The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Eleven
      Chapter Eleven
      Mulder was used to strange occurrences. In his work on the X-Files, how 
      could he not be? Encountering alien bounty hunters, vampires, serial 
      killers, and even flukemen was routine to him. He couldn't remember a time 
      when his life hadn't been filled with oddities. But the man that awaited 
      him in the faerie lake surprised him more than anything had in a long, 
      long time.

      He and Bors had waded into the cooling water, mindful of the waves that 
      undulated around them, reaching the floating stranger in mere seconds. 
      Mulder had grabbed the man's ankles and hauled him toward the shore, 
      noting the coldness of the aged skin beneath his fingers. Scully's 
      lectures about victims in shock replayed through his mind, and he moved as 
      fast as he could. He barely glanced at the man's face, more concerned 
      about getting him warmed up and hopefully restoring him to consciousness. 
      Other than his temperature, the wizard called Merlin appeared to be in 
      good shape. His weight seemed normal, and Mulder could detect no injuries. 
      He knew they were lucky as hell. That fall from the ledge above the lake 
      could have easily killed them both, even with one of them in dragon form.

      With Bors cradling the wizard's head, Mulder hoisted the man's legs and 
      settled him further up the beach, away from the black smoke that curdled 
      the air around the lake. After arranging him on the sand, Bors set about 
      gathering nearby plant life with which to cover his body. Mulder called to 
      him to find some firewood as well, and Bors nodded, moving off into the 
      underbrush.

      Mulder collapsed next to the old man's body, fatigue creeping over him 
      almost immediately. He knew he couldn't give in again to the luxury of 
      rest. The realization that they were closer than ever to locating 
      Excalibur pricked at him, urging him to continue on. He now knew the sword 
      was nearby, hidden in the cave above them that the dragon-turned-Merlin 
      had guarded. Once Merlin was revived, they needed to move quickly to 
      secure it and hightail it back to Camelot.

      Mulder sighed and hunched himself into a seated ball, trying to generate 
      his own body heat. Now that he was out of the water and motionless, his 
      body temperature began to drop, and he shivered. He needed the warmth of a 
      campfire just as much as Merlin did.

      He picked up the wrinkled hand nearest to him and chafed it between his 
      own, hoping to generate some heat. He leaned over the old man's head, 
      peering at the creased face beneath the overgrown white beard...and he 
      nearly fell over from shock.

      He'd pretty much expected Merlin to look like someone from his life. 
      Everyone else in this bizarre universe seemed to possess striking 
      similarities to someone he knew, and he certainly hadn't thought that 
      Merlin would be an exception. The surprise of who the wizard did resemble, 
      however, still rocked his mind back, looping it through waves of memory to 
      a man he hadn't seen alive in a very long time.

      Scully had described his informant's death to him. He, of course, had not 
      witnessed it. He'd been held prisoner in the back of a van, his eyes 
      sealed shut from the poison of the alien fumes, his consciousness weaving 
      in and out as he tried to piece together what was happening around him. He 
      had not seen the body, but he trusted Scully. The man he'd known only as 
      Deep Throat had died that night of a gunshot wound to the heart, and 
      Scully herself had held his head in her hands as his life bled out beneath 
      him on that deserted bridge in Washington.

      Mulder had reeled from the reality of that experience. It was the first 
      time he had truly contemplated the enormity of his work, and the first 
      time that those he and Scully were trying to expose made it abundantly 
      clear that they would stop at nothing to keep them, and the rest of the 
      American public, in the dark about alien life. Since that time, they had 
      discovered so much more on the X-Files, conspiracies layered upon 
      conspiracies, but the memory of Deep Throat and what he had sacrificed had 
      always haunted Mulder. The man had affected him deeply, and Mulder would 
      not be the same person he now was if it hadn't been for his informant's 
      influence. His friendship had indeed been a blessing and a curse.

      And now here lay a man who looked just like that one, another man who was 
      apparently the backbone of a civilization, one that wielded some kind of 
      power in a cadre of plotting politicians. He was a man who knew the 
      secrets of all those who circled around him...and one who understood that 
      magic, in its many forms, was truly possible in every sense.

