The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Ten This chapter is rated a strong R. Reader discretion is advised. Chapter Ten The air surrounding her crackles with the magic of this night. Cocooned in his embrace, she feels his body rock into hers. Her small frame fits perfectly into the curves and slopes that his stance creates, and she smiles to think that their forms have been fashioned to fuse together like this. He smells earthy, like rawhide and wood and dust, and she relishes his lips whispering kisses through her hair as he leans into her… Hips before hands... He palms the sharp bone of her pelvis where it juts into her slacks, and her heart races with the warm gentleness of his touch. She wonders if he can feel the thin strap of her bikini panties through the fabric, what it would be like to have him trace his fingers along it to the tiny bow that graces the scrap of satin giftwrapping her sex. She giggles, not at his jokes but at her own flushed face, thankful that he cannot see her well under the lights of the baseball field… ...we're just gonna make contact... They do, and the white ball arcs into the shimmering indigo sky, blurring with the constellations in their intricate, heavenly dance. Her smile widens as he teases her, as they shuffle their hands across the neck of the bat, and her body cries for his touch when his skin skates across her own… We're not gonna think…we're just gonna let it fly, Scully… She could be flying; he has taken her that high with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. Now he pushes into her, and she is exhilarated; she tilts her head back into the unyielding ground below them, but her body soars with the stars that sparkle over his shoulder, burning brighter than she has ever seen them before. They match the surging feeling within her, the pulse of her excitement and the hammering of her heart that strains so hard against her chest, as if it wishes nothing more than to push out of her body and merge with his… Scully…love you, Scully…love you so much… He pants the words into her open mouth, kissing the upturned corners of her smile. His hair, damp with sweat, drips the beads of his exertion onto her heated neck, and she clutches him tighter to her, amazed by the intensity that snaps in his hazel eyes— Green eyes. Lancelot has blue eyes…this is not Lancelot…yet this man is so like him, almost his twin— His hand, the one that directed her hip forward as they swung the bat together, clutches the bone there again. He slides velvety fingers along the outside curve of her thigh until they are between her and the blanket they have spread on the spring-soaked grass. With a smooth, graceful push he lifts her leg, hitching her knee over his shoulder. She gasps at the delicious sharpness in her center, the sensation of him slipping deeper into her. He smiles and thrusts harder, and she laughs, giddy with his love, drunk with his seduction, captured willingly in the perfect spell he has woven around her. She recognizes her voice as she croons his name… Mulder…don't stop…oh, God, Mulder… Mulder? This is Lancelot…but it cannot be, can it...? Her body cannot halt the inevitable conclusion now, even if she wants to…and she wants nothing more than this moment, this instant of powerful love and its most precious act. Her climax surprises her in its fury. It whirls through her like a dervish, sending earth-shaking tremors through her whole being. They stir her entire body, rippling out like ocean waves that crash against the shore. Her skin burns, her limbs tremble…even the very tips of her fingers sing with vibrations… And above her, he smiles again…she is caught and held in his adoring gaze, the one that she knows only Mulder can give to her…Only Mulder can make her feel this safe, this loved, this precious… When she awakened, the ecstasy of her dream still beat its rhythm through her. She groaned and pushed up from her stomach, her skin hot and damp with the flush of orgasm. She fought the confusion that draped itself over her like her dream lover. For a moment, as she opened her eyes and strained to make her brain comprehend, she didn't know where she was…or who she was. The chamber around her began to slowly take shape, and understanding dawned in her mind. She recognized the wardrobe that stood silent vigil next to the bed, as well as the hangings that decorated the stone walls and her dressing table by the door. She was safe in her bed, and even though she felt sudden embarrassment at the telltale wetness her dream images had created between her legs, she came back to herself in a rush of sounds and voices. They pulled her back into her being, giving her assurance. Everything was as it should be. She threw back the blankets and tumbled from the bed, wrenching