Part III

The world swims before his eyes. He clutches at something to anchor himself—an arm, it feels like.

Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I knew he would have never accepted the goodbye.

Someone places a hand on his forehead, urging him not to speak.

Will he ever forgive me?

If it is forgiveness you need, here you will always be forgiven.

The answer does not truly satisfy him but the pain comes then, and the heat, like someone cooks him from the inside out. He wants no memory of it, and so buries it deep.

~~~

Autumn turns to winter abruptly, leaves withering all at once and the migrating birds stealing away. A discontent is left behind in James. He wakes suffocating amid the opulence of his bed chamber, wondering where the days of the season have gone, why they have become naught but darkness and dreams.

A fire is already stoked in the hearth, but the prince rises from his bed with a quilt about his shoulders and trails to the nearest window. The land is still cloaked in shadow, the light he had hoped to see only a dim glow at the horizon. He shivers despite the quilt and begins to sweat despite the cold.

“Sir!” There is worry in the voice of his manservant, who places a bowl and a cloth near the foot of his bed. Pavel beseeches the prince to lie down again. “Please, you have not been well for some days.”

“I feel fine.” The act of speaking ignites a fire in James’ throat. “Pavel?” he questions, recognizing that something is strange but not what.

The manservant stirs in the corner of eye. “Sir?”

Weary, throat aching, James leans into the wall by the window. “This is not the world I remember,” he says, staring down at the snow on the ground. “But I suppose a sire is a sir.” He frowns. “There was something I had to do.”

“You are obligated only to rest,” a new voice informs him, one without pleading.

James sighs through his nose. “Are you here in the event that I recover, or that I do not?” he asks.

“Either,” Spock replies in his unalarming way.

“It was raining,” the prince murmurs. “You said you needed me.”

“You took ill from exposure to the rain. Your fever has not yet passed.”

He doesn’t want to hear about his health. “What of the thief?”

There is a short silence. Then, “Under guard.”

James sighs again. “We cannot leave him to wait too long.”

“The man,” Spock points out, “is there by his own folly.”

But James shakes his head, which has the unfortunate side effect of making things spin. His grip on the quilt turns bloodless. “Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.”

“Yet his guilt is evident.”

“To whom?” James asks almost sharply, turning around to look his steward in the eyes. “I have made no decision on the matter.”

“You,” Spock’s reply is just as sharp, “are compromised.”

James stiffens at the insult.

The steward shifts, then, his implacableness lessening in stance and voice. “I merely state a fact. Until the fever abates, you are in no condition to make judgment upon the accused. That is why I urge you to rest.”

“You say you need me,” James says slowly, “but often I wonder if you would see me fail.”

Spock lets his hands hang loosely by his sides, the only sign of his surprise.

James faces the window again. “Forget it, that was cruel of me. I know you don’t understand, as I know it isn’t your intention to curtail my agency. In truth, it is you who are more compromised than I am, Spock, because you refuse to be duplicitous.”

The other man moves forward until they stand shoulder to shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, grave as ever, “for I assume you meant to compliment me, and that proves my conclusion. You are not fully recovered.” He beckons Pavel over.

The manservant takes James’ arm, saying, “Let me help you to bed, sir.”

James nods mutely and allows himself to be pulled from the window. Spock follows, approaching the bed only once Pavel has tucked the prince in. Slumping down into the crumpled sheets, James makes an effort to keep his eyes open.

“Do not worry,” murmurs Spock over his head. “Nothing shall change until you join us again.”

James shakes his head slightly, not in a frame of mind to challenge the promise. He can only think of a small grievance, a quiet nagging thing, and mumbles it with a sigh. “You never use my name.”

He imagines that Spock leans closer.

“I could not. You are my liege.”

James’ eyes close. “I am also your friend.”

Spock places a hand against the prince’s cheek. James sleeps.

~~~

Two days later James is awake and aware and feeling very much like himself. In the company of his newly re-instated personal guard, he visits the prisoner in the dungeons. The two men standing silently on either side of a barred door place their fists over their hearts when they notice his approach, but only at Sulu’s command do they move aside.

The man on the other side of the door sits cross-legged on a straw pallet. He turns his head in curiosity after the door opens. James is expecting him to look miserable—scared, even.

