An inhuman monster...By Appearance

Warning any way you slice it this is a DARK story. Just redeemable.

“Sir, please don't.” Oliver begged his captor. “Don't punish her for my mistakes.”

Nikita gave another cry of pain. Oliver instinctively looked to Lex, a clear question on his face. “A neural solvent.” The man noted absently. “A clean and efficient inducer of pain. Something from a tiny little planet called 'Swan Moon' Home planet to a race we call the Dominators.”

“Listen Mr. Luthor, I understand why you hate me. But why do you punish her?”

“Because for reasons not yet clear to me, she matters to you. As lowly as we humans are, she is not much better, and yet you care for her. Which means seeing her in pain is likely the most effective way to hurt you.”

“Please Lex, whatever I did to you, take your revenge on me alone. Since I'm the one you want, would it not be more gratifying to bring me directly to my knees? I mean aren't you all about getting exactly what you want and proving your own superiority?”

“Believe me, I'll enjoy it either way.”

“Revenge is a little petty for Lex Luthor.”

“I want you beaten and harmless. Nothing beyond it.”

“Again if this was about me -and I kind of doubt that- I'D be the one strapped to that device. What are you really after Lexi?”

“To make doubly certain neither of you ever interfere in my plans again.”

“Nikita never did. And she never would; we both know that.”

Nikita cried out in pain again, Oliver jumped to his feet. “Stop it! Please just stop. Lex, I will beg for it if you want me to. Right now all I care about is protecting my best friend from my former best friend. Just tell me what I need to do so and I'll do it.”

The device torturing Nikita turned itself off and she slid gently to the floor.

“I owe you much for this. And I will find a way to repay you. But let me ask you...is red still your favorite color?”

“I'm more for cool blues now actually.”

“Superman colors. That figures. But you're lying.”

“You insolent little--"

"--PURPLE was Lex's favorite color." Oliver interrupted. "His classmates always made fun of him for it because it was 'soft'. Silvers and grays became his favorite colors to wear. He considers red and blue far too basic and overused. Silver is more masculine than purple and purple is more cerebral than any 'emotional' primary color. You see I DO know Lex Luthor. Who the hell are you?”

The man who was not Lex fired his gun. A beam of energy released from the barrel and burned through the flesh of Nikita's leg. Oliver could not even utter a cry.

“Any other questions, meat?”

“No...none.”

“Lex let me ask you something. Is red still your favorite color?”

“I'm more for cool blues now actually.”

“Superman's colors, that figures. But it's a lie.”

“You insolent little..”

“Purple was always Lex's favorite color. It was something he kept to himself because his peers said it made him look soft. So now he wears silver and gray whenever possible. It's just as calm, just as deep and cerebral but less emotional. I do know Lex Luthor. And you're not him. Who the HELL are you?”

The man who was not Lex Luthor fired his gun. A beam of energy released from the barrel and burned through the flesh of Nikita's upper leg. Oliver could not even utter a cry. “Pledge your service and your life to me, and I will let her live unharmed. Try my patience any further and you will hear her screams of pain echo in your ears long after you've thrown yourself on your knees begging me to hurt you instead.”

...And her screams of pain will echo through these walls until you force humility into your veins and beg me to hurt you instead.” He pulled his weapon back and added mockingly. “You will submit. And I will have what I want.”

“What are you that you use her like this?”

“Superman is what the humans call you. Naturally, you ARE a god to them. And soon I will have that 'god' as my slave. Nam-Ek!” Another alien, dressed in a simple black jumpsuit walked silently up to his commander. All of a sudden Superman realized his captor was a military commander, perhaps a general. And if the other's name was any indication, this was someone who knew to call him Kal-El. “Take that one away and get her ready. There is one more scene to this act...before we call intermission.”

“I always thought revenge was a little petty for Lex Luthor.” Superman noted.

“I want you beaten and weak; nothing more or less than that.”

“If this was about me and I'm seriously doubting that, I'd be the one strapped to that thing. What are you really after Lexi?”

“To make doubly certain you do not interfere in my plans again.”

“Nikita never did and never would. We both know that. As we're already waist deep in friendly pleasantries let me ask you...Is red still your favorite color?”

