The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Nine
      Chapter Nine
      Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into.

      If he hadn't been so damn tired, thirsty, and nauseated, Mulder may have 
      cracked a smile to think of the old Laurel and Hardy movie line. It was 
      one of Frohike's favorites, and he could recall many nights spent at the 
      Lone Gunmen's lair, consuming pizza and beer while watching black and 
      white comedies with his three friends. Laurel and Hardy, the Marx 
      Brothers, the Three Stooges…they loved them all, but Frohike had been the 
      one to share Mulder's quirky passion for one-liners and slapstick humor. 
      And now, as he stood before another glistening lake in the strange land of 
      the faerie people, Mulder knew that Frohike would appreciate the irony of 
      this whole situation…if only he were here.

      Well, he was here, Mulder reasoned, in a strange sort of way. His 
      Arthurian twin was present, and that counted for something, didn't it?

      Mulder shook his head and tried to focus. It was becoming increasingly 
      difficult to corral his thoughts, and he chalked it up to the stress and 
      the physical condition of his body. There was a task at hand that he had 
      to complete, however, and, being Mulder, he was determined to see it 
      through to its bitter end…mess or no mess.

      Things did look a bit messy right now. He squinted into the haze that 
      pillowed above the shimmering water, trying to verify the reality of what 
      he saw. In the faerie realm, he'd already learned that all was not as it 
      appeared to be, and he needed to stay sharp if he was going to survive.

      Across the expanse of water, he discerned a rocky ledge that hung 
      approximately thirty feet above the shoreline. The ledge was nothing more 
      than a dimple in the façade of a mountain that stretched high above him, 
      its top obscured by the thick fog that laced everything in this mysterious 
      land. And on the ledge lay Bors, Lancelot's cousin and boon companion, 
      seemingly asleep.

      But that was all he could make out through the heavy mist. Bors appeared 
      to be elevated, but Mulder had no idea how or why. He only knew that he 
      needed to get across the water so that he could rescue him, for he had no 
      doubt in his mind that Bors needed to be rescued. Mulder didn't want to 
      think about exactly from what he might be saving the small knight.

      He blew out a resigned sigh. He was beginning to feel a little like 
      Indiana Jones. Although he loved those movies and always admired the 
      character's heroism, he doubted that he himself could begin to live up to 
      such challenges. Besides, it wasn't much fun without Scully present to 
      impress. And the one woman who would witness his daring rescue mission was 
      not someone he wanted hanging around.

      He turned slightly to the faerie maiden who stood behind him, the one 
      named Elaine who so resembled Marita Covarrubias. "What have you done to 
      Bors?" he asked, not really expecting a straight answer.

      She stared at him blankly. "He rests after your long journey. We have 
      merely provided him with a comfortable bed."

      Mulder snorted. "Yeah. We'll see about that." He eyed the water, searching 
      the placid surface for signs of danger beneath it. "What's in the lake?"

      "Do you not recognize it? It is the same one in which you yourself were 
      healed."

      "This lake?" Mulder shook his head. "No, it can't be. We've traveled much 
      farther than I walked with Sc…" He stopped and amended himself. "With the 
      Queen."

      Elaine cocked her head to one side, her hair shimmering like the 
      undulating mist that surrounded them. "I assure you, Sir Lancelot, it is 
      the same."

      He stood with his hands on his hips, assessing her and the water. He had 
      no reason to believe her; after all, she had tried to seduce him, 
      scrambling his brain enough to make him think she was Guinevere. Of 
      course, the ruse hadn't worked. He was still Mulder, on the inside at 
      least, and he couldn't sleep with Guinevere any more than he could Elaine. 
      Lancelot would have jumped at the opportunity to be with the Queen, he 
      knew, but he was not Lancelot. Mulder loved only Scully, and the purity of 
      that love had saved him. Elaine apparently had no idea that someone else's 
      consciousness currently resided in Lancelot's body. It was clear, however, 
      that Elaine wanted Lancelot for herself, and he had to do everything he 
      could to foil her plans and return to Camelot with Excalibur.