If this person feels either of those things, he gives no sign of it. His thin half-smile is not quite a challenge, but the arrogance behind it is obvious.

Then he seems to look, truly look at James in the poor light, and adopts a neutral expression. It is by far more calculating than the smile.

“Captain,” he greets James.

It is unexpectedly Sulu who growls displeasure at the slight of address.

The half-smile reappears.

James considers the intelligence in the prisoner’s eyes, offering a reminder with dismissive carelessness, “Prince, not Captain.”

The man nods in his direction as one equal would to another.

James takes a step forward in consternation, but Sulu’s arm quickly bars his path. He sees the hard look in the guardsman’s eyes and, somewhat unnerved by it, relents, moving back to his original position.

The prince refocuses his attention on the prisoner. “Do you have a name?”

“Name?” the man repeats, eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. After a moment, he says, “I see. I should warn you, if we are to play this game, the stakes should only be worth what you are willing to lose.” His gaze is coldly amused. “Or didn’t you already learn that lesson?”

James draws in a sharp breath at the stirring of an almost-memory. He squashes it down, saying quickly, “If you wish to withhold your identity, so be it. The next question I will ask only once: do you understand the charge against you?”

The man looks away, the end to his amusement abrupt. “Yes. All of them.”

James nods. “Then your trial begins on the morrow.” He backs out of the cell, not comfortable taking his eyes off the man until he is fully over the threshold.

Sulu shuts the door and lowers the wooden beam into place. An iron lock is engaged.

James eyes Sulu. “He said ‘them’. Beyond the theft, what other charges are there?”

Sulu only replies, “Spock knows, sir. You’ll have to ask him.”

~~~

He has on plain clothes, wool and undyed linen, and boots that have walked through better days. He wears his face like his boots, strong and serviceable but nothing that would catch the eye. Likely, he does not want to be recognized, except by his quarry.

James closes the door softly, wholly unsurprised. He had felt there would be a return of the stranger, that their business was not done. It is only the small fact that Leonard’s appearance has occurred without rousing any of the guards (even the ever-vigilant Sulu whom James has convinced to remain in the antechamber for privacy’s sake) that makes James peevish.

“How did you get in here?” he asks.

Leonard does not appear impressed by the demanding tone. “What are you doing, Jim?”

“How did you get in here?”

“Why that bastard?”

James moves away from the door, flinging up a hand. “My question first.”

Leonard rolls his eyes like he is being coerced into a game. “Fine. I flew in.”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“I crawled under the door?”

James nearly snorts and warns him, “I will grant you one more chance to be truthful and if you aren’t, I plan to alert the guard in the next room. These days he is far less lenient concerning strangers than I am.”

“The truth is,” Leonard says, “I walked in. No one noticed.”

And that, James decides, is more dismaying to hear aloud. What kind of protection does this castle have if strangers can come and go as they please?

He crosses his arms and widens his stance. “Fair enough. Now… who is the bastard?”

Leonard’s mouth presses into a thin line. “You know.”

James raises his eyebrows. “I do?”

“Damn it, man,” McCoy says, clearly aggravated, “what is this you’re playing at? I’m talking about Khan—Khan, of all people!”

James narrows his eyes but, to him, the name means nothing.

His lack of shock must disturb the other man. Leonard moves toward him, anger replaced with concern. “Whatever it is you’re doing here, Jim…”

Khan may be an empty moniker but the nickname Leonard insists on using is like someone continually prodding at a sore spot. James’ temper sharpens. “Why must you call me that? I was born James, I have always been James, and I shall die James.”

Leonard flinches.

James swallows an apology as his sudden anger cools, and he turns away, removing his circlet to hold it in his hands. “I only ask that you call me by my birth name.”

“I can’t,” Leonard says.

“Why not?”

“Because if I do, then I might forget who you are.”

James lifts his head, looks at him. “You make no sense, Leonard.”

Leonard shakes his head slightly. “I’m trying to but you aren’t making this easy on me. Last time I… well, last time you wouldn’t let me finish.” The man sighs. “I know you’re not ready. I know that… but it took so long for me to simply exist.”

James swallows down inexplicable shame. “Of course you exist. I’m talking to you.”

Leonard is silent a moment, his eyes infinitely sad. When he speaks again, he begs, “Just tell me… why Khan?”

“He’s a thief,” James answers, unthinking. Something slips into place, a puzzle piece. James rubs the back of his hand against his mouth. “So he’s the one. Is Khan the reason you came here?” He has a suspicion he cannot ignore. “Are you his accomplice?”

The man’s skin flushes, his eyes flash. He strides for the chamber door, surprising James with the force of his anger.

James pivots on the ball of his foot to watch the man go. “You’re leaving?”

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” Leonard shoots back, his voice dark. “You’re such a fool!”

The door opens before Leonard can reach for it. Pavel comes inside, James’ dressing robe draped over one arm.

He asks, “Are you ready for bed, sir?” then gazes around the room, adding, “I heard you talking. Vas someone here?”

Leonard walks straight through Pavel and out the door. In McCoy’s wake, the young man gives a bewildered shudder.

Following a stunned moment, James closes his mouth. Sulu, he notices, is watching him intently from the other side of the doorway.

Weakly the prince beckons his manservant forward. “I believe it is time for bed, Pavel, thank you. Bring that here.”

