on the floor around them were burning bowls of incense that smelt of peaches, beside the doctor was a neatly arranged medical bag. Xena liked to play a game of guessing the doctor whenever she saw one, it was difficult to guess at first as they always wore masks disguising their faces. Some said it was to mask their shame if they lost a patient but Xena thought it was a remnant from a previous culture.

Xena assumed the respectful kneel a good Xandrian was expected to show to their superiors. With the bundle still in her arms she pressed her forehead to the ground and held it there for five seconds, then she looked back up at the High Priestess. Beatrix was rarely seen without wearing her niqab but the operation required access to her vocal cords, the garment was folded in her lap. It looked like the final few stitches were being sewn. The doctor cut the thread, smeared something on the seam, and wrapped it in a bandage. Beatrix put the niqab back on herself as the doctor bowed in respect, picked up a bowl with something fleshy inside, gathered up his things, and left. As he walked past Xena she spoke up.

"My High Priestess, I have something you might want to see." Xena held out the restless baby and bowed her head once more. There was no reaction from Beatrix. "I found him outside in the rain. I'm not usually one to look at things this way but he could be a sign." There was still a silence from Beatrix. Xena nervously continued, "He could be a gift from the Gods, a gift to you my Lady. A replacement-" Xena cursed herself for her word choice. There was no way to recover from that statement, she only hoped Beatrix had chosen to ignore her but from the sound of fast-moving fabric, Xena was preparing her face for a slap. But no slap came. The bundle was snatched out from her arms and was now being cradled by the most revered woman in the Empire.

Beatrix remembered the last time she held a baby, some fifteen years ago when she held her son Xerxes. A replacement? A gift from the Gods? After a long career in studying the mystical arts that wasn't an impossible conclusion for how this child came to her. He clearly wasn't of her world, his species' existence had been debated for some time, dismissed as legend yet here was a baby Duneyrr.

"He will never know he's Duneyrr. He will be my son." Beatrix thought to herself. the only voice she had left. "He will be my son and maybe this time it will be better. I must show Xaviour." The High Priestess cradled the baby with as much love as if she had birthed him herself and for the first time in two months, she smiled.

Xena breathed a sigh of relief as Beatrix's amber eyes showed the faintest glint of hope for her future. Her post as head handmaiden was secured.

"If I'm right, then he's a baby Duneyrr, one of the deer folk. I don't know how he got here, he just appeared." Xena looked up again for validation but Beatrix was entranced. "This came with him. I can't read the language." She held out a crude paper square with scrawling of charcoal across it. When Beatrix finally looked at the paper she recognized the language as one studied in her youth, the paper was rain-stained but still readable. 'my name is Grimley, treat me kindly' was scrawled across it in runes.

Xaviour had spent the last week in silence out of respect for his wife's decision to endure the 'freedom from grief' procedure. He had tried to talk her out of it but she couldn't be swayed. The operation was supposed to be completed by this hour and he prayed it would bring her some sort of closure to never be able to speak of their great upset again. He would never her say "I love you" again, the last time she spoke those words to him echoed in his mind like a crash in a cave. Things would change now there were no heirs to continue the Xandrian succession. Of course, new ones would have to happen somehow or else civil war would break out but he doubted Beatrix would want to be with him for a while. Which is why he jumped out of his skin as his beloved wife came charging into the room with a Duneyrr baby in her arms, her amber eyes showing the first sign of true joy in a while. And yet despite her joy, Xaviour couldn't help but feel uneasy at the idea of a baby so soon after their son's death. He knew it was upsetting for her to endure but he also had to see their son filed away like paper into the family vault and this was far too soon.

It was obvious in her state of mind that Beatrix wasn't thinking about the consequences of raising this child as their own. Adopting a child was not something Xaviour wanted to do again. Not after Xalesha. He had hoped they would take it slow, heal with time, and start again. This was two weeks after their son's funeral!

Xaviour turned away from the baby.

"No Beatrix. Let it rest." Beatrix shook her head at his response, as he turned away she moved around him to keep herself within his sight. Xaviour placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her energized movements then looked down at the baby. Its skin was as black as the floors surrounding them and out from its head grew two small stumps. Its eyes were bright blue and the whole baby looked more developed than any Xandrian child of around the same age. It was clearly not of their world and made Xaviour feel uneasy. He once believed that no matter how different people are, in our own ways we're the same. But after Xalesha and looking at this baby Duneyrr, he wasn't sure how well that theory held up. "It's not one of us." he said. Beatrix grabbed at his cloak to protest in any way she could but this time he shrugged her off. "I said no! You can keep it if you want but I'll have no part in it! Our son is dead!" He stormed off to the other side of the room near the windows facing east. "You can raise it. It will be your son but not mine." Xaviour continued to face the eastern overlook of the Xandrian city as he heard the hoof-beats of Beatrix disappear down towards her own rooms. He grabbed at the breathing assist he now wore on his face for some comfort and twisted the pipe leading from his mouth to his throat around his fingers. "It won't happen again." He repeated to himself. "It won't happen again."