      First things first. He had to get across the water to Bors. He would never 
      purposefully leave him behind…and he also had the very strong sense that 
      once he freed his friend, the next part of the sword gauntlet would fall 
      into motion.

      "All right," he said aloud. The sound of his voice encouraged him. He 
      unbuckled the belt that encircled his waist and lowered the scabbard that 
      held Lancelot's sword to the ground. "I guess I'm swimming across." He 
      cocked his head and looked over his shoulder at Elaine, attempting charm. 
      "You would stop me if I were about to get eaten by some horrible beast, 
      wouldn't you?"

      The faerie woman did not answer. Mulder ducked behind a nearby tree and 
      began to strip out of his armor. As he undressed, he considered what could 
      lie ahead. If he could get across the lake, a trap most likely awaited him 
      concerning Bors. He'd have to wait and see what that might entail once he 
      got there. Would he need a weapon? Should he try to swim with the sword, 
      or even attempt to take his armor along? He shook his head, muttering his 
      musings under his breath. He couldn't possibly swim with all that weight, 
      and the armor could not be immersed in water. It would rust. He might be 
      able to manage the sword, but if he ran into trouble in the water and 
      needed to swim fast, he'd have to lose the sword anyway. It didn't seem 
      reasonable to try to take anything with him but his own shaky courage.

      He arranged the pieces of metal in a neat pile next to the tree trunk, 
      once again wearing nothing but the loose linen trousers the knights donned 
      underneath their armor. He stepped back out of the brush to the water's 
      edge, regarding the lake critically, considering his options. On one hand, 
      perhaps entering the water slowly and quietly would be his best bet. He'd 
      be less likely to disturb any unwanted nasties that might be lurking 
      beneath the surface. On the other hand, diving in and swimming as quickly 
      as possible to the opposite shore might be the smarter choice. He was a 
      strong swimmer, and he was confident he could cross the lake in a matter 
      of minutes. If something rose from its depths and pursued him, he'd just 
      have to pray that he could outpace it.

      Finally coming to his decision, Mulder moved down the bank a bit, 
      searching for a deeper point. Finding one nearby, he climbed on top of a 
      convenient rock and gave one last glance to Elaine. "Well, here goes 
      nothing." He had no earthly idea why he was even bothering to speak to 
      her, but he smiled anyway as he said it. She only watched him through eyes 
      like iced sapphires. He pushed off from the rock in a graceful arc, his 
      body flexing naturally into a precise dive as he moved through the air. 
      The water around him was smooth and warm as he punctured the surface, and 
      he opened his eyes immediately, seeking any kind of activity around him. 
      The lake bottom appeared sandy, but the water itself was pristine. He 
      could see everything surrounding him easily enough, and he spotted no 
      aquatic life at all except for a few waving plants. For now, at least, he 
      was alone.

      Mulder surfaced and shook his head, his long knight's hair flying back 
      from his forehead in a spray. He immediately shot forward in an easy, fast 
      freestyle stroke, heading straight for the other side of the lake. The 
      only sound he heard was the slap of his hands and the splash of the water 
      as he swam. Although loud enough to attract attention, there didn't seem 
      to be anything or anyone around to concern itself with him.

      Moments later, he stood on the opposite shore, flinging the water from his 
      body as he walked up the narrow strip of beach. The ledge hung directly 
      above him, and he scanned the rocky terrain, searching for a way to get to 
      it. Through the misty veil, he spied a set of handholds that looked 
      reachable. He clambered up on top of the first level of rocks and dug his 
      fingers into one of the sockets, hoisting his body up the side of the 
      mountain.

      It didn't take more than ten minutes for him to swing his legs over the 
      edge of the stony shelf. He sat there catching his breath, careful not to 
      allow his feet to touch the surface of the ledge. He could see Bors 
      now…and he was more certain than ever that the whole scenario was one big 
      booby trap. His Spooky Sense was screaming bloody murder in his head.

