Notes at bottom. Thanks!
-Lianne (liannesen@aol.com)
http://www.liannesentar.com

*Blue Planet, White Moon*
Part 12

Rated PG-13 for violence, drama, stunts, and romance.

	It was snowing outside. 
	Endymion sat beside the windowsill. The plush chair
he occupied wasn't being put to good use; he barely sat on
the edge, his long legs stretched before him, his arms draped
over the armrests and his head resting on the topmost wooden 
border of the back. He *couldn't* get comfortable. Not with
the way his war-torn body stiffened with the cold.
	It was hard for him to ignore the pain. Actually 
getting body parts battered in battle was only half the
issue--it was days like this, when the weather sunk into 
his skin and clawed at his muscles, that he experienced
an entirely new type of anguish. He turned his head to the
window, wincing at the way his neck muscles protested, and
focused bleary ocean eyes on the snow.
	"Endymion?"
	He didn't want to move his head again. "You can
come in, Nephlite."
	He heard the door creak open and boots clump
against the floor. A sigh.
	"Endymion," Nephlite said in his deep clip, 
"we talked about this."
	Endymion frowned. "I know."
	The boots clumped again, this time toward him.
Endymion closed his eyes and bit his teeth; sure enough,
Nephlite's hands clamped under his shoulders and pulled him
from the chair. Endymion hissed and tried to fall back down 
as his muscles screamed.
	"Wait!" he cried. "Wait! I'll get to bed soon, promise.
Just ..." Nephlite's fingers unclenched, and Endymion carefully
lowered himself back to the plush. He let out a pained, exhausted 
breath.
	"Just what?"
	Endymion sniffed. "Just let me see the snow. Ok?"
	Nephlite, as usual, was unreadable. He stared at his 
prince as the young man gazed through the glass, the soft white
flakes reflected in the ocean of his eyes. Endymion's mouth
tightened only for an instant, but tightened it did, and his
general saw it and recognized it for what it was.
	"The snow reminds you of her."
	Endymion blinked, and his eyes turned glassy. After a 
moment, he said quietly, "This is the first winter since mother 
died."
	"Do you want to be alone?"
	Endymion shook his head. The pain in his neck sucked
at him, and the breath he let out shook; before he knew it he
was trembling in the chair, his body's aches becoming sharper
and more exhausting than before. He closed his eyes as Nephlite's
arms slid around his shoulders.
	"Let's put you to bed."
	Endymion pressed his lips together. Swallowing the
lump in his throat, he carefully nodded.
	"Are you in here, Nephlite?"
	As Nephlite turned to see who had called, Endymion
wrapped his aching arms around his general's waist. He hugged
the older man's chest to his cheek; at that moment, he really,
really needed it.
	"Well. Endymion's here." Malachite was shortly by the
prince's side, gently helping the prince to stand. "How're you
feeling?"
	"Malachite," Nephlite said darkly, "you're not supposed
to put weight on your wrist."
	"I'm not using the injured one." Malachite gave a sad
smile and ducked his head under one of Endymion's arms.
"I know how you feel," he whispered.
	Endymion hiccuped and tried to shrug his generals 
off. "The cold is probably hurting you two worse,"
he protested. "I can get to my room myself."
	Nephlite and Malachite, instead of answering, simply
didn't release him. Endymion tested out the leg that had been
severely wounded a week before, found he had *no* strength
in it, and decided to not refuse the help again.
	"We're leaving for the moon in an hour," Malachite
said as they all limped to the door. "Zoycite and Jedite
are staying here. Is there anything else you want us
to bring?"
	Endymion felt his heart drop just a little. He had
already been told he was in no condition to travel, and 
he'd already had several days to get over his depression 
over not getting to see Princess Serenity, but it still hurt. 
He hadn't seen her since their ... kiss, and that had been 
over six months earlier.
	"Just make sure Serenity gets the note I wrote her,"
he said. "Please. And ..." He trailed off. He swallowed,
feeling his cheeks hue a touch.
	"And what?"
	Endymion shook his head. "Nothing. That's it."
	Behind Endymion's head, Malachite and Nephlite
exchanged glances. The prince didn't notice it as they
carefully helped him drag himself through the doorway.

