Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Bedivere!”

A loud, clear voice echoed over the battlefield of Camlann. One of the few remaining soldiers that yet lived on the slaughter strewn plain, his colors indicating he was still loyal to the crown. Mud and viscera caked nearly every inch of the man as he bellowed out the name of a knight once more.

“Bedivere! The King calls you to his side!” Cynwyl Sant screamed out to the surrounding hills before turning and kneeling next to his liege lord, “Sire, I think I spotted him approaching. Morfran’s leading him here.”

The King struggled to breathe with a broken spear pierced through him, “Is he dead, Sant?”

Cynwyl knew that the King was not referring to Bedivere, but to the black armored knight fallen not a half dozen paces away. Steel still pierced completely through the rebellious blackguard that had brought so much ruin to the kingdom. Dark brown eyes glanced away and to the fallen hulk, before looking back at his liege, “Aye, sire, your steel still rests through his heart. It’s over.”

“Bedivere will deal with the blade, Sant, I have something for you. You must take it to the abbey in Glastonbury. It is in the saddlebags of my destrier.”

“Sire, your horse perished in the opening charge…”

A cough racked the King’s body, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as it did. Cynwyl wiped it away with one of the few bits of clean tabard remained before his liege continued, “I know. It’s a tough thing, should still be in there, wrapped in purple silk that the Roman emperor of the east gifted me. Take it to her. Tell her I asked her to guard it.”

“Sire, she’s not even your wife anymore…”

“Do as I say, Cynwyl Sant! I do not have enough life left in me to argue with you over my final orders!” Majesty and force dominated every syllable of the King’s command, staggering the man-at-arms with surprise at the power that could still be conjured.

Sant knelt one final time for his king, “These hands and this body are yours to command. I shall see it done, even should my own death be needed to see it safely there.”

The King reached up with a trembling hand, patting Sant’s cheek fondly, “Thank you, old friend. You’ve served me well. God be with you. Now, make haste and do not look back.”

“Stop fidgeting. Proper young ladies do not fidget like this.”

The young lady in question fidgeted again next to her mother in the back of the car. Leather seats creaked and squeaked as she adjusted her positioning yet again and did everything she could not to meet the gaze of her mother sitting next to her in the back of the Mercedes being driven by their family’s driver.

“Yes, Mother,” murmured the young lady, the fingernail of one thumb digging into the space between flesh and nail on the opposite thumb.

Cold, cruel blue eyes stared down a slender, perfectly shaped nose to regard the meekly cowering daughter next to her. Honey blonde hair that had retained its color into middle age was neatly sculpted into an intricate hair style that cascaded from multiple arrangements down a back with rigid and perfect posture. Designer silk draped her attractive figure and expensive jewelry glittered all over her.

Her offspring was the opposite in every way. Small, with a posture curled inwards, the young woman had mousey brown hair and a face that could be mistaken for pretty in a good light behind its coke bottle thick glasses and dull brown eyes. An oversized school uniform, the crest on the blazer from a girl’s only boarding school, engulfed her with its skirt that had been let down nearly to the ankles. Only the battered sneakers on her feet showed any type of informality.

One perfectly manicured hand slapped down hard on the young woman’s with their oft-bitten nails that were mostly down to the quick on her various fingers. The impact was hard enough to echo in the car with the sound of it.

“I told you to stop.”

“Sorry, mother,” mumbled the young woman after shoving her hands under her thighs, already knowing what was next.

“Don’t sorry mother me, you insolent little bitch. When I tell you to stop something, you do so immediately.” Mother pulled one of the young woman’s hands back out from under her thigh and pushed the sleeve of her blazer and the blouse beneath it up, exposing pale white flesh marred by numerous circular bruises. Mother then pinched hard on an unbruised spot and twisted, illustrating how the bruises had been created. “How am I supposed to do anything with a sulking little brat like you? Do you think you can honestly make it through college like this, Gwyneth?”

Gwyneth squealed softly at the pain, but knew better than to pull away, as that would only make it worse. Instead, she stuffed the foreknuckle of her free hand into her mouth and bit down on it as her Mother twisted her skin. One tooth sliced through the skin and produced a trickle of blood she could taste in the back of her throat. She did not bother to look towards the driver, as the man had long since learned to ignore the violence being inflicted in favor of his paycheck.

Bored with injuring her daughter further, Mother let go and withdrew her hand, sleeves falling back into place. She practically spit out the next word, “Pathetic. Well, at least I don’t have to see that face your father blessed you with for a while. You can sit in your college dorm until you flunk out after a pair of semesters. Don’t think I’ll be paying them to pass you like your high school.”

Gwyneth said nothing, staring down at her lap and not daring to contradict her mother. Both hands were stuck firmly under her thighs as the car pulled up into the parking lot of the girl’s dorms to the private university that the young woman had been admitted to. It was bustling with young women just arriving for the first day of move-ins that had been allowed.

What stood out was a pair of massive plumbing vans and numerous drainage lines being run into the building straight through the first door past a harried pair of RAs and their clipboards hurriedly trying to corral women, luggage, and multiple male, middle-aged plumbers who were more than happy to stop and stare. It added an extra dose of chaos to the events.

“Get the fuck out of my car,” Mother snarled and Gwyneth did everything she could to make that happen immediately, scrambling out and shutting the door behind her. Davis, the chauffeur, exited long enough to get the pair of suitcases she had been allowed out of the trunk and deposit them on the ground next to the girl. He gave a shrug and a vaguely sympathetic expression before the thick shouldered former cop vanished back within the black Mercedes. It rolled away without another word being said.

Gwyneth sighed and hefted both suitcases, nearly topping over from the weight, before correcting herself and walking slowly up to one of the RAs directing traffic at the plate glass front doors of the dormitory building.

“Hey, name?” the frazzled RA held up her clipboard as she was approached.

“Fier,” muttered the mousy young woman, dropping a suitcase to adjust where her glasses rested on her nose.

“Fear, Feer, Fehr… how do you spell that?”

“F. I. E. R. It’s French,” announced the young woman just as a man in a plumbing jumpsuit bumped into her and sent her toppling into the RA. Both women ended up splayed out on the ground in a tangle of limbs with Gwyneth’s glasses skittering away into the grass.

A grunt came from the plumber and something that sounded vaguely like an apology before he continued making his way inside. Meanwhile, Gwyneth began to crawl in search of her missing eyewear, patting along the ground looking for them and praying not to hear a crunching sound.

The RA righted herself and patted away clumps of damp ground that had clung to her jeans. It only took a few moments of watching the younger of the pair looking like Velma from Scooby Doo before she reached down, collected the glasses and placed the damp, grass infested spectacles on the other’s face. “God, you’re a trainwreck, Fier.”

“Sorry,” muttered the younger woman as she stood in her grass-stained private school uniform.

“You can wear casual clothes in the dorms. Jeans, t-shirts, etcetera. Nothing slutty, but definitely something less stuffy than that old prep school crap,” the RA offered, trying to sound consoling.

“I, um, Mother didn’t buy me anything new. I just have the uniforms, pajamas, and a track suit,” Gwyneth responded as she cleaned her glasses with her blazer.

“Arright, I guess you could wear the track suit.” The RA flipped back and forth through her clipboard, “Here you are. Gwyneth? Yeah, says you have one of the single rooms from the corner. Shit, sucks to be you.”

“What? Why?” Gwyneth blinked owlishly of the blurry image of the RA in her vision, glasses still in the process of being cleaned.

“Well, if you can’t tell from this fucking disaster zone, one of the pipes on the top floor in the corner units burst. Every unit directly below got flooded, including yours. Everything’s being double booked, so you’re being moved to 3G to share with another until the plumbing is fixed the units are repaired.” The RA gave an air of someone who had given the same explanation multiple times already through the night.

“B-b-b-but, I need a single occupant dorm room! M-m-mother paid extra for it!” stammered Gwyneth, on the verge of a mixture of tears and panic.

“Well, you’re welcome to call your mom to come pick you back up, if you want.”

Gwyneth went completely still and quiet as she stared up at the taller woman, all color draining from her features at the thought of having to contact her mother.

“Hello? Earth to Fier?” A hand was waved in front of the young woman’s face.

Stammering were the first sounds that came out, followed by a heavy swallow and Gwyneth finally saying, “N-no, that’ll be fine. I’ll just go to my new room.”

“3G. Second on the right after you come outta the stairs.” A pen was used to give a vaguely pointed direction.

Gwyneth put her glasses back on, hefted her suitcases, and headed towards her new home.

“Spend all day getting moved in to have to divide this tiny ass dorm in two,” groused Tori as she finished shoving the bed that had been carted into her room flush against the corner.

“Place is a god damn broom closet, yet I’m supposed to share it with some fucking stranger?” growled the tall blonde.

Soft knocks sounded on the door to the dorm room and Tori sighed, “Guess that’s the roomie. Better not be an axe murderer.” She sauntered over and opened the door.

A nerdy looking mouse of a girl stared up at Tori through coke bottle thick glasses. Her frumpy prep academy uniform was stained with grass and damp spots and her lank brown hair was a disaster, tangles hanging loose down to her shoulders. The short girl looked up at Tori, blinked several times through her glasses, then went beet red, “I-I-I-I-I r-r-r-r-roommate s-s-s-s—“Everything else turned into a wordless stammer.

Tori rolled her eyes as she rubbed at her face with both hands. She knew full well what she looked like, and the effect on people, but even this felt hopeless. Tall and athletic, the blonde had a magnificent mane of hair that tumbled down to her shoulder blades, full of vibrancy and volume. Beautiful features that left her the envy of high school marked her face, as did wide, blue eyes. Even her hands were firm and strong, not delicate, from all the time spent with boxing and aikido. A shelf on the far wall had been stuffed with her athletic awards, even a set of Silver Gloves from the national association from her freshman year in high school.

“Get in here, disaster piece,” grunted Tori as she yanked the little mouse into the dorm. As the smaller woman staggered towards her bed, Tori grabbed the two suitcases standing post next to the door and pulled them both in. Once the dorm’s door was shut, she turned to regard the mouse, “Name?”

“Gw-gw-gw-gwyneth.”

“Gwyn, got it. Okay, I’m Tori, the person you’ve been inflicted upon.” The blonde started ticking fingers off as she recited, “Some basic rules so we don’t kill each other to start. That temporary rolling bed is yours, I get the real one since this is my actual room. Bottom shelf on the minifridge is for you to use, don’t touch any of the food or energy drinks that aren’t on that shelf. Showers and bathroom are down the hall on the right, laundry’s across the hall from them.”

“I, uh, that’s okay, I, um,” stammered the thoroughly run over mouse.

“Yeah, yeah,“ Tori kept running over the smaller woman verbally, “Quiet by nine PM and I’m locking the door at ten. If you’re not in by then, I’m not opening it and I’m not giving you a key. Keep your area clean or I report you to the RAs. Outlet’s there if you wanna charge your phone and other stuff, WiFi password is the school mascot, plural, so ‘dragons’.” Tori stared silently at Gwyneth as the monologue came to an end.

Gwyneth stared back, trembling faintly as she stood rooted next to the rollaway bed that had been assigned to her.

“Well, any questions? Get ‘em out of the way now,” Tori crossed both arms over her chest and tapped a sneaker covered shoe on the ground.

A stammered attempt to say something came out of Gwyneth, but that failed to coalesce into anything approaching actual words. Fingers tugged and plucked at the hem of her dirty blazer until first one, then many tears began to pour down her cheeks, her chin quivering as the stress and heartache of the evening crashed over the dam of her emotional barriers.

“Hey, c’mon, none of that…” Tori rubbed at her forehead as the crying began in earnest.

Gwyneth bawled, tears flowing as she dropped onto the edge of her bed and sobbed her heart out. She buried her face into the sleeve of her blazer, but it did nothing to stem the tide of so many emotions racing through her. Her glasses were suddenly wet again and everything in the room turned into a blur.

“Gwyn, hey, I know it’s probably been a shitty day for you. Me, too, I…” All the hardass edge faded and Tori deflated, watching a little girl just vent her grief and pain into the room for only a moment longer before settling on the bed next to her, “Hey, it’ll be okay, I promise you’ll get through this.” Both arms wrapped around the slender shoulders of the brown-haired woman and she hugged her gently.

Gwyneth collapsed into Tori’s arms, not caring who provided her comfort, just that someone was. She found herself lying across the larger woman’s lap, sobbing uncontrollably for several long minutes. Tori kept patting her gently on the back, her other hand smoothing and stroking the brown strands of Gwyneth’s hair.

A tuneless melody came from Tori as she began to hum, trying to calm the young girl down. It floated and shaped itself until she began to murmur the words that went with it in a surprisingly smooth and pleasant alto voice, “Hush, child, the darkness will rise from the deep / And carry you down into sleep / Child, the darkness will rise from the deep / And carry you down into sleep…”

Glasses were pulled clear and Gwyneth wiped at her eyes before blinking up at Tori and asking softly, “What song is that?”

“Um. Mordred’s Lullaby. My mom used to play it on CD a lot. Before, well, a long time ago.” Tori shrugged and gave her own, small, sad smile.

“Before what?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry.” Gwyneth pushed up to sit, no longer laying across her roommate’s lap, “You don’t even know me and I’m just a mess.” Soft sniffles came from her and she rubbed at her nose.

“Hey, it’s okay, we all have shit we deal with,” Tori tried offering a small smile, “I know I come on strong sometimes, and I should’ve been more empathetic. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, um, thanks. S’okay, you don’t need to apologize. I’ll keep out of your way.”

Tori looked the other woman up and down again, really noticing the wet spots and grass stuck all over her clothes. She stood, “Go ahead and change into clean clothes if you want. I can wait in the hall…”

“No, that’s fine. You’ll see eventually, I’m sure,” Gwyneth pulled up one of her suitcases onto the bed and rummaged in it until she produced a brown set of pajamas with a long-sleeved top.

Tori retreated to her own bed, pushing her AirPods into her ears and trying to keep her attention focused on her iPad. She navigated a fantasy game where she was dueling monsters as a knight and their retinue. Flashing lights and loud effects played out on the device as Gwyneth changed in the background. During one of the load screens the artwork had several nearly black areas, which turned the iPad’s screen into a mirror.

What she caught in the reflection worried the blonde woman. Scars and furrows decorated the smaller woman’s shoulders and back as she swapped out of her blouse for the pajama top. Both arms were covered in a series of bruises and welts. Everything about Gwyneth’s appearance screamed systemic abuse.

When Gwyneth turned, she found Tori staring at her, a scowl etched on her expression. Brown eyes blinked across the room, having thought Tori enraptured with her device, leaving Gwyneth to ask, “S-s-something wrong?”

“Is someone hurting you?”

“N-n-no! W-what would make you think that?” stammered the smaller woman.

“Scars and bruises everywhere, Gwyn. Are you okay? Can I help?” The tablet was discarded and forgotten, both AirPods out and set aside as well as Tori’s full attention was on her roommate.

“Y-you can’t help,” Gwyneth said before sitting on the edge of her bed once more, “Nothing’s happening, so there’s nothing to help with.” It was the first time since entering the room there had been any firmness to Gwyneth’s voice.

Tori’s eyes narrowed and she knew she was being lied to. Instead of confronting the other woman, she only offered, “Well, if you ever need my help, ask. I’m here and I won’t stand for people to be bullied or hurt.” A grin formed and she pointed up to the shelf stuffed with trophies over her bed, one hand curling into an impressive fist, “Silver Gloves winner in 2020, placed in state for Aikido. I made it here on a boxing scholarship, not like my uncle can afford this place, but I’m gonna win my Golden Glove and get into the UFC when college is done. No one messes with my friends and you are, officially, my friend.”

Wide brown eyes blinked repeatedly at Tori and a smile was allowed onto Gwyneth’s face, “My knight in shining armor, it sounds like.”

“Damn straight. Or my name’s not Artoria Pendraig.”

“Where THE FUCK is she?”

Blood spattered as coughing wracked the man tied to the chair. Crimson drenched the shirt he wore, torn and ripped from what had already happened to him. Another fist, one of many, smashed across the battered and bruised features.

“You run from me for years, Myrrdhin, only for me to catch you now. So young, so full of life, unlike my memories of you,” came the woman’s sibilant voice, low and menacing. A British accent marked it, straight from the poshest of London’s neighborhoods.

“Out of your grasp, Morgan,” grinned the battered man and his Northumbrian British accent, barely more than a teenager, from his position tied firmly to a chair far fancier than such violence would merit. He spit a gob of blood onto the hardwood floor beneath him, “You’ve grown cruder in old age.”

Another fist readied for a blow, attached to a hulk of a man, but was stopped as Morgan stepped forward and out of the shadows. Sultry and slinky in a blood red dress, the beautiful dark-haired woman towered over Myrrdhin in her stiletto heels. It was the expression on her face and the way it mirrored in her eyes that showed her true ugliness, the veneer on the outside a mask against the foulness within.

A slap was whipped across her prisoner’s features, “When I find her, she will have no guardian. You will be gone back to the crystal caves once I’m done with you.”

“You’re wrong, my old apprentice,” cackled Myrrdhin, ignoring the slap and the extra line of blood down his chin, “If you ever find them, they’ll be side by side. Nothing you do will work now they’ve been re-united.”

Rage flared in Morgan’s dark eyes, “I will find the Pendragon and I will find my bastard brother’s heir, you old fool. I will be there when Caliburn reveals itself once more.”

Myrddhin giggled, “But your son won’t be. Is there anything left of him after he rotted away on Camlann’s hills?” He broke into riotous laughter, kicking his legs against those of the chair imprisoning him.

“You forget, you old fool, that in this form your magics are nothing compared to what I can now do.” Morgan changed softly, fingers trailing through the air, drawing whisps of the arcane away from Myrrdhin’s form. “Anál nathrach, orth' bháis's bethad, do chél dénmha!”

Myrrdhin snarled, attempting to counter the chant with one of his own, only to have a thick hand from Morgan’s lackey cover his mouth and muffle him. He bit hard into the flesh of the hand, but even as it was pulled away from the pain, he knew he was too late. Morgan’s eyes were iridescent with the magic of the charm.

“You sent them to the New World, across the ocean vast. Hidden behind a wall of malice, to be tormented so that I could not find them. Clever, but not clever enough by half, as all I needed to find was you…” Morgan laughed, a cruel, spiteful sound.

“It’s already too late, Morgan! You’ve already failed!” spit out the old master in his youthful body.

“Gag him, time to send him back to his prison.”

Chapter Text

“How dare you accuse my wife of such ill deeds!”

The King stood from the circular table, staring daggers through the Green Knight’s very soul. He quivered with rage, one mailed gauntlet holding himself still on the table’s surface, as if that was all that was preventing himself from launching bodily towards the accuser.

“She has spoken ill about your very marriage, an ungodly manner of speaking, my liege! Mine own ears have heard it, and I saw her press her lips to the cheek of one of the other knights at this very table!” Gawain shouted over the din of the assembled knights and courtiers, his thick northern accent muddling some of his pronunciation of the Brythonic tongue.

As soon as it was announced that another knight stood accused, each of the other warriors about the Round Table surged to their feet, accusations and defenses thrown wildly. All but one, the most beloved of knights, he who sat to the king’s right hand did not move. Handsome features remained pensive as they regarded the green hauberk and tabard of Gawain of Orkney.

“Gawain, calm yourself and settle! I would never betray my husband so!” cried the Queen and knights rose to her defense, calling out against Gawain, railing at how he could not dare to assault her fidelity and her beauty. Wide brown eyes regarded the Green Knight with such pain and sorrow that even his resolved wavered until he found his eyes on the man who stolen the lives so many of his brothers in duels. It stiffened him and he renewed his assault.

“Even now Lancelot du Lac fails to speak! He will not defend himself for he dare not bear false witness before our beloved king and God Himself!” Gawain threw the accusation directly, snarling as he pointed at the silver clad knight. Lancelot’s expression barely changed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded his nemesis.

“Gawain! Speak your accusation plain or apologize lest you will cross blades with me, not Lancelot du Lac!” demanded the King, punching the table hard enough to rattle it.

“I accuse the Queen of adultery! Which, by the laws of this kingdom, is TREASON! That she should be HUNG BY THE NECK UNTIL SHE IS DEAD! And I name the champion of this kingdom, Lancelot du Lac, as her conspirator and accomplice in her treason! That they conspire to deny an heir to the line of Pendragon!” Gawain’s voice boomed easily through the room, for he was a large man with a barrel chest, and had spent years leading and commanding on the fields of battle against the Angles and Saxons.

