The Queen of Mists and Memory ::: Chapter Thirteen Chapter Thirteen He had always been a strong swimmer. One of his favorite memories of his father took him back to the beach at Martha's Vineyard, a block away from the house in which he had grown up. Fox couldn't have been more than four or five, and Bill Mulder had carried him on his shoulders into the waves of the Atlantic Ocean beneath a blistering August sun. They had waded into the surf until the water reached the elder Mulder's chin, and he had taken Fox's hands and pulled him into the waves. He stretched their arms out between their bodies, their hands clasped together so they rode the rocking ocean on their bellies, and he had called to his son to kick. When Fox did, his father shook his hands free and pushed backward, encouraging the boy forward through the water, showing him how to thrust his arms through the waves. Fox had done well, and he had never been afraid. The water had welcomed and buoyed his small body, and his father's praise gave him confidence. Ever since that summer day, Fox Mulder had felt at home in water, and as he grew older and swam for his school in competitions, he earned medals for an activity he thoroughly enjoyed. Now, however, the water that surged into his lungs scared him, choking him with its relentless rush. The water he had always loved squeezed his already-exhausted body in its wet, chilled embrace, and he realized he was drowning. No, he thought desperately. Not now. Not when I'm so close. I need to get back to Scully. He could sense the legendary sword still within his grip, but its incredible energy that had sung through him just moments before now seemed muted and imagined. Mulder struggled against the descending spiral of the whirlpool, but his armor weighed him down, and he knew he was dropping like a stone. He strained to open his eyes, but they were sealed shut. His chest burned as it filled, and his mind fought against the expanding darkness. His body was shutting down, already too taxed to overcome this new onslaught. With his last ounce of strength, he clutched Excalibur tighter in his fisted hands and gave one final, silent plea in his hazing mind: Excalibur. I saved you. Help me, I beg of you… The pounding gush of liquid in his lungs stopped. His eyes snapped open, and his mind registered the abrupt halt of the water vortex around him. His body relaxed, floating gently in a lazy bob within the aqua depths that surrounded him. He could see the amazing dance of light within the water, the entrancing play of reflection and refraction all around him. And he realized quite suddenly that he was breathing. He was breathing under water. Mulder's mind tried hard to reconcile that fact, but it came up short. He was not a scientist like Scully, but he knew enough to understand that human beings could not, did not, breathe underwater unless equipped with oxygen tanks. He brought the sword up before his eyes, blinking at it, watching the flash of its blade as it moved through the water. Amazing. There was no other word to describe it. Movement beyond Excalibur caught his eye, and he turned his head to follow it. In the ripples before him, he became aware of streamers of color, ribbons of azure and teal, aquamarine and sea green, floating past his cheek. His head moved in that direction, tracing the strips to their source. They danced around a figure, one that floated close to him and smiled. Mulder jumped and edged away, brandishing the sword. As soon as he brought it up, he realized he didn't need it. He recognized the face before him. It was one he remembered from his life with Scully, and one he had been enraptured by only a short time ago as he stood before the door to the chamber that had housed Excalibur. Melissa Scully. His partner's dead sister now peered at him through the crystal depths of a pool of water, her rust-colored hair tangling with the iridescent folds of the gown that clung to her like a second skin. Music poured into his mind then, an ethereal sound like wind chimes beneath angelic singing. He shook his head to clear it, but it stayed, and she smiled again at him. You know me, do you not? Her voice hummed through the melody in his brain, a voice so familiar, one just as throaty as her sister's. He squinted at her through the glimmering water, but he knew she hadn't spoken aloud. She was communicating telepathically, and he mirrored her smile, enchanted in spite of himself. I think I know you. But everyone here has a different name. She tilted her head in acknowledgement, and her hair danced around her face. Here, I am your kinswoman, not