The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Five This chapter is rated NC-17. Reader discretion is advised. Chapter Five Her skin tastes of water and moonlight. Beneath his seeking mouth, he feels her pulse thrum in her throat. Her head lolls to one side, and he peels her damp hair from her neck, lapping at her like a thirsty dog. His hands slide along her silky shoulders, dipping into the crevice between her breasts, and his heart races faster as she gasps when he rubs a thumb across one nipple. His arms feel heavy and slow, and he realizes they are under water, his feet waving briefly above the sand beneath them as he grapples her closer to him. His mind scrambles for purchase, too, trying to piece the details Lake. We're in a lake. Scully brought me to a lake… together. He opens his eyes, but there is no water, only the slip of dark satin under his forearms. She is lying beneath him, her back arching into him as he looms over her. Her breasts heave toward him as if beckoning, and he snares one in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the erect peak. She weaves her fingers into his hair, and his mind goes gray with the pleasure of it, how she tugs This hair that's much too long. Hair that's not really mine… it as she rocks her hips, pulling him deeper into her. He grits his teeth in a sensuous grimace, knowing that he can't last much longer. His hand drifts down between her legs, finding the sensitive nub that hides in her glorious folds, grazing it with two fingers. She stiffens, and he smiles against her straining chest, thrusting harder in rhythm with his hand. He throws his head up, his eyes wide and staring, needing to see her release… And movement catches in his peripheral vision. He cocks his head a bit to one side, and his blurring gaze falls on a figure standing in the shadows next to the bed. His startled gasp sticks in his throat, but his body is in overdrive, pounding into her now, building her climax under his fingers as he races toward his own. The candles in the room flicker, their tendrils lighting the broad, masculine features for a moment, and as he shudders his orgasm into her, his mind ignites in recognition. Skinner—Jesus Christ, that's Skinner! What the hell— The walls of her entrance pulse around his cock, and he looks down at her again, noticing the endless waves of russet hair. Her eyes are open now, locked onto his, and she moans his name Scully…Scully, is it you? Lancelot… and her green eyes shine with sweetness and love and No, Scully! Not Lancelot! I'm Mulder. I'm Mulder! the man in the shadows moves away from them silently, but not before the bright pang of shame and guilt twists in his stomach, jarring him Awake. You're asleep, Mulder, wake up. The water slapping his chin roused him, and he shook himself fully awake. Something heavy and soft pushed at his body, and he realized Scully slumped against him, her head on his shoulder. He glanced around them, surveying their whereabouts, trying to get his bearings. He had a hazy memory of the two of them stumbling along toward the edge of a lake, but he had no recollection of actually getting into the water with her. Yet here they were, floating together in a locked embrace, with Scully in a sound sleep, her legs and arms wrapped around him in an almost protective way. The moon beamed silvery light down on them, giving the water a mysterious, mirrored appearance. He moved in a slow circle to peer around them, his arms still tight around Scully's pliant body, watching the tendrils of mist undulate like floating cobwebs over the water. It was nearly impossible for him to figure how much time they had spent in the lake. He brought his fingers up close to his eyes and squinted at them, noting that they weren't any more wrinkled than they normally were when he took a fifteen-minute shower in the morning before work. And then he noticed something else. No cuts. Not one on the palms of his hands where the sword bridge had sliced him to ribbons. His skin looked as smooth as a newborn's. He flexed his fingers into a fist and brought his hand in between his body and Scully's, feeling along his ribcage. The deep gashes were gone. Mulder chuffed out a disbelieving breath. He believed in a lot of things, things most people scoffed at outright…but he had also believed earlier today that he could possibly die. He knew he had lost too much blood, and he knew when he wavered in and out of consciousness that his body was in shock. He had been aware enough to notice the terrified look on Scully's face, the one that she hadn't bothered to hide. Oh yes, he had come very close to checking out permanently. And now, here he was, wrapped in the arms of his partner in the middle of a peaceful, moonlit lake, without a nick on him. Miracle? Healing waters? Magic? He shook his head a little, his mind spinning. This place they had stumbled upon certainly was full of surprises. He cradled Scully's head in the crook of one arm and wiped a stray strand of the terrifically long hair from where it stuck against one cheek. He had watched her sleep more times than he could count, but it seemed so odd now, to hold this woman that so resembled his partner, and yet was different too, in the subtlest ways. She murmured in her sleep and tightened her arms around his neck, and