The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Six Chapter Six Twilight had always been one of her favorite times of the day, yet Scully now found herself hating it instead. Nimue and Gareth had returned from the nearby village about mid afternoon. Scully barely had enough time to rise from the bed and scramble into her clothes, not wishing these strange people to find her and Mulder wrapped naked in each other's arms. They had parted reluctantly, with Mulder kissing her sweetly on the forehead before shambling into the kitchen and waking Bors from his corner stool. She watched his back longingly, knowing it would be the last kiss she received from him for awhile. From the tiny cottage window, Scully observed the two travelers' approach, the gentle knight leading a well-groomed horse upon which Nimue perched sidesaddle. The bags the horse carried were full to bursting, stuffed with fresh food and supplies. The sight of a loaf of bread peeking from beneath the flap of one bag awakened Scully's stomach, and she realized it had been over a day since she last ate. She set about rounding up the few rations she could find in the cabin's kitchen, determined to make a decent meal for them all. Gareth brought her meat, cheese, and vegetables from the saddlebags, and she threw herself into the dinner preparations with a vengeance. It had been too long since she felt useful, and the cooking helped her to focus her mind as she worked. She peeked out the window at the men in the house yard, her vision roving from one familiar face to another. Back at home, in their time, Scully would have rolled her eyes to see the Gunmen and Mulder together, hatching who-knew-what scheme to further their quest for the elusive truths they sought. Now, it made her heart ache to see Mulder with the two who so resembled Frohike and Byers. She hadn't realized how homesick she could possibly be for their strange life, and for their friends, until those things were gone. And now, it looked as if they might never return to that life. As strange as it was, as difficult and traumatic and painful as their journey together had been, Scully was struck suddenly with an understanding of Mulder's feelings. He had pushed to get back home, to find a way for them to return to the year 2000...and she had instead insisted that they stay here. What the hell had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Why in God's name was she so concerned with this time and this place, these people even, when the man she loved more than anyone could be put in grave danger once again? Why wasn't she doing everything within her power to get them home, safe and sound? "We don't belong here," she mumbled to herself. "We need to get back home." "You are home, Queen Guinevere," a silken voice said from behind her. She whirled around to find Nimue hovering in the doorway. The other woman smiled mysteriously, and Scully shivered involuntarily. "And we'll be going back to Camelot on the morrow. You have nothing to fear." "I have much to fear," she snapped, her words sounding like cracking ice. She didn't like Nimue, didn't trust her...but certainly couldn't put her finger on why. She turned her back on her and began to scrub furiously at the potatoes she needed to add to her stew. The other woman wafted up behind her, as seemingly ethereal as a spirit. "You will soon be back at the King's side," she hummed in Scully's ear. "And you must do everything that is necessary to preserve this kingdom. It is your duty, considering the circumstances that brought Camelot to the brink of destruction." The insinuation in Nimue's tone was evident. A wave of indignation rose suddenly in Scully, one fast and consuming and furious in its intensity. Its power stunned her as she felt herself spin on her heel, bringing her face to face with the other woman. The words that flowed from her tongue shocked her as well. It was an otherworldly feeling, as if watching herself from somewhere outside her body...a sensation she assumed was close to possession. "How dare you presume to dictate behavior to me, Lady Nimue!" Her face felt as heated as the words themselves. "I am still the Queen, and I shall not be treated as if I were a common maidservant!" Nimue narrowed her eyes, the disdain apparent on her face. "And do not forget, my Lady Queen, who it was that saved your precious Sir Lancelot. Were it not for me, all hope for Camelot would be lost." "Merlin could have saved him. Merlin could save Arthur as well." The words were out before Scully even had time to consider their meaning. "Where is Merlin, Nimue? Are you somehow holding him prisoner?" Nimue chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound. "Merlin was a useless old man. His power had passed. You don't need to concern yourself with him any longer." "Perhaps," Scully countered. "Or perhaps you eliminated him so that no one could stand in the way of your own quest for power." Nimue shrugged. "My affairs matter not in the great scheme of things, but you, Lady Queen, have much at stake in Camelot. Your husband, your people, your crown...all hang in the balance. It is up to you to do what is right." "What are you suggesting?" The ominous quality