~~~

The entirety of the court is gathered around, some watching the prisoner standing in a circle of guards, others watching the prince on the throne. It is James’ voice which carries across the open hall.

“A thief, a swindler, a spy…” James does not once glance down at the scroll by his hand. He has memorized every word. “Once even a king, overthrown by his own people. Have I missed anything, Spock?”

The steward answers, “Negative.”

James taps his fingertips rhythmically against the armrest of his high-backed chair. “Tell me, Khan, how does a man with your lineage become such a scoundrel? Is it madness you have fallen prey to, or your own black heart?”

Khan says nothing, as he has said nothing since the start of the trial. James is tired of having to goad him to participate. He waves a negligent hand.

“I can give you one last chance to speak for yourself. If you still have nothing to say, then I accept that you are guilty on all accounts. So choose carefully what you do next. You may go to your grave having paid a great price to keep your dignity.”

“You would kill me?”

James leans back, satisfied to have won this small battle. “I would.”

Khan appraises him and expresses mild approval: “Then I have underestimated you, Captain.”

The man is needling him the only way he can. James knows this. But even knowing so, he cannot completely contain his ire. “If you want leniency, now is the time to beg for it.”

“Ah—and you have underestimated me. I deny none of the charges on your list, with the exception of one.”

A curious murmur runs through the court.

Spock speaks beneath the noise, inquiring of Khan, “Which charge do you deny?”

Spock’s involvement this late in the proceedings comes as somewhat of a shock to the prince. The man has not moved and hardly spoken unless directly asked a question. Until now, there has been no give to the off-putting formality he has steeped himself in, from the unadorned grey outfit to the disengaged tone of his voice.

James returns his gaze to Khan, also curious to hear the answer.

“What charge, indeed?” the prisoner echoes, his attention on the steward. “Do you think me a fool?”

“Khan,” James says in warning.

“Did you not tell your Captain?” Khan baits Spock, sounding anything but surprised. “The theft was a ruse.”

James barks out a laugh at the absurdity. “I think it is you who wants to fool us. A sloppy theft is how we caught you.”

“Good,” Khan replies. “Now you begin to understand.”

James opens his mouth, then closes it, something cold striking very hard at the core of him. He looks to Spock, sees no change in expression. He looks to Khan, seeing only triumph. “No. You’re lying.”

“Would I lie over so trivial a matter when there in your hand lies a hundred crimes more worthy? Captain,” the man says, pityingly, “who is the fool now?”

“Silence!” James cries, coming to his feet. “You have no right to make accusations when you have committed the greater sin! Do you even care how many lives have been destroyed because of you?”

“I would ask the same: do the men and women who die for this House haunt you at every turn?”

James draws a breath at the same time the guards around Khan draw their swords. Khan looks at no one but the prince, even with the press of Sulu’s blade against his neck.

“You see, we are much alike, Kirk.”

“I am no murderer.”

“No,” says Khan, “just my executioner.”

