The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Eight
      Chapter Eight
      The ride to Camelot took no more than an hour, but the time couldn't go by 
      fast enough for Scully. She sat sideways in front of Agravaine, her hip 
      scraping uncomfortably against the pommel of his saddle, trying to keep 
      her balance as the horse galloped. His arms encircled her as he gripped 
      the reins to steer the animal, but she shrank from his touch, infuriated 
      by his nearness. He was so close that his breath heated the back of her 
      neck below the upsweep of her hair. She could smell the pungent odor of 
      his sweat and the blood he hadn't bothered to wipe from his chin. Coupled 
      with the relentless swaying of the ride itself, it was enough to make her 
      sick to her stomach. She'd never had a very high opinion of Jeffrey 
      Spender in her own life; most of the time, when she'd seen him in the 
      halls at work, the word "Weasel" was the first to cross her mind. 
      Agravaine was uncannily similar in this world, and the notion of sitting 
      very nearly in his lap made Scully squirm in discomfort.

      She could see his doppelganger, though, in the lens of her memory: a 
      small, wiry man, a man who usually wore a dark suit and a scowl. He was 
      still present there, in short scenes, and she found herself grateful for 
      that. Some of her other reminiscences were becoming more and more clouded. 
      She searched through the files in her brain, rifling as she often did in 
      Mulder's basement cabinets, connecting the dots of Spender's life: his 
      father, the mysterious Smoking Man; and his mother, the bird-like lady in 
      the wheelchair, the one that Scully had been drawn to…

      Wait. There…again. Another black hole in her past. That woman in the 
      wheelchair…she'd talked to her, went with her somewhere very important, 
      even held her hand. And now, Scully couldn't recall her name, let alone 
      anything about the relationship they'd shared. Jeffrey Spender's mother 
      was just like her own: lost in a rift in time.

      Scully tightened her grip on the horse's mane as well as on herself. This 
      exasperating memory loss filled her with dread and terror. She started 
      recounting her family, every name she could think of, the syllabic beat of 
      the words in her mind matching the thrum of the horse's hooves: Melissa 
      Scully, William Scully, Bill Scully, Charlie Scully…Mulder, Mulder, 
Mulder…

      She shifted, suddenly horrified. Mulder. Her partner. Her lover. The man 
      she had worked with for seven years, and the one she had finally committed 
      to as only a man and a woman in love could possibly commit…

      She couldn't remember his first name.

      It wasn't a name he used very often; she was sure of that. She never 
      thought of him that way…he was always Mulder to her. But she found her 
      eyes filling with hot tears in spite of that fact. Seven years, and she'd 
      forgotten his first name, just as she'd forgotten his birthday. What else 
      had she forgotten about him? What other important details of their lives 
      together had been lost because of this strange interlude?

      Scully was not a woman who allowed her sentiments to overpower her logical 
      mind. She was no shrinking violet, and she'd learned early in life to 
      school her emotions, to keep them in check, and sometimes, on the 
      occasions where she had been hurt deep in her soul, to bury them where no 
      one would ever see them. But as the shining towers of Camelot came into 
      view before the cantering knot of horses, Scully felt the tears slide down 
      her cool cheeks. She tucked her chin into her chest, determined not to 
      allow any of the men who accompanied her to see them.

      She was unsuccessful, though. In moments, the knights were dismounting 
      inside the castle walls, and Agravaine gripped her roughly around the 
      waist, pulling her down to the ground with him. When her feet touched the 
      dirt, she turned her head quickly to avoid his gaze. He caught her chin 
      with his gloved hand and peered closely at her.

      Their eyes locked. His expression softened, and Scully's hopes rose. 
      Although Agravaine had made it clear where his loyalties resided, he 
      appeared to have a sympathetic side, and Scully wondered how much of it 
      she could play to her advantage. She needed to see Arthur to assess the 
      extent of his injuries, and she needed to ensure her own safety, as well 
      as that of Mulder. Perhaps Agravaine could be the means to that end.

      His voice still sounded blood-clotted, but she could also hear the gentle 
      tone beneath his words. "Why do you cry, my lady Queen? You have nothing 
      to fear."

      She didn't bother to wipe the tears away, hoping their presence would play 
      on his feelings. "I do fear your brother, Sir Agravaine. I fear what he 
      has done to this kingdom, and to the King himself."

      "Mordred will not harm you, lady. And the King…the King is still alive."

      "I need to see him, Agravaine. Will you take me to him?"

      Agravaine blew out a short breath that resembled a cough. "Mordred 
      instructed me to bring you directly to the Great Hall, where he awaits 
      your arrival. There is nothing you can do for Arthur."

      "Please, Agravaine. Let me see him." She went with her instinct and 
      reached out, touching his cheek gently. "You are the King's nephew. You 
      must understand my concern for him, and my need to see him at once."

      He stilled her hand, grabbing her fingers and pulling his cheek away. She 
      winced, afraid that she had played the moment incorrectly. But when he 
      looked back at her, she could tell that her gesture had affected him, even 
      though his words had grown cold. "I see that you are trying to take 
      advantage of my soft heart, Guinevere. I tell you truly, it won't work."

      "I see things, too, Agravaine." The speech rose in her without warning, 
      much like the railing she had given to Nimue back at the cottage. 
      Guinevere's here, Scully thought ruefully, but she let the other woman 
      speak, hoping to gain some insight into how to proceed. 

