The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter One Chapter One Banging. And yelling. Lots and lots of yelling. Scully cracked one eye open, peering through the slit into the semi-darkness that surrounded her. The rumbling noise of male voices seeped into her fuzzy head, a muffled ruckus that reminded her of the times she spent the night with her frat-boy college sweetheart in his pledge house on campus. She moved slightly, lifting her head a bit to peer around the dark room, and behind her, Mulder grumbled in his sleep and tightened his hold around her naked waist. She smiled sleepily and let her head drop back onto the pillow, nuzzling back into his embrace. His breath fell warm and even on her bare back, and she sighed, starting to doze off again, the musky scent of Mulder's skin and their recent lovemaking heavy in her senses. A loud bang outside their room startled her eyes open again, and she frowned. What the hell was that? She focused her mind, trying to remember where they were. England. Bed and Breakfast. That must be it. She could recall being with Mulder out in the wilds of the Welsh countryside, hiking through hedgerows and complaining to him about being lost. She remembered something about a compass, and about the end of the day slowly descending upon them. And she could still see the image of the whirling tornado of leaves in the middle of the clearing, the strange anomaly that had fascinated Mulder to the extent that she had had to latch onto him to keep him from stepping into it… But she didn't remember coming back to the bed and breakfast. She didn't recall eating dinner, or the two of them heading upstairs to the quaint room they had checked into this morning. She couldn't even seem to remember the sex, even though the sweet stickiness on the insides of her thighs told her another story altogether. Had they been drinking? That didn't make any sense to her. They both enjoyed a beer or a glass of wine with dinner on occasion, but neither of them was the type to get so rip-roaring drunk that it erased their memories. The most logical conclusion was that they were both so exhausted from their trek in the forest that they fell into bed as soon as they found their way out of the woods. But how had they gotten out? Why couldn't she remember that? And if they had been so tired, then why could she feel the slightest twinge of soreness from their extracurricular activities? And, come to think of it, why did this room, with its thick shadows and black corners, look so different from the bed and breakfast where they had left their luggage? She started to sit up, but Mulder's arm over her was heavy, so she shifted and turned to face him, intending to push him onto his back. Her hands on his chest stopped her…because for a moment, it didn't look like his chest. She brought her face closer to his torso, squinting in the darkness, her eyes running along the familiar slope of his muscles and the soft down that covered it. It was the same…but it was different, too, and she suddenly realized why. Her fingers went to his shoulder, the one where she had put a bullet so many years ago, searching for the scar that normally puckered there. It was gone. The skin was smooth and unmarked. She felt the furrow run over her brow, and she groped under the heavy bedspread for his left hand. He mumbled again as she seized it, bringing it up close to her eyes, her own fingers fumbling along the joint of his smallest digit. It curved gracefully around her hand, relaxed in sleep, with no crookedness to be seen. The brutal break the terrorists had inflicted upon him, the one that she had set too late, was gone. It was as if it had never happened. Something was very, very wrong. Scully scrambled around, moving so that her head was right next to Mulder's. In the ebony stillness of the room, it was difficult to see, but she hunched herself over him, looking directly at his face. The hollows of his eyes and the whole right side were obscured in the shadows, but she recognized the strong line of his jaw, the pout of his full bottom lip, and the angle of his cheeks and nose. She let out a ragged breath of relief, reaching to stroke up his sideburn to where it arched into his hair… And her hand just kept going, through hair longer than she had ever known Mulder to have. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as her fingers combed through the dark waves that nearly reached his shoulders. Her mind staggered a bit, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. This was Mulder, without a doubt…after seven years with the man, and several intimate months, she knew she had not mistaken who was sharing this bed with her. But she couldn't dispute that he looked different, somehow seeming to have changed as they slept, and she couldn't reconcile that in her logical mind. What the hell was going on? The shouting outside their room grew louder, and Mulder stirred under her hand, his eyes starting to flutter as he came awake. "Mulder," she urged him in a whisper. "Wake up." His eyes flashed in the dimness of the room as he opened them, and the familiar rumble of his baritone filled her with unspeakable comfort. "Sc…Scully," he slurred, his tongue still thick with sleep. "Wassa matter? What's all the racket about?" She shook him a little to rouse him faster. "I don't know, Mulder, but something strange is happening." He became instantly alert then, probably from the note of concern that colored her voice. He sat up in bed, searching around with his hands for the light switch on the nightstand. He didn't find it. There was no nightstand next to the bed. Scully could feel as much as see him turn to look at her. "There's no lamp," he told her, annoyance bleeding into his speech. "Where the hell did the lamp go?" He stopped suddenly, and he leaned into her. She felt his hand stroke her hair, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver through her. But he gave a small yelp of surprise, and she could feel his fingers tracking along her collarbone, down over her