Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Taking Chances and Leaps of Faith ❯ In Which There are Lessons Learned ( Chapter 11 )

Cira cast her eyes to rising moon, and soaked herself in its power. She had been born when the fullest moon was at its height, and she had been bathed in its pearly shafts of light. Softly, she began to chant an ancient song of protection:

Isilor ar eleninque

Haryalya cale calmene

Varyame

Tirme. *

She repeated it, over and over again. And as she chanted, the moon and stars brightened until they seemed to dance in the sky. This was how Trunks chanced upon her, and his breath stole from his body to see her beauty bathed in the glow of the moon.

Cira felt the presence of a stranger and stopped her chanting, turning to look at the intruder. It was the man, Trunks, the son of Bulma and Vegeta…. from the future. She gazed at him; her cobalt eyes were sprinkled with starlight and Trunks would never be able to find the words to describe this meeting.

"What language do you speak in?" Trunks asked softly, approaching her cautiously. She watched warily for a moment before speaking.

"It is the language of my people," she said simply. "I was repeating a chant of protection for the members of this household."

"Say something else," Trunks breathed. "It is beautiful."

Cira thought for a moment before saying, "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

"What does it mean?" Trunks asked.

"A star shines on the hour of our meeting. I thought it appropriate," she murmured, gazing up into the night sky.

Trunks sat down upon the grass and patted the spot next to him. Cira stared at him for a moment, and then sat down in one fluid, graceful movement.

"Say something else," Trunks demanded, eager to hear more.

"A hótule asinye i meneltannar tirien. It means `Come outside with me and look at the constellations.'"

"Would you teach me how to speak this language?" Trunks queried, watching her impassive face eagerly.

Cira looked down at her curled fists uncertainly. The lavender haired man made her nervous. She knew, with a sense of foreboding, that her destiny was tied with his, and she remembered her dream; she struggled not to blush. "It is a difficult language to master, even for Elrondians. Do you have patience?"

"Yes," Trunks whispered. "Despite who my parents are."

Cira laughed softly, and Trunks' eyes were drawn to her full mouth, but he shook those thoughts from his mind. If she had noticed, the Princess did not admonish him. Instead she nodded her head slowly, dark hair waving gracefully.

"Very well, then, Trunks, I shall teach you."

Grinning broadly, Trunks said, "Thanks."

"Hantale," Cira corrected.

"Huh?"

"Hantale means `thanks.' If you wish to master our language, you will have to practice often."

"Hantale," Trunks repeated softly, and then several more times until Cira was content with his pronunciation.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the peace of the night and each other's company. Cira was filled with many questions, and she was the inquisitive type. She had a feeling that Trunks would be the one patient enough to answer her. First, she wanted to know more about this sober and quiet man.

"Will you tell me about yourself, Trunks?"

Stretching his body out, Trunk reclined on the grass, his head in his hands. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Cira said, her voice eager. "Bulma said that you were from the future, but you are her son, please explain such a concept to me."

"Ah, this is a story," Trunks said, turning to his side, propping his head on one hand, the other playing with blades of grass.

"I come from what is now an alternate future. Before it was changed, my home was being destroyed by androids. These androids had killed all of Chikyuu's warriors, including my father. Only Gohan, my mother, and myself were left to protect the people. Eventually, even Gohan was killed," he stopped then; to explain who the different warriors were before finishing. "My mother built a time machine that allowed me to journey to the past and fix events so that the future would be different."

"And it obviously worked," Cira commented softly, looking about the verdant forests of Capsule Corps. In this garden, Cira felt life for it was well cared for by Bulma's parents.

"Yes, but barely. By changing the past, I almost destroyed any future. I returned one last time to make sure everything went according to plan, but there were new androids, different ones. And then a different creature followed me; it was dangerous. It called itself Cell and it absorbed the androids. We almost lost everything all over again. Goku, Gohan's father, was killed, and so was I."

"Yet here you are," Cira whispered, slightly confused. Trunks grinned.

"The people of Chikyuu have something called Dragon Balls. If a person collects all seven they can make two wishes. I was wished back to life."

"Amazing," Cira murmured, "That something so powerful can recall the dead."

The tone in her voice, however, seemed to speak differently. Trunks sat up, eyeing her strangely.

"What do you really mean?" He prodded.

"Pleased, I am, that you are alive, for I have enjoyed your company. Yet, it seems almost sacrilegious to call back what has already gone on."

Trunks shrugged. "I suppose, but I can achieve more good here alive, rather then dead."

"Truly?" Cira questioned, "Then why is it the one called Goku refused to return? Perhaps you did not look deep enough into the true reason your life ended."

The half-Saiyan did not comment and stared at the blades of grass in his hand. He saw her slender fingers pluck the blades from his hand and stare at them, sadness in her eyes.

"So needless, to tear them from their roots. What purpose did this have, other then needless destruction?"

Trunks watched her cradle the pieces of grass in her hand and felt his heart grow heavy. She was making him feel sorry for grass!

"Envinyatasi." #

Trunks watched, bewildered, as a golden glow enveloped the grass. The blades began to twirl and spin as they floated down to where he'd plucked them. With a tiny flash of light, they reconnected to their torn roots, as good as new.

"What was that?" Demanded Trunks.

"A simple healing spell, anyone can perform it."

"Why did you do that, though? It was just some grass," Trunks was slightly angry and he did not know why. The look in her eyes made him feel as if he'd committed murder.

"Every blade of grass deserves life, who are you to deny them that right?"

Unable to answer, Trunks looked once more at the newly formed grass.

Standing, Cira nodded her head at Trunks. "While I did enjoy our conversation, Trunks, I must now seek my bed for I am weary. Namarie."

"Namarie," he whispered back, not needing her to translate the obvious word for `goodbye.'

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

*Moon above and stars of white

Have your light shine on us

Protect us

Guard us.

# Heal now.

~ This language is taken from the mighty J.R.R. Tolkien. It is Quenya, which is the speech of the High Elves who dwell in Aman. I think it is very beautiful and will have it be the language of Elrondia, however, I am no Quenya expert, so if someone sees that something is incorrect, please notify me immediately. ~