Fic: Sarmatian Ladies - parts 12-13/18
As I promised, here they are, the two newest installments of Sarmatian Ladies.
Title: Sarmatian Ladies
Author: Jmaria
Rating: FR-15
Disclaimer: Joss owns Dawn & Co., Bruckheimer owns this incarnation of Arthur & Co., I own a couple things - the plot, the new names, the baby.
12. Cold Turkey
*****
No man or woman can live another's fate.
- The Mists of Avalon, *****
*****
Summers Cottage, 2005
*****
Dawn wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to convince both Arthur and Vanora - Dawn shook her head Vanora’s name was Jenna this time around - to come with her and Boris back to the Cottage. They’d spent most of the morning trying to make the adjustment easy for them, but they weren’t taking it very well, which was completely understandable. If she thought that telling little girls that they would have to fight demons for the rest of their short lives was hard, telling a man that he was the Once and Future King of England was even worse.
Not to mention the fact that she was impregnated by one of his knights, who had died over fifteen hundred years ago. Telling Jenna that Boris had been her lover had sent a red tinge to her cheeks. Dawn still wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. Boris was a good-looking guy. But it was Jenna herself who brought up the most interesting point of all.
“So you found Gawain first?” The older woman asked curiously.
“He actually found me,” Dawn smiled over at him.
“And then the Gwen girl?” Jenna frowned. “And Galahad?”
“Yeah.”
“So you found them all in the reverse order that they died,” she murmured. “With only myself, Arthur and Lancelot out of order.”
“What?” Dawn asked behind closed eyes.
*****
Rome
*****
The Immortal held the golden necklace in his hand, waiting for Europa to return with better information than she had brought to him last time. Long ago it had been a promise, a hint of what was to be her reward. Her vengeance against those whom had stinted her growth, and a double-edged gift it had been. It was meant to lure her to him, not throw her into the arms of his greatest enemy.
Europa only stared mutely at the trinket from the shadows. It had been ripped from her own daughter’s throat hundreds of years ago, and thrust back into her own hands when he’d banished her from his home the first time for her act of revenge.
“What news of my assassins, Europa?” the Immortal said quietly.
“They’ve made their way across the sea. They will be in London by nightfall,” Europa says quietly, her thoughts elsewhere.
“They will ensure the Fox and Wolf do not make it to the Wall?” The Immortal’s tone is harsher, as if he is speaking to an errant dog that must be kept in line. Europa cannot help but to bristle at his tone.
“I thought you had ordered them to kill the knight, my lord. What do the Wolf and Fox have to do with your plans?”
“They are part of HIS prophecy!” Europa doesn’t flinch at his angry shriek, which surprises both of them, for his next words are well chosen. “They would stand in my way, pull her away from me.”
“She is already at odds with them over the pregnancy. She will hesitate, as she always does for you. You’ve caught her in time, this time,” It still stung, his preference for the blonde waif. He would never have gone to such lengths to keep Europa at his side.
“I will have to give her the necklace to ensure that I have.” The Immortal tossed the necklace at her. She stared at it blankly. “Renew the spells, Europa. They are old.”
“Yes, my lord,” but she knows she won’t.
*****
The Higher Planes
*****
Ismene, forgotten daughter of Oedipus stared blankly at the infamous daughter of Merlin, whose own lineage had been blurred by mythos and time. Her corner of the High Planes is not often traveled, and no mortals pray to the daughter who took the more traveled path in life.
“What is it you want of me now, child?” Ismene sighed, her hands busily at work. “I’m old, and tired of meddling in the affairs of mortals.”
“It is the same thread, Ismene. The latest strand in the eons old tapestry,” Morgana sighed.
“Enough of your flowery speech, what do you want, Morgana?” Ismene let her fingers pause.
“He had her in Sparta, in Rome, and even in England. He cannot have her again, Ismene. Calm Europa’s anger, give her the divine influence you once doled out to an impatient Sarmatian warrior,” Morgana pleaded. “Do this one favor, even if it must be done in Pelagius’ name.
“This is your request of me? You bring up a love long lost to me, and beg off favors?”
“Mordred plays by rules that we can not answer fairly. So, our divine backs must stoop some.”
Ismene stared blankly at her. All these years, and yet she had still learned that no one really ever played by the rules.
“I do not have to. She is out of my hands,” Ismene smiled sadly. “Fate has finally offered her a fair way out.”
*****
The road to Delphi, 463
*****
Morgana felt the dull ache in her stomach as the day grew into night. Ismene slowed the cart, her eyes peering farther up along the road. The older woman sighed heavily before leading the horses off to a small clearing. Morgana frowned. It would be far easier to find safer passage in the night than at day. Ismene must have sensed her question.
“It is safer to travel unseen at night, but he will be counting on that,” Ismene smiled when Morgana’s frown simply deepened. “You are worse than my sister. You’ve no patience. Besides, if your stomach keeps making all of that racket, we’ll easily be prey to Roman soldiers.”
Ismene reached for a small bag as she instructed Morgana to pull the lantern inside the cloth enclosure. The bag contained a small loaf of fresh bread, a metal jar and flagon. Ismene handed her the flagon as she took out two wooden cups.
“Mixed wine, bread and honey. It isn’t much, but I’m sure it is a far better meal than you would be enjoying in Mordred’s Villa?” Ismene asked, the touch of a smirk on her lips.
“Yes. The Lady Europa did not feel I was deserving of such a fine meal as this,” Morgana sighed, wetting her lips with the cool wine. It was far better than the stale bread and murky water Europa had forced down her throat.
“Ach, that wounded bird!” Ismene grimaced. “She has been tricked at every turn. From Zeus’s bed to Mordred‘s. The Fates are not on that one’s side.”
“He took her children,” Morgana whispered sadly, her thoughts flicking back to the poor children of Europa.
“Just as Zeus offered her first offspring up. He claimed then that she -” But Ismene cut herself off.
Morgana frowned at the older woman’s sudden burst of silence. Her eyes clouded over sadly, and Morgana felt as if her stomach were to drop suddenly. Ismene only smiled sadly, her dark eyes clearing.
“He will lose his life, Mordred will see to it,” Morgana whispered quietly. “For aiding my escape, he will die.”