      It was this man that opened his eyes and gazed directly at Mulder, causing 
      him to very nearly jump out of his skin.

      Mulder grunted in surprise and dropped his hand. Next to him, the older 
      man stirred, and something resembling a chuckle escaped from his lips.

      "Sorry to startle you, Agent Mulder. I know it's probably quite a shock to 
      you to see me alive."

      Mulder blinked. Agent Mulder? Had Merlin actually just called him Agent 
      Mulder? He scrambled to his knees and stared into the wizened face, his 
      own wearing what he knew to be an expression of sheer disbelief.

      Merlin continued before he could even speak. "Yes, yes, I know who you 
      are. You know me, too, don't you? We've met before, under very different 
      circumstances. But surely you didn't think you'd never see me again."

      Mulder slowly shook his head from side to side. "I—I must be dreaming. I'm 
      asleep, right? I sat down here next to you, and I fell asleep, didn't I? I 
      am exhausted, you know. And this place is like a nightmare, anyway."

      "Are you rationalizing to me, or to yourself?" Merlin asked. "You know, 
      some days you sound more and more like Agent Scully. She has influenced 
      you quite a lot over the years, hasn't she?"

      "But...but you're Merlin. How can you know who I really am? I mean, you 
      look like Deep Throat...you even sound like him. But...it's not 
      possible...is it?"

      The older man chortled again and pushed himself up on his elbows, cocking 
      a bushy eyebrow at him. "'There are more things in heaven and earth, 
      Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' Shakespeare, you know. 
      Love Shakespeare. Pity he hasn't started writing in this time yet. A few 
      years down the road."

      Mulder tried to fit the pieces together in his mind, but he couldn't 
      concentrate. He was tired to the very core of his being, he ached with 
      every breath he took, he needed a drink of water so badly his throat had 
      numbed completely...and he missed Scully more than anything else. Fuck. 
      How could he be expected to understand all of this?

      Compassion passed over the features of the wizard's face, and he gripped 
      Mulder's shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder. It 
      may never be entirely clear to you. It's not completely within my power to 
      understand it all, either. I am still a man, after all. Some of it is 
      beyond even me. But I'll try to help you make sense of it. And once we are 
      all out of this particular mess, I will try to help you and Agent Scully 
      return to where you belong."

      A wave of gratitude washed through Mulder, and his words shook with thanks 
      and weariness as he uttered them. "I—I don't know what to say. Or do for 
      you. What—what should I do?"

      Merlin dismissed this with an impatient gesture. "There is nothing for you 
      to do, son. Just sit there and rest a bit. With Bors away, I can tell you 
      some things. Of course, I can't reveal all this to him. He has no way of 
      understanding that he is more than one person. It would fall on deaf ears, 
      as I am sure you have come to see."

      Mulder laughed. "Yeah, well, he is a bit stubborn about that."

      "A fine man, though. In both places. And in many more."

      Mulder rubbed his tired eyes and tried to focus. "Are you saying that I am 
      alive here, as Lancelot, and in my own time, as Mulder? That I'm existing 
      at the same time in both places?"

      Merlin pursed his lips. "Well, I suppose you could explain it that way. 
      It's a hard concept to grasp. Time is not linear, as most people believe. 
      It is a continuum. Consciousness can travel through space and land 
      anywhere it wants, which is basically what happened to you and Agent 
      Scully. Your consciousness is here now, inhabiting these Arthurian bodies. 
      Your consciousness has been here before, so it recognized this all on some 
      level. It would not have been possible otherwise for Morgan le Fae to 
      bring you here."

      Understanding rose in Mulder's mind. "She's the woman I saw in the woods 
      in Wales. Morgan le Fae. She lured us into that energy vortex. That's what 
      transported our consciousnesses here." Merlin nodded, but Mulder barely 
      noticed. His thoughts picked up speed, tumbling out of him as excited 
      words. "So in some other lifetime, I was Lancelot? Scully was Guinevere? 
      And now we're reliving those times?"