hers. Do you know me now? Excalibur seemed to spasm in his hand, sending a tremor up his arm. He glanced down at the sword and then back up at the water maiden, understanding blossoming in his mind. You're the Lady of the Lake. She nodded. She swept one long arm through the water, stirring the current between them. I came to save you from Lady Elaine. You must take Excalibur once more to Arthur. He has one final need of it, and then it must be returned to me. I'll tell Arthur that. He didn't know what else to say. But she shook her head at him, her brow furrowing. It will be you who returns it to me, Lancelot. He sighed, his mind spinning out into something close to resentment. Hadn't he already done enough in this godforsaken world? Now he had another obligation to fulfill? He and Scully would never get back to the year 2000 if he kept running errands for everyone. He had to put a stop to this…and he'd start right now. Look. I need to get back. You understand what I'm talking about, don't you? I'm not Lancelot. I need to take my partner back to our world. Someone else can deliver the sword. Bors, or Gareth— The Lady set her jaw, staring at him defiantly. He'd seen that look a hundred times on his partner's face. She may have been called something else in this world, something attached to a sweet, magical beauty and power, but Mulder knew that expression: it was a Scully ready to fight, tooth and nail, for what she wanted. Only Arthur's greatest knight can carry Excalibur in his stead. You know that. No one but you can return the sword. He could feel the panic rising in him as swiftly as the water that had filled his lungs. You're saying Arthur is going to die. That Arthur won't need the sword any longer. Is that it? There is hope yet for Camelot. It rests with you, Lancelot, and with Guinevere. You must return to her as quickly as you can. Her expression softened, and he saw bright compassion in her eyes. Afterward, you must bring the sword to a place of calm water and cast it in. Do you understand? He blew out another exasperated breath, and bubbles scurried up and away from him. He thrust the sword out between them. Just take it now. He pleaded with his eyes, his anxiety for Scully burning through him like a poison. Please. Don't ask me to do any more. The Lady of the Lake reached out to him, her dainty hand coming to rest on his shoulder. She pulled him closer, and, too worn out to fight, he allowed himself to be swept into her embrace. His forehead sank forward, gently grazing hers. It reminded him so much of Scully he nearly cried out. Her voice murmured in his head. You have done so much. I know you are tired. But you will be well rewarded for your loyalty. I will keep you, and the Queen, safe. How? How can you keep us safe? She brought her hands up to either side of his head, her fingers pressing into his temples, holding him steady in her gaze. Her smile was ethereal, and he felt himself fading again… Know that you will be safe…I will help you…I will help you both… A movie started up in his mind, and he let it catch him in its spell. Images flickered through his brain, and he watched, suspended in a liquid dream, his heart swelling as he saw Scully…she was still alive, but he had to get to her…he would save her, if it was the last thing he ever did… Nothing would stand in his way. When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by the less-than-appealing mug of Melvin Frohike hovering over him. Well, his mind identified the man first as Melvin Frohike and then corrected itself. Nope. Not back in Washington. Not anywhere near the twentieth century. So this isn't Frohike. It's Bors. The small knight peered at him, his face close enough to kiss Mulder if he decided to pucker up and give it a try. The idea made Mulder wince, and Bors' forehead furrowed into an even deeper rut. "Lancelot!" The name sounded musical with that Gaelic brogue, but Mulder found himself wishing for Frohike's less melodic American drawl. "You have finally awakened! I feared the worst." Mulder fumbled through the tangle of his thoughts. He sat up, his right hand tightening around Excalibur as he did. He'd found the sword…but Elaine…she'd tried to attack him, and he'd fallen into the pool…and then…oh, then… He glanced down at himself, surprised to find that he was as dry as a bone. There was no evidence of his plunge in the water. He was even more astonished to find that he was no longer trapped in the room of swords but sat outdoors instead, on a grassy hillock that smelled of wildflowers. The strange mist that had permeated the entire faerie kingdom