“Adultery!” cried the King, tears forming in his eyes as he dropped into his seat. He could not defend his wife, for by the laws, he must stand as her judge. Only death was allowed as a punishment should the accusation stand. When he looked to the Queen, that she could not meet his gaze told him everything he needed to know about the truth of it, and his heart began to break apart in his chest.

“I will stand as the Queen’s champion,” Lancelot finally spoke, rising as he did, his voice barely more than a conversational level while the room filled with erupting roars and shouts.

The King stood and grabbed his wife’s jaw, turning her to face him, to capture her beautiful brown orbs with his blue-eyed gaze. His voice was a whisper only she could hear, “Deny it and make me believe it.”

“I love you, Arthur. You know this,” her voice was nearly as quiet as his.

“That’s not what I asked of you, wife.”

“Lancelot will prove my virtue! Let your true and noble friend stand for me! You’ll see!” his wife begged of him.

The King squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment and pushed the Queen away from him. “I know exactly what might has always proven.” His voice held the accusation that Gawain had already voiced. He turned back to the table and the knights assembled there, commanding only, “Do as thou wilt.” The Queen’s voice cried out after her husband as he walked away, vanishing within the bowls of Camelot’s hallways.

Mordred shifted to stand next to Gawain, smiling faintly as he clapped one hand down on the Green Knight’s mailed hauberk, “You’re doing the right thing. My support is yours.”

“I’m sorry!” muttered Gwyneth for the millionth time as she bumped into Tori, sloshing the bowl of ramen she had been trying to cart to her desk from the shared kitchen space on floor 3.

Tori could only sigh, shaking away the hot broth that had splashed on one hand before setting the bowl of three start spicy ramen near her study material. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Why are you always apologizing?”

“I, it, um, well, because I made you spill,” the smaller, mousier woman settled on her bed and folded her legs up underneath her. Two weeks of living together had shown exactly how clumsy and shy the smaller woman had turned out to be.

“It’s not just that. This morning you apologized when I woke up. You hadn’t even done anything!”

“I, uh, I hadn’t gotten you coffee but I made some for me!”

“You don’t need to apologize for that!” Tori cried as she facepalmed.

“I’m sorry!”

“Augh!” the blonde threw both her hands up in the air, “Gwyn, you are sweet as it gets, but you don’t have an ounce of self-esteem.”

“I’m sor--!” she had started to apologize again when she caught Tori’s glare and relented, instead saying, “Every time I look at you, I feel I need to apologize for something. I don’t even know what it is half the time, just that I feel really bad.”

“Better. That’s communication, there. You don’t need to feel bad, this entire situation is not your fault. You’re quiet, you go along with every request I’ve had so far, and you never complain. You’re actually a really good roomie. All you do is study, eat, and sleep.”

“If-if I wanna get out of the house, I need to pass my courses. To make a living for myself, so… I’ve been focusing.” Gwyneth shrugged.

“That’s a good reason. You still don’t talk about home.”

“Nothing to say,” muttered Gwyneth, looking away. She poked at the textbook she had open on the bed next to her, flipping the page, only to flip it back. A presence loomed next to her and she looked up to see Tori settling on the bed next to her. “W-what… are you…?”

Tori took Gwyneth’s chin between her forefinger and thumb. She did not press down hard, her grip gentle. Blue eyes locked onto the brown ones of Gwyneth and Tori told the other woman, “Look me in the eye and say that no one at home is hurting you.”

“I don’t wanna talk about home!” Gwyneth protested but found herself locked to her roommate’s gaze.

“I know you don’t, but that’s not what I asked. Just tell me nobody back home has been hurting you, and if you make me believe it, I’ll never ask about it again.”

Gwyneth did not answer, instead finally pulling her gaze away from Tori’s and looking down at her lap. She remained silent even as Tori pulled her hand away and regarded her roommate quietly. No accusation or refrain came, just a quiet disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Gwyneth softly.

“So am I. I’m sorry you have to deal with that. That you feel that running away to hide in a dorm room to get away from it is your best option,” Tori’s voice was soft and she pat one of Gwyn’s knees gently, “As long as you’re in here, I won’t let it continue.”

“I don’t deserve that, I’m just a waste of your time.”

“Bullshit. Stop thinking of yourself like that.” Tori offered a dazzling smile and ruffled the nest of Gwyneth’s hair, “I’m your knight in shining armor, remember? How about I take you out on Friday? We can get you more familiar with the area, maybe make some more friends?”

“N-no, that’s not necessary, I…”

“Okay, it’s settled. I’ll loan you some nice clothes and we’ll go out to get some dinner, check out some of the hangouts nearby, and we can catch a movie!”

“Wait, no, I haven’t…!”

“Yes, you have,” Tori gave her most dazzling smile as she plucked at some of the strands of Gwyn’s locks, “I bet if I help you with your hair and makeup, you’ll be cute enough the boys’ll come running.”

“’m not cute,” mumbled Gwyneth, pulling away slightly.

A sigh came from Tori, “C’mon, there’s a cutie under that pile of shyness.”

“I said no, God damn it!” Gwyneth’s voice nearly rose to the level of a shout, leaving Tori blinking in confusion.

“Okay, okay,” both hands were held up by the blonde, “We’ll stick to the non-cute version. How about something smaller, then?  Whaddya say we go watch a comedy at the movie theater? Grab some food on the way out? Just you and me. Baby steps?”

“O-okay. I think we can do that. You have to pay, though,” Gwyneth hugged her knees, “If Mother sees anything on the credit card other than food or school supplies, she’ll get mad.”

“Does she hurt you when she gets mad, Gwyn?” Tori kept her tone soft, keeping any accusation out of her voice.

Brown eyes stared past Tori, looking through the wall at some point a million miles away, “Yeah. She gets mad a lot.”

Tori was silent a long time, letting Gwyneth just stare into space. When it seemed silence would prevail, Tori shifted subjects without warning, “What’s your major, Gwyn? Whaddya wanna do with your life once you’re free of home?”

Gwyneth fidgeted for a moment, then murmured, “I wanna be an architect. Design buildings and homes and skyscrapers.”

“Explains all the math courses you’re taking,” grinned Tori, “Definitely sounds more interesting than Mythological Studies.”

“If you get into the UFC, you can make your own myth,” Gwyneth offered, smiling a bit herself.

Tori offered a flex, biceps bulging impressively, “Yeah! Like Holly Holm or Cris Cyborg!”

Gwyneth’s eyes felt like they would pop out of her head watching the other woman flex. “Holy shit, Tori, how do you get so big?”

“Hard work, to be honest,” Tori rubbed a hand over one of the firm biceps she had been showing off. “Work out regularly, lots of bag time, regular sparring sessions. If I break my schedule, I feel weird for a week until I get back to it. My uncle Hector owns a gym near here, so I just go there.”

“I envy you, sometimes. You don’t seem afraid of anything.”

Tori shrugged, “I’m afraid of stuff. I just don’t really fear for myself, more for others. If you want, you can come with when I go. We can set you up with a beginner’s regimen. I can show you a little Aikido. Just some katas to help build your confidence and get you in better shape, nothing that could be used to hurt someone else.”

“N-no, I… can we keep it small?”

“Yeah, we can keep it small. Look on the web and pick the movie you want. This is my treat for you, so it’s your choice.”

“Okay,” Gwyneth mustered another small smile.

“I-I really like the,” Gwyneth shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth and mumbled something incomprehensible around it. She held a massive bucket stuffed to the brim with popcorn, having refilled it before leaving the theater, with both arms wrapped around it.

“The popcorn?” Tori giggled, stealing a small handful of kernels for herself.

“Mm. Mrf. MmHm,” mumbled Gwyneth around the mouthful of popcorn.

Tori could not help but smile, seeing the happiness on her roommate’s face, “You laughed a lot during the movie. Did you like it?”

Up and down bobbled the brunette head of the smaller woman, still smiling around the oversized bite of popcorn she was still trying to get chewed and swallowed. She paused a minute in her walking, finally getting the mass of popcorn swallowed, “Y-yeah, it was good.”

“Progress, then! We’ll get you socializing like a normal person in no time!” One hand was used to ruffle Gwyneth’s hair gently.

“Bah!” Gwyneth batted away the hand but was still grinning. “It was fun to pretend to be a regular girl for a bit.”

“You seem pretty regular to me, Gwyn. Don’t be so down on yourself.”

“I’m n—” Gwyneth began, her voice fading away as her eyes went wide. Popcorn tumbled away and scattered as she dropped the bucket, one hand pointing towards the van screeching to a halt right next to them.

Tori pivoted just as the side door of a panel van slammed open, three men surging out to grab for her. Each had their faces covered by balaclavas and they were all in dark clothing with blue rubber gloves over their hands. Hands curled into fists and Tori brought them up in front of her face, twisting free of the first grasping hands to bring herself into a defensive stance. A renewed attempt to grab at her was met with a hip throw, sending one man up and over, slamming hard down onto the pavement face first, leaving a spray of blood and broken teeth.

“Get the bitch!” The back doors opened, and another two men added to the pile, shoving Gwyneth hard to the side, sending her sprawling to the ground, tears pouring from her eyes.

A quick uppercut sent another assailant reeling, one lip split and bleeding freely into his mask. He staggered back against the open door of the van, a hand pressing to his wound. “Kick her ass!” he screamed at his fellow assailants. All along the sidewalk that led through downtown people were starting to stop and stare. A couple of phones were held up, recording the events, even as others were dialing 911 and calling for aid.

One of the two men that came out of the back of the van pulled a security baton free from his belt, snapping it out to full length with a practiced flick of his wrist. Tori put a hard punch into the throat of the third man that had emerged from the side door just as the baton wielder brought the weapon around in a wide arch and into Tori’s back.

“Fuck!” cried the blonde as she was staggered to one side. Baton’s cohort next to him followed up with several quick jabs, landing a couple on Tori’s face, leaving her bleeding and reeling.

Only the throat punch victim was down and out on the ground, wheezing and clutching his neck. Bleeding and pissed, the remaining four attackers descended on Tori all at once. Over and over the baton fell as she swung and kicked, but the weight of numbers bore even a trained fighter down. Tori bloodied each of the men rushing her badly, but they were able to pull her into the van and the sound of a zip tie closing could be heard once her arms were wrenched behind her.

“Fucking bitch! I think she bit me! My fucking nose, man!” came the complaints as the door slammed shut and the van roared off down the road.

Gwyneth sat staring after the vehicle, splayed out in a pool of scattered popcorn, both eyes wide as panic began to set in. It had only taken moments and Tori was gone.

“You mother fuckers!” snarled Tori as one of the men sat on her back to keep her from moving any further. Another hand both of her legs pinned as she attempted to struggle her way free, the plastic of the zip tie biting into her wrists.

“Get something in her mouth to shut her up!” growled Baton, putting another blow of his weapon into the back of her legs to try to quiet his victim.

“I know what I’d like to put in there…” grunted one of the less badly injured men.

“Yeah, and get it bitten off, you fucking idiot. She’s a wild one,” retorted a different attacker.

The van continued to rumble through the alleyways and back streets of the city, staying off main roads and the highways. Far in the distance the wail of police sirens could be heard, still. Baton folded his weapon up as a rag was stuffed into Tori’s mouth. A phone replaced the baton as he swapped one for the other and dialed on the small burner phone with the convenience store logo imprinted on the side.

“Yeah, we got her, the blonde girl. She was with someone, though, a tiny little brunette. No, we didn’t get her, too. You paid us for one, not two, so we have the one.” Baton paused for a moment, listening to a tinny little voice coming from the phone, his expression turning into a snarl as the voice got louder, “Listen, cops’re all over that area of town now. No fucking way are we going back for the brunette. Deal with it. We drop off the blonde, get paid, and then it’s your problem. Hey! She beat the shit outta my guys, be happy I’m not asking for extra!”

Exhaustion was starting to take a toll on Tori’s attempts to struggle. No matter how hard to tried to fight, three full grown men weighing her down kept her plastered to the floorboards of the van. Only Throat Punch seemed to have been put out of action, as all he could do was was lean against the back of the passenger seat and wheeze, his neck a livid purple and the balaclava pulled up over his nose to try to help his breathing.

“Listen, we’re on the way to the meet-up. Have my money ready or we cut her throat in front of you and let you deal with the mess. This number’s not gonna work any longer,” Baton ended the call and then snapped the phone in half. It was allowed to tumble to the floorboards where he stomped on it several times.

Tori mumbled another attempt at defiance around the sock that had been stuck deep in her mouth and throat. Another shake was met with a slap to the back of her head hard enough to leave stars flashing in her vision.

“Be happy they want you alive and in relatively good order, otherwise I’d’ve broken your legs and fingers for that bullshit, you bitch,” Baton squatted down next to Tori and smirked through his balaclava, “But they didn’t say anything about your virginity. If you aren’t good, we’ll find some hole that hasn’t been filled yet and stuff it full. So be a good girl, or we’ll take you for a ride.”

Tori snarled at Baton, only to start when the entire van lurched to one side. It sent the occupants tumbling and the driver started to swear.

“What the fuck, Pau—driver!” Baton nearly threw a name as he caught himself against the side wall and looked towards the driver.’

“Fuck if I know!” The van lurched the other direction as the driver protested and yanked hard on the steering wheel. Metal screeched and deep furrows began to claw their way along the sides of the vehicle.

“What the shit, man?” another of the kidnappers muttered, fear evident even with the mask on his face.

Once more the van shifted hard, rubber screeching against pavement as suddenly something pierced through one wall of the van. A massive, bony protrusion cut straight through the sheet metal that made up the blank walls of the vehicle. More steel protested as a second thing, identical to the first, punched through on the opposite side of the vehicle.

With that, the entire van lifted straight up into the air. Tori could feel her heart falling away into her stomach as weightlessness assailed her briefly. She and the men around here were tossed about like leaves within the back, and she was certain extra bruises were being added to all the physical abuse she had already endured.

Something beat heavily against the air just outside, the sounds of flapping and motion surrounding the entire vehicle. The flight was mercifully short, but the stop was sudden and painful as the van slammed hard into the ground and rolled twice before ending up still upright somehow, its walls and roof battered, windshields and windows shattered, the pebbles of safety glass suddenly everywhere.

The roof peeled back, rolled like some tin of sardines, and beyond was something massive. Huge wings dominated its profile, and sleek red scales glistened along its length. Ram horns curled around a face full of dagger shaped teeth and nictating eyelids caused eyes slit like a cat to wink down at the humans scattered within the vehicle.

“What. The. Fuck?” muttered Baton as he fumbled his namesake weapon, lettering it clatter away.

A clawed hand, massive and scaled, reached right past the attackers and gently wrapped around Tori. Its motions were careful and slow, as if it was afraid to hurt her, and then lifted her away and out of the vehicle. Tori could see that they were far outside the city, somewhere in some of the parkland outside the suburbs. Trees and grass dominated the immediate area, and she could see the reason the van had ended upright was due to slamming into the side of a tree, half wrapping around it. Claw marks were dug everywhere into the vehicle.

The dragon, for lack of a better word to use to refer to it, was bigger than the van itself. Easily forty feet long with the tail making up at least half the length, it was coated in iridescent red scales. It had four limbs with wings on top of it, giving it both fore legs and back legs. Its head was something akin to the cross of a salamander and a snake, with a waddle along the bottom of its neck. Intelligence shone in the cat-like eyes that rested between the curling horns.

Tori found herself placed gently against a tree, as if she was some precious package. A claw stroked through her hair before the beast turned away to look back into the van. Yelling and motion came from within, but it did not last long. The dragon inhaled, its neck and chest bulging, and then fire roared out of it and into the open top of the vehicle. Screams lasted only moments as the inferno filled the van.

A half dozen men had just died. That is what Tori knew that to mean, and a monster loomed before her. She strained and pulled with every bit of adrenaline that had surged once more through her and she heard the zip tie pop. Freedom allowed her to lurch to her feet and pull the rancid sock from her mouth, tossing it away with a gagging sound. By the time that was done, she found herself staring directly into the beast’s eyes.

It blinked at her, nictating lenses wiped clean of dirt and debris before the outer eyelids blinked as well in a separate motion. A soft chuffing sound came from the wyrm as it regarded her, head tilted slightly to one side to allow it’s right eye to be the primary one looking at her.

“What the fuck are you? Are you going to kill me, too?” Both hands were held up, balled into fists, ready to beat against the monster if she had to.

Scales shimmered and shifted. Every part of the beast shrank and condensed as what was a four legged beast stepped towards her and adjusted to be a two legged animal. Some hybrid of dragon and human, terrible yet elegant and beautiful in its shape. It had the body of a woman, sculpted like a modern goddess with breasts and thighs any would kill for, but red scales still covered shoulders, flanks, and the tail that ran out the base of her back. Her face was exotic, yet familiar. Delicate features with wide, cat eyes stared at Tori, scales decorating the outer edges of her face. Chocolate brown hair tumbled in a cascade down her back and along her shoulders, the twin ram horns still curling out of her head and around the sides of her features. Each finger was tipped with a razor sharp claw.

“Are you okay?” the dragon asked with Gwyneth’s voice. Where her human canines should be were fangs.

Tori staggered back against the tree nearest, “G-gwyn?”

“Yeah. You’ll forget all this, I’m sorry, all humans do. I had to save you. Please tell me you’re not hurt?” A faint stammer and hesitance to her voice belied the beauty and grace of the dragon hybrid.

“Y-you killed those men!”

“They were bad men!” Gwyneth protested, features twisting as she looked on the verge of tears, “I-I’m sorry. Please say you’re okay? I saw them hitting you…”

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. No worse than a bad match, I… you’re a dragon?”

Gwyn nodded, looking more nervous than she had ever before. Her body shifted and adjusted again, leaving her as simple human Gwyneth. Completely nude, a slender and shapely form with its tangle of mousy brown hair standing in front of Tori, “That’s what humans call us, yeah. Wyrms. Dragons. Drakes. Leviathan. So on.”

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is going on?” Tori rubbed at her forehead with one hand.

“Anyways, I’m going to make you sleep and forget, now. I’m really sorry and I really like you as a friend, so don’t be mad.” A soft, keening song came from Gwyneth, dancing through the air and over the sounds of the van burning.

“Wait, you don’t have to do that!” Tori grabbed hold of Gwyn’s now human shoulder. She thought about shaking the smaller woman, but thought better of it, and just held on instead as the song soared. It was a pleasing, lilting melody, and Tori had no idea that Gwyneth’s voice was so beautiful to behold. Whatever language the girl was singing in, Tori could not understand it, but something deep in her heart found joy at hearing it.

As the lullaby came to its end, Gwyneth blinked dumbly at her companion. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Am I supposed to be?”

“Yes! God damn it! That’s a spell of sleep and forgetting! It’s always worked before!” Gwyneth huffed and fidgeted with her hands as she regarded her roommate with a scowl.

“I, um, guess it doesn’t work on me?” Tori shrugged, “You’re the dragon, I am just a meathead who punches people.”

“You’re not a meathead,” grumped Gwyneth, “But this is a problem. Promise you won’t tell anyone about this?”

“Or you’ll set me on fire?”

“No! God no! Not in a million years,” Gwyneth sniffled, a tear leaking free, “I can’t believe you’d think I’d do that to you. You’re my only friend.”

Tori sighed, “No, I don’t really think that. Today’s been…” She glanced towards the fire consuming the van still, “… a lot. Today’s been a lot.” She looked back to Gwyneth and her state of undress, “You cold?”

“I don’t get cold, not really.” She offered a hand to Tori, “Wanna go flying?”

Chapter Text

“All hail his majesty, Leodegrance of Camellard!”

Fanfare filled the feasting hall as the father of the bride entered. A bright smile covered his face even though he entered alone, a widower without a bride of his own on his elbow. He carried a finely wrought box made of exotic wood, carved in the style of the Romans of the far east.

“Father!” the newly crowned Queen crossed the feasting hall to bestow a hug and a kiss upon her patriarch. “You looked so handsome in the chapel!”

Leodegrance chuffed, pleased at the compliment. He was a man well into his fifties and his hair was nearly gone and his beard was mostly grey instead of brown, but he had a handsome face, and his tunic was neatly tailored. “You overstate, light of my heart.”