      Across from him lay Lancelot's cousin, resting on his back with his hands 
      laced together on his stomach. Beneath him, holding him up, was what 
      Elaine had called his "bed," but what in reality resembled a rectangular 
      stone box. It reminded Mulder of a sarcophagus, but he pushed that thought 
      away as soon as it ran through his mind. He didn't want to think about 
      death, especially while in the middle of a situation that could very 
      likely cause his own. The stone box stood within the mouth of a dark cave. 
      The opening arched about fifteen feet above Bors, and Mulder could see 
      nothing but an inky curtain when he tried to peer into it. But the threat 
      to Bors was easy to detect even in those shadows, and Mulder shuddered 
      when the danger became apparent.

      Suspended from the stone archway directly above the sleeping knight hung 
      three enormous broadswords. As Mulder blinked and titled his head to get a 
      better look at them, their blades danced with light, slicing understanding 
      into his brain. If those swords fell, Bors would die a grisly death.

      Mulder sat motionless on the rocky rim of the ledge, his legs dangling 
      over the side like a boy at the edge of a pool. His mind worked 
      frantically. There didn't appear to be any other signs of danger around, 
      but that fact didn't ease his fears in the least. He still had to somehow 
      get Bors out from under those swords, and there were an awful lot of 
      unknown variables in the situation that didn't allow him to feel any less 
      apprehensive.

      He weighed the risks. Could he even wake Bors up without startling him? 
      When he had roused him in the cottage from his corner stool, Bors had 
      awakened easily. However, Mulder had no idea what had befallen the small 
      man since they had drifted off to sleep in the mist together. What had 
      Elaine or the other faeries done to him? There was a chance that he would 
      be unable to wake Bors at all. If that were the case, he had to figure a 
      way to get the knight's body off the stone bed without triggering the 
      swords to fall. And from what his Spooky Sense was telling him, that feat 
      would be near impossible.

      He hopped down from the ridge where he sat and gingerly approached the 
      mouth of the cave, focusing his attention on the swords above Bors' body. 
      The handles appeared to be embedded in the stone archway nearly to the 
      crossbar, but Mulder could see nothing that resembled a release mechanism. 
      Then again, he was dealing in a world where people vanished into nothing, 
      where water was like opium and the mist resembled an ever-present feline. 
      He supposed everything was possible.

      He squinted into the darkness beyond the dangling swords, trying to make 
      out any shapes that lurked in the tunnel. His imagination did a fine job 
      of conjuring images, but his eyes couldn't pick anything out of the 
      blackness there. So much for being prepared for the onslaught he figured 
      he'd unleash as soon as Bors was freed.

      But he had to free him first. Mulder considered the swords again, 
      calculating where they would land if they fell. The first weapon hung 
      directly above Bors' head, the second approximately at chest-level, and 
      the third at his belt. He supposed no swords had been placed near the 
      knight's legs simply because the first three would inflict enough 
      necessary damage to slay the man as soon as they dropped from the archway.

      And that fact, Mulder realized, might be the best chance of saving the 
      knight's life.

      Mulder played one idea out in his mind. If he could climb up on the stone 
      box between Bors' feet, he would be able to reach the closest sword. 
      Perhaps he could dislodge it from its place and then use it to cut through 
      the blades of the two other weapons. He blew out an exasperated breath. 
      That was no good. There was too great a chance that even if he could slice 
      through the other blades with one sword, the falling metal would hit Bors 
      and injure him. There was also a very good chance that as soon as Mulder 
      touched one of the weapons, they would all fall, rigged to destroy if they 
      were disturbed in any way.

      He deliberated for several more minutes, calculating and rejecting ideas. 
      No other feasible options presented themselves to him. Frustrated, Mulder 
      kicked at the dirt below his bare feet, watching as the dust drifted 
      skyward and mingled with the sheer curtain of mist.