he smiled. She may look different, he knew, but she was still his Scully. And he had her back, safe and sound. He hated to wake her, but he knew he needed to do it. They were together again, and they needed to find a way out of this world. They had somehow managed to dodge a threat to their safety, and now his intuition kicked in, urging him to get them out, as fast as possible. She moved against him, and he felt the sweet sensation of her nipples scraping his chest. He sighed in pleasure, and his mind turned back to the dream he had been having, the one where they were making love on the bed of satin sheets. It had been an amazing dream, so intense, so real Mulder frowned. Real. It had seemed real. The clutch of her body around his, the taste of her skin, the hushed rustle of their movement on the sheets…it had been more palpable, more tangible, than any dream he ever remembered having. It had been like a like a memory Could that be true? His sharp mind focused, considering the question. Was this body he now inhabited, the body of Lancelot of the Lake, remembering that experience? Could it be possible that Mulder now had access to those memories, that more and more of them would start to seep into his consciousness the longer he remained in this world? He flipped the idea over, like a man turning a coin in his hand. He still felt like himself. Aside from the fact that he looked a bit different, and that he could obviously ride a horse and joust like a pro, he still felt like Fox Mulder, F.B.I. agent, profiler, and paranoid extraordinaire. And his mind still seemed to be functioning as it always did, pondering the possibilities in a realm of uncertainties. Yep. Still the same old Mulder. He looked at Scully again, and unable to resist, he leaned over her and pressed a soft kiss to her yielding lips. She stirred beneath him, and her lashes fluttered against his cheek as she opened her eyes. He smiled at her. "Hello, Sleeping Beauty." Her eyes, those new emerald ones that seemed so alien and yet so familiar to him, met his. She searched his face for a moment, her mouth forming a word, and it struck him cold when she said it: "Lancelot." He pulled her face back from his, clutching her between his large hands. He shook her, suddenly terrified. "Scully!" His voice was sharp. "Scully, it's me. It's Mulder. Not Lancelot. Mulder!" She blinked at him, and he saw recognition dawn on her upturned face. "Mulder," she repeated, and he nodded vigorously. Her hands dropped from his neck to his chest, and she ran her fingers over his torso, examining him with a shocked expression. "Mulder, what's happened? You…you're…better," she finished lamely. "Do you remember, Scully?" His voice sounded strained, and he tried to quell the paralyzing fear that had risen in him like a tidal wave. "For a minute there, I thought you had forgotten who I was." "No, I just…" She blinked again, as if she were trying to find the right words. "I was dreaming, I think, or—" "Or remembering?" He finished her sentence, and she stared at him, obviously stunned. "Yes. It's so strange, Mulder…but I think I am remembering parts of Guinevere's life." He nodded. "I think it happened to me, too, while I was asleep. I was dreaming, but it seemed so real. I dreamt we were making love—" "And someone was watching." It was his turn to be surprised. "We dreamed the same thing. Or remembered the same moment in time." "I think so. Arthur was watching us." "Arthur?" His mind clicked the pieces into place. He had seen the King the day before, on the jousting field, but he had not recognized him. "Skinner is Arthur, right?" She nodded, her forehead wrinkled in concentration. "But I think something is wrong, Mulder. At the end of the dream, something happened. I saw something else, something I don't think you saw, because the dream changed." She pulled away from him, sloshing through the water, heading for the shore. "We have to go back to Camelot. I need to find out what happened to Arthur." "Scully, wait!" He called after her, but she moved quickly, and he plunged across her wake in pursuit. By the time he caught up with her, she had gained the grassy beach and was struggling into her shift. He grabbed the bloodstained trousers heaped with his other clothes on the ground and yanked them on. "Scully, I think we should try to figure out how to get back, but not to Camelot. We've got to get out of here and back to our time, the sooner the better." She threw the scarlet tunic over her head and started up the slope. "I realize that, Mulder. But something has happened while we were away, something serious, and we've got to put it right before we leave." He left the rest of his wardrobe behind and yanked her to a stop with a jerk on her hand. "Scully. Be reasonable. We almost got ourselves killed. We need to concentrate on finding a way out of here before it happens again." Her eyes flashed. "Mulder, we have a responsibility to these people. We can't just leave their lives in shambles. And I have a responsibility to Arthur—" "Because you're the Queen." His voice was barely audible. He gazed at her, this tiny woman he loved, and he felt that fist clutch his heart again, sickened by the thought that crossed his mind. "You are not Guinevere, Scully. You are not the Queen, no matter how many people bow