had disappeared. In the west, the sun lapped over the horizon as the sky deepened with the oncoming night. He looked back at Bors, who had straightened up as he moved. "What…what the hell happened, Bors? Where are we?" Bors gave an impatient gesture, and Mulder could tell that the man was at his wit's end. "I have no recollection of anything since you stepped into that chamber in the dragon's cave, Lance. You moved, and I saw nothing but a blinding flash of light. When I awoke, we were all here on this hill." The knight sighed and crossed himself with a shaking hand. "I grow weary of this sorcery, Christ save us all." A panicked thought shot through Mulder. "Where's Merlin?" "There behind you," Bors answered. "I have tried to wake him, to no avail." Mulder scrambled around on his hands and knees and crawled over to the old wizard. The man was curled on his side, and his chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm. Mulder reached out to touch his shoulder, trying to ensure that he was really there, and the deep-set eyes flew open, startling him. They went directly to the sword that Mulder still clutched in his hand. "Excalibur!" Merlin barked. "So you have achieved the object of your quest, Sir Lancelot. Well met!" "Er…thanks," Mulder mumbled. His mind still reeled from his encounter with the Lady of the Lake, and the idea that somehow, he had gotten from someplace in a mystical land to this very real spot on the top of a hill. He knew, however, that every second he wasted mulling over the strange events was another moment that Scully was in danger. And if there was one thing he remembered from what the watery enchantress had said, it was that he needed to get to Scully as soon as possible. Merlin had gained his feet, and he straightened his robes as Mulder stood. The wizard looked at him expectantly as he smoothed the rough patches in his bushy beard, and Mulder felt compelled to speak. "We need to get to Camelot. The Lady of the Lake said that time was running out." "Ah." Merlin eyed him thoughtfully, pulling on his moustache. "So you encountered the Lady of the Lake. It was she who brought us here. She is the patroness of Excalibur, and we must not disappoint her." "Then let's get going." Mulder turned in a circle, trying to see through the descending darkness to figure out where they were. He could barely make out the turrets of a castle rising through the heavy trees in the east. He pointed in that direction. "There. There's Camelot, right? Come on." At his side, Bors stopped him with a hand on his arm. "But what shall we do once we are there? Surely you do not think Mordred will simply open the gates and let us in." "Mordred is in the Great Hall awaiting our return, along with a hundred of his men," Merlin announced. "The King and Queen are with him. And the Round Table Knights are about to escape the confines of the dungeon. We must meet them at once. Through the kitchens, I believe, is our best route into Camelot." "Whoa, whoa," Mulder said, starting to feel overwhelmed again. "How do you know all this?" "You are not the only one who had counsel with the Lady of the Lake." "You spoke to her, too? What did she tell you?" "Nothing more than I have already said," Merlin replied quickly. "Come, we must not tarry. Sir Bors, I trust you know these woods better than I. Lead on to Camelot." Bors set out down the hill and into the forest, with Mulder and Merlin close on his heels. Mulder could sense that the old wizard knew more than he was saying, but he also realized that whatever it was that he was keeping from them, it was meant only for Mulder's ears and not the stout knight's who led them. He tried to think of a way to get the two of them together privately, but nothing sprung to mind. He was simply too tired and too worried to think about much other than Scully. A few moments later, he heard Merlin call out behind him. Turning, he saw the older man struggling to free the end of his robe from a bramble of thick, ancient roots. Bors turned as well and started toward them, but Merlin waved him away. "Scout on ahead, Sir Bors, and leave Sir Lancelot to aid me. It is embarrassing enough to need this sort of help." Bors nodded and disappeared into the thicket, and Mulder went to the magician's side, crouching down to start unraveling. He felt the weight of Merlin's hand drop onto his shoulder, and he raised his eyes. "This will be Arthur's final battle tonight." The wizard's eyes were bright even in the gloaming, and Mulder understood that wetness. He nodded and cleared his throat. "I know. The Lady hinted at that to me." "It is his