The damage is done. He cannot stop the words any more than he can stop his need for air. He orders, “Khan Noonien Singh, you are sentenced to hang until dead.”

Shaking, nauseated, and brimming with hatred, James abandons the dais before anyone else has a chance to rise from their seats. His part here is over. The game could have had no other end.

He becomes aware after some time that Spock has followed him from the great hall and walks beside him in silence. James stops in the middle of the corridor, gazing at nothing in particular.

He breathes. He shudders. He says, “It’s necessary.”

Spock offers him no advice.

James is disappointed. He closes his eyes and commands, “Leave me now.”

When his eyes open again, Spock is gone.

~~~

There is no longer safe haven within the castle.

Jim walks slowly, aimlessly, toward the wood. Sometimes, while he wanders through light and dark, he sees one clear world and one blurred.

One cold chapel, empty.

One silvery star, afire.

At the edge of the trees, he stands on the border of both worlds. Neither makes sense to him; neither seems like home. He has been drifting since he became un-tethered and his memories were buried.

What is the point of going on?

The wind catches his hair, then, and shakes him loose from his dreaming. He looks around and down, discovering a faceless figure has intruded on his path. Turning, he identifies the shadow’s owner as his guard, Sulu.

“Not the wood,” the man says, eyes serious.

James shifts his gaze.

“Not yet,” adds Leonard, standing by the guardsman. He has no shadow of his own.

The prince doesn’t know which one he trusts. Maybe it is for that reason he follows them both back up the hill.

~~~

He wakes with his heart pounding, alone in his bed chamber. The dream was about falling, endlessly falling. He lays tense, full of dread, not at all certain the bed won’t disappear from under him in the next moment and the dream will happen all over again.

At length, the door to the chamber creaks open and Pavel comes in, bearing a candle.

“Here is light,” his manservant whispers.

The darkness in the room lessens. James has never been more grateful for, nor comforted by, such a small flame.

~~~

“Spock,” the prince confesses the next morning when he enters the steward’s study without first knocking, “I may be losing my mind.”

Spock stands at the window, face averted. Behind him, the contents on his unusually tidy table are chaotic. Ink from an overturned pot drips down to pool upon the stone floor.

James forgets his worry. “Has something happened?” he asks, skirting the ink and a few strewn pages.

“You sent Pavel to the library.”

James blinks, then remembers. “I did, yes.” Before Khan, before Leonard, he thinks to himself. Technically both are true. But he doesn’t know which is more important.

Looking serious and unsurprised, Spock extricates a scroll from the mess. “You asked for a map.”

“He found one, then?”

James reaches for the scroll. Spock’s hesitation in handing it over delays the transfer for a quick moment. James tucks the scroll under his arm for safe-keeping.

He says, “I need to ask you something. Will you give me your honest opinion?”

The steward lifts one eyebrow. “I am required to.”

James wants to smile but can’t.

Spock considers his expression, then wonders, “Why do you doubt your sanity?”

The least crazy explanation will have to do. “There is a man named McCoy. I think he’s a ghost and he’s decided to haunt me.”

Spock tilts his head. “Fascinating. Since when?”

“At the chapel, just before you—” Jim stops, sidetracked, to stare at Spock. “How did you know I was there?”

“I always know where you are.”

James looks pained. “Perhaps it is you and not myself I should be questioning, Spock.”

“There is no need to do either. If my performance becomes incompetent, you will replace me. If your performance becomes incompetent, I will replace you. That is the failsafe.”

“If we’re both incompetent… then what?”

“That is highly likely, but should the event occur Lady Uhura has made it known she would make a suitable queen.”

James laughs, feeling much relieved. “Then I may abdicate the throne simply to give her the opportunity!”

Spock walks him to the door of the study. “I will pass the message on.” He gives the prince a steady look. “If you are troubled again by Leonard, come to me immediately. There are ways to exorcise such spirits.”

James nods his understanding and steps into the corridor. The study door shuts behind him. Remembering the scroll under his arm, James unrolls it. It is a map of his lands—the castle encircled completely by green peaks of trees. Beyond the forest lies nothing but blank parchment. He rolls it back up.

It is only once the prince has returned to his chambers that he realizes he never made mention of McCoy’s first name.