and curtsy to you. You are Dana Scully, and you have a responsibility to our world, not this one." Her bottom lip quivered, and Mulder swallowed hard. He had obviously struck a nerve in her. She waved helplessly at him. "I don't understand what has happened to us. All I know is that I am having these memories, these feelings, that I can't explain. But I can't deny them, either." "I understand. I'm apparently having them too. But that doesn't mean—" She cut him off. "You didn't let me finish. I'm remembering these…events…from someone else's life. But I—I'm also forgetting details from my own." "What do you mean?" "I can't remember my telephone number. I can't remember your birthday." He smiled, trying to calm her. "Scully, you never remember my birthday." "I'm not joking! I seriously can't remember it. I know it's in the fall sometime, but—" He grasped one of her flailing hands and pulled her closer. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and he realized just how upset she really was. "Relax a minute, OK? I think I can explain that. We've been through a very strange and stressful ordeal. I think your mind is overloaded, and that can explain some temporary memory loss. It's just the tension, Scully—" She looked up at him, her gaze hard and searching. "I can't remember my mother's name, Mulder. I can see her face, but I can't remember her name." He took a deep breath. She was obviously rattled beyond words, and that alone was enough to shake him to his very soul. Scully was usually cool and rational; having her ranting about her memory was as disconcerting to him as if she had admitted to seeing an extraterrestrial. He stroked along the angles of her cheeks with his thumbs, hoping this would help to soothe her. "It's Maggie," he said quietly. "Maggie Scully. Your mother." She leaned her cheek into his hand and sighed. They stood there for a moment, and she let him hold her, and he tried his best to allow his strength to seep into her. "It's going to be OK, Scully," he murmured, his chin resting on her head. "We're going to figure this out." She nodded mutely, and they started back up the path hand in hand. "I just want to talk to Nimue when we get back to the cottage," she finally said. "I need her to tell me if what I saw was true." "You think she'll know?" "Yes. I think she has some sort of power that is lost on the rest of us." She stopped for a moment and squeezed his hand. "And you should probably know, Mulder, before we get there: she looks like your sister." He acknowledged this news with a bob of his head, his thoughts tangling together as they tumbled in his mind. Langly, Frohike, Skinner, Diana…now Samantha? And the hits just keep on coming. If he weren't so worried, he would have laughed. The moon disappeared as they walked. By the time the cottage came into view at the edge of the woods, the sky had begun to lighten to the soft gray of pre-dawn. Mulder stopped to wait for Scully. She had fallen behind on the hike back several times, her small legs no match for his longer ones, creeping exhaustion evident in her grim features. He was glad to spot the cabin; he wanted nothing more than to deposit his partner in a soft, warm bed so she could rest. She caught up to him and slipped her hand into his. "We made it." "Yep. Just in time for you to lie down for a bit." She shook her head. "Mulder, there's too much for us to do. We can't waste time. I can sleep later." He started to argue, but he broke off when he heard the creak of a door opening behind him. They both turned toward it, watching as Bors stepped across the threshold, a wooden bucket swinging from his hand. He shone like a beacon in his armor, and Mulder couldn't help wondering if he slept in that get-up. He took a step forward, tugging on Scully's hand, but she slipped out of his grip. He gave her a silent, questioning look, to which she shook her head firmly, flicking her eyes to Bors. Message received: she didn't want the small man to get any ideas in his head about Lancelot and Guinevere, no matter what he may already know about their relationship. As much as Mulder didn't like the idea, he understood her reticence. They needed to be careful around other people. Bors noticed them, and from the surprise that registered on his face, Mulder couldn't believe he didn't drop his bucket. "Christ save us!" he bellowed, rushing over. He made the sign of the cross with his right hand and then reached it out to touch Mulder's chest, tapping him tentatively to ensure he was real. "Lancelot, you've been healed. It's a miracle of God!" "Either that, or I'm made of stuff too tough to kill." Mulder grinned, genuinely pleased to see his friend. Even though he had reconciled in his mind that this man was not his old pal Melvin Frohike, he had grown to like and trust Bors in his hours there as he did the diminutive Gunman. Bors slapped him amiably on the back. "Come inside. The Lady Nimue wants to go into the next village to purchase supplies." Scully ducked between the two men and entered the house. "Supplies for what?" she asked. Mulder and Bors followed her inside, where Mulder nearly collided with the woman the knight had just mentioned. Nimue stepped back, and Mulder caught his breath, staring at the features that were so much like those of the woman he had thought to be