“I'm more for cool blues now actually.”

“Superman's colors, that figures. But it's a lie.”

“You insolent little..”

“..Purple was always Lex's favorite color. It's something he kept to himself because his fellows and equals said it made him look soft. So now he wears silver and gray whenever possible. It's just as calm, just as deep and cerebral but less emotional. I do know Lex Luthor. And you're not him. Who the HELL are you?”

The man who was not Lex Luthor fired his gun. A beam of energy released from the barrel and burned through the flesh of Nikita's upper leg. Superman could not even utter a cry. “ “Pledge your service, and your life to me and I will let her live unharmed. Try my patience any further and her screams of pain will force your compliance...and echo in your ears long after you've thrown yourself on your knees begging me for mercy.”

Fighters and Friends

“Please leave me be.” I told the man as he entered the room with a plate of food. “I just want to rest, I promise.” He smiled sadly at me. I felt something from him. He was strange, in a good way. He was more concerned for me as a victim than as a street person. He was afraid something had actually happened to me. Either that or he was worried he personally scared me and that thought troubled him. “I don't want to be a Kleese...a burden. I just need a minute.”

“You're either from the Middle East or another planet.” he said with a smile.

“My home planet is called Xa-Valla. But I've learned English as a second language. I just use it differently than most, because our language was formed and based more on image and emotion. Finding the right word rather than the most accurate word is what mattered to us. Well English has hard constructs and concrete ideas. Ours is more fluid...transitional.”

“How long have you been here, and please, eat something.”

I picked up the turkey sandwich he had made and started eating it. I got halfway through the sandwich before I spoke again. “On Earth, 48 years. But I've spent more time in the Himalayas and the East coast of Africa than I have in Chicago or the Andes.”

“You know this isn't an interrogation, right? I'm trying to learn about you to help you.”

“One thing you'll pretty quickly learn about me is I see no reason for any beating around of the bush. My people are direct, plain-spoken, unadorned and have no use for obfuscation unless sparing people's feelings are involved. And that's probably not going to be the case here, is it?”

“Well, that's true, but why are you so...sensitive to that then?”

“It's because my people are low-level empaths. I can sense your intentions and reactions. Whether you are concerned, suspicious, angered or scared of me. I don't read thoughts, I wouldn't if I HAD that power. But I never saw...well why would subterfuge even work...seriously?”

“Okay that makes sense I guess.”

I couldn't understand what had made him so uncomfortable. “I'm sorry did I, misunderstand the source of your confusion? I know you are not scary. In fact if more humans were like you this world would be a much nicer place. I'm just 'weary, worn and sad'. It's a physical thing, not an emotional thing, me being this twitchy. Within 30 minutes I'm going to fall asleep. You won't be able to wake me up for anything for 5 hours. I sleep 5 hours every 36 hour cycle; it's just how my body works.”

“Then I should leave and let you get some sleep, as you say.”

I woke up in the medical bay. The man who'd found me was standing a few feet in front of me next to a thinner, pale skinned man with really short black hair and a calm, open expression on his face. “You're alright, you're safe.” The first man told me, trying to calm me down. "I imagine you have questions about where you are."

“I'm at the DEO, that much is obvious.” I answered placidly. “As long as it's closer to a barracks than a laboratory, I'm fine with it.”

“Uh, what?” The younger man said, intrigued more than upset.

“This is the med-bay right? Intake? I don't mind and I will not fight being locked away. As long as it's more in a prison than a laboratory. I just want to be tucked away from everyone. To be a little more blunt about it, I want to avoid...” I motioned around with my left hand.

“A more intense version of this room.” The youthful stranger finished.

“You've been here before, at the DEO I mean?” My benefactor asked of me.

“Almost 20 years ago now. My people live...I live simply but with joy. Dry, safe in the middle of freaking nowhere. It's what I've gotten used to. I honestly would not mind being left alone in a quiet corner of this place as long as I'm on my own and actually getting something done. Not like what... last time I had A-Lot of that but the rest was...Just please tell me I'm not a lab-rat okay? Hell you didn't even know I was an alien until now, what could be learned from studying my biology?