open the door of the wardrobe and straightening up in front of the looking glass that hung inside. She peered closely at her face, trying to focus her eyes, but no matter how often she blinked, she couldn't stop the wavering motion that made the figure in the glass undulate like a wood sprite. Her head throbbed with every intake of breath, and she clutched at her stomach. The pleasant rush of arousal that lingered from her dream soured, and it was all she could do to stumble blindly across the room to the chamber pot in the corner. She vomited violently and collapsed on the floor, shaking from the effort. She remained there with her cheek pressed against the cool stones, attempting to relive the previous night. Mordred. She remembered taking supper with the new High King and his mother in the Great Hall, and she tried to recall what the three of them had discussed. Her mind, however, was intent on contemplating something else: the man in her dream, the one that so resembled Lancelot… She chided herself, ashamed by her lust. She'd had dreams of this nature before, of course…every woman did, she imagined. But this one had been so real, so vivid…and the circumstances had been so strange that she couldn't help dwelling on them. She had not recognized the place where she and the man had played the foreign game, the one her mind called "baseball," even though she had never heard that particular word before in her life. As she recalled the details, she realized it was all alien to her: the dusty field where they stood together; the odd wooden stick he placed in her hands; the small, white sphere that they swung at again and again, using the stick to hit it. Even her clothes had looked strange: the leggings that were so like a man's, the high, ankle-revealing shoes that she knew would draw disapproving looks from every woman at court…So many oddities, and yet the man himself had given her a sense of comfort and safety that she felt only in the presence of her own Lancelot… What on earth had Mordred and Morgan le Fae given her to bring such wondrous images to her mind? She moaned again as another wave of nausea hit her. She jerked to her knees and retched over the pot, but nothing came up this time. She wiped her mouth on a nearby cloth and sat down, the stones chilling her bare body as she huddled there. She was sure of it now. They had poisoned her again, just as they had when— She shook the thought from her mind. She wouldn't consider that awful, painful time. It would drive her insane to think on it too much, and she needed her wits about her now, more than ever before. She had to stop Mordred's plan…she had to save Arthur, and the kingdom, and… What had she done the night before? She searched her memory, but she could recall nothing more than Mordred's entrance with his mother into the Great Hall. She didn't even know how she ended up back in her rooms. Who had brought her here? Her stomach lurched again as she thought of Mordred carrying her, laying her upon the mattress, stripping off her clothes…She squelched the urge to vomit again and sat up straighter. "Leigh!" she called, and before the sound stopped echoing across the chamber, another voice answered in her mind. Kimberly. Her name is Kimberly. She whipped her head up, searching for a face to go with the voice. Her eyes fell on her own form in the mirror across from her. This time they focused, but she blinked anyway, disbelieving what she saw there. The same body, yet different: more angular, firmer, the muscles in the legs and arms better defined. Hair an identical shade of copper, yet much shorter than any noble woman would dare to cut her hair…shorter even than most of the knights, who wore shoulder-length hair. But the queerest thing, the one that caught and held her attention, enraptured… The eyes. The eyes that stared back at her were blue. A shade of blue that mirrored the sky…eyes like Lancelot's… They were not her eyes. "What is happening to me?" Guinevere whispered. Her insides shifted again, and she closed her eyes against the onslaught. In her mind, the voice sighed again. Us. What is happening to us. I'm still here. I'm not going away. She brought her fingers up to her temples and massaged them, scrunching up her face, trying to drive the mumble away. "Leigh!" she yelled again, and she was grateful to hear her cousin's footfalls in the hallway outside. A moment later, the other woman crouched next to her, stroking her shoulders. "Gwen! You are ill. I feared it last night when that bastard brought you in." She nodded silently, swallowing the bile in her throat and the confusion that spun in her head. The figure in the mirror shifted, and she saw her own familiar body take the strange one's place. She leaned back into Leigh's arms, taking comfort