his sister. Nimue assessed him coolly. "Sir Lancelot. I see you have healed." She tilted her gaze over to Scully. "And we are in need of supplies for these two knights. They are about to set out upon a quest." "What quest? What are you talking about?" Mulder glanced at Bors, who shrugged and looked at Nimue. "King Arthur is in grave danger. He has lost Excalibur, and you must find it for him." Mulder snorted a humorless laugh. "He lost his sword? How the hell do you lose a sword?" "Someone stole it." This announcement came from Scully. Mulder blinked, surprised. All the color had drained from Scully's face, and she appeared to be about ready to faint. Mulder put out a hand to steady her, but she shook it off. "I saw it," she murmured to him. "I saw it in my dream. Someone hooded in black came into the throne room at Camelot and took it." She directed her next statement to Nimue, who waited expectantly. "Then it is true. Arthur is sick, isn't he?" "Without Excalibur, Arthur has no power. The magick of the sword sustains him. Morgan le Fae knows this, and she stole it. With Arthur weakened, Mordred will have no one to oppose him. He will easily take Camelot by force." "No!" Scully's exclamation stunned Mulder even more. What the hell was she getting so worked up about? They had more important things to worry about. They had to get back to their own time, to their own work…to the life they had begun together. Scully stepped up to Nimue. "What can we do to stop it?" "I told you. Sir Lancelot must retrieve the sword for him. Sir Bors can accompany him, but it is Lancelot who must carry Excalibur for the King." "Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Mulder interjected, wedging himself between the two women. He looked at Scully with stern eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. We have other matters that need our attention." Scully's return stare mirrored his in its intensity. "Why must Sir Lancelot go?" she asked Nimue. "Why is he the only one who can find the sword?" "Morgan le Fae has hidden it deep within the faerie realms. Only a person of faerie blood can pass into that world. And only Arthur's greatest knight is strong enough to wield the sword in the King's stead." Mulder puffed out an exasperated breath. "You're talking about magic, right? I've got about as much magic in me as that stool over there." "You are the nephew of the Lady of the Lake herself. You can journey into the faerie kingdom and find Excalibur." Nimue's voice took on an ominous tone. "If you want to aid your King and save Camelot from destruction." Mulder started to retort, but Scully's soft hand on his arm stilled him. "Mulder," she whispered, wary of Nimue's sharp ears. "You have to do this." He drew her aside from the others, not caring how it looked to them. "Scully, I want to get you out of here. I mean it. I don't like the influence this place and these people seem to have over you." "I'm fine, Mulder. But I do feel a responsibility to help them if we can. If Lancelot can help Arthur now, then I think you have to go." He folded his arms over his chest, defiance building up in him like water behind a dam. "Doesn't Arthur eventually lose his kingdom? What if this is how it happens, Scully? Aren't we interfering in that case, instead of helping? What if we are altering the course of these lives simply by being here? Shouldn't we be concentrating on getting the real Lancelot and Guinevere back where they belong?" "What if it's too late by then?" she countered. "What if Arthur dies? We can't let that happen. Not if we can save him." He wanted to point out that it wouldn't be her saving Arthur. Nimue had said nothing about Guinevere accompanying him, which bothered him even more. He damn sure didn't want to leave Scully alone in this place again. But she had used the collective "we," the one that couples used to imply their togetherness, their commitment to each other. Scully was appealing to his sense of duty, his sense of honor…and Mulder certainly had that, whether his consciousness resided in Lancelot's body, or in his own. He sighed. "I appreciate what you're saying, Scully. I admire your devotion to helping these people. But right now, I'm more worried about you. And that's always going to be my first priority." She smiled for the first time in what seemed like eons to him. "I know. But I'm really fine. And once we've helped Arthur, then we'll go back. I promise. I want to go home just as much as you do." They stood there together, gazing at each other, until Nimue's voice stirred them. "I see that Queen Guinevere has convinced you, Sir Lancelot." She bustled past them. "We must begin our preparations immediately." "What do we need to do?" Scully asked. "Sir Gareth can accompany me to the nearby village. There, we will purchase rations." She looked pointedly at Lancelot. "Remember to eat nothing in the faerie realms that is offered to you. Their food is dangerous, even if you are of fae lineage." "And what should we do while you're gone?" Mulder inquired. "Rest," she replied. "You'll need all the strength you can get." Sir Gareth and Lady Nimue set out for the village as soon as the knight returned from his wood-gathering excursion. Nimue left Mulder with some parting words. "We will return before sundown. That is when you must be