of Nimue's words struck fear in her heart. She apparently knew more than she was telling about the future of the kingdom, and Scully felt the sudden need to know now, before Mulder left her side, what was in store for them all. But she didn't receive her answer. The metallic chink of armor jingled nearby, and Scully turned her head to see Mulder standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes flashed a questioning look at her, but he remembered his courtly decorum. "My ladies," he mumbled, inclining his head in a show of deference. "Lady Nimue, Sir Gareth requests your counsel in the yard." Nimue gave Scully one last, hard scowl and left the room with a swish of her skirts. Mulder watched her go and then moved to his partner. "What's going on, Scully? The two of you looked like you were ready to start throwing punches any minute." Scully picked up a nearby paring knife and set to work cutting up potatoes, her slices swift and sure. "I don't know, Mulder," she sighed. "This is all so strange. There are moments when I can't even seem to control what I say. It's like Guinevere rises up inside me and...and takes over my body." She could hear the smile in Mulder's voice. "Interesting. Sounds like an X-File." "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we do need to get out of here as soon as we can." She couldn't bring herself to say the one thing that nagged at her mind more than anything else. The idea was completely absurd, and she was positive even Mulder wouldn't believe in the possibility. "We will, Scully. I'll find the sword and deliver it to Camelot. You find Merlin, and when we meet back up, we can concentrate on getting out of here." She nodded, never taking her eyes from the dinner preparations. But even after Mulder squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and exited once more, she couldn't shake the fear that Guinevere was overshadowing her consciousness...and that little by little, Dana Scully was losing ground in this body she now inhabited. She watched silently in the delicate gloaming while Mulder sheathed his sword at his hip and slung a pack of supplies onto his back. Bors stood ready next to him, armed and appointed for their journey. Gareth handed Mulder a long, narrow skin filled with water, which he positioned over his right shoulder. Nimue stood in the shadow of a nearby tree and spoke when the knights turned to her. "Keep walking toward the sunset. You will notice the mist first. Do not fear it. It is the doorway to the faerie realm. And remember: consume nothing in their lands." "Any idea how to find the sword once we're there?" Mulder asked hopefully. Nimue shook her head, her face masked by the oncoming night. "Morgan le Fae is a cunning adversary. Perhaps you can enlist the aid of the faerie folk to help you in your quest. I know nothing else to tell you." Mulder nodded. He looked at Gareth, and Scully noted the seriousness of his gaze. "Sir Gareth, I trust you will take good care of the Queen." "I shall, Lancelot. You have no need to fear for her safety." Mulder turned to Scully. She wished more than anything to rush into his arms, to feel one last time the tenderness and the strength of his embrace, but she knew it was not possible. She allowed a sad smile to touch her lips as he gave her one more chivalric bow. "I take your leave, my lady Queen. Tell my lord King Arthur that I shall return Excalibur to him presently." She had to force her words around the lump in her throat. "Godspeed, good knight." She hoped he could read in her eyes the depth of her love for him. And at the very last moment, she knew he could. Mulder raised his chin and winked at her. The smile on her face stretched, filling her whole being with warmth. Bors lifted his hand in a wave as the two armored men set out from behind the cottage. Scully watched them go, the sun blazing its last hurrah of the day as it sank into the green dome of the forest. Her heart seemed to pump with the same fire as Mulder's form disappeared into the thick of the woods. The pain is worse than any she has ever endured. It grips her in its twisting hands, wringing a cry from her lungs as the agony coils in her belly. Her eyes are screwed shut against it, but sparks fly in brilliant colors behind her lids, exploding in rhythm with the contractions as they seize her. The arcing lights remind her of her childhood, when she saw Merlin the Magician send shooting stars from his outstretched fingers, entertaining her and Leigh and the others... Missy. She and Missy at the base on the Fourth of July, watching the fireworks blaze across the dark summer sky... ...at a birthday party at court. She had been amazed, and the old enchanter had laughed with the children... The children...her children...Emily...the baby... Her baby struggles to be born, its time come too early. She forces her eyes to open, and her straining gaze falls on Leigh at the foot of the bed. Her cousin's face shines with sweat, pale in the yellowed candlelight that spills in pools around the chamber. She bends forward over her knees, catching her attention. Push, Gwen! You must push! She shakes her head back and forth on the pillow, a fresh scream bubbling up