      There was simply no safe choice. With a resigned set of his jaw, Mulder 
      stepped carefully next to Bors' head and leaned near his ear. He murmured 
      the knight's name several times, but the small man didn't stir. Mulder was 
      afraid that shaking him would result in a shower of metal, so after a few 
      unanswered calls, he straightened up and walked slowly to the foot of the 
      box.

      Mulder stood with his hands on his hips, the lake water from his swim 
      dripping from the ends of his curling hair, assessing one last time. He 
      didn't think rolling Bors to one side or the other would be the best idea; 
      he had a feeling that the slightly rotund man wouldn't flip very 
      uniformly, and the grotesque image of a skewered Bors kept invading his 
      imagination. The best solution had to be bringing the sleeping man down to 
      the area of the box where no swords hung…so Mulder dug in his own heels, 
      preparing to grab Bors by the ankles to yank him to safety.

      He took a deep breath. Just do it, he thought grimly to himself. There was 
      no other option. He shook away the terrible last visions of Bors somehow 
      catching on the stone, hindering his movement…the picture of the swords 
      raining down on the knight as soon as Mulder touched his feet, impaling 
      him like a marshmallow on a roasting stick…

      Mulder pushed all the thoughts away. His hands pistoned out from his body, 
      grabbed Bors by the ankles, and pulled with all his might.

      In the next moments, everything blurred together in Mulder's mind. He 
      registered the sensation of slight resistance as Bors' body trembled and 
      then began to slip toward him. Above his head, he heard a distinct, 
      metallic clang, as if a chain had engaged somewhere and was beginning to 
      rotate on a pulley. He felt the vibration of Bors' armor scraping along 
      the stone as he slid, but the knight came toward him easily, and Mulder 
      recognized his own voice calling the small man's name as he heaved the 
      body off the stone box. The weight surprised him with its suddenness as 
      the body freed itself of the bed, and Mulder stumbled back, dragging Bors 
      with him, wincing as the knight's head landed on the ground with a 
      resounding thud. A groan issued from the liberated man, echoing off the 
      mountain façade.

      Mulder lost his footing and sat down hard on the rocky dirt floor of the 
      ledge. Bors' booted feet landed in his lap, narrowly missing the equipment 
      Mulder reserved for Scully. He shuddered, but he barely felt the sting of 
      the shoes against his thighs. He was too busy staring, mouth agape, at the 
      sarcophagus where Bors had laid just a moment before.

      All three swords now stuck up from the rock bed like pins in a tailor's 
      cushion. The blades had sunk a good foot into the solid stone surface, and 
      Mulder couldn't help thinking how easily they would have punctured the 
      suit of armor that Bors wore, carving through it like a hot knife through 
      soft butter. It was a miracle the knight was still alive, and still all in 
      one piece. Mulder couldn't quite believe their luck.

      He tore his gaze away from the trap to see Bors sitting up, rubbing at his 
      thinning hair and squinting through dazed eyes. Mulder smiled as his 
      friend caught sight of him. "Good Christ," Bors rasped as he massaged the 
      back of his head. "Lancelot, what in God's name are you doing?"

      "Saving your ass, little man," Mulder laughed, exuberant. He hadn't 
      thought that Bors could possibly escape this mess intact, let alone that 
      he would also remain unscathed. Perhaps things were looking up in the 
      faerie lands…maybe getting Excalibur back wouldn't be as hard as he 
      originally thought…

      A shriek reverberated above their heads, a high-pitched screech so 
      terrible and so sudden that Mulder automatically clapped his hands over 
      his ears. The earth beneath him trembled with the sound, and even the 
      ever-present fog seemed to scurry away from the echoing wail, parting like 
      a curtain. Following the wisps, Mulder's eyes fell on the blackness within 
      the cave behind them, and his throat constricted in apprehension.

      "Bors," he whispered hoarsely, "what the hell was that?"