“Absolutely nothing.” The man called James said quickly. “You are here so we can learn *from you, not *about you, I promise. Do you remember your planet?”

“I spent the first third of my life so far back there. But my planet of origin is not my home. And aren't we ignoring a MAJOR part of getting to know each-other: learning all our names?”

“Mon'el.” The paler, young man told me, pressing his palm against the top of his chest.

“James Olsen.” The darker man said, extending his hand.

“That's exquisitely appropriate.” I said as I accepted the handshake. He looked at me as if I'd just splashed his face with ice water. “The Olsen part I mean. Olsean is a tree we have back home. I grew up in a desert region a lot like your American Southwest. Olsean is a desert plant, strong and solitary that withstands anything and never withers. But it is not 'straight tall and proud' like your great oak. It grows kind of sideways which allows for flora and fauna to flourish in its shade. As I said, it never withers. It could stand up to anything except maybe a jaguar to use the closest analogy. Anyway, the description of being strong and protective seems to fit you. Most people call me 'Sasha'. I find 'Nikita' is closer to the mark. But I answer to both equally.”

“Names are descriptions for your people not simply distinctions.” A third man said in a deep enough voice to sooth a jaguar of a savage beast, except it did not have that effect on me. I looked up at him and I KNOW my face turned to ash.

“Well, this explains it.” I said in a weak voice. “Why Olsan would be working with you is beyond me. But this explains his interest, and his reluctance. Come to get an answer to the last of your questions, go ahead. But I guran-tee you Olsan, will get better answers simply by asking.” My tone was as dark as a horror movie or a cemetery. I know because Olsan looked very freaked out by my tone. I personally did NOT consider this an over-reaction.

"There is something I am not seeing." Mon'el said aloud.

"I take it you are no more from 'here' than I am?" I told him. Mon'el simply nodded.

It's amazing, both of us pass, but you're not considered a Klesse. Is that because you're a warrior?"

Mon'el looked concerned. James looked confused. Henshaw looked stunned and hurt. I particularly noticed this last thing.

“Am I missing something here?” Olsen said slowly.

“No not really but...I think I AM.” I answered even more reluctantly. “You're different, aren't you?” I said to Hank. The solider nodded. “Last time I saw you it was in an interrogation room which you tore through like a tidal wave. You tried to pull my mind apart. And probably would have succeeded, and only to your detriment. But now you're...a duty bound warrior of honor. And more of an actual warrior than a professional soldier. Restrained and proud, but not arrogant. What could...”

“You've...you were here before.” Mon'el said in a tight voice. You knew Henshaw?”

Hank Henshaw raised his hand with all five fingers bent inward. “My name...is J'onn Jo'nzz."

"A shape-shifter?" I inquired. J'onn nodded. “...You took his place. The DEO is different than before because you changed it. Well, whoever you are you have my admiration...and my gratitude.”

“Low level empath. Your use of language comes from not needing ways to show feelings. The adjectives and superlatives, what they convey, are implied...self-evident even...” He paused.

“...Which is why I use so many adjectives and superlatives when I talk. And why I almost never have the right keyword.” I finished. “Arabic makes more sense to me than English. English is my primary Earth language. Until left the DEO I sounded as native born American as anyone. Every thing else that I know, everything I've learned since then I learned in voluntary exile. Which has the ancillary benefit of my having lived more in 20 years than most people do in 70. And even if I'm not fluent, I understand a hell of a lot of earth languages now...from experience rather than studying.”

Jeremiah and Nikita Begin A Life

“Okay, what IS it with this guy? I mean for holding us prisoner for three weeks and running, he doesn't seem to want anything from us.”

“He's just trying to understand us.” Nikita said definitively. “And that goes both ways. He's...different. Unless he's Phobos in which case he is REALLY different.”

“I do not understand.”

“He's a GREEN Martian. And he's lived on Earth for over 300 years. If he's lived that time alone, like more alone than I ever was, it's little wonder he doesn't trust humans. It would be easier to trust someone he knew was...different.”

“Which explains why he talks with you so freely. He knows you're an alien.”

“Yes. He would have learned not to trust humans. Trust me it wasn't just my time at the D.E.O. that taught me how ignorant humans can be, especially when they're scared.”

