Narlia absently rubbed her forehead. Her head was pounding and she felt faintly nauseaus. The healers couldn't find anything wrong with her and the strongest healing draught they could brew brought very little relief.

And now several of her people had fallen ill. All women. It was bad enough that their race was slowly dying out, but their end should have been quiet. Just peacefully fading away. Instead, they were violently ill. What new curse could have befallen them?

Narlia decided that it didn't really matter. The healers could do nothing for them except try to treat the symptoms. Now it was her place as Queen to decide their fate. Did she allow them to suffer needlessly? Or did she grant the final mercy and send them to the MoonShade to rest for an eternity?

Narlia laughed bitterly. Now or later was the only real question. She and her people were doomed. Unlike other races, for the Moon Elves, the health of the royal line reflected directly upon the health of the people.

The royal line of the Moon Elves had died when Sandor, her only child and heir, had been murdered. And there would be no other children. Not for her. And not for her people. Sandor had been their only hope of continuing for Narlia had been born barren. A sad fact that had become more and more prevalent among their people.

Narlia shuddered as she remembered the things she had done in order to have Sandor. Only the knowledge that her peoples' very existence depended on it had allowed her to follow through with her mad plan.

Sandor had been unique in all the world. A Moon Elf that had been half human. Narlia had used the unformed chaos that surrounded their Dale Underhill to search for a human male. A very special human male. One who stood on the cusp of Light and Darkness. A foolish human, who, by their own will, had severed their ties to home and blood in hopes of gaining power or wealth. It had taken years of searching Above to find the man who had fathered Sandor.

And in the instant of decision, when this man had to make a final choice between the Light or the Dark, Narlia had done the forbidden. She had used the power of their Dale to warp time and space; ripped through several realities and taken that choice from him.

Sandor, from the day of his conception, had been different. Instead of the normal time of three years, Sandor had made his appearance in less than a year. He grew much faster than a full-blooded Moon Elf. And his appearance had been an odd mix of human and Moon Elf.

Hair so dark it had almost been black, instead of the normal silver-white, had hung above deep brown eyes. His bone structure had been much heavier than the slender forms of his people. But his skin had held the lustrous glow of the moon.

Smiling in remembrance, Narlia wiped a tear from her eye. Sandor had been such a happy baby. He seldom cried or fussed and loved to be held. By anyone. Once he started walking, or rather, running, Sandor made it his business to become friends with everyone in the Dale.

Even Narlia's detractors had found themselves under the young prince's spell. Martil had been thoroughly disgusted by his Queen's actions, and most vocal about his displeasure. During her pregnancy, not a day went by when Martil didn't let everyone know just what he thought about having a halfing as heir to the royal line. And once Sandor had been born, Martil's revulsion had been plain.

Of course, Sandor hadn't cared about that at all. Sandor only cared that Martil's robes were soft, his beard was long and his lap always empty. Empty until Sandor laid claim to it.

Even Martil, the oldest, and some said the wisest, of them all, had not been able to withstand Sandor's charm. The two soon became inseparable and the people smiled at the sight of the very old and very young whispering together. When Narlia had confronted Martil about his change of heart, the old Elf had merely sniffed and replied, "He may be a halfing, but he will be the best halfing that I can help him to be."

And Sandor had been the best. He had soaked up the knowledge that Martil offered like a plant soaks up the sun. But Martil had taught him to exercise more than just his mind. Sandor's heavier body gave him an edge over the young warriors, but he had never taken advantage of that fact.

The deaths of so many of their people while fighting Glorificus had been devastating, but the loss of Sandor had broken their peoples' spirit. Narlia had tried to seek the company of the MoonShade to be with her son, but Martil wouldn't let her go.

Martil had set aside his own grief and held her together by sheer strength of will. Martil had been the one to suggest moving the tribe to this protected place so their last days could at least be spent away from prying eyes.

And now the end had finally come. Narlia turned when she heard a soft footstep and smiled painfully at Martil. She reached out to the one who had become her closest friend and fell into darkness as the pain in her head reached overwhelming levels.

*****

Xander paced around the small clearing, deep inside the Dale. Then he flopped down on a convenient rock and chewed on his nails before jumping to his feet and pacing another circuit.