“Never!” giggled the Queen as she turned to regard her husband, who approached at a more leisurely pace.

“Arthur! I can finally call you son and mean it!” Leodegrance got one arm around his fellow king’s shoulders and hugged him tightly, “Our kingdoms will be united with the grandchildren you will give me.”

“You’ll spend your twilight years with little ones in your lap, father. I promise it to you,” the Queen promised, meaning what she said when the words were spoken.

“Good!’ proclaimed Leodegrance.

Arthur patted his father-in-law’s chest, “I cannot begin to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and for my kingdom, old friend. I look forward to fulfilling the promises we made long ago.”

“I have complete faith in you and this new world you are building, Arthur. I wouldn’t let you have my daughter’s hand if I didn’t. In honor of that, I have a gift,” Leodegrance hefted the delicate box and offered it to Arthur, who took it.

Finding a flat surface to balance the present upon, the king of Camelot gently levered the lid open, revealing a satin pillow within and a rough shelled egg the size of his fist resting neatly in the center. “Leo, is this what I think it is?”

“Aye, it is the last egg of the clutch of Jemuelito Bahag, the queen of dragons, whom I slew to win my throne. They say that it is petrified, stone through and through, until such time as a soul is ready to inhabit the hatchling within,” Leodegrance rumbled, watching as both his daughter and son-in-law’s faced turned pensive and seriousness. He roared with laughter, “I’ll make a good mantle piece for you! Something you can chat with dignitaries from the Rome of the east or Odoacer’s court about and make them ooh and aah!”

“Father, you incorrigible tease!” the Queen slapped playfully at her parent’s arm, laughing happily.

“Leo, you’re terrible. How did I ever agree to become part of your family?” Arthur laughed as well, his blonde beard split into a huge smile.

“Because you took one look at my remarkable daughter and fell harder in love than any man I’ve ever seen in my lifetime.”

Wanna go flying?

Those words felt like they changed everything. Within minutes, Tori was clinging to the neck of an honest to God dragon, flying high over the city. They were so high up she could make out the airliners flying above them clearly, windows lining the sides of the planes, and bored passengers within. They soared and dipped and dived, and Tori hung on to one of those curling ram like horns for life with one arm hooked around the thing.

She could tell it was not helping with Gwyneth’s flying, as the dragon kept seeming to veer slightly to the right thanks to the hold, but Tori did not care. The sky belonged to the two of them, the world having fallen away and all its troubles, cares, and modern conveniences with it. Scales digging into her thighs did not bother her, nor did the occasional bit of nausea. Tori could only think of two things as conscious thought drained away.

Dragons are real and I’m flying through the sky.

Hours slipped away as they soared and spun through the air. Not a word was said between them, though Tori did plenty of yelling out, one arm raised up with a fist during especially exhilarating dives and tumbles. Gwyneth even made a predatory dive on a cow far out afield, showing Tori how it would look should she actually hunt. A plaintive moo came from the bovine as it was picked up, only to find itself returned to its herd, placed in the middle before Gwyneth’s wings beat hard against the air and returned them to the sky, cows scattering everywhere.

It lasted forever and nowhere near long enough when the dorm building came rushing into view and filled up Tori’s vision. Heavy crunches sounded as the red scaled beast settled onto the bitumen roof of the dorm building. It took a moment before Tori realized she needed to get off and jumped down, watching as Gwyneth transformed once more into the hybrid form between human and dragon. Her wings folded neatly behind her as she stood nude before her friend, and her tail flicked slowly back and forth, like that of a cat.

“S-so, how was it?” She had just taken Tori thousands of feet in the air, but still sounded nervous and hesitant, even radiating the beauty of a Greek masterpiece.

Tori could only blink for a moment, smiling dumbly. Her hair was a mess, blown backwards from the constant rush of wind, and her cheeks and face were flushed red from chapping and adrenaline rushes that had yet to end. “THAT WAS AMAZING!”

One clawed finger was held up in front of Gwyneth’s lips, “Shhh. There are still people below us.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” Tori giggled, “Fuck, that was the best thing ever! I… thank you! For saving me, for letting me fly, for being awesome for…!” No longer able to find words, Tori wrapped both arms around her friend and squeezed tightly. “Just, thanks.”

Gwyneth very lightly patted Tori’s back as she was hugged, but eventually pushed back against it, “Tori, I’m, um, still naked.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Tori peeled her sweater up and off herself, offering it, “I know you’re not cold, but your dignity…”

Gwyneth condensed and shrank into herself, becoming just a girl once more. She grabbed the sweater and pulled it over herself. In comparison to her human form, it was huge, going down to mid-thigh like it was a minidress. The cuffs of each arm went past her hands. “I tore apart my clothes when I changed, I was rushing pretty bad…”

“Wait, what about your glasses?”

“I, um, swallowed them. I need to… to… make myself throw up to get them back.”

“You actually need them?” Tori asked, sounding incredulous.

Gwyneth nodded, “My eyesight with my dragon eyes is really good. In human form, it’s… it’s really bad.” She sighed, “Okay, here goes…” A finger went into the back of her throat, it only took a moment and she choked out her glasses as well as a mound of half-digested popcorn.

“Yuck,” Tori offered, making a sour face at the sound and smell of it.

Gwyneth retrieved her spectacles dripping digestive fluids and goo, “I’ve had worse come out.” She began using the hem of the sweater to clean off the glasses, Tori failing to object, “So, who were those guys?”

“I have no clue, and unfortunately, they’re barbecue now.”

Gwyneth shrugged, showing little remorse for the idea of it. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry if that scared you.”

Tori regarded the dragon in human form with a critical eye, “That’s not the first time you’ve killed someone.”

A shake of the head confirmed the statement, “No, I’ve had to before. I try not to, I really do, but things happen. I’m very young for my kind, but old by your standards, so I’ve run into things here and there.”

“Should we go inside? Get into the dorm and lock the door? I think we both have a lot to say to each other. Privacy, fresh clothes, maybe some coffee?” Tori offered hopefully, a faint smile on her lips.

Gwyneth just nodded before taking Tori’s hand and leading her in through the roof access door and back into the dorms.

Tori let Gwyn have all the time she needed to get herself ready for what was to come next. So, while she waited, she made coffee for both and bought some Dolly Madison brand danishes from the vending machine in the lobby. Once Gwyneth had finished showering and cleaning up, she got dressed in a set of her pajamas and settled on her bed, her mug full of coffee on the nightstand.

“Okay, to start, let’s get a secret I have out of the way,” Tori began before rummaging under the mattress of her bed. “My uncle Hector demanded that a girl going off to college alone have one of these and I don’t want it to be a surprise for you, but I do want it available if folks are coming after you and I.”

A small case was produced and then flipped open to reveal the Smith and Wesson branded revolver laying within. A Model 19 .357 magnum with a snub-nosed barrel sat firmly within a leather holster amidst the foam cushion of the pistol case. Tori only kept it open for a moment before shutting it and then setting it on the bed next to Gwyneth.

“I trust you, so there. Give it back to me when you feel safe with me having it.”

Gwyneth blinked several times and kept her voice low as she said, “B-but I’m a freaking dragon. Y-yet you’re giving me the gun? Isn’t that nuts?”

“Exactly, you’re a dragon. What do I need it for? I’d rather you know my feelings.”

All Gwyn could do for a moment was stare at her roommate, their eyes locked as they tried to read each other in the moment. With each passing second the grin on Tori’s face got larger and Gwyn could not help but feel its infectious nature, “How do you have this much faith already?”

“You could’ve let me get taken. You could’ve dropped me from ten thousand feet in the air. Eaten me. Whatever. You aren’t going to do any of that. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. I just see a girl who desperately wants a friend, and I am not going to let you be alone anymore. You never deserved that,” Tori’s tone softened with each word until it was barely more than a whisper.

Sniffles came from Gwyneth as she rubbed at her eyes with a sleeve, “Fuck you for being so decent.”

“Is your mom a dragon? Is that how she’s able to hurt you?”

Gwyneth nodded, “Yeah. Not my real mom, though. She owed a boon to someone and he forced her to take care of me. So she takes it out on me whenever she can.”

“Is your real mom still around?”

A shrug was the initial response, then Gwyn added, “I don’t know who she is. Mother wasn’t interested in telling me and the being she owed the boon to is long gone.”

“I guess the next question is, who did she owe a boon to?” Tori migrated over to Gwyneth’s bed, settling next to her with her own mug of coffee.

“You’re gonna say it’s bullshit when I tell you.”

“I’m talking to a living, fire-breathing dragon. Nothing you say can surprise me anymore.”

“Merlin of Camelot.” Big brown eyes blinked softly as she watched and watched for the response to that pronouncement.

“Ooookay, I take it back. Well, only a little. THE Merlin?”

“The very one.”

“You understand I find the whole Arthurian mythos thing really cool? Right?”

“Your name is Artoria and your major is Mythological Studies,” Gwyneth grinned as she made the obvious connection.

“Yeah, I, um, well yeah. All I ever read were piles of stories about knights and damsels in distress and dragons and so on. I like other stuff, too, like the Odyssey and I think Norse and Slavic mythology is really cool, too. But man, the Arthur stuff and all the different versions is wild and fun.” Tori leaned over and bumped her shoulder lightly into Gwyn’s, making sure her coffee was on the nightstand before doing it. “But now I’ve got the real deal right next to me. Of course, it’s awesome Merlin’s involved. I assume you never actually met him, though. He’s supposed to be a ‘from the shadows’ type of dude.”

“No, I haven’t. Like I said, long gone by the time I hatched. That was about a hundred years ago. Took until about ten years ago before I could take human form and talk.”

Tori raised a brow, “Is that good or bad?”

“Really bad. I’m a late bloomer. Most can change at fifty. So, imagine getting called stupid and beaten regularly for not being able to change. Then being called stupid and beaten regularly for not being able to change into someone pretty enough.” Gwyneth scowled at the sour memories.

“Well, they’re the dumb ones. You’re supposed to encourage folks to overcome a challenge, give them support.” Tori gently ruffled the brown curls on Gwyneth’s head, “Plus, they’re idiots for not seeing how cute you are. You clean up pretty good and when you’re a little bit of both… man, you look like a runway model with scales.”

Gwyneth perked up, “I do?”

“Have you never looked at yourself like that?”

“I mean, I have, I just see me with horns and weird eyes.”

Tori laughed, “Honey, if you walked into a cosplay convention like that with enough covering to be decent, you’d have every guy and half the girls eating out of the palm of your hand. You are fucking hot like that.”

“Okay, now I really don’t believe you,” Gwyneth was still smiling as she leaned over and put her head on Tori’s shoulder. “You know something?”

“What?”

“I’m happy I have someone I can talk to about this stuff. I should be weirded out the song didn’t work on you, but right now, I have someone I can talk to. About all the things I can never talk to anyone about.”

“You can always say whatever you want to me, no matter how much it may hurt. I’ll never judge you or hate you for it.” Tori leaned into the contact, resting her head atop of Gwyneth’s. “You’re like a familiar warm blanket. Don’t ask me how, but that’s just the way it is.”

“All because of a stupid leak. Fate brought us together.”

“Or maybe Merlin casting a spell on the pipes.” Tori considered for a moment. “Wait, your last name. Fier, right?”

“Yeah. My adoptive mother’s last name, but yes.”

“Gwyneth Fier?”

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“C’mon, you’re plenty smart. You get what I’m getting at, right?”

“Guinevere!”

The Queen stood from her gardening and smiled as her husband approached. A knight trailed behind him a handful of paces, resplendent in shining silver armor, a contrast to the well worn hauberk and tabard her husband practically lived in. Handmaids stood along with their lady, dropping to offer curtsies to their liege lord.

“Beloved and adored husband. You light up my day with your presence. I hope you will be able to make time to visit this evening in our chambers.” The Queen offered a hopeful glance as she implied she would like him to come to bed that evening.

“Alas, my most beautiful star, the campaign calls to me. I will be riding back out before the sun even begins to set. In my absence, I would leave you in the care of a man I trust beyond all measure. I should like to introduce you to the newest of my champions of the Round Table, Sir Lancelot du Lac, son of King Benwick.” The King turned to motion his companion forward.

An ornate helm of the same silvery sheen of the rest of his armor was removed to reveal the elegant and handsome features of a man beautiful beyond measure. Dark black hair and clear blue eyes helped define him, as did the well chiseled cheekbones and jawline. When he spoke, it was with an accent from the land of the Frankish peoples, and he bowed to his Queen, “It is my honor, your most radiant majesty. I shall ensure the safety of you, your handmaids, and all of Camelot while my liege lord is on campaign.”

Several of the handmaids tittered and whispered to each other but were silenced by a look from their Queen.

“Another raiding group of Angles made landfall near Londinium and their scouts have been seen as far afield as Fort Venta in the lands of the Dumnonii,” sighed the King, clearly vexed at the thought of it.

“So far west!” the Queen gasped, “That sounds truly awful.”

“We must drive them back to protect the lives of my people, Roman and Brythonic alike, which is why I must away and rely on the faultless honor of a noble knight like my dearest friend Lancelot.” The King leaned in and pressed a warm kiss to his wife’s cheek, “Beloved Guin, as soon as this is over, you will have me as long as you wish, and I will help fill these halls with laughing children.”

“Do not be away long, husband. Until you return, I and my maids shall pray to our Lord above for your safety and swift return.” Even as she said it, her warm brown eyes flit to steal a glance at the handsome features of Lancelot.

“Pfft. She was a human queen of ancient myth, I’m a dragon. No.”

“Also a being of myth,” Tori pointed out.

“And, what, you’re Arthur?”

Tori laughed, “As much as I’d like to be, I’m not that conceited. Plus, he’s a tragic figure! I don’t wanna get cheated on and fall into despair until some last ditch effort is made to find the Holy Grail, only to be betrayed by my bastard son and killed.” The blonde considered for a moment, “Maybe I can be Bedivere. He at least survived at the end.”

“Which one was he?”

“After the battle of Camlann, where Arthur killed Mordred, but was wounded badly, he gave Excalibur to Bedivere to throw back to the Lady of the Lake. Took him a couple tries before he could muster up the courage to do so, because it meant the dream of Camelot was dead, but eventually did after Arthur yelled at him a bunch.”

“Oh, so you want to be the knight that gets yelled at because you can’t do things right on the first go around?” Gwyneth giggled as she offered some light teasing.

“Hush, you.” Tori nudged the other woman with her shoulder, “It’s all just academic anyways. Even if Camelot was real, it likely didn’t exist in any form the mythos conceives of. What we know will have been so twisted around, the reality is alien to our stories. Much akin to how Robin Hood’s reality is nearly unrecognizable from the tales, and that’s a more recent figure by half a millenium.”

“What, you mean he’s not a Disney fox in the woods?”

Tori rolled her eyes and laughed, “No. I’m surprised you get that one, though.”

“Old Disney movies were one of the things Mother let me watch whenever I wanted because it kept me quiet. I’d curl up around my tail and just watch the DVDs over and over again.”

“Okay, pop quiz, which ones were your favorites?”

“Um, well, you’re gonna tease me, but the Sword in the Stone, Robin Hood, and 101 Dalmations.”

Tori grinned, “Nah, those are some of the best. You were a dragon watching them?”

Gwyneth nodded, “Yeah. I couldn’t speak or transform, but I understood English perfectly well. I could hit the buttons on the remote control, but changing the DVDs out was really hard.”

“Why do I have the mental image of a small dragon splayed out on a couch with a remote watching Disney cartoons?”

“Because that’s pretty much exactly what happened. Like I said, it kept me happy and quiet, and by the time I could transform my English was really good thanks to that. Drove Mother batty when I could sing all the songs.” Her smile faded as Gwyneth started to remember the repercussions of that particular issue.

“Hey, none of that, happy memories only right now.” Tori ruffled at the mass of brown hair once more,

“Well, no, we can’t just focus on that. Whomever tried to take you was targeting you specifically. We need to know why and if it’ll happen again.”

“Their leader made a phone call while we were driving. He complained they weren’t getting paid for two girls and refused to go back ‘for the brunette’, which I think was you. The leader then broke the phone just as you swooped in and picked up the van.”  Tori shrugged, “That help any?”

“It helps, but I dunno how much. Whatever it is, I think we need to stick together, to keep each other safe.” Gwyneth picked up the gun case and put it into Tori’s lap, “I trust you with this.”

“My lady Guinevere doth return Excalibur to my grasp so that I may defend her honor.”

The dragon girl laughed, “Uh-huh. Just keep a lookout for Lancelot to come sweep me off my feet.”

Tori ruffled Gwyn’s hair one last time before returning to her own bed to sit with a laugh, shoving the gun case back beneath the mattress.

Dark eyes stared at the gutted, burnt-out ruin of a van. It looked as if some angry child had tossed it away and then set it on fire. Every part of the vehicle was utter ruin, and the seared pork smell of dead men still lingered in the air.

It had been a considerable hike to find where the vehicle had been deposited and many hours of pulling the memories out of forgetful heads, bound by ancient magics to forget anything about the leviathan beasts of old. It had been located and it confirmed everything that had been warned.

Elegant fingers pulled a cellphone free from a jacket pocket as Markus and Claudius rummaged through the vehicle for anything useful from the beast that had attacked it. Even a single scale lost in carelessness could be turned against the creature, and as far as they knew, it was a young one, prone to mistakes.

“Beloved, we found it. It is absolutely a wyrm attack based off what I’m looking at,” reported the dark-haired woman as soon as the line picked up.

“The Pendragon and the heir of Arthur are together, the old shit wasn’t lying, for once,” Morgan’s voice came over the line, irritation clear in her tone.

“We’ll try to find something. Anything that can be utilized.”

“Good. I have faith in you, Sebile. I need you and the boys to prepare the way.”

Both of Sebile’s brows shot up, “You’re coming?”

“My flight will be just before the Solstice. We need things ready by then. I’ve sent Accolon ahead. All you need to do is wake him up.”

“That is a very blunt tool, lover,” whispered Sebile, “Just join me. We can lay together and cast all the spells we need to handle this.”

“I’ll not let your jealousy disturb my plans, Sebile. Do I need to describe all the ways I had him inside me to prepare him for the journey and what was to come? So that I could cast the spells necessary to give him the strength to fight the Pendragon?” The sneer on Morgan’s features was audible through the phone.

Sebile ground her teeth together, “No, beloved queen, I am wise enough to know to cherish the moments you gift me and not complain about those you grant to others in your wisdom.”

“See, this intelligence is why I adore you so much, Sebile. I promise, just for you, the first night I am there is yours.”

“Thank you, beloved, my everything belongs to you and you alone. I shall make sure you are queen for eternity.”

Chapter Text

“This was all they’d let me check out at once,” Tori announced as she dumped out a box full of books across her desk in the shared dorm room.

Gwyneth reached over and plucked out a battered copy of the Oxford Guide to Arthurian Legends, the university’s Dewey Decimal tag taped to the spine, and flipped through the thick softcover book. Her eyes scanned the pages through her thick eyeglasses, no longer smelling of digestive fluids after several washes, and hmmed softly before setting it down and going for the next.

“Do you get anything out of doing that?”

“I read very quickly when I want to,” the dragon admitted, “Like anyone, the slower I go the better the retention, but that looks like nearly twenty books you dragged out of the library.”

“Nineteen. I still have a book out for my early Medieval history course that I can’t return, yet,” the blonde confessed. “So I started with the books that had been checked out the most first, since those’re likely to have the most info.”

“Well, nothing in the Oxford book that you probably don’t already know.” She picked up a copy of Arthurian Britain: A History from 350-650 AD, flipped through it, then put it in front of Tori, “This one is all about actual archaeological studies and findings. Definitely worth a full read by both of us.”

“Okay, this one goes on the good stack, then,” Tori set that one aside and started stacking volumes. Ones that seemed to be pure mythos were set to one side, anything vaguely historical to the other. “Arthurian times were just as Britain and Europe were falling into the Dark Ages, so there’s an absolute boatload of lost knowledge from that period.”

“Yeah. There’s no telling if we’ll get anything valuable from this at all,” Gwyneth sighed, “I could call Mother.”

“Do you really want to talk to her?”

“No, not even a little.” The dragon frumped, her glasses sliding down her nose from the motion, both arms crossed over her slender chest.