“How long have you been on Earth anyway?”

“Since about 3 months before you first landed on the moon.”
“Wow. You do NOT look that old.”

“My people age in stages and in surged Jeremiah. Until I hit 90 years old I won't look much different than I do at 40.”

“I get the feeling the others of his kind are...”

“Not his kind Jeremiah. Whites and Greens are different races of the same species. They are not of each-other's like.”

“You're saying that depending on which race of Martian he is...” I couldn't finish the thought, because for the first time in my memory Nikita interrupted me.

“Jeremiah, if that man wanted us dead we'd BE dead!”

(Two days later)

“Stop it!” Nikita cried out. The alien stopped in his tracks. He turned to Nikita with a look. “He's done nothing to deserve this. I would think if anything you'd be after me.”

“Are you saying you'd rather die instead?”

“...Yes.” Nikita answered her voice low but distinct.

“I would rather be killed than let him die. I'd think if you'd be angry at either of us it would be a freak of nature like me. Not the best human I've ever known. If nothing else that makes sense!”

A single look told Nikita the outburst hit home. The man instantly released her friend. “There was no need for any of this Sajen. There never was, was there?”

“I...I misread the situation.” The alien said as if he were a schoolboy getting dressed down for misbehaving. A feeling that would only deepen as the conversation continued.

“And that's the worst thing about all of this. All you had to do was ask. I would have told you. Hell you're a Martian you could have read my mind. I would have permitted it! How quickly we become the things we hate and we don't even realize it.” Nikita walked to the far end of the room sat on the floor with her feet crossed in front of her and turned her head away from her host. Displaying a universal 'I don't want to talk to you' attitude.

“She's comparing you to Hank Henshaw.” Jeremiah explained. “Someone who treated her like an enemy for absolutely no reason and literally tortured her to convince her to reveal the truth...what ever that was. But there was no truth to be found. She wasn't a danger to anyone. And if Hank had looked at her for 5 seconds and seen anything other than a human-looking alien...he would have seen what was right in front of his face: seen her for the innocent person she was. But Hank didn't bother to look. He actually got off on hurting aliens...even helpless ones like her.”

“And you broke her free.” Realization blanketed the strangers face. Followed quickly by a look of unmitigated shame. “You broke her free from the D.E.O.”

“I couldn't stand by and let her get tortured for information she didn't actually have. For being a thing rather than a person. Most prisoners at the D.E.O absolutely deserve to be there. And some of them, to our eyes would truly look like freaks of nature. There is no getting around that. But Nikita was no threat, and certainly no apparent monster. One night Hank had...when I asked him why he was so convinced this prisoner was an enemy he promised me that 'tomorrow, that thing will reveal its true intentions'. It was horrible, far worse than what I imagined him capable of and that is saying something. I shut the machine down and took her out of it. Nikita put Hank in the device, but kept it turned off. I expected her to run off into the night but she didn't move. She asked me if I wanted to come with her. She said I deserved to be free of that place as much as she did. You are the third alien and the 14^th face we have seen in the 8 weeks since that day. And she is quite right in her assertion. All you had to do was ask. She would have told you anything. Force, much less pain was useless. She actually laughed at Hank for making the exact same assumption.” Jeremiah smiled faintly as the memories caught up with him. “It was the last thing I expected of someone so...herself” His eyes became present again. “Both of you are equally blinded by your own prejudicial assumptions as far as she's concerned.”

“She still didn't stand up for herself.” The alien intoned. He tilted his head. “She probably didn't think she could reach me, any more than she could have gotten through to that thick-headed human you keep talking about. But she stood up for you. At least I was right about that part...I guess.”

“Okay, I'm a little lost.”

“Everything that lives has an instinctual fear of dying. But only humans have such a strong sense of self-preservation. Even those who would go out of their way to help lift the head of those weaker then themselves and protect perfect strangers would still tend to put their own lives and safety first if it came down to it. The human instinct for self-preservation is...amazing is the only word I can think of. She's different. She put your safety above her own. She gets a lower grade in self-preservation than she does in protection. Which is unbelievably rare in the galaxies.”