***************

	"More linens, Beryl."
	Beryl, lugging a basket of potatoes to the kitchen,
turned her head. "What was that?"
	"When you're done with that, bring new linens to
the infirmary. They're swamped up there."
	Beryl let out a breath and readjusted her grip. She'd
hoped to take a break to eat, but she'd go until dark without 
food at her current rate. She pushed open the kitchen door with
her shoulder, thunked the basket to the side of the door frame,
and called for the head cook. As soon as the woman sent
a nod of acknowledgment, Beryl left the door swinging
behind her.
	The linen room was nearly empty. When Beryl
arrived she had to wait for the over-worked maid to
fetch what remained; with a two-foot pile of sheets in her arms, 
Beryl made her way to the stairs. She had to take each step 
carefully to avoid tripping to her doom.
	She'd *hoped* all the work would take her mind off
things. Deep inside she'd certainly known how furtive a hope
it was--all her jobs were manual, and her wide-open mind 
stirred restlessly even as her hands worked. She wished something
would keep her attention. God, she *prayed* something would
keep her attention. Why was she cursed with a free mind, open
to ponder and fear and ... wonder?
	Her foot clipped on a stair, and she jarred dangerously.
She paused a moment to regain her balance.
	"Beryl?"
	She turned. Zoycite, a bandage tied around his head, 
looked up at her from the foot of the stairs. He quickly
ran up to join her.
	"You'll fall and kill yourself with that much," he muttered,
taking half her linens into his own arms. He smiled at her;
brightly, despite how pale he was. "Mind an ambitious young
man helping you out?"
	Beryl smiled weakly back. "Thank you."
	"Going to the infirmary?"
	She nodded as the two of them continued up the stairs.
"Yes. Short on workers, or so I hear."
	"More like they're drowned in bodies."
	Beryl's smile faded. When Zoycite said nothing more,
she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He honestly
looked sickly, and as her gaze trailed over his bandage, she
thought she knew why.
	"You were wounded on the field?"
	He didn't look up. At first she thought he was avoiding
the question, but then she looked at him harder. The bandage
was tightly around his closest ear.
	"General Zoycite?"
	He blinked and looked up. "Hmm?" He gazed at her
blearily, and she had the feeling he wasn't quite focusing on
her.
	She frowned. "What happened to you?" she asked as
she reached out and gently touched his bandage. He hissed
and pulled back.
	"Oh God!" she exclaimed, recoiling. "Did that hurt?
I'm sorry!"
	Fingers buried in his hair, Zoycite shut his eyes and 
forced a smile. He shook his head carefully. "'S all right,
he said through his teeth. "It's just tender still. Got it 
last night."
	Beryl pursed her lips. With a bandage that thick,
she *knew* he should've been in bed. His inability to look
at her straight was testament of how bad a hit he'd taken.
	She reached over to his linens. "I can handle these,"
she said gently. "Why don't you go rest?"
	His arms tightened around the sheets. "No, I'm
fine."
	"If you were hurt last night, you should be in the
infirmary."
	"I was."
	"And?"
	His eyelids slowly lifted. The green of his irises, 
foggy from his head wound, turned a darker shade of
emerald. He looked to the floor.
	"I wanted to get out of there," he said quietly.
	It frightened her. To see General Zoycite, usually so
bright and energetic, silent and withdrawn ... she had once
wondered exactly what it took to get *his* spirits down.
	Beryl hugged the linens tightly. The war was killing
them--not only physically, but emotionally. The palace 
hallways, which used to bustle with life, were silent save
the occasional servant who quietly rushed to his or her
next destination. Nobles rarely left their quarters. The king
was graver than ever, and it reflected in his royal soldiers;
fearing trouble from within, he'd made the announcement
regarding the enemy's ability to brainwash live Earthians
several months ago, and distrust had begun to brood among
the ranks. As if burning allies' corpses on the field	and
losing more ground every day weren't bad enough, the 
soldiers were constantly afraid their members had turned 
dark and could attack any moment. Fear and uncertainly 
bled through the palace and onto the battlefield.
	And Zoycite--kind, cheerful Zoycite--stood before 
her, eyes dark and manner grave. It was like a nightmare. 
Hope, the only thing Beryl had been clutching to, was 