“Figured.” Another book was sorted as Tori read the back cover of it, “I have a question for you. What’s your real form? The dragon?”

“Uhhh. I think so. It was how I was born. Mother would say hers is the dragon form, I’m sure.” Gwyneth shrugged.

“You don’t sound sure.”

A sigh followed, then Gwyneth explained, “Okay, this is going to sound weird and is one of many reasons Mother never liked me. I always had dreams of my human form. A brown-haired, brown-eyed girl that felt trapped. It makes it even weirder why it took so long for me to transform.”

“Okay, I don’t follow,” Tori regarded her roommate with a raised brow.

“Like most dragons, I became self-aware, sapient basically, around forty or fifty. That’s when I started to dream of myself as this,” she motioned to her body and face, “Like when a human starts hitting the age of five of six and starts remembering and really starts to become the person they’re going to be.”

“That tracks, I’m following.”

“Okay, and instead of grasping my draconic abilities quickly, I felt trapped, locked, and fumbled my way through things. It took until ninety when I transformed for the first time,” Gwyneth rubbed at her face, “And all I felt was relieved. Like I was back to the way I should be. I don’t like being in my draconic or hybrid forms. I like being me.”

“Which, I’m sure, is a huge disappointment for your adoptive mom, who is some high and mighty muckity muck dragon. Right?”

“Right. I’m even told I speak the draconic tongue with an accent, which baffled Mother. She would tell me I sounded like a human slurring the words.”

“Huh. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised dragons have their own language. You said you couldn’t speak English until you changed. You used that to talk to your Mother until then?”

Gwyneth nodded, “Yeah. It’s a crap language, though. It’s old, very old, so it doesn’t have the more complex vocabulary that languages like English, French, Mandarin, and so on have. To hear Mother tell, it’s the best language ever, but I can’t even ask how to change channels on the cable TV with it.”

Tori laughed softly and leaned over to ruffle Gwyneth’s hair, “So, what you’re telling me, is that you’re not a very good dragon.”

Gwyneth could not help herself but smile back, “Self-admittedly, I’m pretty bad at the whole state of affairs. About the only part of it I really like is flying, it feels freeing. Am I doing okay at the human thing?”

“I think you’re doing stellar at the human thing, flaws and all.”

“Well, you’re the expert, so I’ll take your word for it,” the dragon kept her smile, “But I like hearing it.”

Tori found herself smiling dumbly at Gwyneth, just staring for a moment until she noticed the other woman flushing from the gaze and she felt her own cheeks go red, “I, uh, yeah. You’re pretty cool. So, um, with whatever’s going on, even if they fix your room, do you wanna, maybe, I dunno, stay?”

One lip was worried between Gwyneth’s teeth before she answered, “I think, yes? If you’re okay?”

“I’m liking having you around, even if you hadn’t been a dragon, you were, um, yeah, I like being your friend.” Tori rubbed at her neck, trying to figure out where the sudden nervousness had crept in from.

“So, if we’re sticking together, should I go with you to the gym tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah!” Tori perked up at the thought of gym time, “You can meet my uncle Hector! He’s an amazing guy. I think you’ll love him. Big fellow, but he’s a teddy bear.”

“Tori, my dear!” Hector scooped up his niece into a bear hug and squeezed her tight. As promised, Hector was a bear of a man, barrel chested and thick armed. A  curly black beard covered his face and he had thinning hair that matched atop his head. His face was ruddy and round and when he smiled, several of his teeth had been replaced with silver crowns.

“Good to see you, you big goof!” Tori hugged back tightly as she was spun before being placed back on the ground, “Nice to see you back in the gym. That back surgery finally healed up?”

“MmHm, though Kay keeps tut-tutting over it via text, telling me to take it easy.”

“Well, tell him to shut up until he’s back off the circuit and is here in person.”

“So, who’s the little friend you brought with you?”

Gwyneth adjusted her glasses and adjusted the jacket of her track suit, “I, um, err, I’m.” Her voice descended into a mumble.

“This is Gwyneth, my roommate in the dorms. I mentioned her due to the whole plumbing situation,” Tori explained. “We’ve become fast friends, though, so I’m happy it happened.”

Gwyneth found herself scooped up and squeezed tightly, giving a faint squeak of surprise before being re-deposited on the floor, wobbling from the suddenness of it all.

“Well, any friend of my niece is a friend of mine.” The friendly back slap that followed nearly sent Gwyneth splaying on the ground, only saved by Tori catching her.

“Uncle! She’s not a gym rat, you’ll have to be gentle with her!”

A deep belly laugh came out of the bear, “Apologies! I forget myself sometimes. So, total beginner’s package for the young miss?”

Gwyneth nodded up and down quickly, “Y-yeah. I’ve never done anything like this.”

“Stretches then! Help you with your flexibility, and maybe some jogging on the treadmill to build endurance. Easy peasy stuff, little lady.” Hector began leading the pair of women deeper into the gym. There were rows of workout equipment of various stripes, racks of weights, but what dominated the building was a boxing ring that currently held a pair of men sparring. As they passed the ring, Hector slapped the mat and yelled in at the combatants, “Keep that left up higher, Raf!”

Gwyneth found herself turning this way and that in wonder as the residents of the gym kept it packed. All around the warehouse style building hung the banners with the gym’s name and logo. Fens Street Gym and Boxing, a pair of boxing gloves with the letters H and K emblazoned on them over a circle made up the heraldry for the gym.

“Who’s Kay?” Gwyneth asked suddenly.

“Oh, that’s my son. Basically, Tori’s big brother. They grew up side by side, but he’s a touch older. He’s on the boxing circuit at the moment,” boasted Hector. “Won his Golden Glove last month.”

“So awesome!” Tori almost cheered, “I’m gonna have my own soon enough, though!”

“Damn right you will,” Hector offered another toothy grin while encouraging his niece. “Both’ve you will be middleweight champs some day! The next pair of Marvin Haglers!”

Tori flexed, shoulders and biceps rippling impressively, “I’m one-sixty now, uncle. Heavyweight bracket for me!”

“That’s right!” Hector clapped his niece hard enough on the back it sent even her forward a step. “Well, I got some work to do. Tori, can you lead your friend through the beginner’s stuff? I trust you to know what to do to keep it safe.”

“Absolutely,” Tori tiptoed up to plant a kiss on Hector’s cheek, “Love you. Go take care of the boring stuff.”

Hector returned the kiss quickly and then waved as he left, heading up a flight of stairs to a flying office that overlooked the gym. Gwyneth found herself watching the enthusiastic member of Tori’s family all the way there before turning to find Tori giving her a long, appraising look.

“You know you don’t need to actually exercise, being who you are,” Tori offered once she was noticed.

“I want to. This… uh… shape, improves with use and work. It’s as healthy as I make it.” Gwyneth rolled her shoulders.

“Okay, well, let’s get started with some basic stretches then…”

An hour in and Gwyneth was exhausted. Tori looked like she was barely affected by what they were doing, but stretching, jogging, and some very light weight work felt like it had completely drained Gwyneth. The entire time, in the back of her head, she kept trying to remind herself I am a mighty dragon and this is nothing!

It did not help any. A being that could lift and toss a van like it was a toy, when in her human form, was still just a slender slip of a woman who had barely gone outside without her mother by her side.

“No more!” Gwyneth panted as she dropped onto one of the weight benches. “My arms feel like they’re melting.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Tori smiled and took the ten pound weights that Gwyneth had been struggling with and put them back on the rack, “If that’s what you can handle, that’s what you can handle.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be making fun of me for being a wimp?”

“No? Why would I do that? Everyone starts at a different place, and this is where you started. It’s about building good habits, repetition, and gradual improvement,” Tori sighed and mopped some sweaty blonde strands back, then settled next to Gwyneth on the bench, “I wasn’t always like this. After mom died and I was bouncing around from family member to family member I comfort ate my way into a very round shape. It wasn’t until Hector offered to adopt me, wanting me to be Kay’s sister, that I got shown what exercise could do to lift your self-esteem and self-worth up.”

“Wait, you used to be fat?”

“When I was eleven, I weighed more than I do now. I was verging on diabetes.”

“Holy shit,” Gwyneth blinked owlishly at her companion. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Tori offered a wan smile, “I don’t advertise it. For obvious reasons. We all have bullshit we’re dealing with, no one’s perfect, it’s about getting better a little bit at a time. I have goals, now, which helps a lot. Floating aimlessly through life is a sure recipe for unhappiness and depression.”

“That sounds familiar,” Gwyneth frumped as she pulled her glasses off and wiped at them with a towel.

“Yeah, I know. Well, once you determine what and how you want to do something, all you have to do is ask me and I’m there to help you. I could tell you what I think you should do, but I’m not going to. It’s your decision. I just want you to decide. Be bold and live your life the way you want.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to push me towards something.”

Tori sighed, “I don’t like that your mother hurts you. It pisses me off, in fact. I loathe bullies.”

“Well, she’s not here and she made it clear I shouldn’t come back during the breaks. So as long as I’m here at college with you she doesn’t matter, and we can leave it that way. Let’s worry more about the people who tried to take you and why.”

“Fair, fair. Fine, I’ll not badger you about it.” A stretch followed Tori standing and then she grabbed her towel and water batter, slinging the former over one shoulder, “Okay, let’s hit the showers and get ready to go home.”

Five minutes later, Gwyneth found herself wrapped in a towel and tiptoeing through the women’s showers of the Fens Street Gyms. There were a handful of other women, mostly in small groups, chatting as they showered. Tori was at one of the far showerheads, her towel hanging from a rack while she lathered herself with suds.

“I figured you’d be more comfortable with the furthest away from the pack,” Tori offered as Gwyneth stepped to the empty showerhead at the far end, which was right next to Tori.

“Y-yeah, I-I, um, I…” Gwyneth was halfway through removing her towel from her slender form when she found herself staring at Tori. The blonde’s long locks clung to her back and shoulders and her body was layered in suds and soap which did nothing to hide each muscle and curve. Even as firmly built as she was, her form was shapely and generous. She stood with no shame or attempt at modesty, just calmly cleaning herself as if she had done it a million times before.

“Don’t be shy. After you’ve done this a thousand times, you’ll stop caring, trust me. My first time in here I nearly had a panic attack.” Tori grinned, “Fat little girl with body issues and all.”

“W-well, I’m a skinny little girl with body issues,” Gwyneth finally found her voice again, face flushed red as she finished putting the towel on the rack for her showerhead.

“It’s the body you dreamed of for years, remember? It’s not wrong to have it and there’s nothing wrong with it. It’ll improve as you work at it. I have faith in you.” Tori offered a dazzling smile that sat well on her handsome features.

“Okay, well, um, yeah, here goes,” the dragon turned the shower on, setting the heat to where it would scald a normal person. It felt warm and comfortable to her, even as steam floated all about. A happy sigh came out of her as her hair was slicked back. Tori offered a bottle of body wash, which she took and began to lather her slender form. She looked down at herself a couple of times and she considered that at least she was not overweight.

Tori eyed her for a moment as she covered herself in soap, intruding with a comment, “You know you are cute. You’re little, but your face is actually really pretty. Keep your hair back more so people can see you and those big doe eyes you have.”

“I’m not cute! I’m plain,” protested Gwyneth as she turned partially to regard her shower neighbor.

“Gwyn, honey, go look up Audrey Hepburn on the web when we get back and tell me, with your hair back, you’re not the spitting image of her. She’s considered one of the most beautiful women to ever come out of Hollywood.” Tori seemed to consider for a moment, “Actually, when we get home, we’ll watch My Fair Lady.”

“I, uh, um, I’ve never heard of that movie before.”

“Of course you haven’t,” giggled Tori, “All you ever watch are Disney movies, which I adore, but you need to see more stuff.”

“But pretty people have blonde hair or red hair or blue eyes, not… brown everything.”

“While I appreciate the implication, Gwyn, you’re not winning this argument. Belle from Beauty and the Beast is a brunette. There are some amazingly hot brunettes, men and women, in this world.”

“Belle’s the smart one! Not the-the… Fine, we’ll watch it,” Gwyneth admitted defeat, mostly to end the argument, but kept stealing glances at Tori the rest of the time in the shower until the other woman went to go get dressed.

“Holy shit, she’s really pretty.”

“She’s stunning, you mean,” laughed Tori as her tablet played the movie from the video streaming service.

“Maybe I listened to Mother too much. She always told me how ugly I was and how only forms as pretty as hers were worth having. Some dragons can swap into multiple human shapes, I…”

“… can’t,” finished Tori, “Because you’re a better human than a dragon.”

Gwyneth nodded, then immediately had to readjust her glasses as they dipped down.

“Okay, this is crazy, what if you are Guinevere?”

“What? No way.”

“No, think about it, don’t just dismiss me. A human soul stuck in a dragon. Nothing comes instinctively for you, and you were dreaming of a human body before you even knew what a human was. At least consider, if you’re not her, that maybe you were a human being in a prior life?”

“Okay, now we’re getting away from mythology and into reincarnation?”

“Mythology is full of reincarnation. Heck, the entire Arthurian mythos is balanced on him being the once and future king of the Britons.”

“This is a thin thread, Tori,” muttered Gwyn, frowning as she did not like the implications, “You grabbed hold of the fact that Merlin is tangentially involved in my life and ran with it.”

“It feels right to pursue this for some reason.”

“Yeah, because you’re obsessed with Camelot!”

Tori huffed and stood up, pacing in the small dorm room, “I just want to figure something out! That criminal’s phone call meant whomever their boss is knows or thinks you and I are tied together for some reason, so whatever you are matters. I do not want to just sit and wait for the next attempt.”

Gwyneth gave the human a sad smile, “Yeah, well, I don’t know any way to force them to come to us again. I don’t know magic, not like Mother does.” She tapped the screen to pause the movie halfway through a song, “I gotta use the restroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll keep it paused,” Tori promised, not worried as she had seen the movie already. She settled back in her seat at her desk to wait when the phone Gwyn perpetually left on her desk started to buzz, an incoming call lighting up the touch screen.

Tori’s brow raised, as she had never heard anything but an alarm sound on the dragon’s phone. She reached across and picked up the out-of-date smartphone that looked like a hand-me-down due to scuffs all along the edges. On the screen it said ‘Mother’ as the name of the caller.

Determination gave way almost instantly as Tori swiped to pick up the line and pressed the phone to her ear. It was silent for several seconds before the imperious voice of a woman sounded, “Gwyneth, are you attempting some form of silent treatment? Don’t press your luck with me, young lady.”

“This isn’t Gwyneth,” Tori answered and decided to bluff, “Draig. Draco.” She said the word dragon in Gaelic and then Latin.

The snarl that came next was a low, primal thing, “Who the fuck is this? If you have done anything to my daughter…”

“I’m Arthur’s heir,” Tori continued her bluff, wanting to see how far she could push it, and how much she could learn. “Merlin made sure we found each other.”

“That old liar!” Gwyneth’s mother swore in several languages, only the last of which was English, “That motherfucker! He said you wouldn’t meet, yet! Not until she was better!”

“Why do you hurt her? Why are there scars and bruises all over her body? Why is she in the condition I found her in?”

“You misunderstand! I-I-I,” the imperious tone faded, and panic edged into the other woman’s voice, “Please, I only did it because Merlin asked that of me as his boon. I swear I would never have harmed my blood like that otherwise.”

Tori’s eyes went wide as she heard the admission, “Wait, he told me you taking care of her was his boon he asked. That…”

“Of course he did, the lying old shit!” Mother exploded into the phone, “He’ll lie to anyone anytime! That’s all that asshole ever does! I would’ve cared for my clutch-sister without him asking at all! His boon was that I abuse her so badly that she could never be found, that she was so small a version of herself no spell could ever find her!”

“What am I going to do with you?” Tori had begun to grasp how much fear there was around the concept of Arthur’s heir, that this dragon seemed afraid of her.

“I’ll beg her forgiveness, anything. Just don’t use Caliburn, please, I’ll be good,” fear tinged every word, but Caliburn held a special edge to it. Tori knew what it was, as that was another name often given to Excalibur, the blade of kings.

“Start loving her and stop your cruelty, and I won’t. Plus, tell her the truth. All of it.”

“Y-yes, of course. I do love her, I swear. It’s just…”

Tori looked up as Gwyneth re-entered the room, staring in confusion at why her phone was in her roommate’s hand. A pink phone case made it obvious whose phone it was, in comparison to the one Tori had with the Union Jack on the back. Having gone this far, Tori went ahead and asked the last question while she still could before Gwyneth could try to snatch it away.

“… what is it?”

“If she hasn’t already, it means Morgan will be able to find you. That’s her cruelest aspect. She turns love into a weapon.” A long pause followed, “Arthur’s heir should know this already.” A low, vengeful snarl, “I am going to rip your guts out through your…”

Gwyneth yanked the phone free and slapped the hangup option, eyes wide with terror and rimmed with tears, “What’ve you done?”

A set of French style double doors flung open on a manor far outside of the city. As the evening sky was laid bare, silver scales rippled and unfurled. Heavy wings beat against the air as the ancient wyrm launched itself into the heavens. Smoke unfurled from between its dagger filled lips and trailed behind it as its inferno built within its chest.

Kilgharrah would hunt again for the first time in a century.

Chapter Text

“Kilgharrah, you seem to be in a bit of a pickle,” the enchanter giggled as he peered through the slender hole that served as the sole entry into the dragon’s prison.

“Let me out and I’ll show you how much of a pickle you’ll be in, you old fraud,” snarled the dragon through her human lips. A dirty, disheveled blonde could barely be made out through the trio of bars that had been mortared into place over the tiny gap between the stones underneath Pendragon Keep. What should stand as a Saxon beauty of legend was instead a derelict of a forgotten oubliette.

“Uther was brilliant in his cruelty, wasn’t he? Stuff a dragon in a space so small if they exist in any form other than that of a human, they’ll kill themselves.”

“Don’t play coy and pretend you had no hand in dreaming up this torment, Myrrdhin.”

“Oh, no, for once Uther was more than capable of creating this bit of awfulness on his own. He did hate you so.”

The dragon stood as best she could in the tiny cell and pressed her face to the bars, a single blue eye peering out, “Did?”

“Oh ho ho! Still as perceptive as ever! Uther Pendragon is dead. Poisoned by the people whose likeness you have always been so fond of. The only person left on this world that knows you are here is now me.”

“Why didn’t you warn your liege lord? Save him from his fate, you rotten illusionist? Don’t tell me your constant visions of the future failed you,” hissed the dragon warily.

Myrrdhin smiled, a cruel, callow thing even with his grandfatherly beard, “Why would I do that? You met the man after all, and I take it you did not come away with a liking of him.”

“He has no heir, fool! You’ve doomed the kingdom you swore to protect!” Kilgharrah laughed spitefully, “You humans, even the long-lived ones, are dull as stone.”

“Yet, dearest leviathan, he does,” the wizard squatted down in front of the cell, “A far better man than he will ever have dreamed of being. That is neither here nor there, though.”

“If you’re just here to torment me, begone. Leave me to die in peace if that is my fate!”

“It’s not, oh most mighty of wyrms. How would you like your freedom? Not just now but guaranteed for a thousand years.”

A hand grasped one of the bars and pulled the dragon as tightly close as she could get, “And what am I going to have to promise you in return? Myrrdhin does nothing without some gain for himself.”

“A single boon. You’ll hate what I ask you to do, down to the very core of it, but once I explain to you the why, you’ll still agree. Meet me at Glastonbury Abbey in,” the pale blue eyes of the wizard looked up at the air, as if calculating something, “sixty-four years at the eve of the winter solstice. I will give you the details at that time. Until then, consider the intervening years a gift of good faith. Six decades of complete freedom.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I leave and return with brick and mortar and seal you in forever, and you become a forgotten note in the history of Uther Pendragon and the mighty dragon lord he once subdued,” Myrrdhin made no effort to hide the malice in his tone.

Kilgharrah snarled deep in the back of her throat, a sound more draconic than human. She met the enchanter’s gaze and watched the amusement in his eyes before she finally relented, “Agreed. Free me.”

“Six scales of a red dragon.”

Sebile lined up the scales in front of her. Each was thin and small, the product of a young dragon’s molting. They had been found in and around the burnt-out van of the men that had been hired to take the being Morgan’s magic had pointed to. Each was a treasure worth the riches of the ages, but to have six was unheard of, especially from the same dragon.