“Pelagius was already doomed to an early grave, child. His beliefs of his God were enough to see to that. This act of kindness will not be the act that brings his end about,” Ismene still looked away as she bundled up the remaining food. “They wait for you, to the North and West of here. First we must stop at the Oracle, give you the knowledge you will surely need. We must rush to Delphi.”
*****
ICU, Harrington Hospice, 2005
*****
Lanyon hated hospitals. He always had. Give him a clean, quick death. None of this hanging about. He shuddered as he made his way to the nurse’s station. A plump, older woman with graying hair looked up at him tiredly.
“Yes?”
“Hullo, I’m Lanyon Fairview. I spoke to Head Nurse Joyce this morning about seeing the John Doe who was discovered at the lake.”
“Hang on a moment,” she sighed. She dug out a clipboard from beneath the desk and flipped through the papers on it. Rolling her eyes as she found the right one, she handed the clipboard to him. “Sign the release form. You’re not to touch any of the equipment. Young Doctor King’s orders.”
“Young Doctor King?” Lanyon smiled.
“Yes, young, as in the second doctor King,” she huffed.
“Where is John Doe’s room located?” Lanyon asked.
“Room 107, second door to the left.”
*****
The road to the Summer Cottage
The Car Ride
*****
Willow smoothed her hair. It was nerve-wracking. Poor Dawnie. Her cell phone vibrated and she fumbled for it. Gwen tried to hide her amusement at this. Willow tried to give her best Resolve face look, but she was distracted by the call.
“Whoa, calm down Eva. Start again.” Gwen frowned. Willow only gave her the one-second finger as she pulled out her PDA. “Yep, it’s up. Transfer the file to me. Thanks, Eva.”
“What was that about?”
“Once we got Lanyon’s info, we set up a program to scan for all of his credit cards, license and passport.”
“Without a federal grant? Isn’t that a tad illegal?”
“It’s majorly illegal in most places, but we’ve got magic and fifteen hundred year old prophecies on our side,” but Willow couldn’t help blushing from the guilt. “Anyway, it didn’t work for the last month or so. Which is weird. Today, Eva got a hit. He’s about five miles from the wall. They swiped his id for verification at a Hospice care unit.”
Gwen paled. Hospice care? That sounded very ominous. He was a reporter. Lancelot could have been sent on a dangerous mission in a war-torn area. The knights needed to be together - could they already be torn apart?
“Gwen, he’s not a patient,” Willow said loudly. Gwen blinked. She must have had to say it more than once.
“He’s not?”
“No, he checked in as a visitor. He’s not hurt, as far as I can tell.”
“Thank goodness.”
“But we should get to the Cottage as quickly as possible. Dawn should know and try to make contact. Lancelot may be the key to finding Arthur.” Willow couldn’t help noticing Gwen’s fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
*****
Summers Cottage
*****
Dawn had to sit down. This was too surreal. Trevor put an arm around her. Jenna remembered dying - and even worse, she remembered the order they’d died in. The guys hadn’t, but Jenna did. The room was eerily quiet. Dawn couldn’t sit, she had to do something - even if it meant just for the sake of pacing. She heard the familiar crunch of tires on gravel, heard the door open.
“Guys, we’ve got good news - and company?” Willow’s voice dropped a bit as Gwen gasped. “I take it you know them, then?”
“Arthur?” Gwen’s voice trembled a bit as she started forward.
“Gwen -”
“We found Lancelot, Dawn. He’s a couple of miles from here at a hospice,” Willow said, making her way towards the younger woman.
“What?” Dawn shot her the same panicked look that Gwen had earlier.
“He’s a visitor, not a patient.”
“Well, I would hope not. I’d like to think we would have recognized Lancelot,” Arthur said suddenly, startling both Dawn and Willow.
“What?” Dawn felt stupid for saying the same thing again, but shrugged it off.
“I’m a doctor - I’m often at the Hospice,” Arthur frowned. “What could be so special that Lancelot would be there?”
“Lanyon,” Dawn’s eyes brightened. “He’s a journalist, right, Will?”
“Yeah. He used his id and press pass to get in.”
“But what could be so special about the Hospice?” Jenna shook her head. “Nothing that earth shattering is going on there, is it?”
“No, just the -” Arthur broke off, his eyes glistening a bit. He stared at Dawn wordlessly.
“Arthur?” Dawn asked. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been so bloody thick-headed.”
“Huh?”
*****
Room 107, ICU
*****
Lanyon pushed the curtain aside so he could see the poor soul that he was supposed to be writing a story on. He expected to find a frail, withered looking man. Some poor soul with little life left in him. He was wrong.
The man in the bed was huge. The bed seemed wrong, far too small for him. He looked healthy, coma aside and all. He seemed to be breathing on his own. There was a healthy growth of stubble on his face, and his fingers twitched in his sleep. From what information he’d been given, Lanyon knew that this man had literally washed up on shore with no identification. John Doe sure was loved by someone, if the dozen or so crayon-made cards had any say in the matter.
“Looks almost peaceful, doesn’t he?” a dark haired woman said from the doorway, startling him. A young, blonde haired boy stood shyly behind her.
“Yes. Not at all what I was expecting,” Lanyon admitted. “Do you know him?”
“Yes and no. My son Lucas found him,” the woman said softly. “We - either his father or myself bring him to visit about once a day. Luke had a funny feeling and wanted to see him again tonight.”
“And you are?”
“Felicia Hol-”
“I call him Dag!” Lucas blurted, cutting his mother off.
“Really?” Lanyon smiled as Felicia rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“He’s not a John.”
“No, he doesn’t really look like a John, does he?” Lanyon found himself looking at the comatose man. Dag really did suit the big man.
“But it’s not his full name, a nickname,” Lucas said seriously. His young, hopeful look caught Lanyon’s eyes. “It meant something, his real name. Some lady called him it, and he felt love.”
“Some Lady?” Lanyon frowned. “His wife, maybe?”
The boy shook his head. He glanced up at his mother once before he spoke again.
“They weren’t like Mum and Da. He was quiet, she was louder. They were nice to me.”