slipping away as surely as Earth's ground in the war.
	Zoycite shook his head carefully. "We should get 
going," he murmured as he began back up the stairs. Beryl 
nodded and followed suit, silent, her slippered feet making
quite pads on the stone steps. She shifted her walk to be closer 
to his side. 
	She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell Zoycite--
kind, cheerful Zoycite--everything.
	"Beryl?"  
	She looked to him. "Yes?"
	"Can I ask your advice on something?"
	Beryl gave a wane smile. "I don't know what advice
I can give," she answered, "but ask me anything you like,
General."
	"First of all, don't call me that. It's creepy." He 
frowned. "Just Zoycite, ok?"
	"All right."
	"Ok." He took a breath. The next few moments
where he seemed to pull his thoughts together were
almost endearing, if not for the fact that she knew he 
was fighting through his head wound. "Since I was eight,"
he said at last, carefully, "I've been in love with the
same girl. She's fought with me every time I've tried
to court her, but for some reason, now she's letting
me get closer." He swallowed. "Just ... please, as
a woman, what do you think I should do to get
her to reciprocate my seriousness?"
	Beryl felt the color pull from her face just a 
touch. Of all things, he had to come to her for *love*
advice? She blinked her eyes quickly to try and calm her
beating heart.
	"I find it hard to believe," she said quietly, trying
to smile, "that you do anything truly 'seriously,' Zoycite."
	Zoycite gave a mild grin. "Ouch."
	"I'm kidding."
	"Are you really?"
	Beryl swallowed and forced a smile. "It's true
you live lightly, but I know that doesn't mean
you don't care. If you've known this girl that long
I'm sure she understands that." She brushed a stray
bang shakily behind her ear. "Could she be doing
the same? Being serious without making it obvious,
I mean."
	Zoycite paused. "Actually," he said after a 
moment, "there's a pretty good chance of that."
	"So?"
	He let out a breath. His gaze fell to the floor again.
"I just think I'm running out of time," he murmured.
	Beryl felt her blood run cold. Running out of
time.
	"Listen, Zoycite." Beryl's heart sped up as her 
mouth went dry. She swallowed and looked away.
"In these times, we don't have the luxury of waiting
anymore. If you're going to make a decision, do it.
If it helps ..." She paused, tried to slow the thundering 
in her chest. "That is, what *I* look for in a man is 
honesty. And for him to be ... himself."
	She could feel Zoycite's eyes swing to her. She 
feared he could see how pale she was or the beads of sweat
she was sure were forming on her brow. Running out
of time? Running out of time? Exactly how *much* time
did they even have? Earth had been losing the war for
a year and a half. It couldn't be much longer before their
limited soldiers hit dangerously low numbers.
	*She* was running out of time. She had little delaying
power left. With the number of times Metallia had visited her, 
putting the demon on hold wouldn't protect Beryl's life much 
longer. And if she told Zoycite, or Malachite, or the king
or *anyone* about it, she was terribly afraid of the torture 
Metallia had promised.
	And the fact that everyone would know she loved the 
prince.
	Zoycite was silent the rest of the trip, lost, perhaps,
in his slow-working mind. Beryl kept her lips tight, her
steps quick, and her brain active with thoughts of the future.
With the advantage the Earth kingdom could have with
Metallia's interest in Beryl. With the way, perhaps, a trap
could be set up for the next time Metallia came for her.
	When Beryl and Zoycite stepped through the infirmary 
door, though, the maid's mind stopped in mid-thought. The head
healer noticed the two of them, ran over, snatched the
linens from the young general and ordered him to get back
in bed. Beryl hardly noticed Zoycite's slow uptake of the
information and his imminent complaint. She hardly noticed
when the head healer took the linens from her hold and
left her with arms scooping thin air.
	Not linens for the sick. The sick were already clothed,
lying on hundreds of beds and makeshift beds that filled every
open space in the infirmary. As Beryl stared at the large pile of 
unwrapped corpses in the center of the room, so recently dead they
smelled only of sickness and wounds, she wondered if the
palace *had* enough sheets to cover every carcass the
war produced. Every carcass on its way to the furnace to
keep the enemy's army limited.