      "Not exactly. It doesn't have to do with reincarnation and lifetimes. 
      Every time period has its heroes, Agent Mulder. Your consciousness simply 
      fit this particular bill, probably better than even Morgan le Fae 
      anticipated. She expected to bring people into these bodies that would be 
      easy to bend to her plans. You have proven to be more than she expected. 
      You are exasperating to her. As is Agent Scully."

      "Then why did you call me Lancelot? Before, when I was ready to fight you 
      in the dragon's body?"

      "I had to get your attention, didn't I? I wasn't in any position to 
      explain all this then. Calling you Mulder would have just confused you 
      further. I had enough trouble wrestling for dominance with that creature's 
      mind."

      Mulder turned over all the words, examining them to see if he could make 
      them fit into his understanding. He had no trouble believing what Merlin 
      said to him; the explanation resonated within his intuitive nature. But 
      even though he could believe this scenario, it didn't make it any easier 
      to live through. Every time Merlin mentioned Scully's name, his heart 
      hammered ferociously, longing to be near her again. His yearning for her 
      was eating him alive.

      "Do you know what is going on with Scully now? Is she alright?"

      For the first time, Merlin hesitated, and alarm sprung, bright and coiled, 
      in Mulder's chest. The wizard's words didn't assure him. "For now."

      Mulder grabbed the old man by the neck of his robe, securing a handful of 
      beard along with it as he yanked him to a full sitting position. "What do 
      you mean, for now? Is she in danger? Tell me, goddammit!"

      Merlin's face clouded with annoyance. "I see you haven't lost any of your 
      impetuousness, and you still don't control your temper very well. She is 
      in no danger right now. But the circumstances at Camelot are building to a 
      terrible climax, and you must get there with the sword as soon as you 
can."

      "Then why are we wasting time sitting here?" Mulder released the wizard 
      and pushed himself to his feet. His body raged in protest, but he ignored 
      the cries, his mind locked on nothing but Scully's welfare. "Can you walk? 
      We need to get back up to that cave. The sword is in there, isn't it? 
      That's what you were guarding."

      Merlin nodded and heaved his drenched body to his feet. "You must take 
      care, Agent Mulder. Even though your mind is bright and alive in that 
      head, Lancelot's body is no different than any other man's. You can't keep 
      pushing yourself to go on. You will eventually break down. Remember that."

      "Don't worry about me. Now where is Bors?"

      As if the product of a spell of Merlin's own, Bors appeared at the edge of 
      the tree line, carrying an armful of sticks. He stopped short when he saw 
      Mulder and Merlin standing there. "Christ be praised! Lord Merlin! You are 
      alive!"

      Merlin's demeanor and voice changed instantly to one of courtly decorum. 
      "I do indeed live, Sir Bors, thanks to you and Sir Lancelot. But I am in 
      no need of your nursemaiding. Come. We must reach Excalibur and return it 
      at once to King Arthur."

      Bors dropped his armload of wood and followed as Mulder hurried to the 
      side of the mountain. Mulder found his handholds and once more began 
      scaling, his muscles protesting against his relentless pushing, promising 
      him soreness once he finally ceased his exertions. He could hear 
      Bors'grunts and the faint chime of armor beneath him as they continued to 
      climb, but he concentrated on moving as quickly as possible. He didn't 
      like what Merlin had said about the circumstances back at Camelot...no, he 
      didn't like it one bit.

      Mulder gave a final groan as he heaved himself over the familiar ledge 
      where Bors had been asleep less than half an hour before. His heart 
      hammered in his chest, and he leaned forward, resting his hands on his 
      knees, trying to catch his breath. As he did, a blur of motion caught the 
      corner of his eye, and instinctively, Mulder whirled away from it. He 
      turned just in time to see the folds of Merlin's waterlogged robe 
      fluttering to a stop in front of the cave entrance.

      "Jesus Christ!" Mulder exclaimed, stunned. "How—how in the hell did you 
      get up here so fast?"

      Merlin smiled and ran a gnarled hand over his beard, wringing a bit of 
      water from its ends. "Apportation has its benefits."

      "You...you just appeared up here?" Mulder shook his head in disbelief. 
      "This gets better and better every minute."