ready. The veil separating this world and that of the fae is thinnest at the in-between times of the day. Twilight is the best time to find the portal to their kingdom." "How do I find it?" he asked, but she was already walking away. "You won't," she tossed back over her shoulder. "It will find you." Bors was fast asleep when Mulder re-entered the cottage. The knight sat propped up in a corner on a stool, his head tilted back like the bobble-head baseball player Mulder's father had bought him when he was a kid. Mulder tiptoed past him and cracked open the door to the only bedroom, where he had sent Scully before Nimue and Gareth embarked on their journey. He spied her humped form buried beneath a mound of heavy blankets. In the semidarkness of the room, he couldn't make out her features, but he figured she was asleep. Squelching the urge to crawl into the bed next to her, he began to draw the door shut. "Mulder." Her voice was soft and plaintive. He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him, aware of the other man just outside. He sank down onto the bed next to Scully, who rolled onto her back beside him. "You're supposed to be asleep," he scolded in a whisper. "I can't sleep. Not without you." He smiled. "You were the one who wanted to keep up appearances, my lady Queen." She returned his smile, but it was faint, and her brow creased in what Mulder recognized as her worried face. She grabbed his hand and held it between her breasts with both of hers. The look she gave him would have buckled his knees had he been standing. "I was so scared for you, Mulder. I was sure you wouldn't make it." She brought his knuckles up to her cheek and brushed them against her skin. The sensation made him sigh. "I'm still scared. I don't like sending you away like this, but I feel like we have no choice." "I was thinking outside, Scully." He hesitated to mention it, not wanting to further burden her, but they had to make plans, especially if they were to be separated again. "You need to find out what happened to Merlin." "Merlin? The magician?" Mulder nodded. "I don't know these stories as well as you, but Arthur had a wizard in his employ. What happened to him?" Scully shifted on the pillow, her hair moving in the half-light of the room like a dark wave on water. "Well, according to most of the legends, he fell in love with Nimue. She wanted only his magical secrets, not his attentions, so she trapped him in a tree or a cave. Something like that. Legend says he is imprisoned there still." "So Nimue knows where he is, and how to restore him." "Supposedly. But why are you so interested in Merlin?" "I think he can help us, Scully. He's a magician, right? Maybe he knows some way to get us out of here. To get us home." She smiled a little, the slight tipping of her lips that she gave to him when she was feeling indulgent. "Mulder, these are stories. Merlin was probably just some wise old man that everyone feared. He wasn't really a magician." "That portal in the woods was real, Scully. It was created somehow. What if someone conjured it? Someone with the same sort of knowledge as Merlin? Who else in the legend had magical powers?" "Well, the Lady of the Lake. Morgan le Fae. Nimue, although she was only thought to be an apprentice." She sighed. "But there are a lot of tales in the Arthurian legends that have magical components. Just because these people were thought to be wizards and sorceresses doesn't mean they actually were." "But it would be a place to start. I think if we could find Merlin, he may be able to help us, with or without magic. Maybe he knows the whereabouts of that portal, and we'll be able to get out of here." "So that's my assignment? To find Merlin?" Her tone was teasing, and he smiled to hear it in her voice. It gave him an assurance that she really was fine, and that together, they could make sense of the madness that had ensnared them. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Right now, your assignment is to get some rest." He started to rise from the bed, but she tightened her grip on his hand, staying him. "Come hold me, Mulder." She shifted her body toward him, the covers falling away, revealing her shimmering skin. One naked calf emerged from between the blankets, stroking along the outside of his thigh, sending a tremor of desire through him like an arrow. He tried to keep his voice firm and steady. "Not fair, Scully. If I get into that bed with you, I'm going to want to do a lot more than hold you." She lifted her head, surprising him by pressing her lips against his in a furious kiss. By the time they broke apart, his head was swimming, and his body buzzed with electricity. Scully wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, nipping along the underside of his chin as he succumbed to her embrace. "Then do it," she mumbled against his skin. "Do whatever you want. But I need you to come to bed with me. I need to know we're still us." How could he argue with that? He stretched out next to her, pushing aside the remaining barriers between them, enveloping his senses in the rich, heady scent of her and the ecstasy of her yielding body. And for the first time since they had arrived in this strange, mutated world, Mulder felt what he considered to be good, and right, and true. previous ::: home ::: next