~~~

A line of windows along the stone corridor arch across a view of white. James, like so many passers-by, catches stray arrows of sunlight in his clothing; they compliment the golden hue of his tunic. He is in no hurry; but then again, neither is the man trailing behind him.

“Are you following me now?”

“Have to,” Leonard replies, lengthening his stride to fall into step with the prince. “Where are we going?”

“I am seeking pleasant company—that of the lovely Lady Uhura. She plays chess, you know.”

“What an awful liar you are! You’re not going anywhere. You’re brooding.”

James presses his mouth flat and quickens his pace. Much to his dismay, Leonard has no trouble keeping up with him.

Silence settles between them. James is content until Leonard shatters it by saying, “Khan’s not dead.”

He had no desire to hear that name. “If you don’t have a stake in his living, what business is it of yours?”

“I’m curious.”

James exhales loudly. “Fine, then. He will be.”

“Hm,” remarks Leonard, “but you don’t sound certain of that.”

The prince stops walking to round on his companion. “What would you have me do? I cannot kill him! I may want to, particularly when I think of how much safer we would be if he were dead, but it doesn’t—” He bites off the rest of the confession, realizing he has been too honest.

“You don’t want to become him,” Leonard finishes. “If he tried to cut you down, you would have no choice but to choose his life or your own. This is different. An execution is not self-defense.”

James lowers his voice, which sounds excessively loud to his own ears. “It could be preemptive.”

“And it may also be just, but you are the one who has to live with the taking of his life for the rest of yours.” Leonard places a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “I’m glad this isn’t an easy decision for you, kid.”

James looks away, slowly turning the rest of his body to follow. He admits, “I wasn’t brooding over Khan.”

“I know that. Want to tell me about it?”

A thought amuses him. “Have you appointed yourself an advisor to the throne?”

“Advice sounds better coming from a friend.”

Amusement melting away, James resumes a slow pace. “A prince shouldn’t have friends.” He considers what he wants to say next, settling on, “I have to figure out how Spock knows you.”

Leonard groans. “Oh, him—I should’ve known. He’s always the source of your brooding.”

“Shut up.”

“My, my… not sounding so princely now, are we?”

“Because you’re confusing me!” James snaps half-heartedly, then rubs at the bridge of his nose. “And giving me a headache.”

Leonard slips in front of James without warning and takes his chin in a firm hold. He peers into the prince’s eyes with the air of someone who knows what he’s looking for. Leonard’s hand feels like ice.

James squints against the halo of sunlight surrounding the man. “What are you doing?”

“Jim?”

The light is painful, shining directly into his eyes.

“Jim?“

The name has the echo of two voices saying it at the same time. Confused, James doesn’t know which voice to answer.

The moment passes, taking with it the unholy glare of the light. James’ headache subsides. He blinks, finding himself staring into Leonard’s wide eyes. Any explanation which might have occured between them is lost when a man and woman in courtly dress turn the corner of the corridor and recognize James.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Leonard, “but I can’t be seen talking to myself. You have to go. Most of the court thinks suspiciously of why I postponed the execution date. I don’t want them convinced I’m crazy.”

Leonard’s hand drops away; his form flickers. But when he speaks he sounds overjoyed. “You’re not crazy, Jim. You’re waking up.”

James steps back to put distance between them. “I can’t wake up, because I never went to sleep. This is my life now, Bones, so deal with it.”

