Cry of the Celt

Genres: Angst/Romance

Rating: M (for not really gratuitous sex scene)

Summary: Saorise goes down to the Underworld to beg for her lover's life when she is thrown into some odd circumstances. Saorise/Dorcha. A sort of Wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kinda thing. But with angst!

A/N: Yes yes… I know, I have a thing for Dark/Light couple romances. This one's about Don Dorcha and Saorise from Lord of the Dance. And I'm taking liberties with the whole thing so there and bugger off. And leave my death scene fetish ALONE!

A/N 2: If anyone actually reads this and has the LOTD cd, I suggest you start out with "Warriors" and then put it on "Stolen Kiss" on repeat.

A/N 3: Oh bloody hell! I've just realized this makes me a truly pathetic person! I've written a fanfic about a bloody dance!

Saorise had never been so blatantly terrified in her life. It was completely dark all around her and frightened thoughts raced through her head. What if she got lost? What if Dorcha murdered her and then went after the Lord? What if­-­

The beautiful blonde let out a shriek as she lost her balance and began falling, down, down, down… Her screams reverberated around her. Oh my dear Lord! I don't want to die! Very suddenly she stopped falling and she was suspended in the air. She felt herself moving sideways through the air, then she was gently set down on the stone floor of a massive cavern. Blue light flickered from torches placed haphazardly on the walls, casting an eerie glow upon the face of her saviour.

It was Don Dorcha. And he did not look at all pleased. The light glinted off his silver mask as Saorise quickly curtsied and bowed her head in supplication.

"A Celt. What are you doing in my Underworld?" he asked, his voice deep and dark like the caves he and his people inhabited.

Saorise looked at him, frightened by his undisguised animosity towards her.

"I-I-I-" she stuttered. "I c-came to beg for-"

"-Me to spare the Lord of the Dance's life. Yes, I know. Morrighan told me all about it." he finished, his tone bored.

"Morrighan!" Saorise exclaimed.

"Yes. Morrighan. Now. If you don't mind, I have business to attend to." he hissed.

"You'll kill each other!" she cried, overcoming her fear of the Dark Lord and grabbing his shoulder.

She forced him to turn to face her.

"Undoubtedly." He replied calmly. "He will kill me or I will kill him, either way, there is no way I will return to this living hell." He motioned to the caverns around him.

"You can't! You just can't!" she pleaded, tugging on his arm.

"I can and I will. One of us will die soon." he said firmly.

The blonde Celt fell to her knees before the Dark Lord and fisted her hands in the cloth of his dark cloak. Dorcha stared down at her coldly. Tears trickled down the young Celt's face and very suddenly, Don Dorcha's expression softened. He reached down, taking her hands in a gently grip and pulling her to her feet.

"Do not despair, child." he murmured softly, his voice almost sorrowful.

Saorise did not flinch as his callused fingers touched her cheek. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and tearful. Something drew her to this man. Dark and evil as he was…

It is one of those unusual things in life, that people find love in the most peculiar of situations. Here she pleaded with the Dark Lord to spare the life of her soul mate, but as she looked into his dark eyes, she was unsure of who exactly her soul mate actually was. She was getting lost in those eyes. Those eyes that were so unlike anything she had ever seen before… I love Tristan. The Lord of the Dance… I love Tristan. She insisted to herself. I love-

Unbidden, she found herself moving into Dorcha's arms. What am I doing? I must be under a spell- Her mind pleaded with her, trying to validate the feelings she had for this complete opposite of the Lord of the Dance.

She felt his fingers tilting her face upward before he claimed her mouth with his own. No! No no no no no! This isn't- Ohhhhhh Goddess!

"What are you doing to me?" she asked breathily.

"I force you to do nothing, Saorise." he replied, his voice just as breathless.

"You must be!" she exclaimed. "You're here! In my head! In my-"

"-heart. Yes…" he finished for her.

"I can't… I can't love you… It's wrong! I-"

He cut her off with a kiss.

"Aye… It is wrong… How do you think I feel!" he hissed when he finally pulled away.

Both of their minds protested, saying it was wrong. This could undo them both! Dorcha's mind protested most vocally. She is a Celt! She belongs to the Lord of the Dance! You cannot do this! You cannot! While his heart most firmly proclaimed – Bugger the hell off! I'll do what I like!

Saorise was unsure how they had managed to wind up wrapped around each other in such an intimate way, but very suddenly it didn't seem to matter. He was hers and she was his in a way she had never experienced before. The only noise she was aware of was her piercing moans and his low voice murmured to her. She came with an ear splitting shriek, her body convulsing against his. She rolled off of him, catching her breath, then moving close to him once more. Her lips moved against his chest and he gathered her up in his arms, holding her close.

"This is a very inopportune time for this to occur." he said quietly, burying his face in her hair.

"I know." she replied, reality beginning to sink in.

They lay in silence for a while, his hand stroking her hair gently while she pressed her face against his chest.

"This wasn't supposed to happen…" she mumbled.

"No…. Do you regret it?" he asked, suddenly unsure of him self (something that was a very rare occurrence).

Saorise sat up suddenly; peering into the semidarkness she could make out the outline of his face, the silver mask he still wore glinted darkly. The eyes behind the mask were sorrowful. She sighed softly and leaned down.

"No. I don't." she smiled, kissing him.

She could feel him smile against her lips, his hand moved up to tangle in her wild mane of golden locks. Saorise snuggled up against him again, happy for the moment. After sometime, she sensed his mood darkening.

"Dorcha? What's wrong?" she asked carefully.

"I'll not survive this." he said softly, barely restrained fury behind every word.


"I'll die! The Lord of the Dance will triumph!" he hissed.

"Dorcha… You don't know that-"

"I don't need to! I will let him!"

His arms tightened convulsively around her, pulling her body closer to him.

"He makes you happy. I could never do anything to destroy your happiness… Not after this… No matter how much I love you…" his voice cracked.

He buried his face in her throat, inhaling her perfect scent. Why did this happen? Why? He was suddenly defeated before the battle had begun.

Saorise was unsure what to do, how to feel, how to react. They had been thrown into an impossible situation, a situation where either way, someone would have to die. Invariably, the Dark Side would lose. Saorise suddenly felt her soul rise up and rage at the gods for doing this to them.

"I just wanted…" she suddenly heard him say.


"I just wanted to be… happy. For a little while." He reached to touch her cheek. "You've made me happy."

Her eyes filled with tears at the calm surprise in his voice.

"Dorcha, there has to be another way!" she exclaimed.

His thumb stroked her cheek.

"There is no other way." he said flatly.


Saorise turned her face into his hand, covering his palm with kisses and holding it to her.

"You must go." he said softly.

"I don't want to." she said firmly.

"I don't want you to. But you must. Something is coming, I cannot stop it. I do not want you caught in the crossfire. I've no doubt the Lord if the Dance would agree." he said the last bit with a wry smile.

"Dorcha…. This is unbearable! I love you both!" she raged at no one in particular.

He gave her a sad smile.

"I know. Time will tell who is worthy of you. Go, Saorise. Go back into the Light!" he pleaded.

"No Dorcha!"

He was closing his eyes, concentrating and muttering something under his breath. It was a second later before Saorise realized he was using a spell to transport her home.

"Dorcha! NO! I love you!" she cried out.

Dorcha disappeared and the bright sunlit Irish moors replaced the dark caverns of the Underworld. She could see the Lord of the Dance with his troupe. She fell to her knees, her cry bursting from her and causing the troupe to turn to look at her. The heartrending sob echoed around them, a sound of unbearable suffering.



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