Lucas broke away from his mother, taking another card over to the table that was crowded with cards. Felicia had tears in her eyes, and Lanyon offered her a tissue from the box on the table.
“Lucas has a very active imagination. He’s been telling these stories since he found Dag,” Felicia said softly.
“You call him that as well?” Lanyon probed. “To humor him?”
“No. It’s funny, but as soon as my husband and I set eyes on him, we’ve called him the same thing. He looks like a Dag.”
“And the woman Lucas spoke of - she’s not real?”
Tears shone brightly in Felicia’s eyes as they lingered on Dag in the bed. Her voice shook a bit as spoke.
“If she were, then Doctor Kingston wouldn’t be taking him off life-support in a few days.”Type your cut contents here.Marion Zimmer Bradley
13. Helping Hands
*****
Marius, like the High King, believed they should remember the past, and one way of doing that was to keep the language of men who had lived in cities and known the old lost days of peace
- Dragon Magic, Andre Norton
*****
*****
Borderlands, Sarmatia, 463
*****
“We have waited nearly a fortnight, we cannot stay here!” Elaine cried, pacing the rock soil again.
“Elaine, you tire me with your complaints,” Isolde gritted her teeth as she fanned the flames higher.
“And in truth, it is making me dizzy,” Viviane sighed.
“Do I upset your delicate constitution, Viviane? I am truly sorrowed by this news,” Elaine spat, her fingers tightening on her crossbow.
“We have not heard from Morgana. We do not move further without her, because she is the only one who knows which way they are.”
“We cannot stay blindly in one place, Isolde! Mordred will have sent his troops after her, and in turn us. It is by his order that this village was slain!”
“We do not know that -” Viviane protested, but Isolde cut her off.
“He is not after Morgana. If he had been, he would not have sent spies to find you,” Isolde snapped. “It is the Lioness that he is after, not the Raven. She was merely the means to an end.”
Elaine stilled. Viviane held her breath, fearing that this would end with words or actions both of them would regret. Instead, Elaine took a seat near the fire, her eyes cast downward. Isolde nodded at this before speaking again.
“Besides, He would not think to find us in the ruins of a village he destroyed in order to find us. His mistake.” Or, at least she truly hoped so.
*****
Room 107, ICU, 2005
*****
Lanyon stiffened visibly. Felicia swiped at her eyes with the tissue. They were going to let this obviously healthy person die? Because no one had claimed him?
“Doctor Kingston, the young Dr. Kingston is going to -”
“Artie? No, he’d never. It’s his father. Old Dr. Kingston is still in charge of Dag. He’s mostly retired, but this was his last case, and no family has come forward,” Felicia’s eyes flashed towards her son. “Joel and I - that’s my husband - we haven’t told Lucas yet.”
“Understandably so,” Lanyon nodded. “The boy dotes on him.”
“He does,” Felicia’s voice tightened as she watched her son.
Lanyon felt at a loss. This man should have a chance at life. No one should slip into death without a fight of some sort. He watched as the boy tipped his head forward a bit. Then the strangest thing happened. The light behind the bed glowed a bit brighter, and Lanyon thought he saw a blonde woman standing beside the boy and the man. Lucas tilted his head towards the woman and nodded. A few minutes later, Lucas raced towards his mother.
“Mum, could we invited Mr. Lanyon to the dinner?” Lucas asked.
“The dinner?”
“Lucas, we don’t even know if Mr. Lanyon is planning on staying here for the night to worry about tomorrow‘s dinner.” Felicia smiled.
“He’ll be around here, won’t you?”
“Lucas -”
“Actually, I’ll be here for several days. I’d love to interview Dr. Kingston, and yourself, Lucas. You’re the hero, right?” Lanyon winked at the boy.
“Not really. Da pulled him ashore, I just spotted him,” Lucas’ ears turned red.
“In that case, I’m throwing a welcome dinner for a few new neighbors. We’d love it if you’d come. Joel’s is planning to cook.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“He’s a decent cook.”
“Then I’d love to come to dinner.”
Felicia jotted down the address and some quick directions. The nurse came in then, reminding them that visiting hours were officially over. They parted in the small paved parking lot, Felicia and her son climbing into their ancient truck while Lanyon fumbled with the keys to the rental car. Before starting the car, he flipped his cell phone open.
“Marty, it’s Lan. Listen, I’m gonna be a few days more. I found a new angle on this coma story you sent me to check out,” Lanyon paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘what coma story’?”
*****
Delphi, 463
*****
The trip seemed far quicker than it should have been. It should have taken the better half of a year to reach the ancient temple, and Morgana was fairly certain that it had been destroyed. Ismene would not speak further of her disheartening news, and the older woman stopped only during the night.
They had crossed into Greece easily enough, still there was much left unsaid between the women. There had been thunder so loud her teeth chattered in fear. She remembered her mentor’s words of meditation and calming, words that had gotten her through the most hellish of nights in Mordred’s castle, when he himself would dole out her punishment. Nights she had long tried to bury in her mind. She pressed herself tightly against the side of the cart as it rocked to a halt. Ismene pulled the canvas away.
“We are here,” she said tearfully, her sad eyes resting on the Sarmatian warrior.
“What troubles you, Ismene?”
“You, child. You trouble and plague me.”
Morgana recoiled as if slapped. Ismene merely scowled and threw a heavy cloak in her direction. Morgana trembled as she pulled the cloak over her and slipped out of the cart. Ismene sat on the ruined steps of an ancient temple, her knees pressed tightly to her chest as her shoulders shook in agony. A dark haired woman stood beside her, murmuring words of comfort. Her eyes were startlingly blue, and looked tired, as if the world were too much of a strain on her.
“You knew his fate, Ismene, before you fetched the girl. Pelagius did not belong to us, not in this time. She is not to blame.”
“No, the boy is - because Pelagius meant something to him, and Mordred could not let him have happiness,” Ismene spat. She looked up into the other woman’s eyes. “She carries his seed in her belly.”
“I know.”
“She does not.”
Morgana felt heavy, her steps slipping. The woman turned to face her, a steadying hand reached for her. There was a sad smile on her lips as she pulled Morgana to Ismene and herself. Ismene looked shamed, angry and unbearably sad.