in her cousin's embrace. What in God's name ailed her? Perhaps she was already insane… Leigh was speaking, and she forced herself to concentrate on her words. "…give you to drink last night?" She thought back, an image forming in her mind as she answered. "The squire filled my cup with wine, but I only took a swallow or two." "It matters not. Morgan le Fae could still have poisoned you, or worse." Leigh's hands felt cool and gentle as she smoothed her hair back. "The whole of Camelot speaks this morning of your agreement." Guinevere pushed up and turned to face her cousin. "What agreement? I cannot remember what happened in the Great Hall. It is like something hidden in the early morning mist." Leigh ducked her head to avoid her eyes, but Guinevere grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard, pressing her determination into her palm. "Please, Leigh, you must tell me," she implored, and she sucked in a breath, steeling herself as if readying for a physical blow. Leigh sighed and raised her eyes to look directly into Guinevere's. "You signed a decree declaring Arthur unfit to rule. In his stead, Mordred shall be crowned High King on the morrow. The Bishop will preside over his coronation." Guinevere nodded stoically. "Then it is as I recalled. It is as Mordred and I spoke of before dining together. I feared I had no choice, as the Bishop already decreed it himself." "But the coronation is not the only ceremony the Bishop will celebrate with Mordred tomorrow." At these words, one moment in the Great Hall came flooding back to Guinevere. Her skin crawled at the memory of Mordred kissing her hand, coaxing her to sign the document that would bind her to him as his promised Queen. She shuddered as another bolt of nausea shot through her, and she scrambled forward, heaving the remainder of her stomach contents into the bowl before her. Leigh helped her sit back, murmuring soothing phrases in her ear. Tears squirted from the corners of Guinevere's eyes, and her whole body shook as she cried. "Dear God, Leigh," she sobbed. "What have I done?" Leigh wrapped her arms around her and held her. Her own soft voiced choked with tears as she spoke. "I know not how to help you, Guinevere. I fear what will happen on the morrow…and I fear for you, having been tied now to the scourge of Camelot, Arthur's true bane. What will he do to you? How will you survive?" They sat like that for several minutes, snuffling and rocking together, trying to give each other strength and draw on the combined energy that they shared. Guinevere had gotten herself back under control when Leigh stiffened, sitting up straighter next to her. "Gwen, it is nearly full moon." Guinevere furrowed her brow at her cousin as she wiped the remaining wet pathways from her cheeks. "Is it? Why do you mention it, Leigh? How could that possibly be of importance now?" Leigh sat up on her knees and grabbed Guinevere's hand excitedly. "Your courses, Gwen. You usually start your courses right after the quarter moon, and you have not yet begun this month." She nearly cut off the circulation in her cousin's hand as she squeezed her fingers. "No courses. You could be with child. You could be carrying the High King's true heir to the throne." Guinevere's heart sprang up into her throat. Could it be true? Her courses had not come the previous month, but she had thought nothing of that. Since the death of her son, her cycles had run strangely, and some months her flow never started. But two cycles in a row? That had never happened before, except when she had carried a child, and now…? She tried to count backwards in her mind. It would have been in the late winter, around the time that Arthur had traveled south to Cornwall to honor his cousins there. She had stayed behind at Camelot, and of course, the Queen's champion never left her side when the King was away. Lancelot had kept rooms at court that whole week…and they had shared a bed every night, relishing in the luxury of their love as they had never before. She bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement. A baby…her baby…another child that Lancelot had fathered, but that Arthur would recognize as his heir, determined to keep their secret and all of his hopes for Camelot intact. She would be a mother, giving a son to her dear husband and her precious lover both, a son that would shine more brightly than all the stars in heaven… Never give up on a miracle. The voice in her head rumbled with the same rough texture as Lance's…yet she knew it was the other man who spoke, the one from her dream. She closed her eyes, swaying a bit, and she could see him reaching for her, pressing his forehead to hers as she embraced him. It wasn't her, and yet it was…it was all a jumbled swirl of emotion and memory and