      "I see that you are not loyal to your brother Mordred out of love for him. 
      I see that you do these things not for your own gain, but for someone 
      else. As always, you vie for the affections of your mother, Morgan le Fae, 
      and as usual, she does not appreciate you."

      The words hung there between them, and Scully wondered in the silence how 
      Agravaine would react. His expression froze, and she could see the hurt 
      and the truth of the statements flare in his eyes. She rushed on, trying 
      to capitalize on his momentary lapse.

      "You love your mother. Your loyalty is honorable, Agravaine, even if you 
      have betrayed the King. You must understand my own loyalties to Arthur. I 
      need to see him, I beg you."

      After an agonizing moment, he took a deep breath as best he could through 
      his clogged airways. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "Very well, 
      madam. I shall take you quickly to the King's chambers. Sir Merhaut," he 
      called to a nearby knight who had yet to remove his helmet, "do not yet 
      announce us in the Great Hall. I shall return momentarily with the Queen."

      She didn't protest as he pulled her along after him, and they disappeared 
      quickly into one of the winding corridors of the castle. As they walked, 
      turning this way and that like mice in a maze, she wondered how any of the 
      residents could learn to get around the grounds so easily. She was lost in 
      a matter of moments, and she admonished herself, knowing that she would 
      have to learn the quickest routes out if she were ever to escape from 
      Mordred.

      They emerged in a hallway next to a grand oak and iron door. The Pendragon 
      emblem has been burned into its wood, and two guards stood on either side, 
      as still and as straight as the Beefeaters she had seen when visiting 
      Buckingham Palace. Their eyes never moved as Agravaine addressed them.

      "The Lady Queen Guinevere wishes to see the King. Sir Mordred sends me 
      with her."

      One spoke in a thick, cumbersome accent that resembled French: "The new 
      King Mordred gave us strict orders. No admittance."

      Agravaine stepped up to the man, his glare icy. "I come from Mordred with 
      the Queen. Do not test my patience, Chretien. You do not want to end up on 
      my bad side, nor on the new King's."

      Scully held her breath as the two men stood nose to nose. Finally, the one 
      named Chretien backed up a step and turned to the door, rattling the keys 
      on a huge, brass ring from their place on his belt. He unlocked the door 
      and stood aside, never looking at her as she swept past him on Agravaine's 
      heels. The door shut behind them with a bellow, and Scully squinted, 
      trying to help her vision adjust to the darkness of the room.

      The chamber was lit with torches, and a small fire blazed on the hearth at 
      the far side of the room. The fires warmed the air, which was chilly 
      despite the brilliant sun outside the tiny, lone window. The room was 
      simpler than she'd imagined it to be, consisting only of a carved, round 
      table near the door ringed with four small chairs and the massive bed that 
      dominated the space. 

      She walked toward it, steeling herself for what she might see there. Heavy 
      scarlet draperies hung from the frame around the bed, obscuring her view 
      of its occupant, and she felt herself detach as she often did before she 
      walked into an autopsy bay. She was peripherally aware of Agravaine 
      stopping some distance away, apparently to give her a moment of privacy. 
      She reached up and slowly drew the curtain to one side.

      Arthur appeared to be sleeping. He lay on his back, his head propped at an 
      angle upon two large pillows, and he looked peaceful. Someone had stripped 
      him of his garments and tucked him under the ornate crimson bedspread. She 
      noticed the silvery scars that ran along his collarbone in almost parallel 
      lines, and another notched hole near his sternum—

      …from when he was shot with an arrow during the Saxon wars…

      Scully blinked, surprised. This information had surfaced, apparently from 
      an unknown source. She smiled inwardly, realizing that wasn't exactly 
      true. It had come from Guinevere's consciousness. She understood that 
      Arthur's wife could catalogue his injuries, just as she could with 
      Mulder's. 

      She moved closer to the bed and reached out, taking Arthur's large hand in 
      her own. She felt with her fingertips for the pulse in his wrist, which 
      she found to be steady, if not a bit faint. Leaving her fingers twined in 
      his, she touched the back of her other hand to his forehead. No fever, at 
      least that she could detect. Perhaps he would respond to her voice.

      She leaned down, bringing her mouth close to his ear, not wanting 
      Agravaine to hear her. As she did, his scent, a mixture of masculine musk 
      and the sweet aroma of wine filled her nose. It overwhelmed her, and 
      without warning, she burst into tears.

      …Arthur…Arthur, my dear husband…what have I done to you?

      Guinevere's lament in her head consumed her, and she collapsed onto the 
      bed next to him, clinging to his large body as she sobbed. She could hear 
      his heart beat as her ear came to rest on his chest, and its rhythm seemed 
      to pulse memories into her head as her own heart pushed her blood through 
      her body…

      Arthur. You're going to be killed one of these days in your infernal wars. 
      Then where will Camelot be?

      Arthur, you are the King. You should not engage in single combat. It is 
      foolhardy. You worry me so.

      Sir…it's a radical procedure.

      His voice, the same one in both lifetimes, hushed from fatigue and pain 
      and the attempt to do the right thing…

      I'm in your hands.

