The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Prologue
      Prologue

      She sat on her throne, watching them.

      To her servants, she appeared to be sleeping, although her head stayed 
      straight and proud on her long, elegant neck. Her dark hair flowed over 
      her shoulders like thick molasses, making it impossible to tell from a 
      distance where it ended and her heavy black robes began. On the armrests, 
      her hands draped like limp, wet rags of alabaster, and they twitched every 
      so often, as if she were caught in a dream. Her closed eyes moved 
      restlessly beneath their lids, her vision turned inward, following them 
      with her inner eyes.

      Viviane had always called it the Sight. But Viviane, although a good 
      teacher, had never exercised the kind of power she now had.

      Closer they came to the trap she had laid. She felt the buzz of excitement 
      that careened off the man like a wild stallion broken free of its pen, and 
      the cool assessment of the red-haired woman who followed close behind him. 
      She had watched them both for quite awhile before deciding how to bring 
      them to her. The magick she had conjured to open the portal between their 
      worlds had drained her mercilessly…but she could still watch, and she 
      could still 
      summon just enough strength to cast her fetch into their world, the 
      shimmering image they chased through the woods.

      She had watched them long enough to know her apparition would be enough to 
      catch and hold the man's attention, and that he would be able to convince 
      the woman to continue along with him. They would find her magick, spinning 
      and alive in the glen she had chosen, and the man's relentless curiosity 
      would propel them into it.

      And then…oh, then, everything would happen just as she planned.

      Her son would ascend to his rightful kingship. All her enemies would be 
      crushed, and she would finally receive the worldly power she deserved. 
      Melded with the magick that she wielded so easily, she would rule all of 
      Britain with a 
      might no one could possibly challenge.

      And this man and woman would either yield to her, too…or die.

      Morgan le Fae smiled.



      If there was one thing in the world Fox Mulder hated, it was being wrong.

      It wasn't because he was overly arrogant. It also wasn't because he 
      thought he was so much smarter than everyone else, although he had heard 
      himself referred to by various people as "brilliant" on myriad occasions. 
      And this did 
      make him proud, as it would any man. But it was not in his nature to be 
      overbearing about it, or to belittle others when they discovered that he 
      was constantly right. His eidetic memory, however…now that could easily be 
      cited 
      as part of the reason for his brilliance, and probably for his penchant 
      for nearly always being correct. It was hard to be wrong about anything 
      when you just couldn't forget a darn thing.

      But the reason he hated being wrong was not because he couldn't admit 
      mistakes. It was because he was so rarely in that position that he really 
      didn't know how to behave once he was there.

      So when his partner, Dana Scully, turned to him in the thick of the Welsh 
      woods and said, "Mulder, you are so wrong it's not even funny…," he 
      couldn't think of a single retort. He suspected that, for once, she was 
      indeed right and he was, well, wrong.

      Scully spun around in the clearing where they stood, her russet hair 
      looking like a crown of fire in the rapidly setting sun. She wore a pair 
      of faded blue jeans, so nicely tight that it made Mulder's groin ache 
      every time his gaze fell on them. The jacket that she had needed to stave 
      off the chilly morning air when they set out on their hike now hung around 
      those shapely hips, tied around her waist by the arms. The skin of her 
      chest, accented by a snug, scoop-necked t-shirt, glittered with sweat, and 
      she wiped her forearm across her brow. It was hotter than he had expected 
      in Wales this spring, but he knew that wouldn't last long. If they got 
      caught out here in the woods past sunset, things would start cooling off 
      quickly.

      She held her arms up in the universal gesture of inquiry and stared at 
      him. "Well, there's no one here, Mulder. I told you, you're wrong." She 
      smiled a bit, but he could tell she was beginning to lose her patience. 

      He circled the meadow with his eyes, assessing the quiet thicket the way 
      he would a crime scene, trying to pick up any movement or details she may 
      have missed. He shook his head, but he couldn't shake the feeling that had 
      stolen over him, the excitement of the chase. 

      In other words, he still didn't want to admit that he was wrong. 

      "I know I saw someone, Scully. I know she came this way."