touch and sound… Guinevere. Stay alert. There are people who will not want this child to live. Her eyes flew open as the soft, throaty voice crept through her consciousness. Whoever this other woman was, Guinevere knew that she was right. If she did carry Arthur's heir, Mordred and his mother would stop at nothing to try to destroy it. The child's lineage would not matter if she were forced to marry Mordred…he would still rule, and it would be easy for him to claim the child as his once they were wed. Worse still, he would know the truth, and as ruthless as he was, he might still murder her offspring. They had to protect this secret no matter what the cost. It might be enough to keep Mordred from ascending…if they could prove it in time. Guinevere pressed Leigh's fingers. "We must find a way to confirm this, Leigh. Perhaps it is only wishful thinking. One way or the other, we must be certain." Leigh started to stand. "I will send for a midwife." Guinevere jerked her back down beside her. "Nay! We know not whom we can trust any longer. What if it were true, and the woman ran back to tell Mordred or his mother? We must find someone who can help us, one way or the other." "But who could that be? I am not skilled enough in midwifery, Gwen, to know—" Guinevere cut off her words. "I know. Send for the lady Lionors." Leigh wrinkled her brow. "Sir Gareth's wife? I have never heard tell that she knows midwifery—" "Her father was one of Uther Pendragon's best surgeons. I have heard Sir Gareth brag many times of his lady's great knowledge of the sciences. She is our best hope. Her own husband has been imprisoned by his brother, and I know her heart must yearn for him. She will help us, I am sure of it." "Very well." Leigh stood, and she eased Guinevere to her feet as well. "Come, Gwen. Get you back to bed and rest until she arrives." Guinevere settled back under the coverlet of the bed and then sat up as another thought rocketed through her mind. This one, too, came from the other woman, the one that so resembled her, the one who seemed to have taken up residence in the recesses of Guinevere's consciousness. "One thing more, Leigh. Send a summons to Joyous Gard." Leigh looked utterly baffled. "Joyous Gard? You know very well that Lancelot is not there—" "Summon his manservant Richard. Tell him to come to Camelot at once to attend the Queen." "But why, Gwen? For whatever reason could you possible have need of Richard?" Guinevere allowed her muddled head to sink back into the pillows. "I…I cannot say just yet. But I believe he can help us, too, at some point in the future. Just get him here as quickly as you can." She stared at the cross beamed ceiling above her, trying not to wince. Embarrassment broiled at the back of her mind, but she squelched it, attempting to focus not on the fact that she was spread-eagled on an oak dining table while another woman probed at her sex, but instead on the outcome of the examination. A baby. Another chance. God, she hoped and prayed that it was true. An involuntary shudder passed through her as a pulling sensation raced through the pit of her abdomen. She shut her eyes against it, digging her nails into the sides of the table. In her mind, a picture emerged, and Guinevere wondered at it, realizing that the image came from the woman who had taken up residence within her subconscious, the woman that seemed to resemble her in so many ways. …a bright room of blinding white…her feet up in the stirrups, the paper sheet hiked in a bunch around her hips…the cold metal of the instrument as the doctor inserts it inside of her, the lubricating gel thick and slimy at her entrance…she turns her head away, breathing through the intense pressure and the nervousness…and she feels the warm softness of his hand gripping hers…his eyes, those chameleon ones that change like a kaleidoscope of earth tones, find hers and lock on…he whispers encouragement to her, a small smile just touching his lush mouth… …it's OK, Scully…I'm right here…You're safe… Scully. Was that this woman's name? An odd moniker for a lady, Guinevere thought, but it had to be true. The man intoned it with such reverence and such love that it only made sense that is was her name. She tried to shake the woman's fear from her but found it mingling with her own. This child could be everything she and Arthur had hoped for…and if she lost it again, it could be the one thing that would destroy her. She sensed the sudden rush of movement within her, and the pressure between her legs withdrew. The woman at the foot of the table straightened up, pivoting to one side to plunge her hands into a waiting bowl of hot water. As she scrubbed, Guinevere sat up, rearranging the skirts of her gown to cover her exposed body. She watched the woman's profile, the