      The smile on the wizard's face widened. "Ah, yes. You see, Agent Mulder, 
      in this time and place, magick has not lost itself to science. The two 
      co-exist in perfect harmony. Both are as palpable and as real as the 
      ground we stand on. Observe!" Merlin clapped his hands twice, and before 
      Mulder's staring eyes, a pile of silver appeared at his feet. Merlin 
      chuckled as Mulder blinked.

      "Is that...is that my armor?"

      "It is indeed. I thought you might have use of it, since I am unsure what 
      awaits us in the depths of that cave. Here, then. I shall help you to don 
      it." 

      Once more, Merlin clapped his hands, and suddenly, Mulder was completely 
      dry and outfitted in the awkward suit of metal he had worn before his swim 
      in the lake. He was still marveling at it when Bors' head popped up over 
      the ledge, his large eyes growing wider when he spotted Mulder.

      "Your armor, Lance! How did you manage to bring it with you?"

      "I didn't. Merlin just...dressed me." 

      Somehow, Bors managed to cross himself as he pulled his body over the 
      stony edge of the cliff. He eyed Merlin like a child unsure of a stranger 
      and sucked in a large breath as he rested his back against the rock. "Lord 
      Merlin, you continue to amaze us all. But what can you tell us of the 
      gauntlet that lies ahead?"

      Merlin continued to fuss with his watery wardrobe, squeezing drops from 
      the hem of his robe. "I can tell you nothing, Sir Bors. I know not what 
      Lady Elaine has planned. I do know that she wishes nothing more than to 
      have Sir Lancelot for her own. She will have devised something in order to 
      keep him here with her, make no mistake."

      Mulder felt his cheeks color at the statement, but he couldn't afford to 
      be embarrassed now. He hadn't done anything to encourage Elaine's 
      affections. All he could do was concentrate on getting through whatever 
      traps she had laid so that he could return to Scully as quickly as 
      possible.

      "Well, let us go, then," Bors said, striding toward the cave. Merlin held 
      up a hand, stilling him.

      "A moment please, Sir Bors. Let me outfit myself as well."

      Mulder watched as Merlin raised his hands above him like a conductor about 
      to begin a symphony. A swirl of mist enveloped the old man, one the color 
      of lilacs budding in the spring. It joined with its white cousin that 
      still drifted all around them, creating a curtain of fog through which 
      Mulder could discern nothing. 

      A moment later, Merlin emerged from the shining cloud. He now wore a new 
      robe of indigo velvet shot through with golden threads, and a long dagger 
      in a leather scabbard was secured at his hip. His hair and beard were neat 
      and dry, and he carried a staff of smooth, gleaming oak. It was carved 
      with intricate symbols and runes, ones that Mulder thought he recognized 
      from some of his books on occult lore. 

      He strode impressively past Mulder and beckoned to him and Bors from the 
      mouth of the cave. "Come then," he bellowed, his voice as majestic as his 
      new appearance. "Let us find Excalibur."

      Mulder and Bors followed him, but the smaller knight frowned as they 
      stepped into the gloomy confines of the cave. "This is all very well, Lord 
      Merlin, but how can we find anything in this place? We cannot see, and the 
      way will only grow darker as we move further from the light outside."

      "Then we shall have our own light," Merlin answered. Mulder jumped in 
      surprise as a ball of flame erupted in midair right before him. It 
      condensed into a glowing orb, and he realized it sat atop Merlin's staff, 
      resembling a torch. The wizard raised the staff higher so that they could 
      see the way before them.

      The cave seemed to go straight ahead, dipping lower into the ground as 
      they walked. The passage narrowed as they moved further along, and Mulder 
      spotted no other openings branching off from the main corridor. 
      Apparently, Elaine didn't want them to have any trouble finding whatever 
      it was that she had arranged. She'd made the access to it easy enough to 
      negotiate...well, if you didn't count the dragon that had guarded it.

      It didn't take them long to come to the end of the tunnel. Before them 
      stood a heavy, dark door, its surface marred with a symbol that had been 
      burned into the wood. Merlin tilted his staff toward it, and Mulder 
      strained his eyes to see it better. It appeared to be a dragon, a huge 
      scarlet one carrying a beautiful maiden on its back. The image of the 
      woman stared boldly out at them, and Mulder swayed on his feet, entranced 
      by her gaze. She looked...she looked like...