      From behind, Agravaine pulled at her, gently at first and then more 
      insistently. "My lady Queen, please. We must go. I must take you now to 
      Mordred. I beseech you, do not carry on so…"

      Her cries hitched in her throat as another male voice came from the foot 
      of the bed: "Alas, poor Guinevere. But do you grieve so for your husband, 
      or for yourself?"

      Her own consciousness seemed to slam back into place from its teetering 
      position on the precipice of her mind. The essence of Scully shot through 
      her, and she straightened up, swiping wildly at the tears that soaked her 
      cheeks. When she turned toward Mordred, her composure had returned. 

      He stood at the foot of his father's bed, his eyes venomous in his dark 
      countenance. He still wore all black, save for the cloak of brilliant red 
      that hung around his shoulders. Scully recognized it at once. It was the 
      same one Arthur had worn on her first morning in Camelot, when he had 
      spoken to her in her bedchamber. It was the Pendragon standard, and now, 
      Mordred wore the mantle as if it belonged to him. Seeing him dressed in 
      the royal vestments angered her anew, and the pique bled into her words 
      when she spoke.

      "Sir Mordred. I demand an explanation concerning the King, and the 
      intolerable treatment of myself and Sir Gareth, your brother."

      Mordred gave a short, sinister chuckle. "You demand, lady? You are hardly 
      in a position to make demands." He leveled his gaze at Agravaine, who 
      hovered behind her. "Brother, were my orders not clear to you? Why was the 
      Queen brought to this room?"

      Agravaine cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, my lord. The Queen asked 
      to see her husband, and I saw no harm—"

      Mordred strode forward quickly, positioning himself directly in front of 
      Agravaine. Mordred stood a good head taller, and Scully could see the 
      smaller man wither slightly in his brother's shadow. "I did not ask for 
      your counsel on this matter, Sir Agravaine. If you cannot follow a simple 
      order, perhaps you are not fit to serve at the King's side." 

      Agravaine dropped his eyes from Mordred's face, but his breathing rattled, 
      shallow and fast. He was angry, but he held his tongue. Mordred watched 
      him a moment longer and then stood aside. "Leave us, brother. Have the 
      doctors attend to your wounds." Mordred's gaze crept back over to Scully, 
      and her skin began to crawl with it. "The Queen and I have much to 
      discuss."

      Agravaine threw a bitter look at Scully. "As you wish." He gave a short 
      bow and exited the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

      Scully shifted on the mattress as Mordred assessed her, trying to figure 
      out what to say. It was obvious to her that Mordred meant to keep the 
      Queen with him at Camelot, more than likely as a prisoner or a bargaining 
      chip in his political maneuvers, and she had no earthly idea what his 
      plans might be. She steeled herself to hear them, squeezing Arthur's warm, 
      square hand for reassurance. She hoped that once he made his mind clear to 
      her, she'd be able to discern a way to save Arthur, and to get herself out 
      of Camelot and back to Mulder. She silently willed Guinevere to listen, 
      and to help her respond in the best ways, so that she could do what was 
      needed for everyone involved.

      But Mordred remained silent, simply staring at her, and she grew more and 
      more impatient and nervous. She raised her eyes to look at him, and her 
      gaze fell on his left arm. She had forgotten that Mulder had summarily 
      amputated his hand in the joust. The stump on the end of his limb appeared 
      to be healing well. The bandages that covered it were pristine white, and 
      Scully wondered once more at the medical advancements that this primitive 
      society must have had.

      Mordred's eyes followed hers to his missing hand, and he smiled softly. 
      "Ah. Are you concerned for me, dear Guinevere? Well, I assure you: 
      Lancelot did not manage to maim me so badly that I would expire. My mother 
      saw to that."

      Scully's interest piqued at the mention of the woman called Morgan le Fae. 
      "Where is your mother?"

      "That is none of your concern, lady. My mother comes and goes as she 
      pleases, as she always has."

      "I am concerned because she is a thief. She has stolen Excalibur from the 
      King, and I am told it is that theft that renders him to his current 
      condition."

      "What?" Amusement crossed Mordred's face. "Can I believe my ears? The High 
      Queen of Britain is professing belief in magic?"

      Scully dropped her chin willfully. "I have seen things, Sir Mordred, that 
      defy any other explanation. There are other forces at work in this place. 
      I believe, in the case of the King, that this is true as well. And I think 
      your mother is the sorrowful cause of it."

      Mordred stepped closer to her, obviously trying to intimidate her as he 
      had with Agravaine. "And that is why you have sent your precious Sir 
      Lancelot into the faerie lands, to try to retrieve the sword?" He laughed. 
      "I tell you truly, lady, he will never return to Camelot. You have sent 
      him to his death. Or worse."

      At the mention of Mulder, Scully's chest clutched, and she gripped 
      Arthur's hand harder. "What do you mean?"

      "Tis true that Lancelot is of faerie blood. That alone may keep him alive. 
      But he will be ensnared by the wiles of the fae, just as any mortal man 
      is." He leaned down to her, so near that his cheek brushed against her 
      hair, and Scully jerked violently away, repulsed. "He will forget all 
      about you, Guinevere. Whatever will you do?"

      She replied between her teeth, "Lancelot will return. With Excalibur. And 
      he will save the King's life. Then where will you be, Sir Mordred? The 
      King will be swift and sure in punishing your treachery."