He has no idea why Leonard hugs him, and even less idea why, just for a moment, he hugs Leonard back.

~~~

Days pass. Snow buries the rooftops, courtyards, and gardens. And people begin to disappear from the castle.

James comes upon the Keeper sitting alone and sipping ale in the dining hall. He takes a seat across from Scotty, asking plaintively, “Where have you been?”

Scotty blinks at him over his mug’s rim. “About, here and there. I hear ye’ve been staying out of trouble these days.”

The prince cannot tell if that is an observation or a complaint. He settles for a slight grin to cover both. “A prince has too many duties to ignore, I’m afraid.”

“Aye,” agrees the other man, his gaze wandering away. “I’m glad ye came. I wanted to say my goodbyes.”

James straightens at this news, alarmed. “You’re leaving? Why? Where is there to go in the middle of winter?”

“Dinnae rightly know myself—expect I’ll be back when I’m needed, though.”

“But I need you! Who else can I trust as Keeper?”

Smile wry, Scotty produces the trademark of his position and jingles the keys on the iron ring. “Take ’em,” he says when James just stares. “They’re yours anyway.”

James accepts the keys, all-at-once nervous and excited to have them. “I can go anywhere,” he says, as if puzzling out a difficult problem, “in this castle? No one will stop me?”

“Always could,” Scotty replies. “It’s just a fact some of those places weren’t safe to be gotten into in the beginning.” He swallows the last of his ale, sounding both satisfied and a little wistful. “I did a good job,” he remarks, looking down into his empty mug. “You’ll remember that?”

James nods and rises part of the way to lean across the table and tug the man into a one-armed hug. “Thank you, Scotty, for everything. For all that you’ve done. I wish you a safe journey.”

Scotty pulls away and nods back, eyes slightly red around the edges. “Bye, Jim,” he mumbles, and shuffles away from the table.

James stays a long time in his seat, watching different faces trickle in and out of the hall. He thinks he begins to understand.

Maybe he is Jim, deep down, more than he’s ever been James.

That thought doesn’t comfort him—but it does open up a possibility he wouldn’t have otherwise considered.

Hurrying to the closest courtyard, he finds Scotty already dressed for travel, in the act of trying to mount a horse. Because the stirrups are too low, the man can’t quite sling his opposite leg across the saddle. The horse senses the nerves of his would-be rider and dances around. Scotty is cursing in vivid detail, unbeknownst to him entertaining a group of squires.

“Ho, good Keeper!” James calls.

“This confounded beastie,” grips the red-faced man to the approaching prince, “is too big! I might as well be tryin’ to mount a dragon!”

James herds the man aside to whisper away from eavesdroppers, “Okay, Scotty, okay. We’ll find you a pony. But first I need you to do something for me.”

Scotty frowns at him. “Already? But I haven’t left yet!”

“Please?“

“Oh, all right,” agrees the man, looking uneasy but resigned. “What is it I need to do?”

James tells him.

Scotty jerks back, exclaiming, “You’re mad! That’s mad!”

“Not as mad as the alternative.”

Scotty stares at him, aghast. Then, as James likes to believe was inevitable, he concedes the point. “Not that I’m for this scheme,” the man repeats for the fifth time as they tromp through the snow to the stables. “He’ll likely kill us all in our sleep.”

“He won’t,” James assures his friend. “I know he’ll run.”

~~~

James opens his eyes, sees noon light sliding down the silken hanging over his chamber window. It stops at the curve of an object left beside his washing basin—the map.

The chorus of trumpets from the guard house blare again, waking the prince up fully. He throws on the nearest clothes to hand and hastens from the room. Sulu isn’t in the antechamber, waiting for him. Pavel is nowhere that he can see either.

James runs into Spock on his way outside. Spock eyes his lack of cloak, which had been forgotten, and suggests they take an alternate route to the lower half of the castle. It won’t require them to cross the snow-covered flagstones. James thinks this is a grand idea, given that he has accidentally put on Pavel’s boots instead of his own. They pinch his toes terribly.

“Where?” he demands, hurrying alongside his steward.

“The dungeons” comes the grave reply.

Khan, neither of them has to say.

~~~

The pale set of Sulu’s face loses the last of its color when Spock and James turn the corner nearest Khan’s cell.

“He’s escaped,” the guardsman explains.

“How?” Spock wants to know at the same time James says, “Prepare two teams, no more than four guards each. The first will search the dwellings by the market. Put someone in charge that you can trust. You, Spock, and I will lead the second team. We will head to the forest. The rest of the men are to stay here and protect those left behind.”

Spock and Sulu stare at him.

“That’s an order,” James adds.

Sulu bows, taking his leave to fulfill command.

Face impassive, Spock’s gaze follows James’ prowl through Khan’s empty cell. “You believe he will be in the forest. Why?”

“Khan needs to vanish. If he makes it to the other side of the forest, he can accomplish that.”

“How can you know this?”

James returns to Spock’s side. “The map, Spock.”

“I do not follow.”

“There’s nothing on the map beyond the forest. Tell me, what are the odds of commissioning a map which cannot be used as one—unless it is to serve another purpose?” He eyes Spock. “And that, I think, is why you were reluctant to give it to me.”

“Sir…”

“No, Spock,” James admonishes him. “Use my name.”

Spock considers that request, then says, “James.”

But the prince merely shakes his head. “Jim,” he amends, smile small, half-hearted. “You should call me Jim.”