Accolon, Sebile’s companion, remained silent as he knelt on the other side of the occult table from the sorceress. Recently arrived from Britain, he was kept hidden under a cloak and hood, for his true form was not for public viewing. Morgan had granted him new gifts since resurrecting her old lover yet again.

“With these, I can bring this dragon low whenever I want, or learn everything about it. What I know, my queen will know,” Sebile followed her statement with an arcane chant. While Morgan had never taught her the charms of Merlin, jealous as she had always been, she still had her own power.

One of the scales wobbled and skittered back and forth on the painted runes of the table.

Sebile’s dark eyes drifted closed as the mists of time and space parted before her, “She feels… fear. Anxiety. Something is coming for her.”

Both eyes snapped open, “A dragon hunts tonight.” The sorceress focused on Accolon, “Track the dragon, find its prey. See if it is the opening we need.”

The black knight rose and gripped the festering battle axe that rotted and dripped at his waist. Flies clung to much of his visible flesh, maggots crawling and feasting in open wounds. His newest powers had come from the deepest pits of Hell itself, and the mark of Beelzebub glowed faintly on the back of both of his hands.

“Yes, my lady,” gurgled the dead man.

“She’s going to come here to kill you! Mother’s murdered anyone who finds out! Servants she fires she eats!” Gwyn hissed out the warning as she redialed her Mother’s number. It rang until voicemail, causing the dragon to toss the phone onto her bed in frustration.

“Did you hear her side of what she said? She said Merlin made her physically abuse you! That you’re her sister, not her child!” Tori gestured wildly, “And she’s desperately afraid of whomever is Arthur’s heir and Excalibur. Reacted like a startled animal when I even mentioned it!”

“Don’t act like I know the reason behind any of that! It’s not like she talks to me except to reprimand or insult me!” Tears burst out and began to trail down Gwyneth’s cheeks, “Now she’s going to take you!”

“I know, Gwyn, I know. I don’t blame you for a thing,” Tori wrapped up the smaller woman in a tight hug, squeezing her, “Nothing bad’s going to happen, and if it does, we’ll find a way through.”

Gwyneth clung to the heavier woman tightly, arms wrapped up and around both shoulders, “I’m so sorry. I always fuck up your life.”

Tori blinked at Gwyn, “What do you mean by that?”

“I, uh, I mean that I, um, I don’t really know.” The dragon’s delicate features flushed red with embarrassment. “But we need to get you somewhere else. I’ll stop Mother when she gets here and try to talk her down.”

“She’ll hurt you again.”

“Not the first time, I can take it.”

“I will not let someone do that to you, Gwyn. I don’t care who they are,” growled Tori.

Gwyneth pulled and tugged at Tori, “Let me deal with that. I just need you to go somewhere she can’t find you for a while. Someplace inside.” She had succeeded in getting Tori out into the hallway.

One of the RAs was sitting on one of the several benches that lined the dorm’s hall. Their head lolled to one side, the woman clearly asleep with a cell phone unlocked and buzzing with texts in her hand. Further down the hallway a resident was splayed out on the tile floor, several books scattered near them.

“Fuck,” whispered Gwyneth.

“Is that the sleeping spell?” Tori’s gaze flickered over and around the stricken residents.

Gwyneth nodded, “The entire building is probably –”

Plate glass from the far end of the hallway shattered inwards as a hybrid dragon woman crashed through. She landed hard on the tile and claws dug furrows as she gripped at the walls with both hands to brake her movement. As she slowed and stopped, she straightened up to her full height of nearly seven feet, her wings folding nearly behind her.

Kilgharrah’s hybrid form was terrible and beautiful all at once, silver scales lining her body instead of the red that Gwyneth sported, with the winding antlers of a gazelle. A long, spiked tail flicked back and forth behind her menacingly. A face of stunning beauty sported pronounced fangs and cat eyes that matched those of Gwyneth’s form, nictating lenses blinking sideways. Platinum blonde hair tumbled behind her in a braid thicker than most women’s arms. She stood just as nude as Gwyneth had in the forest when dealing with the van full of kidnappers, her body sleek and entrancing.

“My wayward daughter,” came the sibilant sound of Kilgharrah’s voice, “And the lying bitch who thought it would be fun to poke a dragon over the phone.” She advanced slowly, the claws of her toes clacking on the tile as she took each step, “How are you not asleep?”

“I-I don’t know, but it’s not the first time the song has failed,” Tori instinctively pushed Gwyneth behind her, fists balling up, “Come at me, you abusive cunt.”

The silver dragon sniffed at the air, tongue darting out for a taste, then vanishing again, “Not a hint of fear. Impressive for a mortal.” One eye blinked, then the other in alternating fashion before she snatched at Tori with a clawed hand.

One arm came up to block the swipe, keeping close so as to avoid the sharp ends of her fingers. Instead, a forearm inside pushed the clawed hand away, and Tori brought a hard uppercut up and inside of the dragon’s guard. Teeth clacked together as one thick arm pistoned upwards and into Kilgharrah’s jaw, sending the dragon reeling back a step.

“Sloppy,” muttered Tori, who ducked another swipe only to hammer a series of jabs into the dragon’s midsection before dancing away from another attempt.

Her opponent shook her head to clear it and let Tori make the space she wanted with her retreat. She regarded the human with a curious look before looking past her to Gwyneth, “What do you think happens to you should this keep apace? I’ll make her end painless if this resolves quickly, but long and arduous should it not. I’ll eat her one piece at a time, alive and raw.”

Gwyneth straightened and stared her mother down, “You will not hurt her.”

“Has the hatchling grown a spine?” scoffed the silver dragon, only for her eyes to go wide as Gwyneth launched herself in her own hybrid form at her mother, claws outstretched and roaring her hatred.

Claws and the talons atop wings punched back and forth between the two hybrid beasts, both screeching in rage and pain as they slashed and battered each other back towards the window that Kilgharrah had originally smashed in through. Blood sprayed and splattered across the doorways and walls of the dormitory hallway,

Not knowing what else to do, Tori pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall and held it up high as the two dragons screeched and battered at each other. Rends and tears in flesh were sliced open, but the elder dragon gradually took the upper hand, a slap from her spiked tail sending Gwyneth sprawling.

“You ungrateful little shit, I am going to – “ the sentence was not finished as halfway through Kilgharrah’s threat, the extinguisher was slammed into the side of her head. The silver dragon staggered only to take a series of additional hits, the metal casing denting inwards as Tori brought it down against one horn and the dragon’s temple repeatedly. A long crack formed along the antler from the impacts.

One wing swooped backwards and sent Tori flying into a wall with a crunch, the fire extinguisher bouncing and spinning away down the hallway. Low growling came from the elder dragon as she wiped blood away from her eyes, the slit pupils narrowing as she glared at the fallen human. Both clawed hands were used to snatch at Tori’s clothes and dig in, taking hold as she surged forward. A hard yank dragged her up and out as Kilgharrah bounded over her prostrate daughter and hurled both herself and the human out the smashed open window. Wings spread and beat hard against the hair, pushing both upwards as Tori attempted to struggle and kick against the hold, her shirt beginning to tear and shred from the abuse.

“Let us see how brave you are falling from ten thousand feet,” snarled the dragon as the parking lot began to speed past underneath the pair.

Tori hammered punches into the dragon’s head and neck, packed muscles pistoning each attack into the beast. Skin on knuckles split as her blood mixed with that of her target from impact after impact into Kilgharrah’s face.

Muscles bulged and expanded as the silver dragon shifted and transformed into the truth of the beast. A massive creature nearly sixty feet from snout to tail, one claw grasped the human whose fists could only beat futilely against scales as hard as diamonds. The monstrosity angled upwards, prepared to make for open sky.

Steel whistled through the air as a battle axe born of nightmare and pestilence shredded through one wing of the ancient leviathan. It ripped downwards as a great force yanked hard on the chain attached to the foul weapon, cutting a massive rend through the beast’s wing. Kilgharrah shrieked in fear and pain as she began to tumble.

“TORI!” screeched Gwyneth from the open window, launching herself forward with a beat of her own wings to catch the falling human, released from Kilgharrah’s mighty claws by the attack that brought her low. The red dragon captured Tori in her arms and used her wings to bear her friend down to the ground, landing between a pair of parked cars.

Tori stared up at Gwyneth, eyes wide and breathing quickly. Both her hands were wrecks of blood and torn skin, lesser lacerations and abrasions covered her as well, her shirt naught but shreds from having been used to bear her out the window. “What the fuck just happened?”

A pair of sedans were smashed flat as the great beast landed hard on them, safety glass and bits of fiberglass exploding outwards from wrecked bodies and flatted passenger compartments. Frustration roared out of Kilgharrah as she fought to right herself, “WHO DARES!?”

Pestilence and disease stalked forward through the dormitory parking lot as Accolon reeled in the chain that held his battle axe to him. Flies circled and dove about him in a pulsing miasma as he peeled his hood back to reveal the sickening rot that was his excuse for a face. Disease pulsed out of him as he spoke, “My mistress sends her regards.”

“MORGAN! THAT BITCH WILL DIE BY MY CLAWS!” screamed the ancient dragon as she clawed her way free of the ruined vehicles. “I WILL FEAST ON HER ENTRAILS RIGHT AFTER I AM DONE WITH MERLIN’S!” Even as the leviathan threatened, blackness and filth festered along her damaged wing, dripping pus and blood running yellow and green instead of red. The great limb curled up behind the wyrm, clearly favored.

“We need to go!” Gwyneth pleaded to Tori, “This is going to get very ugly; I think!”

Accolon gripped the battle axe in one mailed fist and advanced on the dragon, saying nothing further as he flung the weapon forward, using a quick pull on its chain to whip it in another direction from his initial toss, cutting a bloody line across the great beast’s right foreleg. Scales harder than a tank’s armor split like paper under the assault of the demonic weapon, leaving a festering mess of a wound behind it.

Flames erupted as the ancient wyrm exhaled. Vehicles across the parking lot erupted into infernos as several fuel tanks erupted the moment the great beast’s breath made contact with them. The line of conflagration followed a path straight towards Accolon, who whipped his cloak over his head and dove straight through to the other side, cackling the whole way. Embers smoldered along his great black cape, battling against the pestilence it had been woven from.

“We can’t just leave them here fighting!” Tori protested, standing from her cover behind one of the few remaining intact cars, “If this keeps up they’re going to start killing innocent people!”

“Tori, no matter who wins, we’re going to lose!” Gwyneth tugged gently at her friend’s arm, her slit pupils wide with terror and worry.

“Morgan’s who she said she was afraid of. The reason she hurt you, because hurting you hid you from Morgan. That man has to die, because he’s after you and me. That’s the whole reason he’s here.” Tori regarded the younger dragon sternly, fists clenched, “I am not running from this.”

“Arthur, you can’t! He’ll kill you!”

The King gripped the pommel of Calburn tightly and turned to regard the woman he had once married. Sadness etched his features as did determination. Gone was the youthfulness of a lifetime ago. His blonde beard and hair were shot through with grey and age and worry had lined the handsome features of his face. He had recovered, somewhat, thanks to the deeds of Galahad and Percival, but the crown had aged him so much in the Queen’s eyes.

“I am not running from this, my beloved. A reckoning is due, and I will see it through.” He reached out, one hand gently tracing over the nun’s habit she wore in place of a circlet.

“I am sorry, my beloved. My king. I have ruined you,” tears streaked down the Queen’s cheeks.

“No you haven’t. I count myself blessed for every moment we had together,” the King’s smile held a rueful sadness, but there was still a softness and warmth in his eyes.

“He’s your son. Give him the crown and come be with me. Let me make you happy,” the Queen captured her husband’s hand and pressed her cheek into it, letting him feel her warmth and her tears.

“I have answered your infidelity with my own, but in my case, it will be the final battle I shall face.”

“You cannot blame yourself for Morgan’s spell. That cruel bitch is a worse liar than Myrddhin.” A sob wracked the Queen and she placed kisses into the palm of her husband’s hand, “Please, be with me. That’s all that I ever wanted was just for us to always be by each other’s side.”

“I know,” the King whispered, “And I failed you. I saw a thousand upon thousand people that needed to be saved and I flew to their sides, and I forgot the person I loved most in life. You blame yourself over and over, yet I have failed as a husband as much as I have as a king.”

“No! I refuse your self-inflicted wounds! You have been a hero that will stand throughout time. God Himself will call you to His side as a saint when your accounting is called. I believe this in my heart,” the Queen’s wide brown eyes rimmed with more tears as she regarded her beloved.

A tear rolled down Arthur’s cheek before he leaned in to steal a quick kiss from his wife’s lips, “Never doubt that I will love you for all time, my beloved wife. Through this life and a thousand others, for however God sees fit to allow my soul to burn bright, I will love you beyond measure. You are my sun, my moon, my Venus, and even the breath in my lungs.”

“Oh, Arthur, you stupid fool, how could you love a broken thing like me? A liar and a fool who has betrayed you so thoroughly?”

“Because none of that matters, all that matters is that you and I are bound forever. We said our vows and I still mean every last one.” Arthur offered a smile through his own tears, “Come now, grant me your favor so I may wear it when I find victory on Camlann’s hills.”

The Queen tugged her dagger free from her belt and cut a curly lock of brown hair to offer to her husband.

Kilgharrah roared in pain, another wound torn open in her flank from the spinning blade of the Knight of Flies. Accolon’s putrid voice cackled as the great beast was wracked in pain from the assault. A car was flung at the black knight, crashing into the ground and forcing him to duck aside once more.

As the knight rolled back up to his feet, he found his cloak grabbed and he was heaved bodily into the burning wreck of one of the cars. Tori had come up behind him and tossed him over one shoulder in a throw. She pointed at the silver dragon and screamed, “Burn the motherfucker!”

The beast did not need to be told twice, breathing deep and sending another gout of flames down upon Morgan’s servant as he tried to struggle his way free from the shattered wreck he had been thrown into. Flames lit him and his ruined manger up like a bonfire, twisting and spinning into the night’s sky. A heavy crumping sound followed as the vehicle bucked upwards from its fuel tank igniting and detonating underneath it.

A great sigh came from the ancient wyrm and it slumped over against a crumpled pickup truck. It gasped for missing breath and shuddered from the pulsing, oozing wounds along the length of it. While it eyed Tori and Gwyneth, it made no move against them.

“Truce?” Tori asked tentatively, “I think we both have worse things to handle than each other.”

Scales shimmered and retracted as Kilgharrah shifted into her hybrid form, covered in wounds both from Tori and the Knight of Flies. One wing looked about ready to fall off, it was so blackened with ichor and filth, “Truce then.”

“Mother!” Gwyneth fled to her parental figure’s side, inspecting the damage all over the elder dragon.

“I think she’s actually your sister,” Tori corrected gently.

“Is that true?” Gwyneth regarded the other dragon curiously.

“It is, little one. You were the smallest of the eggs from my clutch, kept separate to be allowed to hatch many centuries later.” The silver dragon hissed in pain as a wound was gently probed, pus spurting free from it, “Our mother was known as the queen of all dragons.” Her eyes flicked towards the burning ruin that Accolon still smoldered within, “It was Merlin who asked for my cruelty to you, to hide you from Morgan le Fay, but she’s found you now so that comes to an end.”

“Why!?” sobbed Gwyneth, a rivulet of tears upon each cheek, “Why would that bastard ask such a thing?”

“Morgan’s magic finds love, is empowered by it. As you are diminished, it fails. But something suddenly allowed her to find you. Some powerful emotion…” A cough wracked the silver dragon’s body, but she looked to Tori – who was watching the immobile Accolon—as it ended, “… and I think I know why.”

“What makes me so special that she would seek me out? I’m a dragon that’s shit at being just that!”

“Because you were never meant to be one of us. That was the other way Merlin hid you, Guinevere Pendragon,” the dragon smirked at her ward, “Morgan le Fay found you because you fell in love.”

Tori kept her gaze locked on the burning ruin of the Knight of Flies. Something inside her told her not to trust the thing, that he had been dead many times before and it had never stuck. Pure instinct was what she was going off of, but that had served her well so far, so she stuck to it.

It was when she overhead what Gwyneth’s mother had to say that she found herself distracted. Both ears perked and she turned. Who was Gwyneth in love with? raced through her head. The only person she has been around at all was…

… me.

Tori turned fully to look at the two dragons, Gwyneth staring wide eyed at her mother / sister. She watched Gwyneth try to stammer through a series of excuses and denials, but Tori could already tell the truth of it. Gwyneth had launched herself at the being she had known as mother for a century in favor of Tori, had started a brawl with her that could have gotten either herself or the elder dragon killed, all to protect a human being. They had spent nearly every moment together over the last several weeks while the two had been roommates. All the long looks, glances, everything about their interactions.

Gwyneth was in love with her, Tori realized, and that had nearly gotten them both killed.

Thoughts of this running through her head had distracted Tori so thoroughly, she did not see the Knight of Flies drag himself back up to his feet, smoldering ruin made of his cloak and flesh, and launch himself out and towards her. Only a flash of motion in her peripheral vision gave her any warning and she ducked forward just enough that instead of catching the fetid blade of the knight’s axe to her shoulder, his fist crashed down into her instead.

It was like the hammer blow of a pneumatic piston, driving her down to one knee as she felt her left shoulder pop and her arm dislocated. She cried out in pain and surprise while the putrid warrior lifted his scorched, befouled axe for a killing blow.

Death never landed, stopped instead by Gwyneth standing before her. The red dragon had rushed between, and the Knight of Flies had buried his axe directly into her breast.

Chapter Text

“Give it up, Accolon! Morgan has misled you!” The King fended off another blow with the broken sword that he still wielded.

“She loves me! I know the truth of how you came to be, bastard son, child of sin!” Caliburn whistled down again, only to be stopped just in time by another of the King’s sideways parries against the flat of the blade. Accolon had stolen Caliburn from its sheath as Arthur slept and revealed himself to be Morgan’s ally.

Three knights lay prostrate around the King, having come to his defense, and been struck down by the Blade of Kings in turn. All Arthur had left to defend him was the blade of Sir Uriens, broken from blow after blow by the false knight.

“Morganna loves nothing but power and her obsession for vengeance!” Arthur dodged back and away from another blow. He was still in his night clothes, unlike the mail hauberk that Accolon wore. The one thing it afforded him was quicker footwork, as mail would have done nothing to stop Caliburn’s edge regardless.

“Your father is a rapist and a liar!” shrieked Accolon, high enough that his voice cracked as the blade he wielded whistled past the King once more.

“I am not that man! Put the sword away, Accolon. I know first-hand the effects Morgan’s magics can have on your mind, I do not hate you for it and will show forgiveness should you seek penance and His grace once more!” The King tried to reason with the maddened knight once more, ducking behind a tent from the hunting party they had been a part of, an attempt to create space and give time.

“His grace!?” shrieked the increasingly irrational Accolon as his attempts to strike the King down grew wilder and wilder, “His grace!? You beseech the martyred god as if He were real! A false idol that has never once answered a prayer. Only the gods of old, the gods Morganna serves, have ever been true! Fuck your grace and damn it to the pits of Hell!”

The King ducked low and charged in under one of the more wild swings, tackling Accolon and bearing him to the ground. No more words were exchanged as grunting and exertion demanded every breath from their lungs. Fists smashed against each other, elbows dug into ribs and vitals, and the King even rammed a knee hard up into Accolon’s groin with a satisfying yelp of pain in return.

Caliburn’s edge was pressed close to Arthur’s throat and Accolon took the opportunity to lean in and try to end the fight. Blood welled along the King’s skin, soaking into his tunic and dripping into the bare earth beneath them. Just as it seemed the King would lose his life to his own blade, a low chant floated through the woods, wrapping itself through the branches and the leaves of the ancient, low hanging trees.

“Nimue!” the King called out in exultation, for the Lady of the Lake had felt when Caliburn had tasted the blood of a king. With her charm sounding all around them, Caliburn lit up in a blinding flash, searing into Accolon’s eyes, yet leaving Arthur unharmed.

Accolon screeched and fell away, the blade clattering to the ground as he kicked and thrashed about him. Both eyes were gone, blackened holes all that remained of anything approaching the man’s sight. The false knight shrieked out his rage, “You whore! Merlin’s bitch! I had won! Morgan would have loved me for all time!”