      Mordred laughed again, softly this time, stirring her hair with his 
      breath. "I tell you, lady, even if Lancelot somehow returns, by then it 
      will be too late to save the King. I shall remain on the throne, and you, 
      my sweet Queen, are going to help me to do just that."

      "I shall never help you to the throne, Mordred. Surely you must know 
that."

      "I know that you would sacrifice yourself for the love of the men in your 
      life. For Arthur, and for Lancelot. That is true, is it not, Gwen?" He 
      smiled, and her mind reeled to hear the endearment that he used to address 
      her. "I propose a bargain to you. A bargain that will save the lives of 
      both Lancelot and Arthur."

      Her throat constricted so tightly it allowed no words to come through. She 
      simply nodded for him to continue while she remained silent.

      "I know that you seek Merlin, Guinevere. I can't pretend to know why, but 
      I believe my mother when she tells me thus."

      Scully's mind lurched. How in the hell could Mordred know the plans that 
      she and Mulder had made back at the cottage? Nimue had already left with 
      Gareth, so she couldn't have overheard their conversation. Had Morgan le 
      Fae herself been lurking somewhere nearby, listening to them? Mordred 
      opened his mouth to speak again, and she yanked her thoughts back to his 
      words.

      "Merlin is already in the land of the fae. That is where he has been kept 
      hidden. If you do as I ask, he will be released, and he can help Lancelot 
      to survive."

      Her hopes rose, wanting to believe that Mulder could be safe. But the hand 
      in hers reminded her of Guinevere's duty to the man who lay beside her. 
      "What about Arthur? You said he would live as well."

      "I shall have my mother heal Arthur. She has the power to do it, even if 
      Excalibur is absent from him. He will be weakened, but he shall still 
      live."

      Scully drew a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "And what must 
      I do to allow these things to happen as you have said?"

      Mordred straightened up and paced to the foot of the bed, his tone 
      becoming regal. "I shall have the Bishop draw up a document that you will 
      sign, declaring the King incapacitated and unable to fulfill the duties of 
      his office. It will further declare I, Mordred, as his formal successor. I 
      shall have the ritual of coronation with full authority and blessing of 
      both the Queen and the Church. Then, after my father is healed, he will be 
      unable to contest my advancement."

      Scully glanced down at Arthur's face. She ached to be able to ask for his 
      advice, to see if he found this bargain worthwhile. Would Arthur want to 
      live, seeing his bastard son ruling his kingdom, possibly undoing every 
      good and decent thing he had accomplished? 

      She saw, however, that she had very little choice. She had to help Mulder, 
      by any means possible. She'd had no idea of the gravity of his situation. 
      Now, it grasped at her with sharp, stinging reality, and if she could save 
      him, she would. 

      She asked one last time, to be sure. "If I do sign this decree, you will 
      release Merlin to Lancelot, and you will save your father's life?"

      "I will, my lady. You have my oath."

      "And how can I trust you, Mordred? After all you have done?"

      His demeanor softened then, melting away like a child's temper tantrum. He 
      strode over to her and dropped to one knee at her feet, bowing his head. 
      "I swear to you on my mother's life, my lady Queen: all will be done as I 
      have said." He raised his eyes, searching her face. "Will you sign it?"

      She couldn't say the words. She nodded instead, turning her face away, 
      allowing her gaze to settle on Arthur once more. She heard the rustle of 
      the Pendragon cloak as Mordred rose and moved to the bedchamber door.

      "Then I shall have it drawn as we have agreed. I will send for you later, 
      my lady Queen. My mother and the Bishop shall be our guests at dinner 
      tonight. I will have Sir Agravaine accompany you to your rooms shortly. I 
      take your leave, my lady."

      He was gone in a rush of fabric and the boom of wood against stone. As 
      soon as the door closed, all the energy cascaded out of Scully in a 
      stream. She curled her body next to Arthur's, soaking in the warmth and 
      solid goodness of him. It reminded her of the times when, as a child, she 
      had sneaked into Bill's bed in the depths of the night, seeking his 
      comfort after a nightmare jarred her awake. She flung one arm over 
      Arthur's still body, hanging onto him for dear life, thinking of Mulder 
      and feeling as frightened as she had on those nights as a little girl.



      Her chamber was empty when Sir Agravaine brought her to it. They had 
      walked in silence through the cold, damp halls of the castle, and Scully 
      had paid close attention this time, marking her way with her analytical 
      brain, memorizing torch sconces and wall hangings so that she could find 
      her way back to Arthur's room when and if she needed to go. Agravaine 
      appeared surly and withdrawn, and she made no attempt to speak to him. He 
      left her wordlessly just inside the repaired door to her bedchamber, and 
      she noted the guards that stood quietly outside, dressed in the same 
      official garb as the ones on vigil at Arthur's threshold.

      She hadn't been in the room more than a minute when Leigh appeared in the 
      doorway, bearing a tray of food from the kitchens. The other woman set the 
      platter down hurriedly on the dressing table and ran to Scully, throwing 
      her arms around her shoulders in a fierce hug.

      "Oh, Gwen! I have been so very afraid for you."

      Scully patted the woman on the back, grateful for her friendship and 
      surprised at how happy she was to see her again. "Everything is alright, 
      Leigh," she murmured. "But I am happy to be back here."

      Leigh broke their embrace but kept hold of Scully's hand. "Come," she 
      urged, pulling Scully over to the bed. "Let us get you cleaned and fed, 
      and then we can speak about all that has happened."