~~~

They go on foot, leaving the grounds by the drawbridge. Before their party crosses into the trees, James stops to look back at the castle. He sees blocks of stone on stone, silver-gray in color, now seeming small and fragile above the vast forest.

He adjusts the drape of his cloak and goes on.

Green, or perhaps the wish for green, colors the winter trees in his mind; otherwise he has to see them as they truly are, slender white and barren as bone.

“A graveyard,” Leonard observes, appearing next to him.

“Yes,” James agrees. “It seems appropriate, for the resting place of my past.” He notices Spock glances sidelong in his direction. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“Who… Spock?” Leonard furrows his brows. “He’d never listen.”

“Because you’re a ghost?”

A rueful smile touches Leonard’s mouth. “I didn’t say he wouldn’t hear me, Jim.”

The distinction intrigues the prince, but there is no more time for questions. Up ahead, a scout calls for their attention. Human tracks have been found in the snow.

James drops to one knee to inspect them, brushing impatiently at the flurries caught in his hair. He hopes the deeper they go into the forest, the less likely the tracks are to be hidden by the constant snowfall.

Leonard kneels beside him. “Is there a plan?”

“I want to see where he goes.”

“Sir?” Sulu queries, bemused, standing beside the prince.

James stands up. “Send two men ahead this time. Khan can’t be far, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try and lead us in circles.”

“Would we know if we’re walking in circles?” asks Leonard, eyeing the confusing scatter of trees.

“I wish I had thought to bring a hound,” James murmurs. He squares his shoulders, declaring, “Let us go on.”

~~~

A body drops from the sky. Or, more accurately, the body comes flying through the trees, backwards, to land in a heap at Spock’s feet.

James has his dagger in hand. Sulu lifts his sword. Spock crouches down and rolls the man onto his back. He looks like something frozen in time; his eyes are open, still holding a faint glaze of horror. The blood flowing from his head glitters on the snow.

“Dead,” Spock remarks at the same time Leonard says, “He’s dead, Jim.”

The steward’s body jerks minutely, his gaze sliding from the prince to the prince’s left and there he stares.

“Damn,” mutters Leonard, taking a full step behind James.

James raises a hand in warning as Spock stands and starts forward, saying tersely, “Not now.” He shifts, looking around, a bad feeling settling upon him. “Where’s the other…?”

The second scout staggers into sight, the dark blotches on his clothes a deeper red than his tunic. His eyes rolls back into his head, and he collapses into the snow, unconscious or dead.

Sulu and the two remaining guards fan out into a half-circle in front of James, weapons at the ready.

“Khan!” James shouts, pushing forward. A hand on either side of him drags him back, one belonging to Spock, the other to Leonard. James shakes them off, making his fury known. “Khan, show yourself!”

“Captain“, they hear, an echo without origin, “what was the point in helping me escape if you intended to imprison me again? Or did you want to hunt me down all along?“

“Give me a reason, Khan! I’ll run you through!”

“I have sent you two. “

Blackbirds whirl, crying, out of the trees. Startled, one of the guards looses an arrow after them.

“But perhaps you want more.“

James sees a glint of sunlight in the distance. Terror rakes a claw across his heart before he can find a word for what he fears. Then the light—metal with light caught on it—comes hurtling from between two trees, thrown with impossible speed and deadly accuracy. Sulu crumples soundlessly, the blade embedded through his neck. His sword sinks into the snow.

James screams, shattering the silence. He flings himself forward but is intercepted by Spock, who takes him down to the ground before an arrow can sink into his chest.

Someone says James’ name, his other name, stricken. Someone else cries out in pain.

James fights to get up but is pinned by Spock’s weight. He watches while the last guard standing fires an arrow in the direction of the attack. In the next moment the man is dead, a shaft protruding from his eye.

“No! Let me up!” James braces his forearms against his steward’s shoulders and pushes. Spock rolls off him, to the side, without protest. His eyes are transfixed on nothing.

He is, the prince realizes, dead like the rest.

James chokes on his horror, falling forward to shake the death out of Spock’s eyes.

Leonard catches him, forces him upright. “No, Jim!”

“What have I done?” James—Jim—says. “What—Bones, what have I done?“

“What you had to,” the man replies, unsympathetic. Leonard tugs Jim by an arm to his feet. “C’mon. We have to hurry now.” When Jim doesn’t move, he takes Jim’s face between his hands. “Look at me, kid. We have to go on.”