Arthur sighed sadly as he picked himself up, once more gripping the familiar pommel of Caliburn, “I take no pleasure in this, but you show no remorse, have committed murder of fair and honorable knights, and attempted such of your king. I judge you guilty of treason.” He spun the sword into a reverse grip to bring it down point first, directly through the center of Accolon’s chest.

“NO!” cried Tori, her good hand outstretched. She felt her heart lurch in her chest, as if it had launched directly up and into her throat. Seeing blood fountain up and free from Gwyneth, even as a partial dragon, had made the blonde more afraid than anything else in her life ever had.

Gwyneth coughed once, then stumbled away, leaving Accolon standing triumphant over the kneeling Tori. Blood, pus, and filth poured freely from the red dragon’s wound, panic on her features as she staggered towards her mother, both clawed hands held up. “H-help me…” she whispered as she collapsed on the battered asphalt of the parking lot.

Blackened sockets filled with pulsing orbs of green miasma had replaced the eyes of the Knight of Flies, further ruined by the dragonfire that had nearly consumed him. Even without sight, Accolon’s gaze bored into Tori and the sneer on what remained of his face was cruel, “Nimue’s not here to save you now, Arthur.”

“That’s not who I am!” Tori scrambled to her feet and backpedaled away, dodging behind a shattered vehicle where she slammed her left shoulder hard into the fender, popping it back into place with a deep grunt of pain. She desperately wanted to go to Gwyneth’s aid, but she had to save herself first. As the Knight of Flies spoke, she also realized that he was not speaking English. Whatever tongue that came from him, she seemed to instinctively understand.

“You’ve always been a liar, Arthur! Just like your father! You think I can’t see you, hiding behind the little girl that you seem to be?! My eyes may be gone, but I see the soul within you! I will rip it out and shit down its fucking throat!” shrieked Accolon and spun his battle axe by its chain, bringing it up into a high arch and then down on the car that Tori had taken shelter behind.

Nightmare’s blade swung down and carved the ruined sedan in half, forcing Tori to dive away from it and roll as her cover had turned into so much shrapnel from the impact. Small slices and lacerations opened up on the shoulder and forearm nearest the impact and she winced from the blow of it.

Kilgharrah rushed to the side of her daughter, coughing a small gout of flame out into Gwyneth’s chest, attempting to do anything to staunch the wound’s bleeding and festering. Offal and filth still poured out of her, skin growing black and peeling away all around where the blade had dug into her flesh. A snarl came from the silver dragon and she called out to Tori, “His connection to the Hells has to be severed or she will die from his infection! As will I! He must be destroyed! If you are really Arthur’s heir, fucking do something!”

“The old wyrm speaks true, Arthur. Come now, let me show you what my beloved Morgan has given me as a gift from Beelzebub himself. I could promise to make it quick, but I’d be lying,” the Knight of Flies cackled, spinning the blade towards Tori once more only to it barely miss, shaving away a clump of blonde hair that rotted and fouled before even hitting the ground.

“Arthur, if you do not kill him, Guinevere will die!” roared the silver dragon, her shout devolving into coughing and retching with the last word as her own body began to succumb to the diabolical influence of Accolon’s infection.

“Merlin, God damn it, I need your help!” shrieked Tori to the heavens, a last ditch effort to find some way to destroy the black knight who threatened to kill them all. Accolon spun the axe through the air on its chain and sent it whipping towards Tori.

“Well, Arthur, it’s about time you called to me.”

A young man, barely older than a teenager, grinned at Tori from where he sat between two crenels on the wall of some ancient, ruined castle. Rolling green hills and pastures filled the countryside around the old fortress, broken up by the occasional stand of trees or small creek. The boy’s hair was a dirty brown and his features were unremarkable, but his bright green eyes shown with intensity and intelligence.

His clothing was unexpectedly modern, but inexpensive. He wore a button-down white shirt and a cheap brown suit with a colorful bow tie around his neck. He had simple patent leather shoes on and when he smiled, his mouth was full of stained, crooked teeth.

Tori twisted back and forth as she looked around, “W-where am I?”

“A representation of where Camelot once stood. But, to be more precise, we’re in your head,” the young man spoke with muddled British accent that could be mistaken for someone from Yorkshire.

“You’re Merlin?”

“In the flesh. Well, more in the projection in your head than the flesh, but this is what I look like, yes. That’s also a modern version of my name, I typically am called Myrrdhin by the folks who know me.”

Tori regarded the young enchanter curiously, “You age backwards, don’t you?”

Myrrdhin tapped his nose and winked, “Bingo. Nice to see those Mythological Studies classes are paying off. I’ve got a couple hundred years left in me, but looking like this means I am very, very old. Think of me like the slow roasting Benjamin Button.”

“If we’re in my head, what’s happening in the real world? Is Gwyn okay?”

“This projection will take less than a fraction of a second in the real world. She’s no worse than you left her, which is in pretty bad shape, might I say, but this conversation won’t exacerbate the current state of affairs,” Myrrdhin continued to smile as he stuffed both hands into the pockets of his slacks, “You’re lucky. Morgan’s in the middle of sealing me in crystal, so I’ve got just enough time to talk to you and explain some things before I’m cut off for a while.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Artoria. It’ll just mean I’m delayed a little bit.”

Tori scowled, “Don’t be condescending.”

“Sorry! I should be nicer. You so rarely come back as a girl, that the first time Guin’s made it back you’ve got lady parts kind of shocked me. I actually didn’t expect that.” Myrrdhin giggled, “It’s nice to be surprised still from time to time.”

“Wait, so I’ve come back before?”

“Oh yes, plenty of times. You’ve been all sorts of heroes throughout history, always looking for your lady love. Sorry to say I stuck her in an egg and kept her secret so Morgan wouldn’t find her to use her against you. A calamity is coming, though, and the time of the Once and Future King is soon to be upon us. That means you, Arthur, my boy.”

“I’m a girl.”

“Artoria, my girl,” laughed the young seeming enchanter, “Old habits die hard! We’ve had this conversation in various forms a few dozen times now, so you’ll have to forgive the repetition. As Arthur, as El Cid, as Jean d’Arc, as the Lionheart, as Wellington, and so many others throughout time.”

“So I lived over and over again, each time looking for Guinevere? Only to find her now, at college?”

“Because I kept it like that, yes. And forgive Kilgharrah, I was the one who made her be so cruel. She should ‘lighten up’ as they say, now. I also broke that water main in your dorm. You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Myrrdhin winked at Tori. “Dropped her right into your lap, didn’t it?”

“You really are a manipulative old liar, aren’t you?”

Another laugh sounded, “Guilty! But I’m one that’s on your side, Arthur, don’t forget. I want you to succeed, to live up to all the prophecies. I also want you to save your beloved. It’d be really embarrassing to bring her back now only to have that brat Accolon be the idiot that killed her.”

“How can you be so sure I’m in love with her?! I-I’m straight! She’s a good friend and all, sure, but…” Tori started to protest.

Myrrdhin rolled his eyes, “It’s not about being straight or gay or anything in between. She’s your soul mate, Arthur. There is a longing and a connection there that transcends the stars themselves and that includes the petty structures of sexuality and morality. If you just wanna be besties, I don’t give a shit, but you’ll spend the rest of your life mooning over her and wondering why you can’t be more. Don’t let the indoctrination of the church that this lifetime’s mother took you to induce some sort of panic in your head. Hell, you have all the same parts yourself, so you’re used to handling them!”

Tori sputtered as she stared wide eyed at the smug old wizard, “Have you been watching my whole life?”

“Of course I have. What do you take me for? I have a keen interest in my investments, and you are the biggest one I have.” Myrrdhin paced a circle around Tori, “Impressive physical specimen this time around, at least for a woman. Easy on the eyes as well, though you always do tend to end up in the more handsome incarnations.”

“Enough of this!” Tori could feel the exasperation building, “How do I stop this Accolon? How do I save Gwyn from the disease he’s inflicted on her?”

Myrrdhin stilled and blinked at Tori, as if the answer was self-evident, “Well, kill the bastard. Kilgharrah made that pretty clear.”

“Yes, I heard her. How?”

“Cut his head off with Caliburn. Simple!” The enchanter paused for a moment, then looked around in confusion, “You do have Caliburn, don’t you?”

“No!” Tori pulled at her hair in frustration, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, have you been operating under the assumption I’ve found some mythical relic that’s from a DIFFERENT CONTINENT than the one I’m on?”

“Ugh. Daghda’s beard, this is annoying. All this time spend running Morgan in circles and I’ve gotten the chain of events out of order,” Myrrdhin tapped his shoe on the ground in consideration. “Are you sure you didn’t fly to Cornwall and have Nimue give you the sword?”

Tori gave the wizard an unamused look, both arms crossed over her chest.

“Fine, fine, it was worth asking.” Myrrdhin looked up at the sky and shouted, “Nimue, get your shiny ass down here.”

“Just like that?” Tori asked, both eyebrows raised in surprise.

Thunder crashed loudly enough for Tori to be forced to cover her ears, and even then, they rung loudly and Tori found herself dazzled from the accompanying burst of light. Ozone burnt its way through the blonde’s nostrils as rain drizzled briefly all around her and the enchanter. Instead of settling on the stonework, the water shifted and pooled together in front of both of them. A silver haired woman rose smoothly from within the puddle, as if ascending an escalator within the millimeter thin skein of water.

“What the f--?” started Tori.

“May I introduce the Lady of the Lake,” Myrrdhin announced, a mock bow taken as well, “Don’t worry, she’s just being melodramatic like always. Since this is in your head, she can make her entrance as fancy as she wants.”

Nimue continued her ascent until she could step forward and off the small puddle. The Lady of the Lake was quite short, it turned out, not even reaching the five-foot mark. A round, pleasant face was graced with a gentle smile and her hair was so light a blonde it shimmered like silver. Her small, almond eyes were a pallid blue color. Her clothing matched her hair, draped loosely over an armored shirt of neatly polished scale armor, and a long skirt trailed behind her.

“Please don’t insult me with your boorish implications, bard,” Nimue’s pleasant expression faded as she regarded the wizard.

“Fine. My apologies most dainty and delicate of enchantresses, most beguiling of guardians of our beloved artifacts.” He gave her a wry smirk, “Better?”

“Myrrdhin, if you told me the sky was blue, I’d look up to check first.”

The enchanter shrugged, “That’s just good policy. Anyways, give Arthur his sword.”

“Her,” Tori corrected as she slapped the back of the wizard’s head lightly.

Nimue laughed musically at the sight of the slap, her mirth a gentle melody against the backdrop of the crumbling fortress. “You, better than anyone, know that there is method to this so that the gods are pleased, even the martyred one upon His cross.”

Myrrdhin rubbed at his head while he looked up and around, as if there was something he could see that the other two could not. “Well, my time is starting to dwindle, so I’ll be blunt, for once. If you don’t, both Arthur and Guinevere are going to die, and we’ll be waiting for another incarnation cycle to get them back together.”

“Which would be too late,” sighed the sorceress as she regarded Myrrdhin. “There’ll be a price for this, you know. One you may not be willing to pay.”

“If it saves Gwyn, I’ll pay—” Tori began only to have a hand held in front of her face by Myrrdhin.

“No, you won’t,” Bright green eyes regarded Nimue as the wizard told his peer, “Take it from me and give it to her. Now.”

“You won’t have the strength to free yourself from Morgan’s spell once I am done, old friend. You will be completely at her mercy instead of worming your way out like you planned,” warned the Lady of the Lake, her expression and tone dire.

Myrrdhin’s gaze flicked to Tori, “When you are able, you will have to come fetch me, instead of me coming to you. Six miles west from Maridunum. It’s in the lee of a hill, hidden by magic and enchantment, but with Caliburn in your hand you should be able to see it. Guin may be able to smell it with that snout of hers.”

“I, uh, I’ll do my best to find you. As soon as I can get to Britain,” Tori promised as Nimue turned towards her.

“Arthur Pendragon, reborn as Artoria Pendraig, I now return to you the Blade of Kings, Caliburn, which no armor may defend or sword may parry. Let its light lead you to victory over evil and defend the heart and soul of your people.” One moment her hands were empty, the next a sword with a silvery sheen to it rest in the open palms that stretched out before her. It was wrought of a steel so finely worked so maker’s marks or hammer blows could be made out upon it. Only a single blue sapphire was worked into the pommel, the rest bare and unremarkable.

Tori reached forward and her hand wrapped around the pommel of the ancient relic. When she lifted it, it felt as if it weighed almost nothing at all. No effort was needed to heft and maneuver the blade.

“Your heart must remain pure, and you must always strive for justice. Caliburn is as strong as your desire to protect and defend others. Should your heart be burdened by darkness, bitterness, or jealousy, it is best not to draw it from its scabbard at all, for it will fail you when you need it most. This is the cost of the blade,” Nimue warned, her voice stern and sincere.

“Right now, the only thing I want is to make sure Gwyneth is safe and that Accolon can’t hurt anyone else,” Tori answered truthfully taking the pommel in both of her hands. It felt strangely familiar, as if pulling on her favorite set of shoes for the hundredth time.

“Then you have naught to worry about, Pendragon. Go with my blessing,” the sorceress’s smile was dazzling and warm.

“Alright, I’ve expended enough power on this. Good luck, Arthur. Also, a warning. Consider how dangerous Accolon is and remember he is one of the least of Morgan’s servants, an utter pawn. There are others far more cunning, cruel, and dangerous out there. Watch out.” Myrrdhin’s eyes suddenly snapped to a point in the distance, “Time for me to go.”

With that, the vision ended.

Diseased steel ripped through the air towards Tori and she brought her hands up instinctively, almost forgetting the blade she had taken from Nimue. What had been bare hands brought steel up in front of the blonde and the fetid battle axe clanged off of Caliburn’s blade, turned aside to ricochet away and skitter across the ground in front of the Knight of Flies.

Accolon sputtered with incoherent rage for a moment before screeching, “Where the fuck did you pull that from!?” as he dragged his axe back towards him with its chain.

Kilgharrah wrapped Gwyneth up tight in her good wing, keeping the younger dragon protected with it as she dragged the limp form away. She paused and stared partway through, watching the silver blade shining bright within Artoria’s hands. Awe edged her voice as she whispered its name, “Caliburn.”

“C’mon you rotten bastard, let’s send you back to Morgan!” bellowed Tori as she slashed at Accolon with the blade. It felt alien and all too familiar at the same time, an old friend that had returned after far too long away from her.

Accolon attempted to parry Caliburn with his battle axe, only to lose half its blade to the first swipe. It offered no resistance and the diseased steel that was cut away dissolved to nothingness as soon as it was parted from the rest of the weapon. A snarl came from the Knight of Flies as he jumped back and away from the next series of attacks. He whipped the chain and what was left of the putrid axe low to the ground and around in a circle, not aiming for the main body of Tori, but for her ankles and legs instead. It swung around like a boomerang, and he pulled at the chain, tripping and yanking Tori off her feet.

“Hah! Still haven’t remembered how to fight!” laughed the black knight as he leapt at Tori, both hands wielding the axe in a downwards strike.

Tori rolled away, letting the dead man crash down into the asphalt, leaving a crater where his broken blade impacted. She kicked back up and to her feet, rotating the blade back around and into a guard position that felt right, with the blade of Caliburn angled forward. The blonde regarded the jealous, petty warrior that stood in front of her, recalling how easy it is to get under the skin of nervous, insecure opponents, “I don’t have to remember much to defeat a pawn like you, someone who Morgan only remembers long enough to send to his doom.”

“MORGAN LOVES ME! ME! ME! ME!” The Knight of Flies swung wildly with the axe, all form or thought of defending himself forgotten in his rage and malice.

Tori parried each blow easily, batting them aside as if she had been born to wield the blade. With the final screech from the black knight, she brought up the pommel of Caliburn to crack it into the side of his head. It staggered him with the force of the blow and Tori spun her weapon back around to come down in an overhead chop right onto Accolon’s elbows, severing both arms as she also cut through the chain that bound what remained of the befouled axe to his belt. The axe clanged once off the ground, then dissolved into a miasma of black smoke and effluvia.

“NO! NO! NOT AGAIN!” shrieked Accolon as Tori brough Caliburn around and relieved him of his head, sending it flying to land with a wet slapping sound on the ground. His body collapsed in a mess of rotting, diseased body parts, breaking apart and melting away.

Before the black knight was even finished fading away, Tori had sprinted across the parking lot to Gwyneth’s side, cradled against her adoptive mother. Kilgharrah coughed small gouts of flame onto the claws of her hands, heating them up to scalding temperatures, then pressed them against the wound on Gwyneth’s chest to cauterize it. Ichor and pus no longer leaked from her, just a livid, angry laceration over her sternum in her hybrid from.

Honest worry showed on the silver dragon’s face as she looked up at Tori, who still held the Blade of Kings tightly in her grasp. “Is that for me, now?” asked the ancient wyrm, her nictating lenses blinking over her slit pupils.

Several deep breaths followed the question before Tori could answer, but she shook her head instead. An answer did come, though, as Tori said, “No. Merlin admitted to what he’d made you do.”

Kilgharrah smirked, “You stood there dumbly for a second, then the blade appeared. Figured the old bastard had something to do with it.” One clawed fingertip stroked along Gwyneth’s forehead gently, “I could only be kind to her while she slept, like this, before. I would do my best to chant the charms of gentle dreams. I’m so sorry, little one.”

“You still think of her as your sister? Even though she’s…” Tori asked as she knelt down, her own fingers trailing through the curls of Gwyneth’s mass of hair.

“Of course. Her soul is human, but her blood is shared with mine. As she ages, that soul will grow to fit who she is more naturally. If she is lucky, she will live to an astonishing age, and one day wonder why it was ever difficult for her to be what she is.” The silver dragon gave Tori a rueful smile.

“Can a dragon and a human…?” Tori’s next question was halting and hesitant.

“Stories fill the ages of love between our kind. Some say that children can even be born, though I am unsure.” Kilgharrah gave Tori a sly little smile, “It is not as if I have never bedded a human, though. It can be quite fun.”

“I mean, that’s not really the part I was getting at…” A flush crept up Tori’s neck and into her cheeks, her free hand rubbing at her neck.

A soft laugh came from the silver drake, “You are bonded in a way that goes beyond what species either of you are. I would be more amazed if you did not spend the rest of your lives together. There is no doubt what she feels, Morgan used that against us all, but what I want to ask is of you, Arthur.”

“Artoria. Tori.”

“Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. You need to own who you are and understand that transcends the identity of a single lifetime. My question is this: Do you love her? Or, more accurately, can you admit you love her, yet?”

Tori worried at her lip, then looked down as Gwyneth made a soft whimpering sound while still unconscious. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” whispered the red dragon, still lost to the waking world.

“Well, Arthur? Tori, if you prefer for now?”

Tori regarded the beautiful features of the injured dragon. Already, she knew what her heart was screaming at her, that there was no being on this planet that she would be more willing to devote everything for than Gwyneth Fier, the woman that was the reborn soul of Guinevere. The blonde pushed in close against the fallen dragon and cradled her head up and off the wing of her sister, pressing her forehead to Gwyneth’s.

Artoria wept as she admitted, “I would die for her.”

Morgan smirked at the crystal that held the mutilated form of the enchanter Myrrdhin. The old bard had taken beating after beating without doing more than taunt and ridicule her and her servants. It did not matter, as he was sealed away for so long, a new age would dawn before he walked free once more.

The enchantress was about to turn and walk away when she sniffed at the air, catching the faint whiff of the cantrip that the old wizard had spun. Another familiar scent, that of Nimue, mixed with it in the air and Morgan snarled out a curse. Something had passed between them, but she was not sure what.

Her voice was halfway through speaking Merlin’s charm when her chest tightened and she felt it as clear a clarion bell, even from across the ocean vast. Caliburn had been loosed and Accolon was dead. A wicked smile graced the fair lips of the sorceress, “Just as I hoped you would do, dear Accolon. Your death was not in vain.”

She produced a cell phone as she walked out of the cave that Myrrdhin had been left in. It took a few dozen paces, but eventually the signal returned, and she sent a quick text to Sebile.

“Retrieve any pieces of Accolon you can find, then complete the enchantments upon the dragon’s scales,” she wrote. She did not bother to wait for the acknowledging text, instead pulling her coat back on and walking to the Land Rover that Claudius had driven out to the cave.