time." Merlin made a small, almost imperceptible gesture, and the roots by Mulder's feet moved. He jumped, catching a glimpse of one of them releasing Merlin's robe like a child letting go of a balloon string. It was an unearthly sight, and it made him shudder. "Agent Mulder, I know the Lady of the Lake spoke to you. I know she told you that she would help you and Agent Scully. But you must be willing to do what needs to be done in order to return to your own time." "And what exactly is that?" Mulder's usually sharp mind was beginning to cloud again. He needed water, and food, and rest, but since none of those things were forthcoming, he schooled himself to focus on Merlin's words instead. "I can tell you that it will involve magick. Forces that Agent Scully, and even you yourself, might have a hard time understanding. But we can talk more about that later. My concern right now is for your safety, and Scully's…and for what will come to pass of Arthur." The ominous words of the Lady of the Lake drifted back to him. "Arthur…Arthur will die tonight? Is that what you're saying? This isn't just his last fight. You're saying this…this is his last…" Mulder paused a moment to let the thought sink in and found a great sadness settling over him. He took a deep breath. "What will happen then?" Merlin shook his head. "I cannot see that. Even the Lady would not tell me. But I know this: even if Arthur does not survive, the kingdom must be saved. All of history relies on it. Do you understand that?" "I think so. What happens tonight will affect England throughout the ages." "Yes. And that is why it is vital that the Queen not be harmed in any way. Not because of your love for her, as Lancelot, or because of your love for Scully, Agent Mulder. It is because she alone carries the future of the kingdom." Mulder stared at him, trying to piece together what the old man was saying, but his mind, in its exhaustion, just couldn't make the connections. "I'm too tired to figure out what you're trying to say. Just tell me, for God's sake." "Very well." Merlin looked at him sternly. "The Queen is with child, Sir Lancelot. She carries the heir to the throne, the only one who can truly oust Mordred from his claim to Camelot. You, as the Queen's champion, must protect her at all costs, as you would protect Camelot." His face softened. "And you must protect your son, who will carry Arthur's name and your legacy into the future." " son." Mulder took a step backward as his head reeled, a thousand images flooding him at once. The same pictures that had come to him when the Lady touched his mind flickered through…the same visions he had seen when he had first entered the land of the fae and fallen asleep. They were Lancelot's memories, of the time Guinevere had lost a child…Lancelot's memories of his first son, weaved in with Mulder's own remembrances of his chance at fatherhood with Scully. Mulder put out a hand, the glove scraping across the rough tree bark as he grabbed it for support. All the emotion, all the joy of Scully's trust and love for him, and all of the pain and disappointment that had engulfed them both when the in vitro hadn't worked…all of that came crashing into him at once. He had never really dealt with it at all; it had seemed more important at the time to help Scully, to give her the support and the nurturing that she had needed to get through it. He had neglected his own feelings, and now, his vision blurred at the thought of Scully holding a baby… a phantom baby, a ghost baby…a baby that would never come to be. Something brushed the back of his neck, and he realized that Merlin had placed his gnarled hand there, trying to offer some comfort. He shook the other man off violently, suddenly angry. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked through clenched teeth, biting back the tears that threatened to spill. "This isn't my baby at all. It's Lancelot's, and I am not Lancelot!" He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it roughly with his fingers to try to get his mind to focus. "Fuck this! I am so sick of this world! I am so sick of…of all of this! Goddamn it, I just want to take Scully and go home!" The wizard regarded him with compassion in his gaze. "You still do not recognize the parallels between your lives, do you? Yours and Lancelot's. Scully's and Guinevere's. The four of you…your stories are very alike, Agent Mulder. Can you not see that?" Mulder squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the man's voice. Scully's face appeared, her blue eyes filled with tears as she told him it was her last chance. That