      "Lancelot!" Merlin's sharp voice cut into his consciousness, effectively 
      snapping Mulder from his reverie. He started with a small gasp as Bors 
      shouldered his way up between him and the wizard.

      "The Pendragon," Bors breathed. "The sword must rest inside. Come, let us 
      go in." He reached out his gloved hand and grasped the doorknob. As his 
      fingers closed around it, he suddenly cried out in pain. Reacting on 
      instinct, Mulder grabbed his arm and wrenched it away from the knob. It 
      had colored immediately to an angry shade of crimson, and as Bors' hand 
      peeled away from it, smoke rose into the air.

      "Jesus, Bors!" Mulder cried. The heat of the knob had melted the fabric of 
      the glove, effectively sealing the threads to the skin of Bors' palm. His 
      face contorted in anguish, Bors stumbled back into Merlin, who yanked his 
      arm toward him.

      "You fool!" Merlin shouted. "This is Lancelot's quest! Only he can enter 
      that room and find Excalibur. Give me your hand!" He snared Bors' injured 
      hand between both of his and pressed his palms together. Bors howled 
      again, but Mulder steadied him by the shoulders, his eyes never leaving 
      Merlin. 

      The old wizard rocked back on his heels, his eyes rolling up into his head 
      to expose only their whites. He muttered a string of words under his 
      breath, something that Mulder supposed was an incantation, and the same 
      lavender smoke that Merlin had conjured on the ledge seeped out of the 
      fissures in the men's hands. The mist enveloped all of Bors' hand, and as 
      he watched, the smaller knight stopped shaking in pain. Moments later, 
      Merlin released him, and Mulder huffed out a laugh as Bors flexed his 
      repaired hand between them.

      The shorter man raised trembling fingers to his forehead and crossed 
      himself three times in rapid succession. "Good Christ," he muttered, the 
      sweat still standing out on his brow. "I know not what to say, Lord 
      Merlin."

      Merlin's face had returned to normal, and he cocked an eyebrow at Bors as 
      he straightened his robes. "A thank you would suffice," he growled. "Now 
      stand aside, Sir Bors. Let Sir Lancelot open the door."

      Mulder swallowed hard as his hand hovered above the doorknob. Whatever lay 
      in wait for him on the other side would be his to face alone. Bors and 
      Merlin would be unable to help him. Lancelot's quest, Lancelot's 
      responsibility...everything seemed to ride now on Mulder's shoulders. He 
      took a deep breath, willing the image of Scully's face to his mind, her 
      blue eyes that gazed at him with a love so profound it nearly rendered him 
      helpless. He would do this for Scully, and for everything they had worked 
      so hard to achieve together...

      With a determined spin of his wrist, Mulder grabbed the doorknob, turned 
      it, and pushed the creaking door open. 

      Golden light spilled over him, and he squinted against it, trying to make 
      out the room before him through the hazy glow. The air was dense with 
      perfume, a scent that Mulder recognized as the one that had choked him 
      when he first met Elaine. The faerie woman was somewhere nearby, he 
      realized, and his Spooky Sense clamored loudly, tensing him to spring.

      Mulder took a tentative step into the chamber, glancing around him. The 
      space was round, with no other visible doors but the one behind him. The 
      floor below his feet shimmered like golden glass, arcing in a perfect orb 
      as it traced a pathway around the room's perimeter. Recessed in the center 
      of the chamber lay a beautiful pool of calm water, large enough to remind 
      Mulder of his days on his high school swim team. As inviting as the water 
      looked, Mulder couldn't suppress a grimace. He'd had enough of water for 
      one day, and he sincerely hoped that whatever challenge this room would 
      present wouldn't involve that pool in any way.

      As his eyes adjusted to the dancing light, though, he began to realize 
      what his challenge would entail. He turned slowly to trace the outline of 
      the chamber with his gaze, his mouth dropping open in wonder as his mind 
      registered the contents of the room. 