      Bors appeared to be frozen in place, his face contorted in a visage of 
      discomfort and shock. "I…I know not, Lance," he answered. "But whatever it 
      may be, it does not sound pleasant."

      Mulder nodded slowly, pushing himself away from the mouth of the cave like 
      a crab in the sand. Bors did the same, scrambling backwards until they sat 
      side by side next to the stone box, facing the darkness. Beneath them, the 
      ledge rumbled with vibrations, waves that became more and more pronounced, 
      as if something were coming closer and closer. Next to him, Mulder could 
      hear Bors breathing hard. "It comes this way, Lance." The smaller man sat 
      up and reached for his scabbard, but the belt that held his sword no 
      longer cinched his waist. "Zounds! We have no weapons! We cannot defend 
      ourselves."

      Mulder rushed to his feet, lunging toward the sarcophagus. He grabbed the 
      handle of the nearest sword. "Please," he muttered to any deity listening, 
      "give me a fair shot here, at least." He jerked ferociously on the sword, 
      and it came hurtling out of the stone. Mulder nearly fell backwards again 
      from the surprise of its easy extraction.

      "Bors!" he called, but his voice was drowned out by another ear-splitting 
      scream. This time, the air around him stirred. A pungent wind whistled 
      past, lifting his damp hair from his sweaty brow. Mulder turned toward the 
      source of the breeze, backing away once more from the mouth of the cave 
      with the sword raised in front of him. A shadow fell over him, and he 
      swallowed hard, trying to hang onto a scream of his own.

      >From the blackness of the cave rose a reptilian scarlet head, mounted on 
      a long, scaly neck roughly the circumference of a tractor-trailer tire. 
      The slender, pointed snout was nearly as long as Mulder's whole body, and 
      the glittering red eyes that sat in enormous sockets on opposite sides of 
      the muzzle settled directly on him. The beast opened its jaws, revealing 
      row upon row of ivory fangs as sharp as spikes, and issued another 
      unearthly cry. Mulder gripped the sword tighter in his hands, steeling 
      himself against the awful sound and the wave of hot breath that shot past 
      him.

      A dragon. Sir Lancelot and The Dragon. His imagination conjured the title 
      of this new legend clearly, completed in gold foil on the book jacket in 
      his mind. He was going to have to fight a goddamn dragon, and he couldn't 
      help wondering how this part of tale would end. He'd certainly been 
      correct in assuming that freeing Bors would trigger another adventure in 
      the gauntlet to recover Excalibur.

      Mulder had grown accustomed to being right about a lot of things in his 
      life. Just this one time, he wished he'd been wrong.

      He turned his head once more toward Bors. The smaller knight had jumped on 
      top of the sarcophagus, where he was struggling to free another of the 
      fallen swords. He strained mightily with the middle one, but it refused to 
      budge. Giving up, he reached over and tugged on the third to no avail. 
      Bors rounded with an oath.

      "I cannot free the other two, Lance. Christ save us!"

      "No," Mulder said, gritting his teeth. "I'll save us. Get behind me, 
      dammit, before that thing turns you into a Post Toasty." Bors leapt down, 
      and they both edged back toward the rim of the ledge. The dragon advanced, 
      its head climbing higher into the misty sky as its body filled the mouth 
      of the cave. Its eyes followed Mulder's bobbing sword, and it seemed to 
      focus only on his movements. It appeared to be aware that Bors held no 
      threat to it at all. And he was sure he was imagining it, but the damn 
      thing wore what looked to Mulder like a sinister smile as it moved toward 
      them.

      Mulder calculated as fast as he could in his mind. They were quickly 
      running out of room on the ledge, and there was no place for them to go 
      but down once they reached the edge. They could jump, but he wasn't 
      entirely sure the lake below them was deep enough to sustain such a 
      maneuver. There was a very good chance that if they hurled themselves into 
      the water, they could break their necks and drown. The dragon raised its 
      head and bellowed again, rocking Mulder and Bors both with the fury of its 
      cry and the heat of its breath. The air around them crackled feverishly, 
      and Mulder couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before the 
      creature started spitting flames at them. The image made his stomach turn 
      sickly again; his fear of fire reared up from his subconscious, rendering 
      him the cowering schoolboy of his past.