“Well that makes sense.” Jeremiah said without thinking. “She told me her race was rare. Not like superior but few and far between. That there literally aren't many of them left.”

Understanding once more blanketed the man's narrow face. “She's Xavallen. That explains it. That explains a lot actually.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“Enkarens and Xavallens are sibling races to each-other. Enkarens are...genetically speaking in trouble but also far superior to humans in most respects. Xavallens are, by comparison to their brethren philosophers and friars. They still speak the same language.”

“And she doesn't make sense for an Enkaren.”

J'onn nodded. “But more than that, Xavallens are a protected species.”

“Wait, what?”

“If I had known what she was, laying a hand on her to get You to talk would have been a crime. And I would have begged her forgiveness.”

“Sir, I confess I don't know where this comes from. But I know her, she holds you no grudge, for any of this.”

“And what about you?”

“You didn't know. And besides, it was as much my choice as hers.”

“I can see why she loves you so much.”

“...Loves me?”

“Like a father.”The man's face became concerned, and amazed. “You didn't know?”

“I didn't really have the chance to get to know her, until about 3 months ago.”

“This is...I don't even know how to finish that sentence.”

“Nikita calm down, you'll only exhaust yourself.”

“I have...” Nikita paused. “You're right. It's just our host, confuses me.”

“You're not alone. For holding us prisoner, he doesn't seem particularly interested in us.”

“He's trying to make sense of us. More specifically, of me.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“In that I'm an alien. The rest of it, I think he has...a nearly accurate picture of everything. I'm starting to get the suspicion that I'm 15 degrees off of everything I know about him.”

“How do you mean?”

“Either he's extremely a-typical for his race or I got the two confused to begin with.” She looked down. “Then again, he would have had even longer than I did to learn otherwise.”

Jeremiah looked sad. “I take it by 'to learn otherwise' you mean 'to learn what living on Earth would have taught him'.” Nikita nodded solemnly, her straight auburn hair shaking slightly with the motion.” How long have you had to learn the ways of Earth?”

“I first landed on Earth not too long before you landed on the moon.”

“Okay one, you do not look that old. And two, how much older do you think he is?”

“My people live about 120 of our own years. I don't know how long that is in yours. And...he's been here for at least 300 years.”

“Okay how do you know THAT?”

“He's a Martian. No matter what else he is, he's a Martian. Which...I hate being so clinical about the damn thing but Mars has been...inhospitable for the last 300 years.”

“Wait, are you saying that depending on which race of Martian he is...”

“Jeremiah, if that man wanted us dead we'd BE dead.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

“I'd rather believe that the way he's been talking to me is a result of him living on Earth for the last 300 years and not because I got it wrong which race of Martian was which.”

“Okay, now you really do need to sit down and vague out.”

“That sounds like an exceptionally good idea.”

Nikita's head dropped as she pulled her feet close to her hips. Her head dropped and she entered what Jeremiah knew to be a meditative state. Her knees were almost as high as her head was low. She could have been sleeping except her eyes were moving around. It was a pose she maintained into the next morning. She didn't even look up when their keeper walked into the room. Jeremiah could sense something was wrong. The man's eyes never left Nikita's face.

“Why do I get the feeling that if you had known I belonged to Deimos... you would have...”

“ 'Deimos Pah, Tar-ek Ni-cha.' would have been the first thing out of my mouth when you entered the room three days ago.”

“Could someone provide me with a translation, please?” Jeremiah asked, nonplussed.

“What she said was that I've failed or disgraced the name of my progenitor. She just needed to know which of the brothers I came from before saying it. White Martians are...”

“Monsters.” Nikita finished for him. “I was reasonably certain of that because of my other alien friends. I just never knew who came from whom.”

“How in the name of rational thought are you speaking the Enkaren language so naturally if you are not, yourself Enkaren?!”

“Because it's my native language as well!” Nikita replied, openly laughing at her host.

“But you...you're not...” He rubbed his left forefinger against her temple, as if tracing something that shouldn't be there. “Are you Xavallen?”

“Why should that be of particular interest to you?”

The alien actually bent his back forward and backed away from Nikita. “I...my name is... J'onn Jo'nzz. And I must humbly beg your pardon.”