from her as another knife slices through her abdomen. Leigh throws her head around to peer over her shoulder. A shadow moves beyond the bed, but she sees nothing except the wave of a skirt over the cold stone floor. What did you give to her? Leigh's shout reverberates above her wail. The voice that answers is familiar, feminine, and feral. She wanted something for the discomfort. It will help her expel the child. The bed rocks as she bears down, the sensation of the child's emergence making her body react automatically. She gasps one last time as Leigh stills, her nightshift covered in blood and fluids. The child lies there, a white, glistening mass nestled in the cradle of Leigh's stained hands. They both wait, holding their breath as one...but no cry comes. Her waiting woman lifts her tear-streaked face. No words issue from Leigh's mouth, but she already knows what the verdict is. She clamps her eyes shut once more so she doesn't have to see. She can't bear to witness the death of her child... Mommy...please, let me go. She stands straight and still in the chapel with the coffin before her, a spray of white carnations adorning the small casket. Her partner's presence at her side is comforting, but nothing can fill the ache in her heart. What men would create a life whose only hope is to die? He cannot answer her question. He cannot ease the sickness that seeps into her soul, engulfing her in grief beyond all measure. Her child, her daughter...she needs to release her, Please, Mommy. she needs to forgive those who caused her death and move on, but the sorrow clings fiercely in her memory... I'm so sorry, Scully. She allows his arms to enfold her, and the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek soothes some of the anguish. It was her last chance... The babe, Gwen...your son is dead. The tears begin afresh. It seems her eyes will never be dry again. It was my last chance. She cries as she rocks, as Leigh takes the boy from her, to wrap him in clean linens and present him to the King. She knows now it was their only hope, and Arthur will mourn Camelot's loss while she and Lancelot suffer the child's death in silent agony. Her eyes swell with the onslaught, but not before she sees Nimue slip from the room, a vial of dark liquid tucked into her hand... ...my last chance... His arms around her are solid and sure, and she sobs into his shoulder, his breath stirring her hair as he whispers in her ear... Never give up on a miracle. She battled her way up from the depths of the dream, straining against its confines like a patient in a straight jacket. She pried her eyes open to peer up at the brushstrokes of steel gray and eggshell blue that vied for dominance in the sky. A streaking cloud blew across the sun holding court directly above her, and she realized it was midday. She sat up quickly, feeling the scrape of splintering wood beneath her palms. She lay in the wagon, the one Gareth had hitched at dawn to the horse for their journey back to Camelot. But Gareth was nowhere to be seen, and Scully was suddenly afraid. "Sir Gareth?" she called, scrambling to her knees. Her head hammered dully as she quickly scanned the clearing where the wagon was parked. She was reminded of recovering from hangovers in college, ones where she shuffled through a day of endless, droning lectures while wearing Ray Ban sunglasses to cut out the glaring florescent lights. Then, she'd go back to the frat house with her boyfriend, to do it all over again... Her college boyfriend. What the hell was his name? Derek, or Dirk, or was it Drew..? Shit. She had spent almost two years of her life sleeping next to the guy, and now, she couldn't even recall his name. First her mother, now her old sweetheart. The thought that her memory was deteriorating rapidly filled her with fresh dread, and she gripped the side of the wagon harder, searching desperately for the bright shine of Gareth's armor. She didn't remember falling asleep. They had set out early, before the sun rose. Gareth drove the horse with Nimue beside him, and Scully had huddled in the back of the wagon, her teeth chattering against the cool morning air. And now that she was awake, she couldn't quite remember the dreams she'd been having, although the emotion of them lingered, the wash of sadness and emptiness that she'd experienced so many times in her life, especially when a loved one had left... She couldn't think about that now. That feeling compelled her to consider Mulder, braving some strange new world that she couldn't even wrap her scientific mind around, and the idea of him becoming lost to her was more than she could bear. She shifted again in the wagon, searching for the other horse, the one that Gareth had ridden when they had brought Mulder to the cottage. The knight had tethered it to the back of the wagon to lead it along with them; now, the horse was gone. Where in the hell was Gareth? And for that matter, where was Nimue? Nimue. Just the skittering of the woman's name across her consciousness made Scully swallow hard. There was something about the woman, something from her dream, that burrowed itself deep into her gut and clenched with ferocious talons of hate. Guinevere