      He shook himself, trying to focus. He'd have to kill the dragon. There was 
      no other way out of this corner. He realized that to find Excalibur, he 
      and Bors would need to get into the cave. The dragon was obviously meant 
      to guard the sword, and even if they could somehow get past it to the 
      cavern beyond its tail, they'd have to face it again once they returned. 
      It obviously had to be destroyed…but how?

      Mulder scanned the beast's body quickly, looking for vulnerabilities. 
      Shining scarlet scales covered the dragon's entire mass, effectively 
      armoring the creature as well as they would one of the Round Table 
      knights. The only places not shingled with the rigid coverlet were its 
      underbelly and its neck. The neck. It had to be the neck. Although thick, 
      Mulder rationalized that he could cut through it, especially if given the 
      chance to strike twice in quick succession. Now, he had to figure out how 
      to get that chance.

      There was no time to consider it. Just at that moment, the dragon dropped 
      its head down to his level, one gleaming, blood-colored eye even with his 
      face. In its depths, Mulder could see his reflection: the shimmering image 
      of a tall, lanky man with wet, tangled dark hair, holding a broadsword 
      aloft in shaky hands. And behind that man, he could see another, one 
      dressed in a long, flowing robe, whose old, wizened face was nearly hidden 
      by an encroaching wild beard and hair.

      Mulder whirled around. Alone at his back, Bors looked at him, his face 
      overshadowed with fear. "Good Christ, Lancelot!" he shouted. "Do not turn 
      your back on it!"

      Mulder searched the line of rocks that marked the end of the ledge, 
      confused. He knew what he'd seen, yet Bors was the only person with him 
      now. Or was he?

      Bors' yell cut through the haze of his thoughts. "Lancelot! The dragon! 
      Look to it, man!"

      The air crackled again, and Mulder ducked reflexively. The top of his head 
      burned with sensation, as if he stood below an open oven cranked up to the 
      broil setting. Before his eyes, a ball of fire exploded, shooting embers 
      and crazy tendrils of smoke into every direction.

      Fuck, he thought grimly. He'd almost been incinerated. He spun around 
      again, lunging forward with all his might, the sword pointed up and away 
      from him as he aimed for the beast's coiling neck.

      Lancelot! Hold!

      The voice stormed through his head like an unexpected tornado. It caused 
      his whole body to tremble, and he nearly dropped the sword. His thrust 
      missed its mark, and the dragon reared back, screaming a protest, 
      cognizant that the man before it had tried to stab it. Yet in its 
      calculating eye, Mulder recognized once again the outline of the figure he 
      had seen moments before. And he knew that it was this man's words that he 
      heard in his mind.

      Merlin?

      His mind pushed the name at the dragon before he really understood what he 
      was doing. Mulder had no reason to think that the apparition was anything 
      more than his own fatigue-induced hallucination…yet his brain conjured the 
      name anyway, and he trusted his instinct as he always did, following it 
      forward, hoping that this was somehow a ticket out of this predicament.

      His intuition didn't disappoint. The voice came again, stronger this time, 
      in a cadence and a tone that Mulder recognized…as did Lancelot.

      It is I, Lancelot. You do understand, old friend.

      Mulder swung the sword before him, still holding it between him and the 
      dragon, which regarded him solemnly. The beast crouched in the middle of 
      the ledge, watching him, still except for the swishing of its massive 
      tail. It was waiting, Mulder knew…hunched, ready to spring when given the 
      opening, like a cat stalking a mouse in tall field grass.

      But there was something else about the dragon, too…a consciousness that 
      Mulder could sense. It was there, the source of the voice…could it be 
      possible that Merlin was…?

