Hello everyone. I am deeply sorry that you have had to wait so long for me to begin the sequel to Scared. I've started school and am taking several honors and double-honors classes, so I have been receiving a lot of homework. I'm also currently doing volleyball, so that further complicates things… Anyways, I will always be updating at least once to three times every weekend, alternating with my other story, Cygnus. I can't promise how often I will update in the school week, but I will promise I will be updating as much as possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, any of the associated sequels, or any of the characters in said books. No copyright violation is intended. Also, I do not own the poem, Tears, Idle Tears. That is Lord Alfred Tennyson's.

And also, many thanks to my wonderful beta, lizbre.

Please enjoy the first chapter, or should I say prelude, of Fearless.

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Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather in the eyes,

In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,

That brings our friends up from the underworld,

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the verge;

So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns

The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;

So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

Tears. What are they, anyways?

Fluid. A kind of salty water. Saline.

But what are they, truly?

The expression of profound happiness, or deep melancholy? The mark that you can feel, that you can love, that you can hate? That you can know the world with a sense of passion?

And what happens, then, when you find you cannot cry? When you could witness a hundred deaths, a thousand hopeless desires, a million broken dreams, and never shed a tear?

Does that make you soulless?

Or perhaps we attach far too much attention to what we call tears. They are only physical, after all. Only visual. Surely, what counts, is what you truly feel.

It should be. But is it?

I may be have been happy. I may have been hopelessly in love and blissfully blind. I may be proud. I may be fearless.

But I find all I particularly wish to do is to be able to cry.

Just to feel the long forgotten sensation of burning in my eyes. A warm tear slide down my cheek, then gently falling. Just to taste the mildly salty flavor on my perfect lips.

Would it be heaven? Or would it be hell?

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean….

And thinking of the days that are no more….

Sad as the last which reddens over one…

And here at the edge of the earth, at the edge of my own sanity, I believed with a deep conviction that those tears would be heaven and hell, neatly rolled into one shimmering droplet.

I wish with all my unbeating heart that I would just feel a tear. One tear, glide down, then fall, disappearing. Where do all the tears of the world end up? Have I ever thought to ask?

But it would be hell. Because I realize, with a deep conviction I don't wish to acknowledge, that it wouldn't ease my pain. It wouldn't ease my suffering; take away the raw gash in my heart. It wouldn't be the answer to my unspoken plea, my unvoiced prayer.

It wouldn't be the thing that would allay my aching heart.

Because there is only one thing that has ever been able to do that. And now it's gone.

So I wish to weep.

Would I want to cry, if I already could? Would I still yearn to shed tears?

Or perhaps my desperate longing is just a disguised plea for something I will never be able to have. If I could, I wouldn't want to. And perhaps that is how life tends to work.

Doesn't it?

I leaned down, running my hand over the icy puddle that had accumulated in the alleyway. Gently pulling my fingers back, I placed them on my cheek. Droplets slipped away, running down my face in chilling rivulets.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the world.

Now all my tears were ice. Like the ice that had slowly crept into my heart, my very being.

Icy tears. Fake tears. Just a child's game, a willful fancy.

And one that contained a deep symbolism that I didn't wish to recognize.

So much. Such a long story, and one I didn't desire to acknowledge. One that I didn't want to think about for the rest of my existence. One I knew I would dwell on every day from now until the end of eternity.

My heart has been turned lifeless. My tears have been turned to ice.

And now, where is my fire?

Dear as remembered kisses after death,

And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned

On lips that are for others; deep as love,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;

O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

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Questions, comments? Keep in mind that this is only a Prelude, there is more to come later. I will be updating as much as possible, but until then, if you haven't checked out my other story, Cygnus, I suggest you do that to pass some of the time.

Tell me what you think. There is more to come shortly.

Lon-Dubh