“I...do not understand. Please you owe me nothing. You might owe Jeremiah and apology for misjudging him so completely but you owe me nothing.

“Okay, I'm officially lost.” Jeremiah admitted.

“No less so than I.” Nikita intoned.

“You...you don't...” J'onn actually stammered.

“My parents taught me more about Enkarens, Brevaks, Zyerilians and such than they did about our own race. That's why I left. There was a coming of age ceremony 2 years before I became a legal independent adult on my planet. But I never had one. My biological parents didn't think I was worth teaching my own races history and culture. So I ran away. And because I wasn't yet a legal adult by our planets laws that's what I was: A runaway.”

“I was as wrong about the two of you as this arrogant human you keep talking about. I am sorry. And I will FIND a way to make it right.” He left without another word.

Several hours later...

“Most humans, most races in the galaxies at all no matter how much they try to lift the head of another and put the needs of their friends first, would still put their own life, their own survival before anything else at need. Xavallens don't. They are, by comparison to their brethren, Friars and Philosophers.”

Ayah Selat Myah Selene

“Ayah Selat. Myah Selene.” Nicholas said patting the horses neck. He heard a cry and turned to the West, where he saw two men on horseback. The younger of the two rode forward. “He says that is his horse.”

“I do not see how. Why does he make that claim?”

“Because it is on his land.”

“I brought this horse with em from France.”

This was translated and the knight responded in Arabic. He says, you are a 'great liar'. And he will fight you not fo the horse, because it is his horse but because you are a liar.”

“I have no desire to fight.”

“Then you must give him the horse!”

“I do not understand you.” Nicholas said, almost to himself. The knight said something in Arabic. “He says give him the horse or fight him for it. That is how it shall be.” Nicholas turned his head as if avoiding some terrible sight. “Or can you not?”

“No, I can fight. And I think I'm good at it. But if the horse is that important to him, have him come down and fight me on equal ground like true men of rank should.”

The stranger seemed taken aback. “You are a knight?”

“I was a baron in Lyon and in Ascelon.”

This was translated and the knight dismounted. Nicholas raised his sword above his head and the fight began. “Stop! Enough. Hyah Kafa.” the mounted servant yelled. His master did not seem to hear him. Soon after the sarcean knight lay dead on the ground. And, blood from his final wound having spooked the other horse away, his servant lay on his back in the sand.

Nicholas approached the man, his sword drawn, but lowered. The man held his hands out in a gesture of surrender.“You take it very well that I have killed your master.”

“It was the end of his time. All is as God wills it. At any rate I am in no place to deny or begrudge him paradise.”

'such a steadfast faith' Nicholas observed, though he said nothing aloud.

“Now finish this.” The man said simply.

“By no means.” Nicholas replied. He stepped away. “Get up.” The man obliged but did not speak. “What was his name?” Nicholas asked, indicating the fallen knight.

“His name was Mummad Al-Fais.”

Nicholas knelt beside the fallen solider. “The Lord bless you and keep you. May the very face of God shine upon you and be gracious to you. May you find rest if you lost it and your reward if you sought it.” He made the sign of the cross and stood up. “Take me to Jerusalem.” Nicholas said to the man.

(((“What happens now?” the stranger asked humbly.

“What do you expect will happen?” Nicholas replied.

“That you will take me with you, wherever you go.” )))

The rode into Jerusalem, Nicolas barely half a nose ahead of his companion. He knew no other word for the man. They stopped at a water trough just inside the city. “He is a very good horse.” Nicholas remarked. “And he seems to like you.” The stranger did not reply, but smiled faintly. In that moment, Nicholas made up his mind. “Take him. Take the horse, and be about your business.”

The man looked at Nicholas as if unsure he'd understood the statement. “Sir, this is your prize of battle. I was the servant of the man you killed in fair combat. I am your prisoner. Your Slave should you wish it.”

“I will never keep a slave nor suffer any to be kept if I can change it. I took my oath on that long ago. And I refuse to make you pay the price for your masters choices. I don't have anyone left in the world anymore. If you do, you should go, and be with them.”

“Are you...demanding that I leave you alone?”