“Mum,” grunted the man who had once been a legionary of fallen Rome. A far more cautious man than Accolon, he looked almost alive, having to be returned far fewer times than the Knight of Flies. “I take it things went well?”

“Swimmingly, Claudius. When’s the breakfast with the Prime Minister?”

“Two and a half hours, mum.”

“Plenty of time. Let’s be off.”

Chapter Text

Gwyneth started as she woke up.

Her very human fingers grasped at the cushioned warmth that surrounded her and her wide brown eyes darted around a room that was very familiar. It was her childhood room from the home that she had shared with her mother right up until the point she had been dumped into the college dorms on the opening days of her freshman year. It was clean and neatly appointed, but the few personalizations she had ever been allowed for the room were gone, all tucked away into her luggage or on a shelf in her dorm.

Comforter, sheets, and bedding had remained the same, though, and that was at least comfortable. As Gwyneth pushed herself into a seated position, they fell away to reveal that she had been tucked into an oversized set of woman’s pajamas, possibly her mother’s. She could feel the gauze and tape adhering to her chest underneath them, and someone had clearly dressed the wound she remembered receiving. Veins full of black filth and disease had faded away from her skin, leaving a discoloration that was slowly returning to something more natural.

Hazy as her vision was, she could see her glasses perched on the nightstand where she would usually have placed them. One trembling hand retrieved them and pushed them into place perched on her nose. Sight restored, Gwyneth spotted the chair next to her bed, abandoned but with a cellphone stuffed into a book to mark the reader’s place. She could make out the Union Jack that decorated the case of the phone and knew it to be Tori’s in that moment.

Everything felt sore as she leveraged herself out of the bed. Gwyneth had no interest in finding out what shifting to a different form would do to her wound, so stayed as she was. She was always more comfortable as the slender brunette, anyways. It took a small eternity with both feet flat on the carpeted floor before she felt safe to push up and onto them. A wobble shook her as she stood, but it faded and she looked into the mirror of her bureau.

Hair had been pulled back with clips, keeping it out of her face and likely away from the wound as it was being dressed. Her color was still far more pale than normal, and dark circles decorated both eyes, but it was her as Gwyneth always recognized herself. Once she was standing for a few moments, locomotion came easier and she padded out into the hallway. The mansion was far more quiet than she was used to, as usually there was some bustle or manner of event happening, anything for her mother to distract herself from her disappointing child.

A soft cough came from the brunette, and she realized she was thirsty, so started to make her way towards the kitchen. As she approached, she could hear the murmured sounds of conversation beginning to grow. One voice was certainly that of her mother, always something she could recognize. It did not sound angry or bitter or any of the other myriad of negative emotions she was used to hearing ringing through it, instead it kept a low conversational level.

It took a moment longer before Gwyneth recognized the other voice, that of Tori, who sounded equally calm and quiet. That the two of them were not in the throes of some mighty argument over her was what seemed the most confusing, not how she had gotten back to her home and shifted fully back into the shape of a young woman. Not knowing what else to do, Gwyneth went ahead and pushed through the swinging door and into the kitchen.

Two sets of eyes turned to Gwyneth as she interrupted what appeared to be Mother making coffee, of all things, for both her and Tori. Whatever conversation they were engaged in seemed serious, based on the stern looks both held, but not combative. Gwyneth instantly felt herself flush, unused to the attention of the two most important people in her life at the same time. “Uh. Um. Hi.”

“Hello, Gwyneth. Coffee?” her Mother asked benignly, as if was a common occurrence for her to do anything for her ward. Her right arm was in a sling and she wore a separate pair of her own pajamas and some slippers while in her human form, hair pulled back into a pony tail.

Tori crossed the gap between herself and Gwyneth quickly, getting both arms around the other woman and easing the effort of keeping herself upright, “Hey, how’re you feeling?”

Gwyneth made no effort to hide how she leant into Tori’s embrace, letting the other woman take up her burden. She buried her face briefly into Tori’s arm and resisted the urge to show greater affection when she looked up, “Wait, did you offer me coffee?”

“I did,” smiled Kilgharrah over towards her adopted daughter, “I’m sure you’re baffled at the moment.”

“She told me one hell of a story about everything and Merlin’s involvement with you and her,” Tori warned, her fingers idly stroking through some of Gwyn’s curls.

In lieu of being able to figure out what was going on, Gwyneth simply complained, “My chest is still sore…”

“If you weren’t a dragon, that would have been a killing blow, dear Gwyn,” sighed the elder dragon as she started pouring out three cups of coffee. “At the same time, it should already have been fully healed. Morgan’s magic is not to be trifled with.” She wiggled her injured arm in its sling, “As you can see I’m suffering similar issues.”

“I-I had to keep Tori safe…” whispered Gwyneth in her halting, hesitant manner.

“I know. You were so brave, Gwyn. You saved me. Saved us all,” Tori gave the other woman another gentle squeeze.

“Thanks to you, you gave Tori the time she needed to see her vision of Nimue and take up Caliburn. You are in the arms of Arthur reborn, my former daughter,” the silver dragon distributed the three mugs of steaming beverage as she spoke.

Gwyn blinked and looked up at Tori’s face, only to see the broad smile as the blonde confirmed it, “It’s true.” Her head then whipped back around to stare at her guardian, “Wait, former daughter?”

“You’re my sister, in truth. We share a mother. You are the youngest of all my clutch mates. I held your egg, Guinevere’s soul trapped within, for centuries until I warmed it and hatched it. That’s why I did not feel too bad calling myself your mother for a time,” Kilgharrah did not bother waiting for her coffee to cool before sipping at it, hot enough to scald any normal human. “Merlin, in return for my life, bid me raise you in the manner I did so that magic could not discern your true nature as Arthur’s queen reborn.”

“But I’m still a dragon?”

“A bad one, but yes,” laughed the elder wyrm, then tipped her head towards Tori, “Tell me what that woman is to you, please. Be utterly honest, as I am being now.”

Wide brown eyes stared up at the blue ones of Tori. For once, the blonde’s expression was uncertain, but when Gwyneth answered, all she could offer was, “My counterpart.”

Kilgharrah gave a small smile and sipped at her coffee as she gauged Tori’s reaction, who swallowed heavily. Arthur’s heir flushed once more, a more brilliant scarlet than earlier. Thick arms squeezed tight around the young dragon and Tori ended up stammering something incoherent.

“Sorry, I-I, just, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you, I know we hardly know each other, and I don’t even know if this is a romantic feeling, just…” Gwyneth ended up burying her face into Tori’s arms, unable to continue under the scrutiny of her guardian and not wanting to say something that ruined Tori’s opinion of her.

“Stop apologizing to me, please,” whispered Tori as she kept Gwyneth pressed close against her, one hand stroking through the pile of brown curls. A soft sigh sounded, “There is nothing that needs to be forgiven aside from how dense I’ve clearly been.”

“You’re clutching each other like long lost loves,” remarked Kilgharrah as she stole another sip of coffee.

“Hush, you old wyrm. You’re half the reason she’s this timid,” snapped Tori.

“At Myrrdhin’s behest, remember. A request that has now run its course. I don’t expect my sister to forgive me anytime soon, but I can start by treating her with considerably more kindness,” the coffee was set aside and the elder dragon approached the pair, “There are a lot of reasons that the old fraud asked me to be your guardian, Gwyn. Primarily was opportunity, he had me over a barrel, but the other is that I’m rather notorious among dragons for getting along well with humans, and you were going to be more human than any dragon had ever been before.”

Gwyneth turned her face to regard the being she once knew as Mother. In place of the wall of implacable disgust that had always been the mask that Kilgharrah had worn, was warmth and regret. A soft sadness that filled her blue eyes as she reached out and very gently pushed a few strands of brown curls away from Gwyn’s face. Accusation filled the younger wyrm’s voice as she responded, “You were cruel beyond measure to me.”

“I was. If you never forgive me, I will accept it. Regardless of how it may have seemed then, I apologize now. It was wrong what I did, and you deserved far better. It is only an excuse to say I thought it kept you safe, for there were other options than engage with Myrrdhin’s despicable schemes,” Killgharrah stepped away, explanation given, “Either way, whatever help I may offer I shall. Morgan threatens my blood kin, and I would tear her in half before I let her touch Gwyneth again.”

“You were a terrible mother,” the younger dragon’s voice was still full of hurt and accusation.

“I was.”

“We’ll see how good of a sister you are.”

A shrug was used to hide the small grin as Kilgharrah said, “That’s all I can ask.”

“As long as there is peace between you and Gwyneth, then I shall uphold it as well,” promised Tori.

Kilgharrah appraised the reborn king with a curious look, “You’re already starting to sound more like him. That was not a very modern turn of phrase.”

Tori flushed yet again, “Yeah, um, my head’s been a muddle since I saw that vision of Nimue and Merlin.” One hand rubbed at her forehead even as she still held Gwyneth tightly against her.

“Muddle?” Gwyneth poked her companion lightly.

“Mess! Giant ball of shit! Motherfucker! Augh!”

“Becoming less hip to the lingo of kids these days than I am,” offered the silver dragon with a laugh in her voice.

Gwyneth made a happy noise in the back of her throat, looking up once more at Tori from here place tucked into one arm. “You are Arthur and I am Guinevere. Not just a metaphor, but an actual fact.”

“That is who we once were.”

“And shall be again, it seems, my king.”

“Everything in me screams that I’m just a girl from the good ol’ US of A that watches too much UFC and still has a paper due in a week,” Tori sighed and snuggled against Gwyneth even as she complained, “The other part of me wants to never let you go again.”

“You can be both,” whispered Gwyneth and she reached up, using both hands to gently turn Tori’s head so they faced each other directly, eyes locked to the others, “I liked you that first day. You looked at me and saw me.”

“How could I not?” murmured Tori, unable to look away. Their focus and eyes bore through into and through each other as they drew nearer, “I’ve never even thought of touching another woman, but you… I… I…”

“You can,” Gwyneth’s voice was barely given enough breath to be called a whisper, more a hint of what she wanted. Fingers stroked over Tori’s cheek as the brunette tiptoed up and let her nose nuzzle along the edge of the other woman’s jawline which shoved her glasses up and onto her forehead.

Tori began to stammer as Kilgharrah cut in, “Okay, sweet lovebirds, as romantic as this is, you may literally go get a room if you want privacy instead of making out in my kitchen.” The pair of bonded souls flushed a brilliant scarlet as Kilgharrah laughed at them, “Go! Gwyneth can show you her bedroom or something. Straighten out what you both expect of your relationship! Leave an old wyrm to heal in peace.”

“Not very memorable, I know,” Gwyneth motioned around her at the room the pair had been exiled to. “All my personal stuff is already in the dorm, anyways, so you’ve seen it all.”

“It’s nicer than I expected. I half suspected you’d be in a Harry Potter like closet under a staircase. Imagine my surprise when your sister dragged you into what I thought was a guest room.”

Gwyneth smirked at her companion before flopping onto the edge of the bed, “As cruel as she was, she made sure I had the basics. On the days I was quietest and kept out of her way the most, I withstood the least torment. So, I’d snatch a book out of the library and sit in here and read a lot.”

“Is that how you ended up wanting to be an architect?” Tori settled next to Gwyneth, but kept a foot and a half of space between them.

“Yeah. I found a book full of cityscapes and I would just sit and stare at all the buildings. The variety of shapes and colors just made me want to visit each one of them in person,” both legs were slowly kicked back and forth, heels tapping against the bedframe, “I dunno if that’ll ever happen with what’s going on.”

“I’ll be honest, I dunno,” Tori worried at a lip for a moment, then reached out to rub at one of Gwyneth’s shoulders gently, “Nothing about what has happened leads me to think we’re just gonna go back to our normal lives.”

“I know,” Gwyneth sniffled once, then turned to look at Tori, both brown eyes wide and expectant. “You’ll be with me, though?”

“Every step.”

Gwyneth shifted, closing the gap between the pair, and pressed into Tori’s side. “I can handle it, then.”

One hand hesitated over Gwyneth’s form, but as the smaller woman nestled in closer, Tori wrapped her arm around her companion and squeezed lightly into a hug. She let another few moments of silence pass, just enjoying the proximity, then asked, “Are you in love with me?”

“Are you afraid of me saying yes?”

“No, I’m not afraid of that,” Tori sighed even as she nestled her cheek against the crown of Gwyneth’s head, “I’m afraid that if I am, it means I’m not me anymore. That I’ve become him.”

“Hush, none of that.” Gwyneth looked up once more and captured Tori’s face with her hands, “You are you, Artoria.”

Tori turned her head slightly, letting her lips brush over the fingertips of the other woman, “I wish I felt certain of that, of anything, right now. I always feel like I know everything…”

“… and now you don’t know anything,” A thumb traced the outline of Tori’s lips as the brunette spoke, “That’s been my life forever. For me, now, everything feels like it is clicking into place. Of course I don’t fit right in this body. Guinevere is the real me. Even my moth—sister – isn’t the monster I always thought her to be.”

“God, you’re so pretty…” muttered Tori, unable to look away from the dragon that was Guinevere.

“Just like Audrey Hepburn, you said?” a sly little smile found its way onto Gwyn’s features.

“Prettier.”

Gwyneth slid her glasses free and set them aside, blinking for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the lack of clarity. Her hands retreated from Tori to adjust and tug at her hair, moving the clips to pull her hair back and tight into a messy ponytail, her curls dangling behind her. A rare event occurred, with Gwyn’s ears becoming visible. Small and set in close, earlobes attached to her skull instead of dangling free. Small silver studs were set into each, but no other piercing. It also revealed the slender grace of her neck, long even for a shorter woman. “How about now?”

Tori’s heart thudded in her ears as she tried to swallow the beating pulse back down. “I, uh, um, is it hot in here?” One finger tugged at the collar of the blouse the blonde had borrowed from Kilgharrah.

Delicate features scrunched up into a smile as Gwyneth laughed, a glistening melody of gentle sounds that danced all around the bed. It was a very rare event since the two had met, but only Tori had been able to tease such mirth free from the young drake. Her expression then turned faux serious as she regarded Tori, “Touch me.”

“I don’t think…”

“I don’t want you to think,” the brunette took one of Tori’s hands and pressed it to her waist, “I’ve never been sure of anything in my life, but I’m sure of this.”

Tori’s body responded before her brain could stop it and she squeezed at the hip beneath her hand, far softer than she had expected it to be. “Why are you the bold one all of a sudden?”

“I know who I am, beloved,” whispered the dragon as she leaned forward, letting her breath fill Tori’s ear, almost scalding with its warmth. Her hand covered the one on her hip and helped Tori’s fingers squeeze down and into flesh, “I am your queen. Take me to bed.”

Resistance failed and Tori wrapped Gwyneth up with both her arms with a deep grunt. It was nothing to haul the smaller woman up bodily and deposit her on her back, prostrate underneath Tori’s heftier frame. Gwyneth grinned fiercely up at the woman she had fallen for, hooking a leg around one of the blonde’s muscular thighs, showing no reaction at all to her injury being jostled around.

“I want to kiss you so badly,” Tori admitted as she pulled her blouse up and off, revealing the athletic halter top beneath and the sleek muscles of an adept fighter.

“Then kiss me, stop waiting,” demanded Gwyneth as she spread her arms wide.

Tori did not wait to be told twice, leaning in over her long lost love, and their lips crashed together for the first time in this lifetime. Ancient longing drove them as they consummated a love left fallow for more than a millenium while they sucked and nipped at each other’s mouths and tongues. Hands stroked over supple skin and bodies that felt both alien and recognizable at once.

Gwyneth, especially, felt to Tori as if she had touched that body a hundred times before and she knew every one of her lover’s favorite parts to explore, to tease, and to taste. The same slender form, with its beautifully etched features and cascade of curls that threatened to engulf her should it be allowed free from its hairclips had somehow always been in the back of her mind. Buttons popped and failed as the pajama top was simply pulled open and greedy lips left their match to find smooth skin and perky nipples to suck and tease with Tori’s teeth. Around the dressing of the wound, she was gentle and soft, but far enough past it, and small little bruises were left in Tori’s passing, each one followed by a happy little squeak of pleasure mixed in with the tiny dollop of pain.

Hands pushed down on the bottom of Gwyneth’s pajamas, baring every last part of herself to Tori, as she prepared the way for her lover. One leg, then the other, kicked them aside and Gwyneth spread herself to reveal her damp arousal to the other woman.

A moment’s hesitation came next as Tori stared, then warned, “I’ve never, not with a woman before, I’ve…”

“You’ve already remembered so much, you’ll remember this…” Gwyneth took a hand and led it between her thighs and to where she wanted Tori to touch. She bit her lip and groaned happily as she felt the first finger, then another, inside of her. “Like that. Now lean down and taste…”

Tori did as was bidden and leaned in. Hesitancy vanished as her tongue explored and caressed the woman she had fallen for, both fingers moving in and out of Gwyneth as she worked. Hips rolled up and towards her and she found her off hand had slid between her own legs, mirroring what she was doing to Gwyneth inside of herself.

“Oh, Tori… oh God, Tori!” cried out her climax swelled and built inside of her, eventually crashing down with one of her hands tangled in Tori’s hair. Her entire body shuddered and convulsed with the pleasure she had felt. A thin line of blood trickled free from beneath one of her bandages.

As she saw the crimson streak, both of Tori’s eyes went wide, ‘Gwyn, are you okay?” Both hands were freed from within their prisons and she started to check the bandages.

Gwyneth lightly shoved at Tori’s shoulder, laughing, “I’m fine. I’m a dragon, after all. Now, it’s my turn to make you feel good…”

When the two lovers made their way back to the common areas of the mansion, Killgharrah was watching a television news program on the wide screen TV that dominated one end of the living room. A story about a Cybertruck exploding in the parking lot of the woman’s dormitory of the college was playing, talking about property damage and the miracle that no one had gotten hurt.

“Shame that those electric trucks are just so unreliable,” the elder dragon remarked drolly as the pair padded in on bare feet in pajamas with fresh bandages.

“Who’d’ve thunk it, eh? Especially considering how fugly they are,” smirked the blonde, one arm firmly around the smaller woman’s shoulders.

Gwyneth only giggled to add to the conversation, grinning broadly with her head buried into her lover’s side.

“It’s a cover, obviously. Saves a lot of embarrassment for a lot of folks,” shrugged the dragon, glancing back towards the pair, “I see you’ve ironed out where your relationship is going to stand.”

“Yeah, we decided—“ Tori started, only to stop as Kilgharrah rolled her eyes at the duo.

“Please, as if it was ever going to end anywhere but there,” the silver dragon chuffed, but then smiled, “But I’m happy for you both. Be better to her than I was.”

“You really are a different person, Moth—” Gwyneth caught herself, squeezing her eyes shut long enough to chide herself not to use that term again, “Sister. Uh. Kilgharrah? Okay, using your full name is weird.”

“Harrah is fine,” laughed the silver drake, “It’s what I use in the human world, anyways, and sisters should call each other by name.”

“Thank you for being different, in the end. I didn’t like hating you,” Gwyneth gave a faint pout for a moment, unable to hold it as she was being cradled by someone who brought her so much joy.

“I’ll spend eternity making it up to you, little one, though I might take a break to flay some of that time out of Myrrdhin’s rotten hide.” Harrah paused in consideration, then added, “Not enough to kill him, mind you, just enough to make him really interested in begging me to stop.”

“So, what are we to each other, Harrah? You and I, that is?” Tori asked the old wyrm directly.

“Allies, clearly. Friends if you’d suffer a crotchety old dragon her eccentricities and delusions of grandiosity. A resource, if you’re smart. I know a lot. Dozens of languages, forgotten lore, and magics that I desperately need to drill into your beloved’s head now that I’m not trying to torture the poor thing.” Harrah leaned forward and offered a hand to clasp, “Do we have an accord, sovereign of Camelot?”

Tori looked to Gwyneth for a moment, who nodded her approval with a smile, and then leaned forward to take the offered hand, “We do.”

Sebile regarded the small glass container with the rotten tooth captured within it. Arcane runes etched into the surface of the glass case prevented further decay of all that was left of Accolon, the Knight of Flies. If the sorceress decided to open the case and tip it over, he would be destroyed forever.