“And Mordred, that little bastard, does not know either.”
“I am not -”
“You are, Morgana. You carry the grandson of Uther Pendragon in your belly, son of his own bastard son, Mordred. His other grandchildren, Jessamina and Felix, childred of the Eternal Europa were slain by the dreaded vampire lords. He will have no further offspring, not in this lifetime,” the woman sighed.
“How can you know this?” Morgana whispered.
“I am the Oracle of Delphi. Roman priests may have destroyed my temple, but there are still worshippers here. I am called Kassandra.”
“Kassandra of Troy?”
*****
Summers Cottage, 2005
*****
Dawn frowned at Arthur’s confused and obviously torn face, not comprehending anything he was trying to say. Instead of coming up with a reasonable answer, all he managed to do was stare at Gwen and walk into the doorjamb. Willow was looking uncomfortable next to Gavin, and - was Boris making gaga eyes at Jenna? Trevor seemed to be pondering and Garrett - well, he was looking bored.
“Why would Lanyon be at the Hospice, Arthur?” Dawn asked again.
“The John Doe who washed ashore at the lake -”
“What lake?” Dawn’s breath caught as she rounded on Arthur.
To his credit, Arthur stiffened his spine like he was still the noble high king and commander of the Sarmatian Knights. Which was saying a lot seeing as he was staring down the infamous Summers girls glare that Joyce had started, Buffy had perfected and Dawn had made infamous. The rest of the knights noticed the change, the importance of his words. The Lake. The Ice Battle. Dagonet. All words that were left unspoken, but passed through them silently.
“You know what Lake,” Trevor said quietly, coming behind her silently. “There was only ever one.”
“Could it be -” Dawn shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Cordelia told me it wasn’t possible - they - the Powers that Suck, told him my soul was lost, and now he’s locked up there all alone for eternity.”
“I’ve only seen him once, myself,” Arthur said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “My father is still his physician. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t him.”
“I know,” Dawn said quietly. “I wish it could be. But it was just a move by the Powers to get Lanyon here, so I’ll take what I can get.”
“We could get there in about twenty minutes, if Boris drives fast enough,” Gavin said quietly. “Get Lanyon and get him home again.”
“Visiting hours will be over by now. We won’t be able to get in tonight, but neither will he,” Jenna sighed. “We could - “
The phone rang shrilly behind Gwen, making her jump closer to Arthur. Her hand bumped into his, her fingers tangling with his. Her vision blurred, and images flashed through her mind almost as clearly as they had when she met Dawn for the first time. She moved closer to Arthur, a name slipping through her lips.
“Morgana.”
“Mordred,” Arthur hissed, his eyes snapping towards the knights.
“On the phone?” Willow asked.
“Oh,” Gwen flushed a bit and made a fumble for the phone. “Hello? Joel Hollis?”
“The neighbor lady - it must be her husband,” Dawn shook her head. “Felicia and her little girl, Lizzie.”
“Felicia met Dawn this morning at the Kingston Clinic, yes. You’re inviting us to a welcome picnic tomorrow. Um, Joel, hold on just one second,” Gwen laughed tightly, clamping her hand over the receiver. “Are we up to a welcoming picnic?”
“Oh bollocks, Artie,” Jenna smacked her hand on her leg. “I forgot to tell you that Felicia invited you as well. Your mum called to warn me. Your da’s planning on making the usual excuse.”
“Hello, he’s waiting on the line,” Gwen sighed.
“Yes, we’re all going to the picnic. And remember to thank them for the invitation,” Dawn giggled. It felt good to giggle. It had been too long.
“All of us?” Trevor asked, nodding to the half-open front door.
“What do you mean?” Dawn frowned, glancing over her shoulder.
“I think the prick means us,” a voice cut in.
Faith stood in the open doorway, Vi was just behind her looking sheepish. A few suitcases were stacked beside them. Faith did not look happy. Dawn only blushed, and Willow looked at her in confusion.
“Yeah. Did I forget to mention that I told Giles I needed someone to help train the knights?” Dawn blurted. “Oh, and tell Joel to expect about nine of us tomorrow, Gwen.”
*****
Higher Planes
*****
Ismene watched the Eternal Europa with cautious eyes. It had been Europa’s lover that had condemned Pelagius to an early death, but Ismene still had those days in Britain with a young Pelagius that could never have been taken from her. Time had healed the wounds, and fate had given him back to her again in another life. Ismene still harbored mixed feelings toward both Europa and Morgana, but like so many of the Higher Powers, she too had learned to hold back. Europa held the necklace in her hand, and Ismene felt a stab of pain. She remembered those days as if they had just happened. Europa closed her hand around the necklace, trying to hid it from her. She nodded her head to Ismene then fled the room.
“Oh, Europa, do not make the same mistakes for a third time,” Ismene closed her eyes.
“Beloved?” Pelagius’ arm encircled her shoulders.
“Even I can learn to pray, Pelagius.”
“Then let us hope that it hears His ears.”
*****
London
*****
Morgana smiled down at the small boy napping beside her. His father watched from beside the doorway, his hands twitching nervously. She glanced up at him. She’d broken the rules of keeping herself detached from the knights. She’d never been able to. Neither had Ismene been able to distance herself, nor Europa. What a group they made.
“Morgan, he’ll be waking up soon. I’ve got to get him to the sitter’s before work,” Percy said quietly.
Her son was different this time around, as was his father. It was the same soul, only purer - as it was meant to be. He’d gotten Percy’s light brown hair, and her dark eyes. She’d been overjoyed at his birth, but duty had called - both times. So his father in this life raised him, and she visited when she could.
“He’s gotten so big. He looks so healthy.”
“He is,” Percy murmured. “I’m just sorry that he slept through half the visit. For you.”
“He was up half the night teething, Percy. I understand.” Morgana glanced at his watch. There was never enough time. She smiled up at him. “I have to go, Percy. Dad’s waiting for me -”
“And Daddy can’t be left waiting,” Percy said tiredly.
“He really can’t.” She kissed his cheek before breezing out the doorway.
Merlin was busy rearranging Lanyon’s schedule in order to get him safely to the wall, and Morgana had to stop some Saxon assassins from killing her charges. Again.
