Okay so this is something I came up with after I wrote Fate Decides. I'm not sure how long it will be, but I know for a fact that it will be at least three chapters long. Other than that, I'm still in the editing process so I can't give any guarantees.

Strings of Fate

The crack of a gunshot reverberated down through the trees. The ringing sound sliced through the muted sounds of wildlife that had only moments ago surrounded the small party. They froze as the air shattered around them, hands instinctively moving to weapons and wary gazes searching for the enemy. One among them felt the intrusion far more keenly, and Ardeth whirled around, dark eyes searching the trees for the weapon's owner.

In the wake of the gunshot's faded echoes the pain struck.

All his life, Ardeth had heard the tales of the agony a broken bond could bring forth. He had understood the risks upon creating his own, acknowledged that one day he would be forced to feel the searing heart pain as his Bonded was torn away from him by death. He had expected it one day, but not today, not now. The suddenness of it caused his breath to tangle in his throat, and his chest burned. He felt the hot lead pierce his body, fire exploding outward through his chest only to be quenched in an endless darkness.

Ardeth's mind reeled beneath the white agony that flared across the bond, and he gasped as Horus's mind, a warm hollow within his own that felt of soft feathers and gentle ferocity, vanished. The sudden loss left him bereft and he could not stop him self from reaching out, hoping against hope to hold his Bonded close. It was a futile attempt; the bond had been severed beneath the searing heat of a bullet's path, and where Horus had once been there was now a dark void.

The falcon's death had been immediate, a clean stroke of hot lead that had stolen the bird's life in the space of a moment. Horus had been spared the agony of his own death. Ardeth was not so fortunate. The dull twang that had echoed within his soul as the bond tore continued to reverberate within his mind. In its shadow was a frigid emptiness that was foreign to a man that lived in the heart of a desert. Not even the freezing night once the sun abandoned the sky could compare to the cold that seized him from within.

Even knowing the loyal falcon was gone did not stop Ardeth from lurching forward. He ran the last few steps to where a scrap of blue sky peeked through the tree tops. "Horus!" His cry angled up into the open sky, and his grief drove deeper when there was no answering flutter of wings, or a soft chirp of greeting that winged across the surface of his mind.

His Bonded's death tore at him, ripped his soul and mind down the middle and left a gaping wound that threatened to drive him to his knees. The true agony came when he realized he could not mourn. His best friend, his Bonded was dead, and he could not stop to grieve for the terrible loss he had just suffered.

Bleeding from the wound that no normal eyes could see, Ardeth turned to his companions. They had stopped to watch him, their confusion evident. If he'd had the energy he would have wanted to scream at them. How could they not see his pain? In that moment it didn't matter that they were not Medjai and so of course were unaware that the bullet had indeed hit its mark, and then some.

"I must go." It was a miracle he was still standing, that his voice remained even. Every breath hurt like fire in his lungs, worse than any wound inflicted on his body. Through the overwhelming sense of loss, he felt the first spark of alarm. He knew how dangerous soul wounds were. For all its strength, a soul was a tender thing. In comparison to the kind of damage a soul wound could do to a man, the damage caused by bullets or steel was far easier to deal with.

Rick moved toward him, his rifle cradled within his hands. "Wait! Where are you going?"

Ardeth struggled to focus, concentrated on the ground beneath his feet, the muggy air against his water soaked garments. Focused on the bruises that were blooming on his ribs and back from the air ship's impromptu landing, anything but the freezing void in his mind where Horus should have been. "I must let the commanders know where we are."

He had to reach the others. Without the last coordinates he carried the tribes would never be able to find the Oasis in time. If his people did not keep the army busy, there was no telling the kind of damage they might inflict. They had to know, had to be ready.

It didn't matter that by the time the battle was joined he would have already fallen prey to the effects of a broken bond.

Ardeth could already feel it; his soul bleeding sluggishly, every strong heart beat one less second of life. He was slipping into shock, a cold ache centered in his chest where moment's earlier fiery agony had seared his insides raw. The cold was spreading; a gradual expanding that would eventually consume him. If he were to reach a healer in time they would be able to assist his body through the shock, and he would be forced into bed rest for days on end as his very being attempted to heal.

It was out of the question. His duty to his people would not allow him to seek aid, and even if he did, there were no healers close enough to assist him. Only the warriors had made the journey, the rest of their tribes safely tucked away in the secret places that only the Medjai knew of. Ardeth would seek out the warriors and lead them to the resting place of Anubis's army. Then he would do his best to fight along side them. He would fall, that he knew, but he would not let his death be in vain.