      She sighed. "Mulder, what would someone be doing out here in the wilds of 
      England all by herself? Especially this far from the trail, and this close 
      to nightfall?" She eyed the sun in the west, which sank further into the 
      tree line. "Speaking of nightfall, I think we need to head back. I don't 
      think it's wise to get caught out here after dark."

      He crossed to the far side of the clearing, straining to see beyond a 
      particularly dense copse of trees. "Since when are you afraid of the dark, 
      Scully?"

      "Since you lost our compass and didn't have the sense to bring a 
      flashlight." She followed him, albeit reluctantly. "Come on, Mulder. I'm 
      tired and hungry." He felt a tug on the belt loop of his jeans that pulled 
      him up short, and her tiny hand pushed its way into his back pocket. 
      "Besides, don't you want to break in that mattress back at the bed and 
      breakfast?"

      He smiled down at her, thoroughly enjoying this playful version of Scully 
      that had emerged ever since they stepped off the plane at Heathrow 
      Airport. Something niggled at the back of his mind, though, something that 
      had caught him in its web and wouldn't release him. That woman, dressed 
      all in black, like an undulating shadow just beyond his vision…he was 
      positive he had seen her. And something told him to follow her; she would 
      be the start of some great adventure, something that he and Scully just 
      couldn't miss. 

      "All right, you win," he answered. "Just five more minutes, and we'll head 
      back. I promise."

      She nodded, and he tugged her forward by her hand, pushing aside some 
      stray branches ahead of them. "Besides," he said to her over his shoulder, 
      "maybe she'll lead us straight to King Arthur's final resting place. Or 
      maybe even the Holy Grail."

      Her retort was cut off by a roar of wind so loud it startled him into a 
      freeze. His hair whipped back from his face, and he squinted his eyes 
      reflexively. His mouth dropped open in disbelief.

      Just beyond the last tree in front of them, a tornado spun in the center 
      of a meadow.

      It was a small tornado, and Mulder's precise mind told him it was most 
      certainly some sort of energy vortex. He had encountered stories about 
      such things in his paranormal readings, but he had never seen a claim 
      substantiated 
      like this. His memory reeled back over the years to another forest 
      clearing in Oregon, one where he had witnessed similar phenomena, but one 
      that was attached to an alien abduction. He instinctively looked up, but 
      nothing 
      appeared above him except a wide expanse of purpling twilight sky.

      Scully's fingers tightened in his, and he glanced over at her. Her azure 
      eyes were wide and staring. She quirked an eyebrow at him, one that 
      screamed, "What the hell…?" 

      He leaned down to speak in her ear, doubtful that she would hear him over 
      the rushing thunder of the wind. "I think it's an energy vortex." He 
      started forward toward it, only to be snapped back by Scully's hand in 
      his, pulling vehemently.

      "Don't you dare, Mulder," she yelled over the din. Her eyes flashed a 
      warning at him.

      He smiled again, trying to disarm her. The excitement in his stomach drove 
      him forward, and it was completely against his nature to try to squelch 
      it. "Scully, don't worry. I just want to feel it."

      "Mulder, it's dangerous. You have no idea what that…that thing…could do to 
      you."

      He led her gently forward with him, his hand insistent on hers. "I'm just 
      going to stick my hand in, Scully, to see what it's like. You can hold 
      onto me to make sure I don't go anywhere."

      "Mulder, you're just like a big kid! You've always got to stick your 
      fingers in something!" She sounded exasperated, but her feet were moving 
      with his, and he knew he had won her over. 

      He paused just outside of the whirling dervish of debris. Every nerve in 
      his body sang, and he could feel something foreign, something incredibly 
      powerful, pulsing just beyond his reach. "This is amazing, Scully," he 
      breathed, and his hand glided slowly forward, his fingertips just brushing 
      the edge of the vortex. "It's like a whole new world…"

      The rest of his words drowned as if in water as his hand plunged into the 
      swirling frenzy. He felt a pulling sensation, one so strong it made the 
      muscles in his arm jump, and his other hand tightened automatically around 
      Scully's 
      fingers. Without a sound, he slipped into the vortex, and Scully's small 
      body followed, yanked forward by the motion of his larger one. They were 
      instantly gone, and a moment later, with a huge crack like the shot of a 
      musket, the vortex disappeared.
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