shoulder, and nearly to her elbow before they stopped. "Your hair, Scully. Your hair…it's long!" Her hand sprang up to her neck, and she was stunned to follow the same path of her hair that he had just traced. Her hair had never been longer than her shoulders, and now, it seemed to have grown a good foot or more over night. "Mulder," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady, "this is so strange. Yours is longer, too." She twined her fingers into his and gave it a gentle tug so he could feel it. The insane part of her wished that she could see the reaction on his face. Another yell outside made her cringe, and suddenly, from another part of the room, a beam of light sliced across the foot of the bed. Scully whipped her head around to look past Mulder, to where a door had just been thrown open. She pulled the bedcovers up over her breasts instinctively, just as a woman dressed in a long white shift ran into their room, holding an old-fashioned lantern lit with a candle. The woman set the lamp atop a huge trunk at the end of the bed. Her hair flew in wild, blonde streamers behind her as she charged over to Scully's side. "My lady, you must get up!" Her speech seemed strange to Scully's ears, thick and melodic with a heavy British accent, but there was something underneath it all that she recognized. "What the hell is going on?" Mulder asked, his pitch rising. The strange woman stopped momentarily and regarded him, her face contorted in fear. "My lord, please get up. Get up and get out!" She turned to a large wardrobe on Scully's side of the bed that she hadn't noticed in the dark and threw open the doors, rummaging through a collection of clothes inside. It struck Scully then, why the woman seemed so familiar to her, and she pushed up on her knees, reaching out to catch the woman's wrist. She looked at Scully as if she were possessed, and the information hit home in Scully's brain like a lock clicking into place. Kimberly. Kimberly Cook, Assistant Director Skinner's secretary. Her hair was much longer than Scully ever remembered it…but then again, so was Scully's. She shook that thought away and tightened her grip on the other woman. "Kimberly? It's me, Dana Scully. What are you doing here?" The woman looked utterly dismayed. "My lady, we haven't much time. Please! You must get dressed before they come in here!" The woman yanked her wrist out of Scully's hand and managed to pull a heavy robe from the wardrobe. She threw it onto the bed and ran back toward the open door. "My lord, you must hurry! I will fetch your armor." She disappeared through the doorway. Scully stared after her mutely, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. Mulder stirred after a moment, and his eyes were wide when he looked at her. "My ? Why do I feel like we are trapped at a bad Renaissance Festival?" She gaped at him, her heart pounding so violently that she was sure he could hear it. He blinked and tried to smile. "What, Scully? What are you staring at?" "Your eyes, Mulder." She swallowed, trying to get the words out that were stuck in her throat. "Your eyes are blue." He blinked again, then swung his legs out of bed and stood up. Scully watched the movement of his muscles, his naked form cast golden in the glow of the candle by the bed. He crossed to the wardrobe door still standing open, and his reflection flashed in the mirror that hung there. Scully followed him with her eyes as he touched his hands to his hair again, smoothing it down so that it hung loose against his neck. He craned his head forward, searching his own face, and then he shook it in disbelief. "It's me," he said, not much louder than a whisper. "But I…I'm different, too." He turned to her, and she found it almost disconcerting to be the focus of the intense blue gaze he now trained on her. But she could still see deep into his eyes…and she knew she was seeing Mulder's soul, the only soul that had ever touched hers with its profound caress. He held out his hand to her. "Come here, Scully. You gotta see this." She was almost afraid to look, but she put her hand slowly in his, and he pulled her gently to her feet to stand at his side. In the cloudy looking glass, she saw the body of a woman, still tiny next to the lanky form that was Mulder…but the woman who looked back at her was softer somehow, less lines and angles than curves and slopes. Her hair still shone with its copper fire, but its tremendous length, loose and cascading over her breasts, made her look younger, more vulnerable. "Look at my eyes, Mulder," she breathed, and she tilted her face up to his. He stepped closer to her, his hands on her cheeks, the skin of his palms feeling rougher than it normally did. The look of wonderment that he wore was astounding to her. "They're green, Scully. Yours are green, and mine are blue." She swallowed again, finding it harder and harder to stay calm. "What is happening to us?" The commotion outside their door seemed to be closing in on them, and Mulder squeezed Scully's hand. "I don't know, but it sounds like we're going to find out." He moved to his original side of the bed and bent over, pulling a pair of tight leggings from the floor. "Do you suppose these are mine?" Scully shrugged helplessly and reached for the robe that Kimberly had thrown on the bed. Weighty and cumbersome in her hand, the robe was ornately embroidered in silver thread on a midnight blue background. She pulled it on, but she couldn't figure out how to do the buttons so that it stayed shut. She was still contemplating them when Kimberly scurried back into the room. She was followed by a young man with long blond hair, who struggled in with several pieces of flashing, polished armor. Kimberly came immediately to Scully's side and fastened the robe, working with deft, trained fingers. "Richard," she barked, and the man jumped, dumping the armor on the floor with a tremendous clatter. "See to my lord Lancelot." At the sound of the legendary name, Scully started and threw a look at Mulder. He had stopped dressing, his head and