Title: Sarmatian Ladies
Author: Jmaria
Rating: FR-15
Disclaimer: Joss owns Dawn & Co., Bruckheimer owns this incarnation of Arthur & Co., I own a couple things - the plot, the new names, the baby.
12. Cold Turkey
*****
No man or woman can live another's fate.
- The Mists of Avalon, *****
*****
Summers Cottage, 2005
*****
Dawn wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to convince both Arthur and Vanora - Dawn shook her head Vanora’s name was Jenna this time around - to come with her and Boris back to the Cottage. They’d spent most of the morning trying to make the adjustment easy for them, but they weren’t taking it very well, which was completely understandable. If she thought that telling little girls that they would have to fight demons for the rest of their short lives was hard, telling a man that he was the Once and Future King of England was even worse.
Not to mention the fact that she was impregnated by one of his knights, who had died over fifteen hundred years ago. Telling Jenna that Boris had been her lover had sent a red tinge to her cheeks. Dawn still wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. Boris was a good-looking guy. But it was Jenna herself who brought up the most interesting point of all.
“So you found Gawain first?” The older woman asked curiously.
“He actually found me,” Dawn smiled over at him.
“And then the Gwen girl?” Jenna frowned. “And Galahad?”
“Yeah.”
“So you found them all in the reverse order that they died,” she murmured. “With only myself, Arthur and Lancelot out of order.”
“What?” Dawn asked behind closed eyes.
*****
Rome
*****
The Immortal held the golden necklace in his hand, waiting for Europa to return with better information than she had brought to him last time. Long ago it had been a promise, a hint of what was to be her reward. Her vengeance against those whom had stinted her growth, and a double-edged gift it had been. It was meant to lure her to him, not throw her into the arms of his greatest enemy.
Europa only stared mutely at the trinket from the shadows. It had been ripped from her own daughter’s throat hundreds of years ago, and thrust back into her own hands when he’d banished her from his home the first time for her act of revenge.
“What news of my assassins, Europa?” the Immortal said quietly.
“They’ve made their way across the sea. They will be in London by nightfall,” Europa says quietly, her thoughts elsewhere.
“They will ensure the Fox and Wolf do not make it to the Wall?” The Immortal’s tone is harsher, as if he is speaking to an errant dog that must be kept in line. Europa cannot help but to bristle at his tone.
“I thought you had ordered them to kill the knight, my lord. What do the Wolf and Fox have to do with your plans?”
“They are part of HIS prophecy!” Europa doesn’t flinch at his angry shriek, which surprises both of them, for his next words are well chosen. “They would stand in my way, pull her away from me.”
“She is already at odds with them over the pregnancy. She will hesitate, as she always does for you. You’ve caught her in time, this time,” It still stung, his preference for the blonde waif. He would never have gone to such lengths to keep Europa at his side.
“I will have to give her the necklace to ensure that I have.” The Immortal tossed the necklace at her. She stared at it blankly. “Renew the spells, Europa. They are old.”
“Yes, my lord,” but she knows she won’t.
*****
The Higher Planes
*****
Ismene, forgotten daughter of Oedipus stared blankly at the infamous daughter of Merlin, whose own lineage had been blurred by mythos and time. Her corner of the High Planes is not often traveled, and no mortals pray to the daughter who took the more traveled path in life.
“What is it you want of me now, child?” Ismene sighed, her hands busily at work. “I’m old, and tired of meddling in the affairs of mortals.”
“It is the same thread, Ismene. The latest strand in the eons old tapestry,” Morgana sighed.
“Enough of your flowery speech, what do you want, Morgana?” Ismene let her fingers pause.
“He had her in Sparta, in Rome, and even in England. He cannot have her again, Ismene. Calm Europa’s anger, give her the divine influence you once doled out to an impatient Sarmatian warrior,” Morgana pleaded. “Do this one favor, even if it must be done in Pelagius’ name.
“This is your request of me? You bring up a love long lost to me, and beg off favors?”
“Mordred plays by rules that we can not answer fairly. So, our divine backs must stoop some.”
Ismene stared blankly at her. All these years, and yet she had still learned that no one really ever played by the rules.
“I do not have to. She is out of my hands,” Ismene smiled sadly. “Fate has finally offered her a fair way out.”
*****
The road to Delphi, 463
*****
Morgana felt the dull ache in her stomach as the day grew into night. Ismene slowed the cart, her eyes peering farther up along the road. The older woman sighed heavily before leading the horses off to a small clearing. Morgana frowned. It would be far easier to find safer passage in the night than at day. Ismene must have sensed her question.
“It is safer to travel unseen at night, but he will be counting on that,” Ismene smiled when Morgana’s frown simply deepened. “You are worse than my sister. You’ve no patience. Besides, if your stomach keeps making all of that racket, we’ll easily be prey to Roman soldiers.”
Ismene reached for a small bag as she instructed Morgana to pull the lantern inside the cloth enclosure. The bag contained a small loaf of fresh bread, a metal jar and flagon. Ismene handed her the flagon as she took out two wooden cups.
“Mixed wine, bread and honey. It isn’t much, but I’m sure it is a far better meal than you would be enjoying in Mordred’s Villa?” Ismene asked, the touch of a smirk on her lips.
“Yes. The Lady Europa did not feel I was deserving of such a fine meal as this,” Morgana sighed, wetting her lips with the cool wine. It was far better than the stale bread and murky water Europa had forced down her throat.
“Ach, that wounded bird!” Ismene grimaced. “She has been tricked at every turn. From Zeus’s bed to Mordred‘s. The Fates are not on that one’s side.”
“He took her children,” Morgana whispered sadly, her thoughts flicking back to the poor children of Europa.
“Just as Zeus offered her first offspring up. He claimed then that she -” But Ismene cut herself off.
Morgana frowned at the older woman’s sudden burst of silence. Her eyes clouded over sadly, and Morgana felt as if her stomach were to drop suddenly. Ismene only smiled sadly, her dark eyes clearing.
“He will lose his life, Mordred will see to it,” Morgana whispered quietly. “For aiding my escape, he will die.”