baby…their baby…she had wanted it so badly… And he had been unable to give it to her. He would have done anything in the world to give that baby to her. He'd tried to tell her as she accepted his embrace, as she tilted her forehead up to meet his as she had done so many times…he'd tried to once more give her the strength of his beliefs. Never give up on a miracle. Mulder slowly raised his chin and looked at Merlin. "Are you saying…are you saying that Scully has a chance? That Guinevere is pregnant, when she was supposed to be barren…and that means Scully might become a mother, too?" The old mage inclined his head, and a small, loving smile touched his face. "You said it yourself, Agent Mulder. Never give up on a miracle." Mulder swallowed and tried to breathe. He had to focus. He had to take one step at a time. This news, if it could be called that, lifted his heart and encouraged him in a way that nothing had for a very long time…but first things first. He had to rescue Scully and get her out of this world. And then…maybe then, they could begin to hope for what he thought was beyond their reach… He straightened up with a shuddering sigh. His hand fell to the pommel of Excalibur where he'd sheathed it in the scabbard at his hip. Its strange energy coursed through him again, and he allowed it to fill him up, giving him strength he didn't know he had. With one final deep breath, he fixed Merlin with a penetrating stare. "How does it all end, Merlin? This is a faerie tale, isn't it? Does it have a happy ending?" Merlin chuckled and tucked his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. "Happy is a relative term, don't you think? Besides, there are many endings to this tale, Agent Mulder." He began walking again, following the trail that Bors had made through the brush. "Let us go and see to what conclusion our version shall come." They caught up with Bors on the perimeter of Camelot. The towers loomed over them, appearing menacing in the heavy darkness, but Bors moved purposefully forward as soon as they approached. "Come," he whispered, and Mulder watched as the small knight drew his sword. Mulder grasped Excalibur and pulled it free, relishing the vibration it sent through him. With Merlin behind them, they crept forward, keeping close to the outer wall of the fortress. "How are we going to get inside?" Mulder asked, careful to keep his volume low. Bors took a moment to throw a puzzled glance at him. "As Merlin suggested, I suppose. Through the kitchens, and up the hidden stairwell you have used countless times. With God's help, Mordred will not have posted guards there, thinking you lost in the faerie lands." Within moments, they came to an alcove in the stone wall, and the three of them ducked into it. Mulder recognized it at once as the doorway through which he and Bors had escaped that first night, when he'd had to leave Scully in the bedroom to confront Mordred on her own. Bors hesitated only a moment before he reached out a hand to try the door. "Zounds!" he muttered, infuriated. "Locked! Mordred has planned well." "You said yourself, Sir Bors, that he would not allow us to simply walk in. Stand aside." Merlin shoved the smaller man out of the way and grasped the doorknob himself. A puff of purple smoke burst from his hand, and the mechanism sprang, the door itself creaking open just enough so that a faint yellow light spilled onto their feet. Merlin stepped back and gestured for Mulder. "I believe, Sir Lancelot, that you should enter first. Anyone we encounter will think twice about attacking when he sees it is you." Mulder drew in a deep breath, brandished Excalibur before him, and leaned back. He brought the heavy boot of his right foot up, kicking the door open and springing through the entrance. Something moved to his left, and he swung the sword toward it instinctively. The blade clanged as it hit metal, and a yell erupted from the man who held the opposing sword. Mulder grunted in response and pushed forward, his face coming up inches from his adversary's. He let out a surprised huff when he recognized the man. "Byers!" He blinked at the man who so resembled his old friend and then corrected himself. "I mean, Sir Gareth! I wasn't expecting to meet an ally here." "Nor I, Sir Lancelot." Gareth dropped his sword to his side and surprised Mulder by embracing him awkwardly. "My friend. We feared the worst for you." He released Mulder from the hug, his eyes falling on the sword that Mulder held. "I see we had no reason to doubt at all." Mulder smiled grimly as he scanned the room. It was filled with men, most of them dressed in the