      He was surrounded by swords. Hundreds of them encircled the path of the 
      chamber, row upon row of them, some staggered between the ones in front on 
      risers that resembled bleachers in an auditorium. They were positioned 
      with their pommels up, the tips of the blades embedded in the daises that 
      held them just enough for them to stand up straight. The blades of each 
      sword caught the light and reflected it back to him, and the effect was 
      nearly blinding.

      "So you have finally discovered Excalibur's resting place."

      The faerie woman's voice behind him made Mulder jump. He whirled to face 
      her, and she glided toward him, her pale face serene and impassive. He set 
      his jaw. "No thanks to your obstacles, Lady Elaine."

      A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. "I was entrusted with 
      Excalibur's keeping. I could not make the task too easy for you. After 
      all, you, Sir Lancelot, are Arthur's greatest knight."

      "So I've been told." Mulder waved a hand. "So this is it? The sword is one 
      of these, right? And I'm supposed to choose the right one?"

      "You are as intelligent as you are handsome, my lord." Elaine's smile 
      widened, but Mulder frowned.

      "Flattery will get you nowhere, Lady Elaine. I need to return the sword to 
      Arthur, and I have no intention of failing in that task. Tell me what I 
      need to do."

      "You have stated as much already." Elaine stepped back, her arms sweeping 
      through the air, indicating the collection of swords that surrounded them. 
      "One of these swords is Excalibur. You have one chance to choose the 
      correct sword. If you succeed and choose wisely, you and your companions 
      will be permitted to leave the faerie realms. If you choose poorly, I will 
      allow Sir Bors and Merlin to return to Camelot. But you, Sir Lancelot..." 
      She moved closer to him once more, her perfume wafting around him like a 
      cloying cloud, "will remain here with me for all time."

      Mulder threw a glance over his shoulder to gauge the other men's reactions 
      to the challenge. He sighed when he realized the door through which he had 
      just passed had disappeared.

      "Where are they?" he demanded, his tone rising in anger. He was becoming 
      more and more aggravated with all of the hocus pocus in the land of the 
      fae. Given the choice, Mulder would have gladly gone back to the jousting 
      field. At least there he felt like he had some control over the outcome of 
      things.

      "The quest for Excalibur is yours alone, Sir Lancelot. Sir Bors and Merlin 
      cannot be of any assistance to you. If you succeed in the challenge, that 
      door shall be reopened for you."

      "Fine." Mulder squared his shoulders and took a few steps forward, eying 
      the swords closest to him. "So I just reach out and take the one I think 
      is Excalibur?"

      "Indeed. An easy task, is it not, my lord?"

      Mulder could hear the mocking tone in Elaine's voice, but he ignored it. 
      His mind was now consumed with the job before him, and he wouldn't allow 
      anyone or anything to distract him. He moved closer to the swords, 
      examining them with a keen eye.

      At first glance, he had assumed all the swords were different. But as he 
      looked closely at them now, he realized they were all the same. Excalibur 
      was apparently a hand and a half broadsword topped with a simple brass 
      crossbar and diamond-shaped pommel, for all of the swords arranged in the 
      room seemed to be the same make and model. Identical swords, all aligned 
      as if awaiting a huge army of men...and Mulder didn't have a clue as to 
      which was the real one.

      He began to walk the path that encircled the chamber, trying to buy 
      himself some time. He had no idea how long Elaine would allow him to 
      stall, but he had to think of something. There had to be a way to 
      differentiate between the real Excalibur and the false ones. But how could 
      he, if he couldn't pick them up? As soon as he touched one, the game would 
      end—and he would be trapped in the land of the fae forever. 
      And Scully...He didn't even want to consider what might happen to Scully 
      if he couldn't get out of this place.

      He shook the miserable thoughts away. He had to do this. He had to 
      succeed. Hell, he'd already come this far, hadn't he? Since Mulder and 
      Scully had landed in this fantastic land, he had accomplished things other 
      men would never have dared to think possible. He had crawled across a 
      bridge of swords and survived...he had jousted and defeated a man when 
      he'd had no more training than a day's worth of exercise in an open 
      field...he had somehow overcome a dragon and freed a wizard...