“Pelagius was already doomed to an early grave, child. His beliefs of his God were enough to see to that. This act of kindness will not be the act that brings his end about,” Ismene still looked away as she bundled up the remaining food. “They wait for you, to the North and West of here. First we must stop at the Oracle, give you the knowledge you will surely need. We must rush to Delphi.”
*****
ICU, Harrington Hospice, 2005
*****
Lanyon hated hospitals. He always had. Give him a clean, quick death. None of this hanging about. He shuddered as he made his way to the nurse’s station. A plump, older woman with graying hair looked up at him tiredly.
“Yes?”
“Hullo, I’m Lanyon Fairview. I spoke to Head Nurse Joyce this morning about seeing the John Doe who was discovered at the lake.”
“Hang on a moment,” she sighed. She dug out a clipboard from beneath the desk and flipped through the papers on it. Rolling her eyes as she found the right one, she handed the clipboard to him. “Sign the release form. You’re not to touch any of the equipment. Young Doctor King’s orders.”
“Young Doctor King?” Lanyon smiled.
“Yes, young, as in the second doctor King,” she huffed.
“Where is John Doe’s room located?” Lanyon asked.
“Room 107, second door to the left.”
*****
The road to the Summer Cottage
The Car Ride
*****
Willow smoothed her hair. It was nerve-wracking. Poor Dawnie. Her cell phone vibrated and she fumbled for it. Gwen tried to hide her amusement at this. Willow tried to give her best Resolve face look, but she was distracted by the call.
“Whoa, calm down Eva. Start again.” Gwen frowned. Willow only gave her the one-second finger as she pulled out her PDA. “Yep, it’s up. Transfer the file to me. Thanks, Eva.”
“What was that about?”
“Once we got Lanyon’s info, we set up a program to scan for all of his credit cards, license and passport.”
“Without a federal grant? Isn’t that a tad illegal?”
“It’s majorly illegal in most places, but we’ve got magic and fifteen hundred year old prophecies on our side,” but Willow couldn’t help blushing from the guilt. “Anyway, it didn’t work for the last month or so. Which is weird. Today, Eva got a hit. He’s about five miles from the wall. They swiped his id for verification at a Hospice care unit.”
Gwen paled. Hospice care? That sounded very ominous. He was a reporter. Lancelot could have been sent on a dangerous mission in a war-torn area. The knights needed to be together - could they already be torn apart?
“Gwen, he’s not a patient,” Willow said loudly. Gwen blinked. She must have had to say it more than once.
“He’s not?”
“No, he checked in as a visitor. He’s not hurt, as far as I can tell.”
“Thank goodness.”
“But we should get to the Cottage as quickly as possible. Dawn should know and try to make contact. Lancelot may be the key to finding Arthur.” Willow couldn’t help noticing Gwen’s fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
*****
Summers Cottage
*****
Dawn had to sit down. This was too surreal. Trevor put an arm around her. Jenna remembered dying - and even worse, she remembered the order they’d died in. The guys hadn’t, but Jenna did. The room was eerily quiet. Dawn couldn’t sit, she had to do something - even if it meant just for the sake of pacing. She heard the familiar crunch of tires on gravel, heard the door open.
“Guys, we’ve got good news - and company?” Willow’s voice dropped a bit as Gwen gasped. “I take it you know them, then?”
“Arthur?” Gwen’s voice trembled a bit as she started forward.
“Gwen -”
“We found Lancelot, Dawn. He’s a couple of miles from here at a hospice,” Willow said, making her way towards the younger woman.
“What?” Dawn shot her the same panicked look that Gwen had earlier.
“He’s a visitor, not a patient.”
“Well, I would hope not. I’d like to think we would have recognized Lancelot,” Arthur said suddenly, startling both Dawn and Willow.
“What?” Dawn felt stupid for saying the same thing again, but shrugged it off.
“I’m a doctor - I’m often at the Hospice,” Arthur frowned. “What could be so special that Lancelot would be there?”
“Lanyon,” Dawn’s eyes brightened. “He’s a journalist, right, Will?”
“Yeah. He used his id and press pass to get in.”
“But what could be so special about the Hospice?” Jenna shook her head. “Nothing that earth shattering is going on there, is it?”
“No, just the -” Arthur broke off, his eyes glistening a bit. He stared at Dawn wordlessly.
“Arthur?” Dawn asked. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been so bloody thick-headed.”
“Huh?”
*****
Room 107, ICU
*****
Lanyon pushed the curtain aside so he could see the poor soul that he was supposed to be writing a story on. He expected to find a frail, withered looking man. Some poor soul with little life left in him. He was wrong.
The man in the bed was huge. The bed seemed wrong, far too small for him. He looked healthy, coma aside and all. He seemed to be breathing on his own. There was a healthy growth of stubble on his face, and his fingers twitched in his sleep. From what information he’d been given, Lanyon knew that this man had literally washed up on shore with no identification. John Doe sure was loved by someone, if the dozen or so crayon-made cards had any say in the matter.
“Looks almost peaceful, doesn’t he?” a dark haired woman said from the doorway, startling him. A young, blonde haired boy stood shyly behind her.
“Yes. Not at all what I was expecting,” Lanyon admitted. “Do you know him?”
“Yes and no. My son Lucas found him,” the woman said softly. “We - either his father or myself bring him to visit about once a day. Luke had a funny feeling and wanted to see him again tonight.”
“And you are?”
“Felicia Hol-”
“I call him Dag!” Lucas blurted, cutting his mother off.
“Really?” Lanyon smiled as Felicia rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“He’s not a John.”
“No, he doesn’t really look like a John, does he?” Lanyon found himself looking at the comatose man. Dag really did suit the big man.
“But it’s not his full name, a nickname,” Lucas said seriously. His young, hopeful look caught Lanyon’s eyes. “It meant something, his real name. Some lady called him it, and he felt love.”
“Some Lady?” Lanyon frowned. “His wife, maybe?”
The boy shook his head. He glanced up at his mother once before he spoke again.
“They weren’t like Mum and Da. He was quiet, she was louder. They were nice to me.”
Lucas broke away from his mother, taking another card over to the table that was crowded with cards. Felicia had tears in her eyes, and Lanyon offered her a tissue from the box on the table.