silver armor of Arthur's knights. He tried to count them, coming up with a number somewhere around fifty. Fifty against a hundred. He didn't like the odds, but he knew he wasn't going to get any better. Gareth nodded at Bors in greeting, and then his eyes widened as he recognized Merlin, who lingered in the kitchen doorway. "My lord Merlin," he breathed in awe. "We thought you lost to us as well." Merlin snorted. "Never believe everything you hear, Sir Gareth. The rumors of my demise were grossly exaggerated." Mulder turned back to Gareth. "What can you tell me of Mordred's plans? I must get Excalibur back to the King." "I know not how, Lancelot. We ourselves, all of the Round Table Knights, have been imprisoned until just now in the dungeons. I know not where Mordred is, or what he is scheming. We were about to retreat to Joyous Gard to regroup and think." "No," Mulder answered. "Merlin knows that Mordred has the King and Queen with him in the Great Hall, along with a hundred fighting men. We have to rescue them. And we have to do it now." "Then it shall be done." Gareth looked at Mulder, and he could see pain in the knight's expression. "I shall not fail you again, Lancelot. It is my fault that the Queen was taken in the first place." "That is not true." The voice that spoke was a woman's, and the lady-in-waiting that Mulder recognized from Scully's chamber pushed her way through the wall of men. She approached and laid a soft hand on Gareth's arm. "My lady Queen Guinevere told me you were ambushed in the forest, Sir Gareth. Nimue laid a trap for you both. You could do no more than you did." "It does pain me though, Lady Leigh, to think of the Queen accosted, as much as it would hurt me to see it done to my own wife." "There is no need to fear that, my lord. I am right here, safe and sound." Another female voice drifted to them, and Mulder watched as a beautiful blonde swept forward into Gareth's arms, nearly knocking the stunned knight backward. This woman resembled Suzanne Modeski, the woman Mulder had chased on a case long ago, before he even knew Scully. She was the fugitive Byers had fallen for, the one who had spurred him to chuck his safe government job and become a proponent of the truth. Now, it warmed his heart a bit to see that at least in this lifetime, Byers and Suzanne were able to be together. He tore his eyes away as the lady pressed a kiss to her knight's lips, trying not to stare at something he himself so longed for. "Lady Leigh," he said in a low voice, hoping the other men would not hear him. "How was the Queen when you last saw her?" The woman's calm face drew down into a worried mask. "She feared for your safety, my lord. And…and she was ill." Mulder tried to keep himself from grabbing Leigh and shaking the answer out of her. "Ill? How was she ill? What happened to her?" "My lord…" Leigh drew him aside, away from the others. "You could not possibly know. And I wish it were my lady Guinevere telling you herself, but this news must not be kept from you. She is with child, my lord. It is that which makes her ill." Mulder pressed his lips together and nodded. "I do know. Merlin told me. Who else knows about the baby?" "We were trying to keep it a secret, my lord. We just discovered it this morning. That is why Guinevere called for the lady Lionors, Sir Gareth's wife. She was afraid of what Mordred might do to her if he found out." Leigh's face became even more pinched. "I am still afraid, my lord. If his mother knows somehow…she knows everything through her dark arts, and if she tells Mordred…" Something inside of Mulder snapped. All the longing, all the fatigue, all the propriety and the need congealed inside of him, bursting out in an explosion of fireworks throughout his entire being. He raised Excalibur above his head with an ear-splitting bellow, bringing the sword's blade down into the oak of the butcher's block next to him. The sight of the bloodstained wood beneath the embedded blade seeped into his head until red fury completely consumed him. "God damn him!" he shouted. He could feel a sea of eyes on him, seeming to burn through his armor, but he couldn't hold back his rage any longer. Something foreign to him, something that felt a little like Mulder but much, much more like someone else, boiled up from the core of his being. It's Lancelot, his mind informed him. Lancelot is finally pushing you aside. "My brother knights!" he cried, and even his voice sounded different to his ears. He let the surging emotion take him, and Mulder stepped out of the way, allowing Lancelot to come through, to address his comrades-in-arms