hated Nimue, Scully realized now, and that emotion was bleeding over into Scully's own opinion of her. But Guinevere had good reason to hate her, she somehow knew...and that reason had been clear in the dream. If only she could remember... A small movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to see the glint of metal through the rustling leaves of a nearby bush. A low sigh issued from the shrub, and she pushed herself up, worry evident in the creasing of her brow. Was Gareth hurt somehow? What had happened to him? She jumped down from the wagon and approached the bush warily, her eyes darting back and forth. Her intuition, the inner voice that spoke to her on stakeouts and suspect pursuits, seemed poised on high alert, and she felt her muscles tense, readying her body to spring if trouble presented itself. She found nothing in the brush but Gareth, flat on his back and sleeping atop a blanket. Spread next to him were the remains of lunch, cold meat and fruit and a flask of warm wine, plus two sets of utensils. The other diner, however, remained missing. Scully leaned over and touched the man on the shoulder, not wishing to startle him. "Sir Gareth," she murmured in a low voice. "Wake up." It took a bit more prodding to rouse the knight. When he finally sat up, Scully could see the clouded confusion in his eyes. He brushed at his auburn beard, trying to compose himself. "My lady Queen," he started, then faltered. "I...I must have dozed off after our midday meal. Please forgive my negligence. I...I do not...remember..." "Did you eat with the lady Nimue?" Scully asked. "Where is she?" Gareth glanced down at the scraps of leftovers and then at their surroundings. "She...she wished to stop. You, my lady, were asleep in the cart, and she said that we should not wake you. I...I am at a loss. I know not where she may now be." Scully picked up the stone goblet nearest to Gareth. It was empty, but she ran her fingers inside it, a trace of wine wetting the tips. She raised them to her nose, inhaling, her mind working frantically, grabbing onto a detail from her dream... Nimue slipping from the bedchamber, a vial of dark liquid hidden in her hand— Had Nimue tainted the drink, adding something guaranteed to knock the knight out? What in the world was the woman up to? And why would she want to incapacitate Gareth? She frowned. Something was very, very wrong. Red flags were waving everywhere in her subconscious, but she was still muddled from her own deep sleep, and from the disturbing feeling of her dream... Poison. Nimue poisoned Guinevere, so that her baby would be stillborn. Scully dropped the cup onto the ground. It chinked against the earth as it hit, jarring Scully's mind into action. She knew now. She understood. Nimue was not on their side. She was trying to hinder them, just as she had been trying to undermine Arthur and his dreams for Camelot all along. Gareth blinked as the goblet fell, the noise seeming to stir him, too. He moved his hand to his waist as he shambled to his feet. Scully watched as he grabbed uselessly at the scabbard that hung there. It was empty. He raised wondering eyes to her. "My...my sword. It is gone." The words came out of Scully in a rush. "Nimue took it. She took the horse, too. I realize it now. She is not trying to help us, Gareth. She is one of Arthur's enemies. We must leave this place at once. We have to get back to Camelot to warn Arthur..." Her sentence was cut off by a new sound, one that vibrated the soil under their feet. They both turned in the same direction, and Gareth's face grew grim. "Riders. Quite a few. Coming this way." He trained his eyes on Scully. "And if what you say is true, my lady, then they are coming for us. But weapon or no, I will defend you until my last breath, as I promised Sir Lancelot." He swept up his helmet in one grand gesture and started forward, but Scully caught his arm. "Gareth, no. You'll only get hurt, and Arthur needs you well and whole. Please. Just let them come." He shook her off gently, as a father does with a pesky child. "My lady Queen, it is my sworn duty to my King to behave as a just and valiant knight of the Round Table at all times. I can no more stand aside and see you accosted as I could my own wife. I will keep you safe if it is the last thing I do. Now, stay here, and keep yourself hidden. We still have the advantage of surprise, for they know not where we are." Scully started to argue, but Gareth strode away, heading toward the wagon. She puffed out an exasperated breath and ducked behind a nearby maple tree, cocking her ear in the direction of the pounding horses' hooves. She saw Gareth pull himself up into the wagon and hunker down below the sideboards, effectively hiding himself from view. She didn't know exactly what he had planned, but from the thundering sound that grew louder with each second, she could tell that they were desperately outnumbered. With a tremendous commotion, the riders swarmed into the meadow, coming from the direction of Camelot. She watched from between the thick leaves around her as Sir Agravaine, the man who resembled Mulder's detractor Jeffrey Spender, reigned in his mount. He wore no helmet, unlike the other