Title art by the awesome LallaBelle.
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the song. No profit, just fun.
Spoilers for final seasons of Angel and Andromeda.
AN: Title from song by Kenny Wayne Shepherd.
Dylan Hunt, captain of the Andromeda Ascendant, strode down the corridor of his ship with a small brunette woman in tow. He rounded a corner and nearly collided with a golden girl. “Trance, this is our new passenger, Fred. I just brought her over...from...the...station.”
Dylan stopped talking as the two women stared at each other. Trance’s tail switched erratically, and Dylan could swear that blue highlights appeared in Fred’s hair when he glanced in her direction. Dylan cleared his throat. “Have you two met?”
“No, don’t be silly,” Trance’s reply came almost before Dylan could finish the question. “Fred...it’s nice to meet you.”
The brunette smiled prettily. “Charmed I’m sure, sugar.”
Later, in a minor corridor...
Trance stood, squarely facing the other woman. A blue tint was clearly visible in the newcomer’s hair. The golden woman spoke first. “I had not expected to meet an Old One out here, in these times.”
‘Fred’ tilted her head and her eyes changed color, but she did not speak.
Trance’s gaze sharpened as she questioned the taller woman. “What are your intentions towards these people, this ship?”
“Are they yours, Sun, that you should give issue?”
Trance’s voice was steely as she responded. “They are my friends, and they have my protection.”
Illyria's tone was haughty when she began to speak. “Once my the mere mention of my name would have caused my foes to slay themselves, and my dominion was inconceivably vast, across many planes of space and time. This ship—these humans—would have been beneath my notice.” Then Illyria’s tone softened and her eyes returned to brown. “But I am not as I once was. I am... diminished.”
Trance’s eyes shone with unshed tears at the last statement. She reached out with a hand towards Illyria in sympathy, not quite entering the other’s personal space. “I believe that is the way of things.”
Illyria straightened, and eyed the other with less of a chill than before. “I have no designs on you or yours.”
Trance pondered for few moments. “Can I show you my plants?”
“I would love to hear the song of the green again. It would be soothing.”
And so the God-King of the Primordium and the Avatar of a Sun walked off down the corridor to commune with ferns.