as any good commander would: touching their hearts and stirring their spirits. "I do call you brothers now, for we are all called to defend this night that for which our brotherhood was forged. We are called to fight for Camelot, and for the King who dared to dream something which none of us knew before. We are pledged to Arthur's cause, and I do declare that I shall gladly give my life here before I allow that bastard Mordred to take from us what we have upheld all these many years. I entreat you now, my brothers, the loyal, valiant, and brave Knights of the Round Table, to join me in this fight. Stand at my side and defend all that we have built, my brothers. And if God seeks to call us home this night, then I will happily mingle my blood with yours and Arthur's on the stone floor of the Great Hall above us. But let no man ever say that Sir Lancelot of the Lake did not stand with his King and friend, Arthur, giving his last breath to that noble dream of truth and justice and chivalry." A cheer rose from the men, and Mulder stumbled back, his consciousness slamming back into his body as Lancelot's slid once more to the side. He felt several hands steady him, and he shook his head, trying to focus on Bors and Gareth, who stood by his side. He turned and wrenched Excalibur from the wooden block and started toward the door on the far side of the long kitchen, but Bors held him back. "A stirring speech, cousin, but you cannot go in there like this. Mordred will recognize you at once, and set every man on you to take that sword. He knows that it is the only thing that will restore Arthur, and he will never allow that to happen. You shall be dead in an instant, and then where will Camelot be?" Mulder tried to jerk away, his heart still racing with the fervor of Lancelot's presence. "Let me go, Bors. I have to save her." Bors' voice dropped to a hum. "What good are you to her dead, Lance? To any of us? You cannot lead the knights. Surely you must see the folly in it." Gareth tugged on his arm from the other side. "Let me carry the sword, Lancelot. I can get it to Arthur. Mordred will not even notice me. It is you he will be looking for." Mulder shook his head impatiently. "No. The Lady of the Lake said that I am the only one who can carry it. I don't know what could happen to you, Gareth, if you tried. I won't risk it." "Then we must somehow disguise you, Lancelot," Bors said. "Mordred will not recognize the sword. But he will recognize Lancelot's armor, no matter who wears it. You must change armor and go in unnoticed. You can then find the King and return the sword to him. If Merlin is right, he shall then rise up to defend Camelot once more." "Fine. Where's Merlin?" Mulder rounded and searched the room, but there was no sign of the wizard. "Goddamn it! Where the hell did he go? He can change my armor easily. He can make me look like someone else." "Someone must look like you, Lancelot," Gareth said, and Mulder blinked at him, suddenly realizing what the knight was proposing. "No, Gareth. Forget it. Merlin can…create someone to keep Mordred busy. You're not going to sacrifice yourself for this." "You insult me, Sir Lancelot," Gareth replied, but there was no malice in his tone. "You just told us all that you would gladly lose your life to defend Arthur and his dream. Do you not think I feel the same way? Am I not a Knight of the Round Table as well?" He stepped closer to Mulder, and his usually tender eyes bored into his friend's. "We are nearly the same size, Lancelot. We can change armor. Mordred will never know it is not you when I lead the knights into the Great Hall. You will have your chance to slip unnoticed to the King so that he may wield Excalibur once more." Mulder's stomach rolled at the thought of the danger that would loom before Gareth. "No. I won't allow it. You're a married man, Gareth…your wife, your family—" "His wife and family understand his obligation as well as he does himself." The lady called Lionors pushed to her husband's side and stared with determined eyes at Mulder. "If this is the only way, Sir Lancelot, then so be it. My husband will fight for his King." Mulder sighed, but he nodded his agreement. He scanned the room once more, trying to spot Merlin, but it looked as if the aged wizard had deserted them for good. His hands dropped to the leather belt at his waist and began to undo it as he spoke to Gareth. "You win, Gareth. God help us both." Bors took the belt that Mulder passed to him, and he crossed himself before Gareth handed his own over as well. "God help us all," he murmured. previous ::: home ::: next