one arm stuffed into a loose white shirt. His eyes locked with hers, and he mouthed the name to her, the question clear on his face. Kimberly stepped past Scully to the bed, and in one swift, sure motion, stripped all the bedclothes from the mattress. She stuffed them into the bottom of the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut. Scully watched as she tore open the nearby trunk and began to remake the bed with clean linens. She stood there, feeling uncharacteristically useless, not knowing what to do. The shouting outside continued unabated, and she could swear she now heard something that sounded like metal hitting metal. It was a sharp, cold sound, one that sent a bolt of dread into her every time it rang out. It jarred her mind a little, though, and she heard her voice before she realized she was speaking…and at least she sounded like she was in control. "What is going on outside?" "Sir Mordred's men have come, my lady, bent on catching you and Sir Lancelot together." This answer came from the man helping Mulder dress, and the nasally twang of his speech registered in her head. It must have snagged Mulder's attention as well, because he stopped for a moment, staring rapt at the blond man before him. Langly. Richard Langly. Scully shook her head in disbelief. His hair was the same, tied back from his long face with a piece of leather string. He appeared comfortable in the leather jerkin and fitted trousers he wore, and he moved close to Mulder, lifting the bulky armor up and over his head to fit it around Mulder's chest. And he squinted as he did it, obviously missing the glasses that he wore in… In what? Scully thought to herself. In our time? In real life? Jesus. What if was real life now? Mulder recovered a little faster, and he gave Langly a stern look. "What do you mean?" Richard blushed and stepped back a little with a wave of his hand, indicating that Mulder was ready. Scully could hardly believe her eyes. He was decked out now, head to toe, in a silver suit of armor, so shiny that she could practically see her reflection in it. Richard turned and retrieved the finishing touch, a sword nearly as long as Mulder's arm. This has to be a dream, Scully told herself. Mulder looked…he looked… He looked like a knight. Mulder regarded the sword for a moment, but he didn't move to take it from Richard. "You need to tell me what's going on." Kimberly strode over to the two men, her brow furrowed in determination. "My lord, you must go. Now. If Sir Mordred finds you here, he will kill you." She glanced over her shoulder at Scully. "And he will kill my lady Guinevere." "What?" Mulder roared. The expression on his face was one of astonishment. Scully couldn't tell if he was more surprised to hear about the men trying to get into their room, or by the name that Kimberly had just called her. But Kimberly was having none of it. She stood toe to toe with Mulder, and her face was bright red. "My lord, go now! Richard will take you. Your horse is ready outside. There will be no saving either of you if Mordred finds you here." Mulder set his jaw and glared right back at the woman before him. "I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave her behind." The fighting in the hallway grew still louder, and Kimberly clamped her hands over her ears. "Are you mad, my lord?" she practically screamed. "If they find you here, the best you could hope for is that Mordred will kill you both quickly! Would you rather he held you both prisoner until the King returns and sentences you both to death? Would you have my lady Guinevere burned at the stake? What kind of nobleman are you?" The words echoed in Scully's reeling mind. King? Guinevere? Lancelot? Dear God, was this woman saying what she thought she was saying? Was this really Camelot? And had they somehow been transported here, locked into the bodies of two of the most famous players in the legend? It couldn't be possible, her scientific brain screeched at her. There was no way this was really happening. But Scully knew that she didn't have time to reconcile everything together at this moment. Right now, there were more pressing issues that they needed to deal with…and Mulder wasn't budging. She crossed to him quickly, noting how Richard and Kimberly both stood back as she approached him. "Mulder," she said, touching him on the arm. The armor felt cool and hard under her fingers, and it seemed to steady her a bit. "I think you should do what she says. I think you should go." He shook his head vehemently, the long strands of his hair falling over his eyes in shaggy bangs. "No, Scully. I'm not leaving you here with some madman who is ready to kill you." "He won't kill me, Mulder. Not if he doesn't find you here." He pressed his lips together in a firm line, but she plunged on, lowering her voice. "Mulder, these people think we are Lancelot and Guinevere. I don't know why or how, but they do. And in the legend, Lancelot and Guinevere were lovers…but Guinevere was married to King Arthur. It would have been considered high treason for her to sleep with another man. Apparently, these men outside think we have done just that, and they are determined to mete out their own justice. If they don't find you here, they can't prove anything. And then we will be safe to figure out what the hell has happened to us and how we can reverse it." "Scully—" he started, but his words were cut off by a thunderous pounding, one that set the whole room shaking. "They are breaking down the door, my lord!" Kimberly cried. "Please, go now! It is your last chance." Richard tugged Mulder by the arm, still holding his sword. Mulder bit his lip and swung around, grabbing the sword from the other man as he allowed himself to be led away. "Scully, be careful," he yelled to her as they ran to the door. "I'll be back for you, I swear." "I know!" she called to him. He was gone then, and Kimberly turned frightened eyes to her as the sound of splintering wood filled Scully's ears. "They're coming, my lady. They're coming." prologue ::: home ::: next