sculptured pale cheeks that had almost no boundary as they rose into the blonde hairline over her ear. She was a pretty woman, Guinevere thought, and a woman who possessed an air of authority and intellect that she respected and admired. Lionors. Sir Gareth's dear wife. Suzanne Modeski. The woman Byers tried to save. She started at that. The foreign names whirled through her mind, and Guinevere didn't know if she should try to remember them, or if she should just resign herself to the fact that she was going mad. That was the only logical explanation, wasn't it? This voice in her mind…these images of the man who looked like Lancelot…the faces and scenes of another life, one so very different from her own… She couldn't contemplate it now. There were too many other important things to concentrate on, and too many lives at stake. She swung her feet over the side of the table. She had received Lionors in the Queen's Hall, a smaller gathering room reserved for Guinevere to entertain friends. She had not wished to draw Mordred's suspicions by asking Lionors to come to her private chambers. He would have wanted to know why, and she couldn't risk that. Submitting to the humiliation of being examined on a dining table was preferable to Mordred's wrath. "Well, Lady Lionors? What say you about my condition?" Lionors dried her hands swiftly on a nearby cloth and faced Guinevere. Her serious eyes gave away nothing. "I would say congratulations, my Queen." Leigh squealed in delight from her place behind Gareth's wife. A giddy rush of excitement shot through Guinevere as well, but Lionors' sharp tone cut that off at once. "Be still! I know it is wondrous news, but surely you must also realize the danger here." Guinevere reached forward and grabbed Lionors' hand. "We are well aware of that, my friend. But if I carry the King's true heir, then Mordred cannot ascend. Even he cannot possibly challenge that claim." The stony look on Lionors' face did not change. "I fear, my lady Queen, that Mordred will stop at nothing to reach the throne. This child will simply be one more for him to leave in his murderous wake." Guinevere considered the words with a wave of dread building in her heart, one that drowned any elated feeling she had about a new child. She knew that Lionors spoke true. As long as she remained at Camelot, she was in danger…and now the child along with her. That thought mobilized her as nothing else possibly could. "We must get away from Camelot," she declared, squeezing the hand that she still held. Lionors simply stared at her. "I must not be forced to marry Mordred on the morrow, decree or no. We must find a safe place to go, and we must somehow release the Round Table Knights. Once we are safely away, we must locate Lancelot. With his loyal men at his side, Arthur can declare this claim against Mordred and rally the people to fight him. Camelot will be won again." "But where is Lancelot?" Lionors asked. "And with the King ill, how can he retake the throne?" Guinevere sighed. "I must trust that Lancelot is not lost to us, Lionors. He is endeavoring to bring Excalibur back to Arthur. Once he does, Arthur will be healed. With the Round Table Knights fighting with him, he will be able to defeat Mordred." "Morgan le Fae said she would heal Arthur," Leigh interjected. "That was part of the bargain for you to sign the decree." Guinevere leveled a look at her cousin. "Has it been done yet, Leigh? Have you witnessed Arthur's miraculous recovery?" Leigh lowered her head. "Nay, I have not." "Nor have I. I believe," Guinevere said, "that it was just another ploy to get me to sign the decree. That, and drugging me last night at supper." Lionors looked at her sharply. "Are you not well, my Queen? What is this talk of drugs?" Guinevere told her about the meeting the night before and her belief that Morgan le Fae had ensnared her with some sort of draught. Lionors frowned. "Guinevere, you must be careful. You carry a child now. Anything that you ingest could be detrimental to it. It is yet another reason you must keep this secret." "We must plan. We must find a way to escape from Camelot." Guinevere hopped down from the table and began to pace. "It will be nearly impossible, though. I cannot leave Arthur here. He must be with us when Lancelot returns with the sword. That would mean carrying him somehow." "There are liters in the stables, Gwen," Leigh said. "If we could get him into one, we could drag it behind as we rode." She nodded. "But how to get him there? We are but three women. I know not if we could manage Arthur by ourselves." "You must release the Round Table Knights first," Lionors replied. "They can help you with the King. But before you can do any of this, you must find a way to keep Mordred and Morgan le Fae occupied. They