      The bathing and dressing ritual began. This time, however, it seemed less 
      foreign and more palpable to Scully, and she allowed Leigh to help her 
      wash her long tresses, relaxing more and more as the warm, luxurious water 
      swept over her body. After stepping from the standing tub, she watched in 
      the wardrobe mirror as Leigh helped her into a long gown of silver 
      brocade, trimmed at the sleeves and low neckline with silky, snowy fur. 
      Leigh fitted her ears with sparkling silver jewels and began to fasten a 
      choker of pearls around her neck.

      "Leigh, where is my cross?" 

      Leigh frowned and gestured toward the table where Scully's soiled garments 
      lay. "Do you wish to wear it instead, Gwen? It does not match your gown as 
      the pearls do."

      "The pearls are lovely," Scully said kindly, not wanting to offend her, 
      "but I prefer the cross. It gives me strength."

      A small smile touched Leigh's lips. "Then I shall fetch it. God knows we 
      need His strength now to endure all that has come about."

      They took their familiar positions at the dressing table, and Leigh began 
      to work on Scully's hair. This time, she threaded small silver and white 
      beads into the tiny twists and braids, and Scully watched, fascinated, as 
      her hair began to sparkle with the ornaments. It was a breathtaking sight, 
      and she could hardly believe it was her own face in the mirror, staring 
      back at her.

      Leigh worked in silence for a few moments, but her curiosity would not 
      allow her to stay quiet for long. "Gwen, you must tell me everything that 
      has happened since you left Camelot after the joust. Is Sir Lancelot well 
      again? Where is he now, when Arthur so needs an ally? I pray you, cousin, 
      do not be stingy with your story."

      So Scully related to the other woman everything that had transpired. 
      Leigh's eyes widened at the recounting of Mulder's miraculous cure from 
      the lake waters, and she listened with rapt attention at the news of 
      Lancelot's quest to retrieve Excalibur from the faerie realms. When Scully 
      finished, Leigh shook her head.

      "Will he succeed, Gwen? Camelot has been turned upside down since Mordred 
      came to the Great Hall two nights ago. I fear that all is lost if Arthur 
      is unable to take the kingdom back from him."

      Scully regarded Leigh in the mirror, her face somber. "I fear for 
      Lancelot's safety, Leigh. I did not realize the scope of his danger when 
      he set out into the world of the fae. I wish nothing more than to keep him 
      safe, and to restore Arthur to health." She dropped her eyes, anticipating 
      a negative reaction from the waiting woman. "I have agreed to a bargain 
      with Mordred that I hope will help us all."

      Leigh stopped braiding and stared at Scully's reflection. "What did you 
      promise, Gwen?" she whispered. Her voice trembled.

      Scully set hers to steel, but she didn't look up. "I told him I would sign 
      a decree giving him full authority as High King. In return, he promised to 
      release Merlin, and to heal Arthur. It is the only way I can see to help 
      both Lancelot and the King."

      "How can you be certain he will honor it?" Leigh began working again, and 
      Scully winced as she jerked the strands of hair too tightly in her fury. 
      "He is a liar, Guinevere. You know that. Why can you not wait to see if 
      Lancelot will return with the sword? You said yourself that Excalibur 
      would restore Arthur's health."

      "I cannot be sure that Lancelot will return without help," Scully 
      answered, her voice rising. "Merlin can help him. He can save him from 
      whatever traps Morgan le Fae may have set for him in the faerie realms. 
      This way, Mordred will have Arthur healed, and Lancelot can still return, 
      through Merlin's aid. When he does, then perhaps Arthur will be able to 
      lead the knights against Mordred, with Lancelot, Merlin, and Excalibur at 
      his side."

      "But if you sign a decree—"

      "It will mean nothing!" Scully shot to her feet, startling Leigh, whose 
      hands fell away from her hair. Scully could feel the Queen's energy rising 
      swiftly within her, and there was little she could do but step back and 
      let her through. "Arthur will fight for this kingdom if he is able. But I 
      must save Lancelot as well. I have no other choice, Leigh. I am left to 
      make this decision on my own. Where are the Round Table knights? Tell me 
      that."

      Leigh shuddered. "They have all been imprisoned. Mordred saw to that when 
      his faction overran the castle. They fought valiantly, but without Arthur 
      to rally them and Lancelot to aid them, they were no match for the younger 
      men."

      "You see? I cannot stand against Mordred without support. Lancelot is our 
      best hope, but he may be lost forever in the land of the fae." Her eyes 
      blurred for a moment at that thought, but she blinked, forcing the tears 
      away. "I will save him if I can, no matter what the cost. As I will save 
      Arthur. If we lose Camelot in the end, then so be it. Perhaps it is God's 
      will."

      Leigh inclined her head in deference, but her expression remained 
      troubled. "Sit you down, Gwen, so I can finish your hair. I have been told 
      you sup tonight with the new High King, his mother, and the Bishop. You 
      want to look your best."

      Scully grabbed Leigh's hand, aware through Guinevere's consciousness of 
      how dear the woman was to the Queen. "What would you have me do, Leigh?" 
      she asked softly. "Shall I lose Arthur and Lancelot as well as Camelot? I 
      would rather that they live and all the dreams die in their place. Can you 
      fault me for loving them and wanting them alive?"