Valeria had brought him here so he could panic in peace and quiet, away from wondering eyes. It seemed like everyone in the Dale wanted to touch him, or even just be near him. It was all just a little too much. Spike hadn't wanted to leave him alone, but the vampire seldom ever refused his young lover anything he wanted. And when Xander had quietly asked for some time alone, Spike had reluctantly agreed.

He was the Zeppo. Donut Boy. Bait. Not the long lost prince of an Elfin kingdom. That only happened in fairy tales. It didn't happen to him. Never to him. He was supposed to be the normal one. At least he was the normal one. Before Spike.

Buffy was the Slayer, Giles was the Watcher, Willow and Tara were the Wiccans, Dawn was the Key, Spike was the Vampire and Xander was... well... Xander. Nothing special. Xander only had two claims to fame. He'd lived a lot longer than anyone had ever expected. And, for some reason, Spike loved him. Then again, after living with Dru for over a century, Spike wasn't exactly a poster child for mental health.

Xander nodded to himself, it was a mistake. That's what it was. It was all just a huge mistake. Xander sighed in relief. Sandor's sword had obviously lost its mojo and was now just a sword. Xander was sad for a second, not for himself, but for Sandor's people.

Xander headed out of the clearing, hoping to stop Valeria before she told anyone. It would be really cruel to let people think he was someone he wasn't. And he'd read stories about what happened to people who pissed off Elves. They usually died. If they were lucky.

Xander reached the edge of the trees just as a tall, red headed woman stepped onto the path. Xander stopped in his tracks and fidgeted nervously. "Uh, hi."

"Hello, Xander. I'm pleased to meet you. I am Tatiana."

Xander could feel his heart trying to jump out of his chest. He knew who Tatiana was. And wouldn't Giles be surprised.

The Queen of the Seleighe Court smiled gently, "I will not hurt you, Xander. I am here to help you find the truth."

"Tttruth?" Xander stuttered.

Tatiana bowed her head. "I am sure that all of this has come as a great shock to you, but it is a simple thing actually."

The look of sheer disbelief on Xander's face made Tatiana burst into laughter. "Perhaps I did not say that correctly. Together, you and I, can find the truth quite easily."

"How?"

"I have a mirror. A very special mirror. Anyone who looks into the mirror will see themselves as they truly are."

"Really? I'm not sure I want to know," Xander said.

Tatiana took Xander's hand and led him into the main clearing of the Dale, "I do not believe that you have anything to worry about, young Xander."

*****

Everyone lined up to stand before Tatiana's mirror. Even Spike was eager to see what he really looked like.

Willow and Tara weren't much of a surprise. Their physical forms were faithfully reflected, but now, the power the two witches held was easily visible. Even to Xander. Dawn and Buffy went next. For a moment, the sisters were there, and then they weren't. Instead a whirling spiral of deep green light flecked with gold sparks stood next to an amazon warrior. Buffy herself wasn't recognizable in the warrior, instead, the amazon seemed to be a conglomeration of many women. The Slayer was impressive, in more ways than one.

Giles declined an opportunity to see himself so Spike jumped forward. Spike had two reflections, not one. On the right, an all too human man stood. Dark blonde hair, bright blue eyes and sculpted cheekbones. Spike was a cutie. His better half, however, left something to be desired.

Massive fangs, slit pupil yellow eyes and skin that seriously needed a good dermatologist. Spike was having a ball posing and watching both reflections react. Giles finally grabbed Spike by the nape of the neck and pulled the protesting vampire away.

Tatiana smiled gently at Xander and waved him forward. Xander took a deep breath and stepped in front of the mirror. Xander almost wilted in relief when he saw nothing more than what he saw every morning in his mirror at home.

"Xander?" Tatiana said gently, "pull your sword."

Xander reached over his shoulder and pulled the sword from the scabbard Mort had given him and flinched. His reflection had changed. His hair stayed the same color, but now it was long. Really, really long. Spock had nothing on Xander's new ears, and his eyebrows were mere slashes. His eyes were the same, but his skin had gone way funky. He practically glowed.

Xander turned stricken eyes to Tatiana in time to see the Queen bow. "Greetings, Prince Sandor. It has been a very long time."

TBC

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