      Another shout shook the air, but it did not come from the creature. This 
      one was the battle cry of a fighting man, and Mulder turned just in time 
      to see Bors hurtling himself from atop the stone box where he had laid in 
      his enchantment. He landed on the back of the dragon's neck, and he 
      latched on with both gloved hands to the crimson scales just behind its 
      jaws. The beast threw its head back immediately, and Bors hung on, riding 
      the bucking neck like a rodeo cowboy.

      "Lancelot!" he screamed. "Strike now! While it is distracted!"

      Mulder stood frozen, horrified. "Bors, goddamn it! Let go of it! I can't 
      kill it! It's Merlin!"

      At the sound of the legendary name, the dragon opened its great jaws and 
      bellowed, shooting a spray of fire and heat into a mushroom cloud above 
      their heads. Bors, surprised by either Mulder's announcement or the fury 
      of the creature, released his hold on its neck. He tumbled down next to 
      the edge of the ledge, where he scurried back against the rock. The dragon 
      followed his fall and lunged after him, apparently infuriated that he had 
      attempted to subdue it.

      Bors ducked behind a loose boulder as the dragon spewed more fire. Mulder 
      could not see him through the haze of smoke that had mated with the mist 
      in the air, but he could hear the smaller knight's voice. "If it is truly 
      Merlin, Lancelot, why does it attack us?"

      "I don't know." Mulder weaved around the dragon's tail and inched closer 
      to Bors until he could finally see him, sitting with his back against the 
      shielding stone. "I think Merlin's consciousness is trapped inside of it. 
      I'm afraid if we kill it, we'll kill Merlin, too."

      "What do you propose?" "Fuck if I know." Mulder turned his attention back 
      to the dragon, which seemed to have calmed a bit now that it was rid of 
      Bors. He concentrated all his energy in his mind and pushed another 
      thought toward it.

      Merlin, what can we do? How can we help you?

      The dragon stared at Mulder, its eyes glittering almost knowingly, but no 
      answer rang into his head.

      Mulder backed away from it until his hip knocked against the rocky end of 
      the ledge. His wet trousers caught on a sharp stone, and he winced, 
      pulling away, the linen of the pants sticking to his damp skin. What the 
      hell were they supposed to do now…?

      He looked down at himself with dawning understanding. He touched his 
      trousers where he'd bumped into the rock, his mind clicking in lightning 
      reflexes. The solution was obvious…but he wasn't entirely sure he would 
      survive.

      Undaunted, he turned the sword in his hand so that the blade pointed down 
      to the ground. With one decisive thrust, Mulder plunged it into the 
      pebbled earth beneath his feet. Unarmed, he climbed up onto the rim of the 
      ledge that overlooked the lake below them. He pivoted around to face the 
      dragon.

      Below him, Bors swore again. "God in His mercy! Lancelot, what are you 
      doing? Get down and take up your sword!"

      "This is the only way, Bors." Mulder clapped his hands and whistled, the 
      sound piercing the still air. "Hey! Dragon! Here, dragon dragon dragon!" 
      His tone became whimsical, and in spite of the danger, he couldn't help 
      smiling. "C'mon, motherfucker. You wanna play? Bring it on!"

      The dragon swung its head around and peered at him. He waved his arms like 
      a man trying to fly. Bors shuddered and screwed up his face. "For God's 
      sake, Lancelot! Are you mad? You are unarmed!"

      Mulder ignored him and continued his wild dance across the rim of the 
      ledge. "Come on, red eyes. Let's go for a swim. Whaddya say?"

      Understanding ignited in Bors, and he started toward Mulder. "No, Lance! 
      The water is not deep enough! You cannot survive a fall from here-"

      But it was too late. The dragon, goaded into following him, surged 
      forward, knocking its enormous body into the narrow line of rocks upon 
      which Mulder stood. He felt the stones crumbling beneath his feet, and he 
      wind milled his arms, trying to keep his balance. The dragon belched 
      another cloud of flame as it came toward him, and, unable to see, Mulder 
      reached out. His arms encircled the creature's closing snout, and he hung 
      on as the beast stumbled out through the barrier of stone. He felt the 
      rush of wind around them as they fell, tumbling toward the water below.