      Shit. Finding the right sword should be a piece of cake compared to all 
      that.

      And he knew he was on the right track. All the other obstacles he had 
      overcome in this world so far had been physical. This challenge was 
      obviously mental, meant to test the constitution and power of his mind. 
      And Mulder knew he wasn't an idiot. He had a degree from Oxford, and he 
      had solved some of the craziest crimes any F.B.I. agent had ever come 
      across. He could do this. 
      So he walked and looked and recited his pep talk in his head, biding his 
      time. He could feel Elaine's gaze on him as he moved, but he paid no 
      attention to her. His mind was locked on the puzzle, and he wouldn't be 
      distracted from it.

      He had circled the room twice before he allowed his look to travel once 
      more to the pool in the center of the chamber. Why was it there? It had to 
      have some significance, didn't it? Perhaps it was a clue...Mulder stopped 
      walking and stood at the edge of it, his hands on his hips, surveying the 
      water at his feet. The surface sparkled as if made of tiny diamonds, each 
      catching the golden light that filled the space and refracting it into a 
      thousand more diminutive beams. He could make out his own reflection in 
      the water, one that seemed to pulsate with light and energy from the 
      brightness of the golden glow. His mind kept reaching, struggling forward, 
      moving like a dying man in the desert straining toward the mirage at his 
      fingertips...

      "Have you made your choice, Sir Lancelot?" Elaine's voice, slightly edged 
      with impatience, came from somewhere near his elbow. He hadn't even sensed 
      her presence there, and he shifted away, annoyed.

      "No, I have not. I need some time to think. This isn't something I am 
      taking lightly."

      "You will not find the answer by staring into the water, my lord." He 
      glanced at her briefly and then turned his attention back down to the 
      water, seeking his reflection there again. There was something about that, 
      something that his brain was trying to connect...

      He blinked at his image in the pool. His reflection shimmered back at him, 
      alone and bright in the water. 

      Alone. 

      His reflection was alone. 

      His head snapped back up to look at Elaine. She stood next to him on his 
      right, close enough that if he extended his hand, he could touch her...yet 
      in the pool, she cast no reflection at all. His was the only one that 
      danced on its surface.

      It was all an illusion. The swords were not real, just as Elaine herself 
      was an ethereal being. She cast no reflection; the false swords would not 
      cast any either, while the true Excalibur—

      Mulder broke away from the side of the pool, his eyes roving quickly 
      across the expanse of the room. The real Excalibur would cast a 
      reflection; the false ones would not. But how could he test that theory 
      without picking one up and bringing it to the edge of the water?

      He circled the room quickly, his mind flipping swiftly through 
      possibilities. He sensed Elaine watching him closely again, and he knew 
      she realized he had come upon a possible solution to her puzzle. It didn't 
      surprise him at all when she chuffed out a breath.

      "Your time grows short, Sir Lancelot. I tire of this game. Make your 
      choice."

      He didn't stop moving, his eyes flicking from one sword to the next, 
      trying to make the last connection in his mind that would solve the 
      problem. Sword...pool...reflection...what else could he use to find a 
      reflection...a mirror...something shiny...something like 
silver...silver...

      He heard a tiny chime as the faerie maiden scraped her fingernails along 
      the sleeve of his armor. He stilled and looked at her. Her face was 
      serious, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. 
      "Make your choice now, Sir Lancelot. If you choose nothing, then you will 
      be compelled to stay."

      His eyes fell on her hand, which rested on his arm. The silver flashed in 
      the blazing light, setting a fire burning in his mind. A smile blossomed 
      on his face.

      Mulder shook her hand away. "Very well, Lady Elaine. I shall make my 
      choice."

      He turned once again to the swords and began a slow pace alongside them. 
      He paused briefly every few feet, glancing at the swords themselves and 
      then down at his own torso. He continued this strange dance about three 
      quarters of the way around the room before Elaine's confused voice called, 
      "Sir Lancelot, what are you doing? Make your choice."