“No. What I am saying is I have a lonely life ahead of me, even if I do find my father's people. And I cannot, I will not pull you into that life.”

“And if I were to choose that life?” Nicholas raised his head sharply. “I told you before ALL is as God wills it. If I did not believe that before I would now. My master challenged you for sport mis-prizing what he saw. If you were to claim me, I would see it as God's justice and your right by the law. But as you will not keep a slave will you accept me as your servant?”

Nicholas looked at him, speechless. “If...If you are willing to follow me I accept your help. There is one thing I will insist upon. My name is Nicholas. Call me by my name or at worst Monsieur. None of that 'Milord' business.”

“If you insist Monsieur. My name is Nasir.”

A story I have been working on for A-While.

I finally at least started putting finger tips to keys.

“Kristan” is an affectionate name Sasha gives to Prince/King Arthur. It means 'Noble heart'. If one stretches the sound Kris-taan, it means 'one who leads with the nobleness of his heart'. It's an honorific that took Arthur more than 2 years to ask about. This scene is set sometime after season 4 of Merlin. In this version of season 4, Lancelot was able to stay with his friends after being brought back from the dead and used as a pawn by Morganna. Sasha has lived among her friends in Camelot for more than a year. With Merlin and Arthur's support-permission-encouragement and in fact at their request, she went to the other side fo the veil and brought Lancelot back to life. She gave him ALL his memories back so he could be entirely his right self again. But there was one memory she could not restore. She had once told Gaius that “Lancelot could walk in this room right now and I would not be able to tell him Merlin has magic.” Which was more true than she realized at the time. She could not give him back that memory. The knowledge that Merlin has magic and by extension the reason Lancelot and Merlin are so close was completely missing from Lancelot's mind. Merlin later told Lancelot, face to face.

Here Merlin has been kidnapped (or he rushed off to save Alator from Morganna) and Sasha is...a shriveled mess. Arthur takes only Lancelot with him to rescue Merlin.

“What is it Lancelot?”

“It's about Merlin.” the knight said slowly.

“You're worried?”

“No. I mean yes I am but that's not what I mean.”

Arthur looked mildly intrigued. “Then what?”

“He's a good man. Arthur”

“I'm well aware. I know he was...is a close friend to you Lancelot. To all the knights. Without him I wouldn't have Gwaine, Percival, or you. None of you would have been my knights without him.”

Arthur's face crinkled in thought. “It's funny how servant could have such an effect on Camelot.”

Lancelot sat up sharply. “I think we both know Merlin is no ordinary servant.”

Arthur leaned forward, now very interest in the conversation. “Agreed. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think sorcery is evil.” Lancelot's jaw shut and tightened. Arthur could hardly blame him. Under any other set of circumstances that question out of his mouth would have been a challenge and a trap. “I don't believe everyone who practices magic is evil.”

“Nor do I.” Lancelot admitted.

“Then isn't it time we stopped treating them like they are? Sometimes I feel our judgment has been clouded by, hatred and fear.”

“I think you are right.” Lancelot encouraged.

“If I were to lift the law sorcery would reign once more in Camelot. Is that what you'd want?”

“I think that's what Merlin would want.”

“Is there something you're not telling me?”

“Arthur I know.” Lancelot said in a rush.

“You know what?”

“I know Merlin's secret.” Arthur looked at him, doubtfully. "I know Merlin has magic."

“How long have you known?”

“Apparently since he killed the griffin and saved my life.”

“Apparently?”

“After Sasha brought me back, she restored all my memories, I remembered how much you and Merlin mean to me. But I didn't remember what he was. Sasha, didn't or couldn't give me that. He told me himself, some weeks past.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

“For the same reason you haven't.”

“...Because he is a friend.”

“No... because he doesn't deserve to be persecuted for being himself.”

He looked Arthur squarely in the eyes. “And I saw that –I saw who he is– clearly enough.”

“What was he like? The real Merlin, what was he like?”

“Arthur you know Merlin better than anyone.”

“And yet I didn't know he has magic.”

“Does that matter? If I knew him at all I knew this: magic while a part of Merlin, was only one part of who he was.”

“I just wish he trusted me enough to tell me.”