“Lucas has a very active imagination. He’s been telling these stories since he found Dag,” Felicia said softly.
“You call him that as well?” Lanyon probed. “To humor him?”
“No. It’s funny, but as soon as my husband and I set eyes on him, we’ve called him the same thing. He looks like a Dag.”
“And the woman Lucas spoke of - she’s not real?”
Tears shone brightly in Felicia’s eyes as they lingered on Dag in the bed. Her voice shook a bit as spoke.
“If she were, then Doctor Kingston wouldn’t be taking him off life-support in a few days.”Type your cut contents here.Marion Zimmer Bradley
13. Helping Hands
*****
Marius, like the High King, believed they should remember the past, and one way of doing that was to keep the language of men who had lived in cities and known the old lost days of peace
- Dragon Magic, Andre Norton
*****
*****
Borderlands, Sarmatia, 463
*****
“We have waited nearly a fortnight, we cannot stay here!” Elaine cried, pacing the rock soil again.
“Elaine, you tire me with your complaints,” Isolde gritted her teeth as she fanned the flames higher.
“And in truth, it is making me dizzy,” Viviane sighed.
“Do I upset your delicate constitution, Viviane? I am truly sorrowed by this news,” Elaine spat, her fingers tightening on her crossbow.
“We have not heard from Morgana. We do not move further without her, because she is the only one who knows which way they are.”
“We cannot stay blindly in one place, Isolde! Mordred will have sent his troops after her, and in turn us. It is by his order that this village was slain!”
“We do not know that -” Viviane protested, but Isolde cut her off.
“He is not after Morgana. If he had been, he would not have sent spies to find you,” Isolde snapped. “It is the Lioness that he is after, not the Raven. She was merely the means to an end.”
Elaine stilled. Viviane held her breath, fearing that this would end with words or actions both of them would regret. Instead, Elaine took a seat near the fire, her eyes cast downward. Isolde nodded at this before speaking again.
“Besides, He would not think to find us in the ruins of a village he destroyed in order to find us. His mistake.” Or, at least she truly hoped so.
*****
Room 107, ICU, 2005
*****
Lanyon stiffened visibly. Felicia swiped at her eyes with the tissue. They were going to let this obviously healthy person die? Because no one had claimed him?
“Doctor Kingston, the young Dr. Kingston is going to -”
“Artie? No, he’d never. It’s his father. Old Dr. Kingston is still in charge of Dag. He’s mostly retired, but this was his last case, and no family has come forward,” Felicia’s eyes flashed towards her son. “Joel and I - that’s my husband - we haven’t told Lucas yet.”
“Understandably so,” Lanyon nodded. “The boy dotes on him.”
“He does,” Felicia’s voice tightened as she watched her son.
Lanyon felt at a loss. This man should have a chance at life. No one should slip into death without a fight of some sort. He watched as the boy tipped his head forward a bit. Then the strangest thing happened. The light behind the bed glowed a bit brighter, and Lanyon thought he saw a blonde woman standing beside the boy and the man. Lucas tilted his head towards the woman and nodded. A few minutes later, Lucas raced towards his mother.
“Mum, could we invited Mr. Lanyon to the dinner?” Lucas asked.
“The dinner?”
“Lucas, we don’t even know if Mr. Lanyon is planning on staying here for the night to worry about tomorrow‘s dinner.” Felicia smiled.
“He’ll be around here, won’t you?”
“Lucas -”
“Actually, I’ll be here for several days. I’d love to interview Dr. Kingston, and yourself, Lucas. You’re the hero, right?” Lanyon winked at the boy.
“Not really. Da pulled him ashore, I just spotted him,” Lucas’ ears turned red.
“In that case, I’m throwing a welcome dinner for a few new neighbors. We’d love it if you’d come. Joel’s is planning to cook.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“He’s a decent cook.”
“Then I’d love to come to dinner.”
Felicia jotted down the address and some quick directions. The nurse came in then, reminding them that visiting hours were officially over. They parted in the small paved parking lot, Felicia and her son climbing into their ancient truck while Lanyon fumbled with the keys to the rental car. Before starting the car, he flipped his cell phone open.
“Marty, it’s Lan. Listen, I’m gonna be a few days more. I found a new angle on this coma story you sent me to check out,” Lanyon paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘what coma story’?”
*****
Delphi, 463
*****
The trip seemed far quicker than it should have been. It should have taken the better half of a year to reach the ancient temple, and Morgana was fairly certain that it had been destroyed. Ismene would not speak further of her disheartening news, and the older woman stopped only during the night.
They had crossed into Greece easily enough, still there was much left unsaid between the women. There had been thunder so loud her teeth chattered in fear. She remembered her mentor’s words of meditation and calming, words that had gotten her through the most hellish of nights in Mordred’s castle, when he himself would dole out her punishment. Nights she had long tried to bury in her mind. She pressed herself tightly against the side of the cart as it rocked to a halt. Ismene pulled the canvas away.
“We are here,” she said tearfully, her sad eyes resting on the Sarmatian warrior.
“What troubles you, Ismene?”
“You, child. You trouble and plague me.”
Morgana recoiled as if slapped. Ismene merely scowled and threw a heavy cloak in her direction. Morgana trembled as she pulled the cloak over her and slipped out of the cart. Ismene sat on the ruined steps of an ancient temple, her knees pressed tightly to her chest as her shoulders shook in agony. A dark haired woman stood beside her, murmuring words of comfort. Her eyes were startlingly blue, and looked tired, as if the world were too much of a strain on her.
“You knew his fate, Ismene, before you fetched the girl. Pelagius did not belong to us, not in this time. She is not to blame.”
“No, the boy is - because Pelagius meant something to him, and Mordred could not let him have happiness,” Ismene spat. She looked up into the other woman’s eyes. “She carries his seed in her belly.”
“I know.”
“She does not.”
Morgana felt heavy, her steps slipping. The woman turned to face her, a steadying hand reached for her. There was a sad smile on her lips as she pulled Morgana to Ismene and herself. Ismene looked shamed, angry and unbearably sad.
“And Mordred, that little bastard, does not know either.”