	*Earth is failing, my dear Beryl. Do you honestly wish 
for death or slavery?*

	Beryl shook. She shook and she shook and she shook
as her thin arms wrapped around her torso and the whispers
of Metallia caressed darkly in the back of her mind.

***************

	Midnight.
	It was dark outside--darker than it should have been
in the Earthlight. Ever since the war had begun a definite
change had come over the blue planet. Its glow faded as
its luster diminished; whereas a moon resident could once
go picnicking in the night by the light of the Earth, now 
the dim planet could barely sheen on the magic marble of
the moon palace. Even a few centimeters from the palace
walls was it difficult to make out handholds on windowsills
or grooves suitable for slippered feet.
	Princess Serenity held her breath. Blindly running
her silk-covered toes along the wall, she found a deep 
indentation ten centimeters below her current position.
Gripping a lower marble relief with one hand, she carefully
scaled down. A cold night breeze rustled her skirts about
her legs; she abruptly slammed her body against the
wall and waited for it to pass.
	Stay in her room. *Right.* The first Earth procession
in six months and she was to stay locked away the entire time
they were there. If Steven honestly believed setting a different
guard outside her locked chambers was going to work,
he was far more foolish than she would've guessed. Well,
that, or she was far more unpredictable than she realized.
She was surprised with how *not* scared she was scaling
down the palace wall below her window.
	The wind diminished. As she once again felt for
hand- and foot-holds in the dark, she wondered for the 
first time how she would *return* to her room. Sneak 
back through the palace? No, not with that guard in 
front of her door. With the way climbing walls was
working that night, though, she far preferred the idea 
of distracting that guard and slipping back in her room
before he noticed. But what would distract him? 
Throwing a pot to smash down the hall, hiding in a closet 
as he went to investigate, then running to her door? 
That probably wouldn't give her enough time. Maybe
if she set a small fire in that empty closet? It'd take him
a while to deal with that, and the fire wouldn't spread 
beyond her kindling in a marble palace. How much
smoke might he inhale, though? She didn't want to damage
him.
	Serenity blinked. Exactly when had she started to
think of *starting fires* to do what she wanted without
getting caught?
	Good God. She *was* getting unpredictable. 
	Swallowing against the guilt swirling in her stomach, 
Serenity scaled another several centimeters down. She had
to do this. She'd heard the rumors about the time left for
Earth; if the tide didn't change soon in the war, they didn't
stand a chance. And the less of a chance Earth stood, the more
of a chance the moon would abandon it completely. As
much as she feared for the safety of her kingdom
the thought of leaving the Earthians filled her with 
shame. Would her mother honestly agree to such a thing? 
Serenity wondered just how powerful social influence
could be on the very tired queen.
	Her foot slipped into another groove. As the princess
carefully lowered herself, she noticed how close she was 
getting to the garden below. She wondered if she could possibly 
jump the rest of the way.
	A sudden wind's slap answered her question. Shivering 
fiercely as the air pulled goose bumps from her skin, her fingers 
slipped from the marble. She made a small cry as she skidded 
dangerously fast down the palace wall.
	A man's height from the ground, a pair of hands shot
up and thunked under her shoulders. The sudden jarring stop
hurt; she choked back another cry as she was gently led to 
the garden grass. She turned, her body coiled defensively.
	"You know," Malachite told her, "the *traditional* 
way to sneak out of one's bedroom is to make a rope out
of sheets. Is this your first time?"
	Relief flooded through the princess as she released
her breath. Thank God. For a split second, she'd thought
Steven had found her.
	Venus was with the tall general, one eyebrow cocked
as she dropped to her knees and examined Serenity's dress.
Lifting up the long skirt and looking underneath, the
princess could *hear* the grimace Venus made.
	"You've scraped yourself pretty badly, sweetheart."
	Serenity pressed her lips into a tight line and pulled
free. "I'm fine," she clipped. "It was worth it."
	She could feel Malachite's ice eyes lock on her. 
When Serenity turned to meet them, the amusement that
glowed within their depths made her blush. She dropped
her gaze and cleared her throat.
	"Steven's gonna have your hide," Venus said. 
"Weren't you supposed to stay into your room until
the Earthians leave?"
	"Hmph." Serenity crossed her arms. "I refuse
to follow such a ridiculous rule. Does he honestly think
I'm in danger with them here?"
	"Yes."
	The way Malachite said it made Serenity's blood
run cold. She looked up; he wore that sad smile she'd
seen often before, but there was a new darkness behind
his irises. Hopelessness? For the first time she realized
one of his hands tightly clasped Venus'.
	Serenity's heart sank. "G-general," she mumbled
after a moment. "How have you been?"
	He shrugged slightly. "Alive, which is more than
I can say for a lot of Earthians. Such is the way." He
reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin envelope.
He held it out to her and raised his eyebrows a touch.
	The breath caught in Serenity's throat. "Is that,"
she breathed, "is that ..." Her trembling fingers closed over
the sealed parchment. In the dark, she could do nothing
more than run her fingers over the cool wax; sure enough,
the emblem of a rose lay in grooves she could feel. She
clutched the letter.
	"Endymion sends his apologies, as well as a promise
to be in better health the next visit."
	Serenity's head jerked up. "Better health?"
	Malachite smiled sadly again. "Just some injuries.
Painful, but certainly not fatal."
	Serenity bit her lip. With a very gentle grip (Serenity
noticed a bandage was tight around the wrist), Malachite
took her fingers in his own. He brought her hand to his
lips and watched her over it with quiet eyes.
	"It's been a pleasure, young princess," he whispered.
"May your life be long and blessed."
	He released her. Serenity curtsied slightly as he and
Venus walked off into the deeper regions of the garden.
Stepping a bit into the courtyard to get better light, Serenity
picked at her envelope with shaking fingers--it *smelled* like
Endymion, even, like soap, a little bit of sweat, and some kind 
of masculine fragrance she couldn't define. Her short 
fingernails scraped at the edge of the seal.
	She stopped. Suddenly feeling very cold, she turned
in the direction Malachite and Venus had disappeared in.
They were gone, though. Gone with silence and nothing else
in their wake. 
	She abruptly realized what he'd said. The way he'd 
said it. Kissing her hand. As her fingers closed over the 
cool letter in her grip, Serenity wondered, wondered as
her heart sunk, just why general Malachite had parted 
with so very final a farewell.