      Mulder stopped, his features alight. He checked his torso once more and 
      then reached out his hand. His arm snaked past the first two rows of 
      swords and grasped the handle of a weapon three rows back. It came easily 
      into his fist, slipping silently from its place as if it were embedded in 
      silk. He pulled the sword up to his body, the blade just before his nose, 
      and admired his reflection in the steel.

      "Excalibur," he breathed. The sword seemed to recognize its name, and it 
      vibrated in his hand, humming with energy, something akin to a slight 
      electric shock. Mulder felt giddy with excitement. With the sword still 
      raised, he turned toward Elaine.

      "I have found it, my lady. Arthur's sword. And now I demand that you 
      release us so that it may be returned to him."

      The faerie woman stood as still as a statue for a moment, her mouth 
      hanging open in shock. When she finally moved again, she turned her back 
      on Mulder.

      "I know not what trickery you used to discern this," she muttered, "but I 
      shall not be made a fool."

      Mulder chuckled, still holding the sword aloft. "Now, now, Elaine. Don't 
      be a sore loser. Just tell me how to get out of here so that I can be on 
      my way."

      A laugh squeaked out of the woman then, and it was one so shrill and so 
      edged with malice that Mulder took an inadvertent step back. She turned 
      back toward him, and he swallowed, his own face contorting into a look of 
      disbelief. 

      Elaine no longer resembled a woman...at least, not any kind of woman 
      Mulder had ever seen. Her face had elongated, making her appear ferocious 
      and wolfish, and her eyes glittered a wild ice blue in their bulging 
      sockets. When she raised her hands, he could see the cords of muscles 
      tightening into sinewy limbs, and her nails glinted like sharpened spikes 
      in the light. Her white hair unfurled around her as she threw her head 
      back and bellowed an unearthly cry.

      "I shall not lose this challenge, Sir Lancelot," she rasped. She moved 
      forward like an animal stalking her prey, and Mulder retreated again, 
      leveling the sword between them. Excalibur sang as he brought it through 
      the air, and Mulder was relieved to see the thing that Elaine had become 
      recoil as the blade flashed between them.

      "Don't do this, Elaine," Mulder said, trying to negotiate even though he 
      was unsure the creature could understand reason. "I won the challenge. 
      Just let us go, and no harm will come to you."

      She hissed out a laugh. "No harm. What do you know of harm, Sir Lancelot? 
      Do you know what it is like to love and have none returned? Do you know 
      what it is to have your heart broken into a thousand pieces? That is what 
      you have done to me. And I shall have my revenge, make no mistake."

      Mulder shook his head, unsure what to do. He had no earthly idea what she 
      was talking about. He had no clue if, in the Arthurian legends, Lancelot 
      had indeed betrayed this woman, or if she was simply a warped psychopath 
      with an obsession. Either way, he had to get past her, and as much as he 
      didn't want to physically hurt her, he would if it meant getting back to 
      Scully.

      He raised Excalibur above his head as she slid closer to him. It whispered 
      its strange tune as it arced through the air, and power he had never felt 
      seemed to seep down from the sword into his arms. It was 
      intoxicating...and yet he knew what was right.

      "Don't make me do this, Elaine," he warned. "Stand aside. Let me out of 
      this room."

      He had backed up now to the edge of the pool. He didn't want to strike the 
      faerie woman...something at the core of his being told him that would be a 
      mistake he didn't want to make. But he also didn't want to go for a swim, 
      unsure of what may lay in the water below. And he had to find a way out of 
      this room...a room to which Elaine seemed to hold the only key.

      He could feel the venomous energy flowing out of Elaine in waves. "I will 
      not lose you, Lancelot," she whispered, and her voice bled with the scrape 
      of her breath. "And I will not allow Excalibur to return to Arthur."

      Excalibur hummed above his head. The light around him seemed to expand 
      into a blinding golden orb, and suddenly, something like fireworks 
      exploded somewhere nearby. The roar was deafening, and Mulder closed his 
      eyes, gripping the sword in both hands as if holding on for life itself. 
      He stumbled back, and he felt himself falling, knowing that the pool of 
      water waited beneath him. He gripped the sword and opened his mouth to 
      yell, but a wave of blackness overtook him, and he knew no more.
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