anonymous riders behind him, and Scully was astonished to see one who bore the Pendragon standard on a pole. There was no doubt in her mind that these men were not loyal to Arthur; why were they carrying his colors? Another trick, perhaps, to gain their trust? She didn't have time to consider it. Agravaine glanced around the clearing and then nickered to his horse, urging the animal closer to the abandoned wagon. As soon as they moved next to it, Gareth sprung into the air, swinging his heavy helmet in a wide arc and connecting with Agravaine's unprotected face. He cried out as the metal smashed into him, effectively unseating him from his horse. In one smooth motion, Gareth grabbed the horse's reigns and leapt into the saddle, pulling Agravaine's sword from its place in the sheath attached at the rider's side. Another rider was on him instantly, his drawn sword pointed directly at Gareth. The gentle knight let out a bloodcurdling whoop worthy of the worst butcher in the world and met the other warrior squarely. Their swords rang as they traded blows. Scully could see the intense scowl that Gareth wore, and although he fought like a tiger defending its cubs, the other knights crowded around him, surrounding him in a menacing circle. Her hands curled into angry fists as they dragged him from the horse, where she could no longer see him struggling. She heard Agravaine's voice then, clogged with blood. Grim satisfaction filled her as she realized Gareth's blow must have broken his nose. "Well met, brother." The sea of knights parted as Agravaine approached, his flushed face nearly the same color as the blood that spilled across his chin. Gareth had been stripped of his weapon and forced to his knees. One man held the edge of a sword under his throat, exposing the flesh there by yanking his head back by the hair. Scully kept still, trying to listen. Agravaine smiled humorlessly. "You always were better at Hide and Seek than the rest of us, Gareth. So now tell me: where did you hide the Queen?" The bitter look on Gareth's face did not fade. "I shall not betray the Queen, Agravaine. Not as you have betrayed the King, and all of Camelot." Agravaine leaned down to speak, his voice taking on a persuasive note. "Our half-brother Mordred is the rightful King, Gareth. Arthur has no other heir. It is his right to take the kingdom. And for what better position could we ourselves ask but to be in Mordred's good graces? He will deny his brothers nothing once he ascends." Gareth spoke through clenched teeth. "Arthur is still King. Mordred has no right to the throne while the King lives. And the loyal Knights of the Round Table will defend Arthur's true kingship until their dying days." "Alas, my brother," Agravaine replied, shaking his head. "You have chosen the wrong side. And you must have chosen this as your dying day." Gareth stiffened as the sword whispered closer to his skin. "Do not force my hand, brother. Where is the Queen?" Gareth's eyes snapped defiant fire as he stared silently at Agravaine. A long moment passed; finally, Agravaine straightened up. His countenance saddened for the briefest instant and then hardened once more. "So be it, my brother. I will miss you." He turned his back on Gareth and started toward his horse. "Kill him." "No!" Scully's call rang out across the meadow as she fought her way through the tangle of brush hiding her. All of the knights froze, and she could see the utter dismay that crossed Gareth's face as she appeared. She ignored it and rushed to his side, knocking the knight who held him prisoner back with a fierce blow to his arm. Another man started toward her and then stopped, as if unsure how to approach her. She wheeled around and faced Agravaine. "How dare you, Sir Agravaine, accost this good knight, a servant of the High King himself?" Her words appeared to stir fear in the rest of Agravaine's faction, but the man himself did not waver. "The High King is currently in no condition to dispatch his office, my lady Queen," he retorted, stepping up to her. He grabbed her arm and twisted, and Sully winced as the pain shot into her shoulder. From his knees, Gareth grunted, but he was held back by two more knights. "Unhand me, sir knight, or I shall waste no time in bringing you up on charges before the King." Agravaine chuckled disdainfully. "That will gain you nothing, madam, considering that the King is no longer loyal to you." Scully swallowed hard, trying to expel the taste of fear that thickened in her mouth. "What do you mean? Explain yourself." Agravaine spoke slowly, allowing his words to sink in. "Your husband Arthur lies unconscious, the victim of an unknown malady. Nothing can revive him. In his stead, his son, Sir Mordred, now rules as High King. And Mordred..." Agravaine paused, his weasely eyes assessing Scully like a pirate scrutinizing a gold coin, "Mordred is the one who sent us to find you. You and he have much to discuss, Guinevere. About Arthur and Lancelot. And about the fate of Camelot." He pulled Scully forward until they were next to his horse. He placed her hand on the saddle pommel and smiled. "Let us go, Lady Guinevere. The new King awaits your arrival." previous ::: home ::: next