***************

	The trip was short and as expected. The procession
returned with dark eyes and little to say; Endymion, as
he found out later, admitted he wasn't too surprised with
the outcome. He had hope, still, but most others didn't.
	The moon was thinking of dismantling the 
transport. They had been very civil when speaking of
it to the Earth king, which was a touch of relief, but
in the end everyone knew the moon was pulling every 
last hint of support. They still had no date for the
dismantling, nor a confirmation that they would 
do it at all, but the next trip to the moon was scheduled
for ten months in the future. In Queen Serenity's
words:

	"Should the Earth procession make it, that trip
will likely be the last between our worlds."

	Malachite told Endymion of Serenity's little
wall-climbing escapade and the fact that, as far as
he knew, she had managed to sneak back to her room
without getting caught. Endymion smiled when he
was told, but he didn't find it appropriate to laugh--
not with the way Malachite spoke, his voice kind
and his smile gentle but his eyes so terribly sad.
Endymion didn't want to ask about Venus. Malachite
still wore the ribbons in his hair, despite how
ragged and threadbare and faded they were, but
a new, thin, golden one wound its way around the
old. It was woven so carefully one could hardly
see it.
	Endymion was back on the field when his
leg healed enough for fighting. The one to help him 
into his armor that day was Nephlite, with whom 
Endymion had also not spoken about the moon trip, 
and as the quiet general shimmied a boot up the
prince's leg the front of his shirt dipped down. 
Endymion could see Nephlite's collar bone, as well as 
the tiny green leaf tattooed a few centimeters
below it.
	Endymion knew things were failing. He didn't
honestly believe Earth had no chance, but he knew
what the odds were, and he knew what lay in store 
for his people. And his palace. And he.
	Running out of time.

To be continued ...

-IF YOU EVER RECEIVED A BLANK OR GARBLED 
E-MAIL FROM ME, ESPECIALLY WITH AN 
ATTACHMENT, FROM ANY OF MY E-MAIL ADDRESSES, 
DON'T DOWNLOAD OR SAVE IT TO YOUR COMPUTER 
BY ANY MEANS! I never send blank or garbled messages as 
I take the e-mails I write very seriously, and I rarely send 
attachments (if I ever send an attachment to anyone, I'll write 
out a comprehensive e-mail with it saying exactly what the 
attachment is). If you get a blank or garbled message or an 
unexplained attachment from me you may be getting a virus 
(there is either a hacker or a virus or both in my account 
still causing trouble ...).

Sorry if it stinks; it's hard to pass so much time in such a 
short number of pages. It was going to be longer but I ran out
of time (I *do* have to go to school and work ^_^). Next part 
will end with the final climax, and the final two parts will 
complete the story, so hang in there! Next part will be up 
Oct 28th on liannesentar.com. Take care!
-Lianne (liannesen@aol.com)
http://www.liannesentar.com
*Sailor Moon and all its characters copyright © Naoko 
Takeuchi/Kodansha Ltd./Toei Animation, Co., Ltd. This story 
part copyright © Lianne Sentar, September 2002.