“And if he had, how would you have reacted?”

“...Probably no better than when I saw him save my life.” Arthur admitted.

“I was wondering how you figured it out.”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you think he ran off to anyway?”

“Someone important to him is in trouble, he ran off to save him. It's what he does.”

“Come on, let's go find him.” Arthur stands up. “Since we're already waist deep in stories about our friends, I have an equally stupid question for you, Arthur.”

Arthur sat up and walked to his horse. “Yeah and what would that be?”

“Were Sasha and I close?”

“You knew her as Nikita. That's saying a lot right there. I didn't really see the two of you together much but it goes with out saying she considers you a friend.”

“I know that Arthur. What I mean is...were we as close as you and Merlin?”

“Do you mean, were the two of you together?”

“Did we have something special between us, do you know?”

“I don't think she ever let anyone get THAT close.”

The Truest of Friendships

Really, the Truest Friendship I've ever known.

“It's quite alright Nasir. I'm going to miss you.”

The shock on the other man's face was considerable. “Where am I going?”

“Nasir, I...just please, take the horse and be about your business.”

“Forgive me but are you jesting with me?”

“No why would I...Why would anyone say that in a jest?”

“Why would you let me go?” Nassir responded instantly. And then slowly as if he were trying to work out in his own head what was going on. “Sir, this is your prize of battle. I was the servant of the man you killed in fair combat. I am your prisoner...your slave should you wish it.”

“Nassir, I understand the custom of position. At least I think I do. And I will have no part of it. Especially not if it's simply because of my rank. Which is why I ask, is it because I won, or simply because of a title I inherited from my father?

“Sir, by our very understanding of fate and destiny it is for you to say what happens now. We are taught that ALL is as God wills it and I truly believe that. My master challenged you, more for sport than on principle mis-prizing what he saw. If you take me with you, if you claim me, I will see it as God's justice. That being said I must ask: What do you intend to do with me?”

“I will ne-ver own another human being. And I refuse to make you pay the price for your master's choices. I was little better than a slave myself before Godfrey...before my father found me my life changed very much overnight. We left for the Holy Land together but he did not survive the journey that brought me here. Regardless of how this came to be, I will not have you following after me because of who my father happened to be. This new life was thrust on me; I've done nothing to earn or prove my rank as a knight. I have done nothing to deserve the admiration I see in your eyes right now. Except be a quick learner when Godfrey gave me a brief fighting lesson. I will find my fathers people and live my life. But I cannot and will not ask you to be a part of that. Go in peace.”

Sometime later after defending Kerak, Balian will say. "So that's why you were so eager for God's justice. It wasn't 'your masters' choices." Having realized rather inescapably that Nasir was the lord.

'You truly must be a stranger here' was the look on Nassir's face as he explained his fate was in his hands because of his victory. That it really was entirely in Balian's hands what happened to him, just from their understanding of fate and chance, the turning of fortune's wheel.. Balian had more than earned the right to decide his own fate. But that Nassir's willingness to become his 'prisoner or slave' was an understanding and allowance due to Balian because of his rank. “That being said I must ask: What do you intend to do with me?”

“I will ne-ver own another human being. And I refuse to make you pay the price for your master's choices. I was little better than a slave myself before Godfrey...before my father found me my life changed very much overnight. We left for the Holy land together but he did not survive the journey that brought me here. Regardless of how this came to be, I will not have you following after me because of who my father happened to be. This new life was thrust on me; I've done nothing to earn or prove my rank as a knight. I have done nothing to deserve the admiration I see in your eyes right now. Go in peace.”

“I cannot Milord.” Nassir said slowly but firmly. “All is as God wills it. I truly believe that. And if I didn't before I would now. I cannot see how the two of us could have come together at all, so soon after you even arrived unless Allah brought us together. At any rate, I am not permitted to leave your side. I refuse to leave a stranger to Jerusalem alone and friendless, lost in a sea of faces.” He smiled softly and continued. “Call me a servant or protector if you want, and if that helps you accept MY decision. It would not be far from the truth. No matter what ELSE my life is now, it is bound to yours, and it is by choice, not compulsion I assure you; inshallah.”