      "Nay," Leigh whimpered. "But I still fear it. Neither Mordred nor his 
      mother can be trusted. You must rely on the Bishop, I think. Perhaps he 
      will turn to Arthur's cause. The High King does still live. If you could 
      sway the Bishop against Mordred, and even persuade him to release the 
      Round Table knights, perhaps there will be a greater chance that Camelot 
      can survive."

      "I shall do my best, Leigh." Scully smiled even though her heart raced 
      nervously in her chest. She dreaded the dinner hour and what awaited her 
      in the Great Hall.



      The huge meeting room loomed empty and impressive when she arrived that 
      evening, with Sir Agravaine following close behind her. She noted that he 
      smelled clean and fresh, obviously the product of a bath in his own rooms. 
      His armor had been replaced with a pine-colored tunic that looked 
      expensive beneath his heavy chestnut cape. His mood, however, had not 
      changed, and he did not speak to Scully as he led her to the Great Hall. 
      Once again, she was happy not to be distracted as she memorized their 
      route.

      He finally spoke haltingly as he escorted her to the dais. "You are to sit 
      in your normal place, my lady Queen, at the High King's request."

      Guinevere began to retort, but Scully managed to squelch it. She didn't 
      want to cause any more bad feelings with Agravaine, especially since it 
      seemed that he might be malleable to the Queen's cause. She simply nodded 
      and sat down in the lushly embroidered high-backed throne, fidgeting with 
      her skirts as she waited for the others.

      The table before her had been set with an assortment of royal trappings. 
      The maroon velvet cloth beneath the plates accented their polished, 
      shining edges, and the candles burned brightly in their platinum holders. 
      The rich aromas of roasting meat, onions, and other delicious spices 
      filled the air, and Scully's stomach contracted, begging for attention. 
      She was sure, though, that the first morsel of food she allowed past her 
      lips would never stay down. She was much too anxious to eat.

      A young man approached from her right and bowed slightly to her, reaching 
      for the gem-encrusted goblet in front of her. He filled it with claret 
      wine, and she mumbled her thanks to him. He glanced at her, a startled 
      look on his face, and then moved away. Behind her, Agravaine chuckled.

      "You scared him with your gratitude, my lady. That lowly squire will have 
      much to dream about tonight, now that the Queen has deigned to speak to 
      him."

      This time, Scully couldn't squelch Guinevere's reply. "I should like to 
      thank all of Arthur's loyal subjects, Sir Agravaine. It is a shame there 
      are none left in this room, save myself."

      He was next to her in an instant, leaning over her chair. The intensity in 
      his eyes amazed her.

      "I risked much for you this morning, Guinevere, by taking you to Arthur. 
      My brother has made no secret of his displeasure with me. Yet the words 
      you spoke to me earlier cut into my heart. I am torn, I tell you, but I 
      wish only to please my mother. What more can I say?"

      "You are not a child any longer, Agravaine," she answered as gently as she 
      could. There was a part of Scully, a very real, deeply hidden part, which 
      understood all too well Agravaine's need for his mother's approval. She 
      had always sought the same from her father. It seemed for most of her 
      life, she had longed to hear of his pride in her actions. But ultimately, 
      she had realized that her actions were her own, and she had to live for 
      herself, not for Ahab. It had driven them apart, forcing a wedge into the 
      relationship she had once seen as close. But she had done it to save 
      herself from a life of existing solely in William Scully Senior's shadow. 
      She saw that same struggle clearly in the man before her.

      "You must follow your heart. You cannot live according to your mother's 
      whims. You must stand up for what you believe, and you cannot worry over 
      what her reaction might be. If you support your brother, so be it. But if 
      you support Arthur, you must not hesitate." She heard the note of pleading 
      in her voice, knowing that it matched the expression on her face. "What 
      Mordred is doing is not right, Agravaine. You know it. That is why your 
      heart troubles you. Do not allow this to go further."

      The agonizing indecision shone brightly in his eyes, and for a moment, she 
      sensed him swaying toward her side. He opened his mouth to speak. Just 
      then, the moaning of the great door across from them filled the hall. 
      Mordred sauntered in, dressed to the hilt in royal finery, with a woman 
      clinging to his good arm. Scully shook her head slightly as they 
      approached the platform where she sat.

      The woman so strongly resembled Diana Fowley that Scully was certain she 
      hallucinated. And she hadn't even consumed any wine.

      Next to her, Agravaine straightened and stepped back, giving a low bow as 
      the couple neared. Scully couldn't tear her gaze away from the figure 
      Mordred escorted, who floated along the carpeted walkway as if her feet 
      didn't touch the floor. Draped in a blood-red gown of velvet and lace, her 
      hair loose and hanging to her hips like ribbons of ebony silk, Scully took 
      in the sight of the woman she knew to be Morgan le Fae in this lifetime. 
      She gritted her teeth, unsure if it was she herself or Guinevere who hated 
      her more.

      They stopped just before the dais, and Mordred bowed to Scully, apparently 
      still mindful of her rank. Morgan, however, held her head high on her 
      long, elegant neck, watching her with glittering dark eyes. Scully 
      listened to the internal instruction of Guinevere, refusing to acknowledge 
      Arthur's half-sister.

      Mordred sensed the tension between the two women and cleared his throat as 
      he regained his full height. "Good evening, Queen Guinevere. I present to 
      you my mother, your sister-in-law, Morgan le Fae, Queen of Orkney."