will be watching you, and Arthur, like a falconer with an eye on his prized bird." "What other men remain in the castle who are loyal to Arthur?" Leigh asked. Guinevere considered the question. She could think of no one who would not have been imprisoned immediately, for all of Arthur's friends were knights themselves. Her mind lit on something then, and she turned to Lionors. "Your brother-in-law may be able to help us, if we can persuade him." Lionors spat out a sour laugh. "Do you speak of Agravaine, my lady? He is only interested in appeasing his mother. Gareth has said for many years that his brother knows no loyalty other than that." "I have seen his indecision, Lionors, in the last few days. He knows what Mordred has done is wrong. I think he will help us, but we must be determined in our efforts." Lionors tossed the towel she still held onto the table next to her, her face grim. "I will do whatever is necessary to secure my husband's release. I will not leave him to die, wrongly imprisoned for crimes he did not commit." "Very well. Then we are invested." Guinevere crossed her arms over her chest in an effort to keep her anxiety from bleeding through into her shaking hands. "It must be tonight, then, so that we can get away before the Bishop arrives on the morrow. I have had Leigh send for one of Lancelot's men. I say that we shall run to Lancelot's own castle, Joyous Gard, once we are free. If Mordred follows and attacks, we should be safe there, at least for a while." "Richard should arrive any time now, Guinevere," Leigh said. "What shall we do once he is here?" "Richard?" Lionors asked. "I know him, I think. Light-haired steward, is he not?" "That is right." Guinevere puzzled over Lionors' chuckle. "Why do you laugh, lady? Is there something about Richard that I should know?" Lionors gazed at Guinevere. "Do you not remember where Lancelot found him? Picking pockets in the square?" Her eyes glittered lightly. "I believe, Guinevere, that if you need a man to release the knights from the dungeons, you could not have asked for a better one than Richard. Gareth has told me he knows every passage in every castle from here to Cornwall, and he is an expert at picking locks and traveling unnoticed wherever he goes. I tell you, the knights shall be free this evening, have no fear." Guinevere smiled. The woman inside her, the one called Scully, had known to call Richard. Somehow, she had trusted that he would be able to help them. How had she possibly known of his skills? It mattered not. The scheme was beginning to take shape, and Guinevere had no time to ruminate over the strange dealings of her mind. If Richard could release the knights, all was well…but there was the issue of Mordred and Morgan le Fae. How could they distract them so as to escape unnoticed? "Lionors?" she said. "Would you go to Mordred and his mother, as a member of the Orkney clan, and plead for your husband's release? If they give you their attentions, they will never know that the knights have escaped. Then, while you are with them, we could steal Arthur away from this place. They will be none the wiser until it is too late." "And I could meet you after at Joyous Gard, and see my dear husband again." For the first time, Lionors appeared vulnerable, and Guinevere felt her own heart ache for the other woman. "I shall do this, my Queen. And before I go, I shall speak to Agravaine. Perhaps he will have a change of heart, especially if I plead with him on Gareth's behalf." Guinevere stepped up to the other woman and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, sweet lady. By the end of this night, we shall be gone from Camelot, and we shall be on our way to restoring the King to his rightful place." She thought of Arthur as she spoke, lying in his bed, oblivious to the dangerous plotting that swirled around him. She thought of the baby growing within her, the one that could save all of Camelot from destruction at the hands of its warped half-brother. And she thought of Lancelot, fighting his way through whatever gauntlets he had encountered, doing everything he could to aid his King, his country…and the love that so desperately awaited his return. The throaty voice rippled through Guinevere again, latching into her mind and heart as it moved. Mulder. I'm doing everything I can to help you, Mulder. Guinevere stiffened her resolve. She would save them all: Arthur, the child, Lancelot, Gareth…and even though she didn't understand who they were, the ones called Scully and Mulder. They were somehow a part of this, too, and she would not leave them in line for destruction any more than she would her own dear loved ones. No matter what, they would all be free by morning, if it was the last thing she ever did. previous ::: home ::: next