~~~

“I don’t understand,” Jim whispers between hitches of breath and drunken stumbling in his friend’s wake. He drags the sleeve of his torn gold shirt across his face, smearing tears and blood.

Leonard sets a relentless pace, stopping only when necessary to pick Jim up out of the snow. Each time he urges, “Don’t stop. You stop, you die.”

“I killed them,” he says numbly to Leonard’s back. “Khan will take the castle. He’ll destroy whoever is left. Bones, I killed them all.”

“It was the needs of the many against the needs of the one,” Leonard finally answers, although he doesn’t look back. “We chose the one. We had to.”

“We—no, I couldn’t.”

“I did.”

Jim’s foot hits a root hidden beneath the snow. He falls to a knee, skins a hand on the rough bark as he goes down. Cradling his bloody palm, he thinks it might be preferable to lay down and die beneath this tree.

Leonard’s hands clamp down hard on his shoulders to make him get up again.

Jim hunkers farther into his misery, claiming, “Bones, I can’t do it.”

Leonard would have given him gentle understanding. This man has none. He digs his fingers into Jim’s jaw.

Jim jerks away on instinct and looks the man in the eyes, seeing at last who is truly driving him to his end.

“You’re not him,” he says.

Leonard’s features are grim. “That’s your fault, kid.”

Jim struggles past his shock. “Then who—who were you this entire time?”

“Who was Spock?” counters the man with Leonard’s face. “Sulu? Funny Scotty and clever Uhura? Faithful Pavel? Who were they, Jim?”

Jim is silent.

“You,” Leonard answers on his behalf. “Everything had to be you, because you didn’t want to be you—until you decided you did.”

“So you tricked me.”

“You’ve been tricking yourself.”

“What was I supposed to do!” Jim demands, sitting up. “I was responsible, and people died. How does a man live with that?”

The belligerent line of Leonard’s shoulders eases somewhat. “You thought he doesn’t, which is why you died, you ass. Now get up and fix yourself.”

Buoyed by anger at this self-righteous stranger, this unforgiving version of himself, Jim braces his hand on the man’s shoulder and rockets to his feet. Leonard stands too, then shoves Jim from behind.

Jim catches himself at the edge of the tree line. Somehow he’s made it through, or the forest is simply trying to spit him out as quickly as possible. He doesn’t know that it matters.

Curling his fingers around a thin branch, Jim looks out at the great white expanse ahead of him, unbroken snow stretching farther than he can see. There is no wind, no movement, no other color. The quiet of it is overwhelming. He realizes he can’t hear his own breathing anymore.

“You’re not listening,” Leonard tells him. “Listen, Jim.”

Jim closes his eyes, strains his hearing.

Beneath the silence of death there is sound after all. Muted. A voice, maybe—no, voices. A repetitive whine.

He steps forward without thinking to catch what the voices are saying:

What is it?—it’s a boy—let’s call him Jim—your father was captain of a starship—I love you—for twenty minutes—saved eight hundred lives—I dare—

I dare you to do better.

~~~

Jim opens his eyes, dragging in air to the faint ring of Pike’s challenge. The whiteness in front of him morphs into a ceiling. The face in the corner of his eye doesn’t belong to Chris; he sees Leonard.

Their eyes meet.

Leonard is everything Jim is: relieved, worried, exhausted.

You’re Bones, he thinks.

And this is home.

The End

[ Previous Part ]

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