      Scully finally spoke, her voice iced with cold venom. "I wish I could 
      welcome you to this court, Morgan le Fae, but in light of recent events, I 
      cannot."

      The dark woman spoke with the same husky rasp Scully remembered. "It 
      matters not, Queen Guinevere, if I have your welcome. My son welcomes me 
      to Camelot, and as it is now his kingdom, I should suggest you bow to 
him."

      The flare of Guinevere's anger raced through Scully, and she gripped the 
      carved wooden armrests of the throne so hard her knuckles whitened. "It is 
      not yet his kingdom, Morgan, and I'd thank you to remember that. You have 
      no authority here yourself, only that which Camelot gives to you as a 
      member of the royal family. You dare not take that tone with me, or you 
      shall see just how much authority the High Queen of Britain still wields."

      Morgan le Fae laughed. "And who will enforce that power, Guinevere? All of 
      the Round Table knights have been imprisoned for their disloyalty to the 
      new crown. Arthur lies on his deathbed, and Lancelot…" Her smile widened. 
      "Lancelot may be forever lost in the faerie kingdom. There is no one left 
      to support you."

      Mordred held up his right hand. "Enough of this bickering. I do not wish 
      to spend this evening overseeing a catfight. Mother, please sit down. We 
      have much to discuss with the Queen." He looked pointedly at Scully. "And 
      I know she is anxious to continue our earlier conversation."

      With Mordred's help, Morgan stepped up onto the dais and then paused, her 
      gaze falling on Agravaine. He shuffled forward to pull out a chair for 
      her, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. "Agravaine," she barked. 
      "What are you doing here?"

      The knight flushed and dropped his chin to avoid his mother's drilling 
      eyes. "I was asked to accompany the Queen to the Great Hall, Mother." 

      "Then you have done your duty. Be gone now." Morgan turned away from 
      Agravaine and seated herself next to Scully with a flourish. She adjusted 
      the folds in her dress and drew her flowing sleeves back to reach for her 
      wine goblet. Agravaine didn't move, seemingly stunned.

      Morgan fluttered her eyelashes at the wine squire as he filled her cup and 
      followed his retreat with an open stare. When she saw that Agravaine had 
      not left the platform, her mouth turned down into a frown. "I commanded 
      you to leave, Agravaine. This is none of your affair."

      Agravaine threw a glance over at Mordred, who was seating himself with 
      great care in Arthur's usual place. Mordred relaxed back against the 
      cushion of the throne and returned his brother's look. "Good night, 
      brother," he said coldly. "You are dismissed."

      The smaller knight's crimson face deepened in anger. He spun on his heel 
      and stormed down from the dais, striding through the Great Hall faster 
      than Scully had ever seen him move. The huge door thundered his exit 
      within moments.

      Wearing a playful smile, Morgan watched her other son leave. She cocked 
      her head toward Scully and raised her wine glass. "Shall we toast? To a 
      better time for Camelot."

      Mordred tipped his goblet toward his mother and drank, but Scully did not 
      reach for hers. Morgan licked her lips daintily and set her cup down. "You 
      do not drink with us, Guinevere? How insulting."

      "I have no stomach for it."

      "Are you ill, my lady Queen?" Mordred asked, a smile matching his mother's 
      gliding over his features. "Perhaps whatever ails my father is catching."

      "Where is the Bishop?" Scully demanded, determined not to allow her cool 
      exterior to crack. "I was told he would join us."

      Morgan le Fae swished her hair over her shoulder. "His duties with the 
      Church keep him from Camelot this night. He shall be here soon enough, to 
      celebrate my son's coronation. In two days' time, is it not, sweet 
      Mordred?"

      Before he could answer, Scully rose from her chair. She stared coldly down 
      at Morgan, who seemed amused by her sudden move. "Then I shall take your 
      leave. I wish to speak personally with the Bishop before any succession 
      takes place. I will entreat him myself on Arthur's behalf and hope that he 
      will take Camelot's side in this folly."

      "The Bishop has endorsed Mordred," Morgan answered loftily.

      "I wish to hear it directly from him. Until I do, I will sign nothing 
      declaring Arthur unfit."

      "Why, the Bishop has already signed it!" Morgan le Fae gestured to 
      Mordred. He stood and extracted a rolled parchment from an inside pocket 
      of the royal Pendragon cloak. He unfurled it and held it open for Scully 
      to see.

      Mordred moved his finger to the bottom of the decree. "You mark it, my 
      lady Queen? The Bishop has drawn this as we discussed and endorsed it with 
      his own hand." Scully felt all her bravado drain out of her as she read 
      the words on the paper and touched a tentative finger to the raised seal 
      of the Holy Church. Next to it, two lines remained blank: one for 
      Mordred's signature, and one for that belonging to Guinevere Pendragon, 
      High Queen of Britain.

      "How…how can I be sure the Bishop signed this himself?" Scully whispered.

      "What?" exclaimed Morgan. "You throw doubt upon the representative of the 
      Holy Church, the Bishop of Britain?"

      "Nay, nay," Scully heard herself respond. She sank back down into the 
      chair, touching the necklace that encircled her throat, seeking some sort 
      of solace. The rubies of the cross pressed into her fingers, and she felt 
      her consciousness teetering back and forth again, one minute Guinevere, 
      the next minute Scully…and both more confused and frightened than ever.