"You can't go!" Rick's words tore through Ardeth's thoughts, and the Westerner pushed closer, blue eyes torn between concern and terror.

Ardeth resisted the fear in those eyes. "If the Army of Anubis arises….." Why was he arguing? He knew his duty, knew the cost of the information that weighed heavy on him, knowledge that echoed through an empty spot in his mind where once there had been a second heart beat.

"I need you to help me find my son." Rick reached out, placing his hand over Ardeth's heart.

The moment the warm palm touched Ardeth's chest he was swamped by heat. It slammed through him, shattering the cold that had begun to collect within his chest and suffused his insides with the warmth of the sun. It poured into him like water over sand, and like the sand his body reached for it eagerly, drawing it in and clutching it close.

Following the heat was Rick's desperate plea, carried on the waves of a magic the Westerner did not know he possessed. It was only long familiarity with such magic that allowed Ardeth to accept the foreign presence, allowing it to wash through him without visibly recoiling. His face was remote, only a slight gasp between parted lips betraying him.

The hand over his heart anchored Ardeth, held him up over the grief that clawed at him, razor sharp loss slicing into him with every breath. The magic was a blaze of heat that held the freezing cold at bay, and threaded through the lines of power that twisted through him were Rick's own emotions. With the magic tangled so deep, Ardeth could feel the Westerner's heart against his own. Grief was overlaid with fear, loss drowned by a fierce determination that Ardeth could feel down to the marrow of his bones.

If Ardeth were capable of surprise at this moment he would be torn between the sheer intensity of the connection, and how Rick could manage it at all. He had been right, back in London. Rick was a Protector of Man, a Medjai. That was the only way he would be able to reach so far into Ardeth, with only a touch. That Ardeth's defenses were weakened by Horus's loss only made it easier for the foreign magic to slide home.

Questing magic glided over the soul wound, and Ardeth could feel it gently probe the open gash. It burned, and Ardeth would have jerked away from it, torn his body away from the blessed warmth channeled through him by Rick's hand, only it continued to hover. It remained along the cusp of the wound, a warm presence lighter than the softest touch.

Rick's words tugged at Ardeth, following the pull of magic through his veins. They plucked at oaths he had made upon becoming a man amongst his people, when he had taken his place amongst his Brothers. He had sworn to aid his Brothers in their eternal duty, no matter how great their need, no matter what was asked. The tattoo Rick carried proclaimed him Medjai, and the magic that hovered over the raw hole Horus had once been declared him Brother.

Ardeth considered, all the while aware that the magic coiled around his soul was waiting, watching. He would help O'Connell. His oath's would not allow him to turn away from a Brother in need, and even more than that a friend. It was the presence of the magic that forced him to hold his tongue and consider.

There was a balance at work here. By saying yes to Rick he would be risking everything. Not his life, for that was already out of his reach, but the world's fate. It was only natural amongst his people that such an offer would be met halfway.

He could feel the magic's intent. Once he said yes, it would reach out, and heal the wound that was slowly draining his life away. If it were only his life at stake, Ardeth would have agreed instantly. He already owed his life to O'Connell twice over, and the same went for Rick towards him. It was how his life would be saved that made him cautious. For in the saving it would replace Horus, filling the jagged hole in his heart with a new bond, essentially tying him to another in order to keep his body from shutting down.

Tie him to Rick. In the end, there was no choice at all.

"And first I will help you find your son." Ardeth barely stated his intent before O'Connell's power spilled into the gaping hole Horus's death had left. There was searing agony only for the space of a second, and then it was gone, replaced by a dull ache and the sweet taste of spent magic coating his tongue.

"Right." O'Connell clapped him on the shoulder, his relief evident even as he turned back to his wife and brother-in-law.

Ardeth moved to stay by his side. He wished there had been another way, but he knew that there hadn't been. If Rick hadn't touched him then Ardeth would have been able to agree without the magic being able to interfere, but once it had slipped inside him no other outcome was possible.

The Medjai chanced a glance at Rick. The Westerner had no clue what had just happened, he knew. He had not been taught how to sense the magic at work, and the intensity of his fear for Alex would have masked any of the signs of a bond taking place.

Luckily the bond was not a deep one. It was surface level only, and it would stay that way as long as Ardeth kept his side closed, which he was doing now, shoring up his mind's defenses. As long as Rick remained unaware of its presence, and both of them left it alone, it would stay that way.

It was only with the keenest self-discipline that Ardeth managed to turn his thoughts away from what had just occurred. He would help Rick find Alex, and then he would journey to his people and lead them to the coming battle. Only if they survived would he worry about the fragile bond that had replaced warm feathers with soft cotton and deepest blue.