      He had the sense to let go of the creature and curl into a ball as they 
      fell, mindful of the questionable depth of the lake. Hitting the water 
      still knocked the wind out of him, and his lungs strained as he plunged 
      below the placid surface. The sounds around him distorted, but he could 
      hear the dragon roaring its rage somewhere nearby. He opened his eyes, 
      seeking the surface, and he shot up toward it when he recognized the 
      slanting light. His chest ached and his stomach rolled, but he fought for 
      his life, finally breaking through the water and heaving a huge breath as 
      he did.

      He could see nothing around him. The whole lake seemed to have been 
      enveloped in curling black smoke, the kind that usually spewed from a 
      five-alarm fire. The lake water, usually warm and pleasant, churned with 
      bubbles, and Mulder felt his skin heat up. The water was boiling, and he 
      scrambled forward, pushing his throbbing body through it to reach the 
      shore. He pulled himself out of the water and threw himself down on the 
      beach, coughing and sputtering into the sand below his head.

      Mulder rolled onto his back and pushed up onto his elbows, squinting at 
      the lake. It resembled an enormous witch's cauldron, roiling with massive 
      waves and exploding bubbles. He could see nothing of the dragon, and it 
      had ceased its furious bawling. He scanned the choppy water for any signs 
      of life, but he spotted nothing.

      Shit. What if he'd been wrong? What if he'd ended up killing the dragon 
      after all, and Merlin, the only hope he and Scully had of returning to 
      their lives, had died along with it?

      "Lancelot!" Bors' voice rang out above him, and he looked up. The smaller 
      knight was scaling his way back down the mountain, moving fast. He arrived 
      on the beach a few moments later, and he sank to one knee next to Mulder. 
      He crossed himself, and Mulder grinned a little, the gesture becoming more 
      and more familiar to him the longer he stayed in this strange world. "God 
      be praised. You are alive!"

      "I told you: I'm too tough to kill." Mulder coughed and sat up, still 
      searching the lake, but his hope was beginning to fade. "I think I messed 
      up here, Bors. I thought that the lake water would heal Merlin, like it 
      healed me. But I'm afraid the dragon may have died instead, and Merlin…"

      "And Merlin along with it." Bors finished the thought for him. He looked 
      at Mulder with compassionate eyes. "If it is the case, Lance, then it is 
      God's will. You have done all you could. We still must find Excalibur. We 
      must return to Camelot as soon as we can."

      "Yeah, I know." Mulder took another deep breath. "But I think Merlin could 
      have helped us. We need all the allies we can get."

      "True enough, cousin." Bors sat back on his heels, and a huge smile spread 
      across his face. "But zounds, man! You are something to behold! You never 
      cease to amaze me, even after all this time."

      "So I am something like the real Lancelot, then?" Mulder couldn't help 
      joking with the smaller knight. Something stirred in Bors' expression, and 
      he could see the great affection the other man had for his famous cousin.

      "You are…you are indeed our greatest knight." Bors began to say something 
      else, but his eyes widened suddenly, and he grabbed Mulder's shoulder. 
      "Christ in his glory! Look you to the lake, Lance!"

      Mulder whipped his head around, his heart starting to race even before his 
      eyes focused on the water. He was just in time to see a beam of bright 
      light shine down upon the lake from somewhere within the dark haze that 
      hung above it. As the men watched, the beam encircled something on the 
      lake's surface, looking just like a spotlight on a theatre stage. The 
      figure in the water bobbed on the calming waves, and Mulder realized it 
      was a man, one with a beard and a long robe, floating peacefully on his 
      back.

      The grip on his shoulder tightened as Bors once again crossed himself. His 
      voice was nothing more than an awed whisper when he spoke.

      "My God, Lancelot. It is Merlin."
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