      "Come, Guinevere," Mordred said into her ear. "It is just as we agreed in 
      your chamber. Once you sign this decree, my mother will heal Arthur, and 
      she will order Merlin released. He will help Lancelot in the faerie 
      realms. You want them both to survive, do you not?"

      Scully grabbed the goblet of wine on the table with an unsteady hand, 
      gulping down several swallows to try to clear her head. A vortex not 
      unlike the one she and Mulder had discovered in the woods spun in her 
      mind…Mulder…she had to save Mulder, no matter what the cost to herself…

      "You must do what is best for the kingdom," Morgan crooned on her other 
      side. "Arthur cannot rule in this condition. You must designate someone in 
      his place. Mordred is his rightful heir. He is fit to rule."

      Scully blinked. Shadows and fog seemed to dance in her vision. She turned 
      to regard Morgan. "But you stole Excalibur from him. You caused this."

      "You must save the kingdom, Guinevere. You must do everything you can to 
      preserve Camelot." Morgan wrapped cold fingers around Scully's hand, and 
      she shivered as the other woman's voice filled her head. "You shall remain 
      Queen, Guinevere. You shall help the people to embrace Mordred's 
      succession by becoming his Queen as well."

      "What?" Scully's mind snapped back into place, and she jerked her hand 
      away from Morgan as if burned. "I cannot…cannot marry…" She shot a 
      terrified look at Mordred, who simply stared back at her with a snapping 
      emerald gaze. "Arthur will live, and I shall remain his wife."

      "The Bishop will dissolve the marriage," Morgan told her. "He sees this as 
      the best way to rally the commoners to support Mordred's succession."

      "But the decree," Scully started. Her head felt as heavy as an anvil, and 
      she worked to keep her mind focused. "The decree is…is enough. If I sign 
      it, it will be enough for the people."

      Mordred took her other hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her 
      knuckles. Repugnant as it was to her, she lacked the strength to draw her 
      hand away. "This will seal it in their minds," he hummed to her. "They 
      shall see the Queen married to the new High King, and they shall be happy 
      in the succession. And when you bear me a son, the kingdom will rejoice 
      even more."

      Scully's head lolled into Mordred's shoulder, and her eyes fluttered as 
      she strained to keep them open. "No," she whispered. "I…I am barren. You 
      cannot want a barren Queen. I cannot…I cannot marry…"

      "Mother will fix that, will you not?" Mordred's voice seemed to float over 
      her head, and she watched Morgan's hazy face stretch into a smile once 
      more. "Agree to this, Guinevere. Save Camelot. Save Arthur, and Lancelot. 
      Agree."

      "Lancelot," she sighed, and Morgan brushed her cheek with her long, cool 
      fingers.

      "That's right, Guinevere," the dark woman murmured soothingly. "Lancelot 
      will be saved. You shall save him. All you have to do is sign the decree, 
      and in two days' time, you shall be married to the new High King of 
      Britain." Morgan le Fae's face appeared close to Scully's, her ebony eyes 
      bewitching and hypnotic. "You shall remain Guinevere of Britain…and this 
      time, your son will live."

      Her son…she would have a baby…The joyous news rippled through her as she 
      remembered Lancelot's face when she told him her courses were late…when 
      Mulder held her close and promised to father her baby…when…when…

      She felt Mordred pull her forward and settle her arm onto the table, 
      helping her to hold the writing instrument in her hand. Through her 
      blurring eyes, she could see the decree, and the space awaiting the 
      signature of the High Queen of Britain.

      "Sign it, my sweet Gwen," Mordred breathed into her ear. "Sign it and save 
      them all."

      With his hand over hers, she scraped the ink onto the parchment. Her head 
      whirled in a blinding tornado of images: Lancelot brushing her hair back 
      from her temple, nuzzling her neck after they made love and conceived the 
      heir of Camelot; Arthur resplendent with the news of her pregnancy; Arthur 
      and Lancelot, beaming together as she appeared before them both in the 
      Great Hall, huge with child; Lancelot, and Arthur…and…and…

      And in the back of her mind, from the bottom of what seemed like a deep, 
      sooty well, another man, this one standing with his arms open to receive 
      her, looking so much like her Lancelot, wearing the same smile on his 
      handsome face…but his brown hair was razed against his head, and his 
      suit…not armor, but something strange with pockets and a red and blue 
      scarf knotted at his throat…

      Guinevere, the High Queen of Britain, collapsed back into the throne, her 
      eyes slipping shut entirely. From the end of that deep, ebony tunnel, she 
      could sense another consciousness, another woman with copper hair and a 
      backbone of steel…a woman who resembled her in every way, who had fought a 
      valiant battle to remain in control of this body, but who now seemed to 
      have lost... 

      The strange, handsome man spoke in her thoughts: Scully…Where are you, 
      Scully? Talk to me, Scully…Scully…Scully…Scully…

      Above her, she could still hear the voices of Mordred and Morgan le Fae, 
      along with laughter and whispers. It was Morgan's voice that followed her 
      down into her dreams, the last words she heard before she gave in to the 
      pull of her delirium:

      "Release Merlin. Let us see if Lancelot is truly the greatest knight of 
      the kingdom…and if he can withstand Merlin in his present form."
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