“I am not -”
“You are, Morgana. You carry the grandson of Uther Pendragon in your belly, son of his own bastard son, Mordred. His other grandchildren, Jessamina and Felix, childred of the Eternal Europa were slain by the dreaded vampire lords. He will have no further offspring, not in this lifetime,” the woman sighed.
“How can you know this?” Morgana whispered.
“I am the Oracle of Delphi. Roman priests may have destroyed my temple, but there are still worshippers here. I am called Kassandra.”
“Kassandra of Troy?”
*****
Summers Cottage, 2005
*****
Dawn frowned at Arthur’s confused and obviously torn face, not comprehending anything he was trying to say. Instead of coming up with a reasonable answer, all he managed to do was stare at Gwen and walk into the doorjamb. Willow was looking uncomfortable next to Gavin, and - was Boris making gaga eyes at Jenna? Trevor seemed to be pondering and Garrett - well, he was looking bored.
“Why would Lanyon be at the Hospice, Arthur?” Dawn asked again.
“The John Doe who washed ashore at the lake -”
“What lake?” Dawn’s breath caught as she rounded on Arthur.
To his credit, Arthur stiffened his spine like he was still the noble high king and commander of the Sarmatian Knights. Which was saying a lot seeing as he was staring down the infamous Summers girls glare that Joyce had started, Buffy had perfected and Dawn had made infamous. The rest of the knights noticed the change, the importance of his words. The Lake. The Ice Battle. Dagonet. All words that were left unspoken, but passed through them silently.
“You know what Lake,” Trevor said quietly, coming behind her silently. “There was only ever one.”
“Could it be -” Dawn shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Cordelia told me it wasn’t possible - they - the Powers that Suck, told him my soul was lost, and now he’s locked up there all alone for eternity.”
“I’ve only seen him once, myself,” Arthur said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “My father is still his physician. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t him.”
“I know,” Dawn said quietly. “I wish it could be. But it was just a move by the Powers to get Lanyon here, so I’ll take what I can get.”
“We could get there in about twenty minutes, if Boris drives fast enough,” Gavin said quietly. “Get Lanyon and get him home again.”
“Visiting hours will be over by now. We won’t be able to get in tonight, but neither will he,” Jenna sighed. “We could - “
The phone rang shrilly behind Gwen, making her jump closer to Arthur. Her hand bumped into his, her fingers tangling with his. Her vision blurred, and images flashed through her mind almost as clearly as they had when she met Dawn for the first time. She moved closer to Arthur, a name slipping through her lips.
“Morgana.”
“Mordred,” Arthur hissed, his eyes snapping towards the knights.
“On the phone?” Willow asked.
“Oh,” Gwen flushed a bit and made a fumble for the phone. “Hello? Joel Hollis?”
“The neighbor lady - it must be her husband,” Dawn shook her head. “Felicia and her little girl, Lizzie.”
“Felicia met Dawn this morning at the Kingston Clinic, yes. You’re inviting us to a welcome picnic tomorrow. Um, Joel, hold on just one second,” Gwen laughed tightly, clamping her hand over the receiver. “Are we up to a welcoming picnic?”
“Oh bollocks, Artie,” Jenna smacked her hand on her leg. “I forgot to tell you that Felicia invited you as well. Your mum called to warn me. Your da’s planning on making the usual excuse.”
“Hello, he’s waiting on the line,” Gwen sighed.
“Yes, we’re all going to the picnic. And remember to thank them for the invitation,” Dawn giggled. It felt good to giggle. It had been too long.
“All of us?” Trevor asked, nodding to the half-open front door.
“What do you mean?” Dawn frowned, glancing over her shoulder.
“I think the prick means us,” a voice cut in.
Faith stood in the open doorway, Vi was just behind her looking sheepish. A few suitcases were stacked beside them. Faith did not look happy. Dawn only blushed, and Willow looked at her in confusion.
“Yeah. Did I forget to mention that I told Giles I needed someone to help train the knights?” Dawn blurted. “Oh, and tell Joel to expect about nine of us tomorrow, Gwen.”
*****
Higher Planes
*****
Ismene watched the Eternal Europa with cautious eyes. It had been Europa’s lover that had condemned Pelagius to an early death, but Ismene still had those days in Britain with a young Pelagius that could never have been taken from her. Time had healed the wounds, and fate had given him back to her again in another life. Ismene still harbored mixed feelings toward both Europa and Morgana, but like so many of the Higher Powers, she too had learned to hold back. Europa held the necklace in her hand, and Ismene felt a stab of pain. She remembered those days as if they had just happened. Europa closed her hand around the necklace, trying to hid it from her. She nodded her head to Ismene then fled the room.
“Oh, Europa, do not make the same mistakes for a third time,” Ismene closed her eyes.
“Beloved?” Pelagius’ arm encircled her shoulders.
“Even I can learn to pray, Pelagius.”
“Then let us hope that it hears His ears.”
*****
London
*****
Morgana smiled down at the small boy napping beside her. His father watched from beside the doorway, his hands twitching nervously. She glanced up at him. She’d broken the rules of keeping herself detached from the knights. She’d never been able to. Neither had Ismene been able to distance herself, nor Europa. What a group they made.
“Morgan, he’ll be waking up soon. I’ve got to get him to the sitter’s before work,” Percy said quietly.
Her son was different this time around, as was his father. It was the same soul, only purer - as it was meant to be. He’d gotten Percy’s light brown hair, and her dark eyes. She’d been overjoyed at his birth, but duty had called - both times. So his father in this life raised him, and she visited when she could.
“He’s gotten so big. He looks so healthy.”
“He is,” Percy murmured. “I’m just sorry that he slept through half the visit. For you.”
“He was up half the night teething, Percy. I understand.” Morgana glanced at his watch. There was never enough time. She smiled up at him. “I have to go, Percy. Dad’s waiting for me -”
“And Daddy can’t be left waiting,” Percy said tiredly.
“He really can’t.” She kissed his cheek before breezing out the doorway.
Merlin was busy rearranging Lanyon’s schedule in order to get him safely to the wall, and Morgana had to stop some Saxon assassins from killing her charges. Again.