She briefly toyed with the thought, but instead put it away. To do so would be to court Morgan’s wrath, who never threw away a pawn without need or some form of gain. The only person allowed such pettiness as jealousy was Morgan herself, as Sebile had already seen what her queen did to those who undermined her with infighting and bickering.

Instead of dwelling, she double checked the etchings painstakingly engraved into each of the dragon scales they had acquired. Incantations and enchantments had been sealed into the molted leavings of the young drake, and just when they were ready, the wyrm would be at its most vulnerable. A dragon that felt love so intense it resonated across time itself.

Even Sebile knew what that meant, what Myrrdhin had hidden away and how, and with all the pieces in play on the board, the game would soon end.

Chapter Text

“Do you have a passport, Tori?” Harrah asked over the next morning’s breakfast. True to her claims that dragons healed quickly, her sling had already been discarded as she assembled a pile of scrambled eggs, grilled sausage, and bacon.

“Um. Yes? I think it’s in the safe at my uncle’s house,” Tori eyed the enormous pile of protein that the elder dragon claimed for herself, then noted Gwyneth’s only being slightly smaller.

“Any blood sausage?” Gwyneth mumbled around half a pork link.

“I downed it as a snack last night, sorry,” shrugged the elder dragon.

“S’fine,” Gwyneth made some happy sounding noises as she shoveled a forkload of egg into her mouth, “Your eggs’re better than Hilda’s.”

“I had centuries to learn,” chuffed the elder wyrm, motioning with her fork to Tori, “Don’t stare. Eat. We’re hungry because we’re healing. In the past I’d go snatch a goat or a cow. This tastes better.”

Tori eyed the pair of drakes, then slowly tried some of the eggs. They were, indeed, nearly perfect. Fluffy, warm, properly salted with just a hint of spice from a tiny bit of paprika. Harrah’s bacon was nearly as good to add to it. She mrred and mmfed around the food and once she had swallowed, “Okay, this is pretty baller.”

“That felt forced. You’re trying to sound young again,” teased Harrah and Gwyneth giggled along with her.

“Oh, Christ, you’ve already completed the transformation into siblings.”

“Us dragons gotta team up against the human,” quipped Gwyneth before om-nomming another sausage. Once swallowed, she asked, “Where are you wanting us to go, Harrah?”

“The UK. I figured everything Morgan has will be coming here, after us, time to go where they once were and get that untrustworthy jackass out of whatever trouble he’s gotten himself into. The directions he gave you were straight to the Crystal Cave of legend, so Morgan’s likely got him sealed off. Again.” Harrah rolled both blue eyes, then downed another mouthful of eggs.

“Go where the enemy is not. If we don’t know what they can do, do not leave them the option of attacking with their full strength, gathered and ready,” Tori stared up and away as she spoke, as if reciting something from an old memory.

“Okay, Arthur,” laughed Harrah, “Quoting Caesar or someone else this time?”

Gwyneth leaned over and captured one of Tori’s arms, hugging gently, “She dreamed of us. The original us, last night.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Harrah regarded the pair, then asked Tori, “Do you remember what you dreamt?”

“It’s really fuzzy. Um, a dance, a stone hall in a castle, I think. Colorful banners and garlands, and Guinevere looking like Gwyn does now, but with flowers in her hair dancing with me. Oh, and no glasses. I felt taller, heavier,” the sole human in the room gave a faltering smile.

“Sounds like your wedding reception,” Harrah grunted and regarded Gwyneth, “It is absolutely remarkable how much you look like your original self, dear sister. You were dreaming of who you thought you should be for so many decades, I’m not surprised it manifested.”

“I was a great beauty of the ages? Originally?” Gwyneth worried at a lip, “Not to sound vain. I just… you… you always called me ugly so many times, it’s hard to handle the thought of it.”

“You’re not ugly, not at all. In a world without supermodels, fitness regimens, and plastic surgery, you were and are a remarkably beautiful woman. Arthur, back in the day, supposedly fell for you in a single night, over the course of a handful of hours. Not just because of your beauty, but your grace, and wit, and humor. You made him smile and laugh and that was the end of it, he was yours for all time.” Harrah motioned with her fork, “As evidence by his continued presence in the form of our dear Artoria.”

“Undoing those years of abuse,” Tori eyed Harrah, a touch of anger still smoldering deep in her eyes, “Is going to take a long time. You did a lot of damage and I’m not a fan of bullies.”

Harrah grunted, “Neither was the original Arthur. I’m saying my mea culpas here, Tori, as best I can.”

“If I didn’t believe your part, at least, I wouldn’t have agreed to our deal.”

“No, I suspect not.”

Gwyneth stood between them, hugging an arm of each of the other two women, “Hey, it’s a good morning for us. We survived, and I have come to realize that I began this season thinking I had no one that loved me and today, I stand beside two people who love me and care for me. We’ll go fetch Merlin and then there’ll be three.” She gave a bright, beautiful smile to both of them.

Harrah was the first to smile but caught Tori grinning broadly as well, “That’s the Guinevere I remember. Nothing was impossible and her every breath was an inspiration.” That brought an even broader smile from Gwyneth.

“It’s so odd that you knew both of us in both our first and this life and you can compare us to that first go around. Who do you see when you even look at us, Harrah?” Tori asked curiously, head tilted to one side.

“The glimpses of your old selves are more clear with every moment. Especially the longer the two of you are in each other’s presence. You both seem to draw it out of your partner,” the elder dragon placed a soothing hand on Tori’s forearm, “It’s a compliment, though. Both of you were exceptional and seem to be so again. There is nothing to fear about having a bit of the old king floating around in your thoughts.”

“There is something about the past I want to ask, to get out of the way,” Gwyneth’s expression turned pensive, “Did I… Did she… Did Guinevere cheat on Arthur?”

Harrah’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, then she asked Tori, “Do you want to know the answer to this? I’ll lay it out bare for you both to deal with.”

Tori sighed, “Rip off the band aid.”

One hand stroked through the soft curls of Gwyneth’s hair as the dragon answered, “Yes. Only with Lancelot, but several times from what I came to understand. Gawain saw something he shouldn’t have, then declared Guin’s adultery in public for everyone to hear. Lancelot killed Gawain in the duel over Guin’s innocence, but it didn’t matter. No one would have ever bet on Lancelot to lose a fight, even if he was guilty.”

Gwyneth bit down hard on a knuckle as Harrah explained everything, “Tori, I’m so fucking sorry, I…” Tears rimmed the edges of her eyes, her chin trembling as she started to cry.

Tori wrapped her lover up in her arms and hugged her tight, “That was another lifetime. Nothing to forgive.”

“We were separated because of me!” cried the younger dragon, the next attempt at words devolving into incoherent sobs.

“I am so sorry for both of you. If it means anything, the story of Guinevere exiling herself to Glastonbury is true. She spent her life there, and never took another husband. She blamed herself, like Gwyn here is doing,” the old dragon went about finishing up the remnants of her food, cleaning the plate thoroughly.

All Tori did for several minutes was just hold the bawling brunette, cuddling her close as she came to terms with the history of her past life. Tori kept offering reassuring words and gentle pats until her lover could finally compose herself and straight up, pulling her glasses off to clean them of tear streaks.

“I-I can’t remember why…” Gwyneth managed.

“I think I know,” murmured Tori, “You were lonely. I think I was away a lot.”

Harrah nodded a confirmation, “Arthur was always on campaign. Not because he wanted to be, but because the number of enemies was endless. It was the beginning of the Anglo-Saxon invasions. Millions of migrating proto-Vikings constantly flooding the shores of Great Britain. Something had to give, and Guin saw the north side of thirty and still didn’t have any children, which was insane for those days. You two married when she was fifteen and any other king would’ve set her aside already as barren.”

“That’s no excuse, I should’ve… should’ve…” Gwyneth pouted, “I dunno what she should’ve done.”

“Also, to put in perspective, Lancelot was handsome.” Harrah whistled, “I’m a dragon and I would’ve if he’d’ve asked. In the last fifteen hundred years I can count on one hand the number of men prettier than he and I’d have fingers left over. It’s not like Guinevere never had children. It’s just that everyone thought it was Lance’s.”

Gwyneth raised a brow, “Wait, she, err, I had a child?”

“A boy. Someone had to be Artoria’s great-great however many times removed grandparent. His name was Loholt, if I remember correctly. She loved him dearly, but never once attributed Arthur as his parent. Probably for the best, it kept him safe, and he had his own kin thanks to it.”

“Um, didn’t Arthur cheat, too?” Tori offered, trying to alleviate some of Gwyneth’s guilt, “That’s how Mordred came about, right?”

Harrah nodded, but held up a hand, “Not intentionally. Morganna cast an illusion on herself after using a charm to put Guinevere to sleep and waited in Arthur’s bed pretending to be his wife. I still think, to this day, if Guin had been on that bed instead of Morgan, Arthur would’ve had a child with his wife and not his sister that night. After that,” the dragon sighed, “After that, things got really messy.”

“Descent into depression, the Grail quest, then betrayal and the battle of Camlann, right?” Tori showed off her Camelot trivia knowledge as she confirmed.

“Yeah. Pretty much. The gory details don’t matter, and I’ve forgotten some of it thanks to it being a long time ago,” Harrah leaned forward and regarded both, “But let’s be clear. What happened in that old lifetime was human, not two people trying to actively hurt each other. You both screwed up and things became awful. This is a new lifetime. Forgive each other, forgive yourselves, and be stronger together.”

Both lovers clung tightly to each other and nodded to the dragon’s words. After pausing a moment to let the end of the discussion settle, Harrah told Tori, “Call your uncle and tell him I’m sending Davis to get your passport. After that, I’m chartering a plane and we’re going to Britain. Expect to be across the Atlantic in two to three days.”

“What about clothes and luggage? You said we couldn’t go back to the dorm!” protested Tori.

“I’ll handle everything like that. I turned that hoard of legend into investments, dear Tori. Money isn’t an issue.”

Three days later, a plane scythed through the air over the Atlantic Ocean towards the British Isles. Neither Gwyn nor Tori had been allowed out of the mansion in the intervening time, instead picking out a small wardrobe for each of them off the web that a personal shopper delivered just before it was time to start packing. Everything was far more expensive than Tori was comfortable with, but Harrah seemed to be trying to buy some affection back.

Before they boarded, Tori had been gifted with a scabbard for Caliburn, something so she was not carting around a naked blade nearly three feet long. It had a strap that let Tori sling it over a shoulder and Harrah insisted she had worked an enchantment into the leather so that only people who knew Caliburn existed could see it while it was sheathed. Even Gwyn said she could smell some sort of magic on it, but did not have the experience to say what.

Tori accepted the generosity and had not received a single sideways glance when carrying the weapon to the Lear jet parked in its private hangar. As leery as she was over a former bully, she could not argue that she liked this kinder version of Gwyneth’s former guardian than the version she first met. What the blonde wished for most, was that Gwyneth had spent far more of her life with the kind, dry-witted elder drake instead of the cruel harridan.

“Harrah told me to spend the rest of the flight with you,” Gwyneth bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet in the back of the plane where Tori had retreated, using the plane’s satellite link to lie to her uncle via text about being treated to an overseas trip by her roommate’s very rich family. “Something about keeping an eye on what’s happening back home and all the money she’s spending.”

“Feeling better?” Tori gave her other half a hopeful look, “You’ve been a touch down since the reveal.”

“I, uh, yeah. I think some,” she answered as, without prompting, she settled across Tori’s lap. The brunette was slender enough she felt like she weighed nothing at all, though she looked very pretty in collection of cute blouses and skirts that her sister had bought for her. Both arms curled up and around Tori’s neck, “I just have to accept that was part of a life I didn’t get to make the choices for. I like to think I would’ve made a different decision.”

Tori pressed a few kisses into Gwyneth’s curls, “As much as we are those other, past lives, we’re also us, with different upbringings and childhoods. Things may have been different this go around. Isn’t that the whole point of coming back?”

A happy noise came from Gwyneth at the affection, “Yes, exactly so.” She traced a finger over the muscles of Tori’s shoulder through the shirt she wore. A cream blouse over pinstriped black slacks with a matching jacket that was on another chair at the moment was what she had picked for the trip. Combat boots vanished up and under the pants. “I like you in this. A touch masculine, but still feminine.”

“Still weird having a girlfriend,” Tori laughed, “My ex-boyfriend would have a fit.”

“Mm. I think of myself as your wife.” Gwyneth snuck a kiss to Tori’s jaw, “All time, if you’ll remember our vows.”

“I don’t, specifically.”

“I do. All time.” One wide brown eye winked, a smile on Gwyneth’s face, “So there. I should ask about your prior partners, though. That’s a thing couples do, right?”

“It is. I had two. A boy I lost my virginity to at a party when I was sixteen, then my boyfriend from just after then until we broke up when we realized we were getting into different colleges. I used protection each time.”

“Mm. What sort of boy could capture my Tori’s heart? I thought you were a lesbian when I first met you, to be honest. At least you were sweeping me off my feet without trying too hard,” giggled the smaller woman from her comfortable place in Tori’s lap.

“Jason. Valedictorian, on the track team, very handsome. Considerate, too. Hector and Kay both adored him, thought we were a ‘smart match’. When he got the full ride scholarship to Stanford, he chose education over me.” Tori gave a sad smile.

“You begged him to stay, didn’t you?”

Tori nodded, “I did. Bawled my eyes out. Can you image that from me?”

“Pfft, of course I can.” Gentle fingers stroked over Tori’s cheek, “As big and tough as you are, your emotions are just as strong as your body. Just like Arthur. His heart was always on his sleeve.”

“Your memories are coming back so much faster than mine,” complained Tori.

“Maybe it’s the draconic blood in me? Regardless,” Gwyneth offered a bright smile, “His loss is my gain. I imagine you two would be living in some apartment together instead of the dorm if he had stayed at our college.”

“Probably. It’s my gain, too. I got to learn about myself. Who I was sexually, in spirit, and in true love, not just a ‘smart match’.” Tori tilted Gwyneth’s head back and kissed her properly, their lips melding together for a long moment.

“Mmmmm,” Gwyneth made a happy sound in her throat before the kiss would eventually end, offering a smile to her lover as a reward, “Well, had you been Arthur or Artoria, I like to think it would not have mattered. You are my first in this lifetime, which is no great surprise, and after the last lifetime, it is fully my plan for you to be my only.”

“Oh, even should Lancelot waltz through that door in a moment?”

The tease brought a scowl to Gwyneth’s features, “Don’t joke like that. No, not ever again. I’d send him away, ask him if he loved us both, that he should leave us in peace to our own happiness.”

A soft cough came from Tori and she gave a contrite look to her lover, “You’re right, that was unkind. Won’t happen again.”

“Forgiven, forgotten.”

“And how are those feelings progressing for your former mother turned sibling?”

“Coming along apace,” murmured Gwyneth, stealing a look back towards the front of the airplane. The midway divider was thrown, affording them some privacy. Looking back up at Tori, she admitted, “I keep praying everything is real, that she really is this sweet, lovable being. Then I say something and feel like she is about to snap at me once more, only to see her giving me the saddest look.”

“She’s been good?”

“Practically walking on eggshells. You’ve always been good at discerning truth at a glance, Arthur. What do you feel?”

A gentle poke followed the misnaming, “Tori, love.”

“Sorry! I guess it helps I’m ‘Gwen’ either way. My last name was just Harrah making a pun.” She stuck her tongue out towards the front of the plane for a moment, “I’ll try to do better just as you are.”

“Thank you, but to answer, it feels sincere, but that there’s even a chance you could be hurt again has kept my hackles up.”

“Mm. She feels that, I think. Said you’re still wary around her, no matter how nice she is.”

“Fifty years of torment is not undone by a half a week’s worth of kindness,” Tori gripped her lover’s hand as she affirmed it.

Gwyn returned the squeeze of her hand, “Agreed, but I guess I feel a bit more sympathy as one who also once wronged someone I love dearly. There’s something to be said about how I spent so long desperately seeking her love that now I am feeling it, I am too easy to accept her.”

“If at any point you want to just go, to get away from her…”

“… I have but to ask, my beautiful knight in her shining armor and magic sword,” giggled Gwyneth. Her expression turned serious, “Now, for a serious topic, my lovely wife. How do we want to handle children? You are giving them to me this lifetime, yes?”

As Tori flushed and began to sputter, Gwyneth tilted her head back and laughed, filling the plane with the music of her joy. By the point Tori realized it had been a jest, Gwyneth’s laughter had started to abate as the larger woman’s expression turned to faux annoyance.

“Aww, don’t be a grump,” giggled Gwyneth as she freed some of the buttons on her blouse, exposing the bow in the center of her pink bra and a bit of cleavage, “I think I know how to cheer you up.”

Tori flushed slightly pink, “What, are you trying to get in the mile high club?”

“What’s that?” Gwyneth’s wide brown eyes blinked innocently.

“Uh, it’s, uh, when you have sex on an airplane. Since you’re a mile or more high…” stammered Tori.

“Hm. Sounds like a club I’d like to join. Right now,” Gwyneth pulled a hand up and over her belly and slid Tori’s fingers under her bra.

Tori squeezed without needing to be prompted, thumb finding the hardening tip to brush and tease, “I, um, well…” Her cheeks and neck flushed, but she smiled, “Who am I to deny my lady love?”

“There we go, that’s what I want to hear,” giggled Gwyneth, leaning up to cover Tori’s lips with her own.

They had just finished the club initiation when the flight attendant stepped in to offer a meal or drinks, then retreated, halfway between blushing and laughing. As the stewardess fled past Harrah, who had been mired in her cell phone’s stock trading app, the elder drake turned to look back along the length of the plane to watch the young lovers getting dressed sheepishly.

Harrah laughed and shook her head, looking unsurprised.

“Repeat what you said to me,” hissed Sebile.

Davis sputtered out another globule of blood after the beating he had endured, “Lady Fier went to the airport and took a charter to the UK with her daughter and her girlfriend.”

They had found the chauffeur and bodyguard amid closing up the manor and securing it for a long duration absence by its owners. He had nearly made it to the alert button for the security system before Sebile’s spell of sleep had dropped him.

“Did they have a sword?” snarled Markus, assigned as the muscle and minder for Morgan’s apprentice. He grabbed a fistful of hair and prepared another punch.

“Don’t bother, he won’t know. She’s already cast a charm of hiding upon it,” the sorceress produced a long, thin dagger and dragged it across the driver’s throat. He gurgled and struggled as the life blood began to pour out of him, drenching his clothing. A quick stroke of her tongue cleaned the steel and she returned it to her handbag, replacing it in her hand with her cellphone.

A few quick taps and Morgan answered. Sebile did not wait for her to say anything, “They’re on the way to you, my queen. Took a plane last night.”

Morgan grunted, “They’re coming for the old man, I suspect. Trying to slip in under me as I am leaving. Smart.”

“Most of your people are already in the States, beloved. Should I return with the scales?”

“Leave Markus to supervise getting everyone back here. Take the next flight with the scales. We’ll kill the dragons and take the blade,” Morgan ordered with the usual cool confidence. “If it’s not an American city we’re sacrificing to bring my son back, I do not mind watching the Anglo-Saxon and Norman invaders experience their capital burning to ash for the return of my kingdom.”

“London, then?”

“And every last soul in it, starting with Arthur’s.”

Chapter Text

The leased Land Rover rolled to a halt on one of the rolling green hills of Wales. As soon as it came to a stop, Tori was out. Caliburn was strapped to her back, and she wore a set of fatigues over combat boots, a loose jacket over her plain tank top. Gwyneth and Harrah followed, dressed in utilitarian civilian clothes, jeans, loose long-sleeved shirts. Nothing expensive should they have to transform and rip through their clothing.

“She’ll be watching, even if she’s not here. He’s escaped this place before, so there’ll be at least one guardian,” warned Harrah as they left the vehicle behind.

One hand went up to the pommel over one of Tori’s shoulders and she kept a grip on it as they approached the hill that Harrah had told them held the Crystal Cave in its western side. Nothing approaching civilization was near. They had not even seen a cow or sheep for a couple of kilometers since getting off the road. They had started to ignore the GPS in favor of Kilgharrah’s memories.

“How far are we from where Camelot used to be?” Tori asked, even as she kept looking around, her entire body tense.

“Still a bit away,” Gwyneth was the one that answered. “Carmarthenshire was once said to be Caer Myrrdhin. Merlin’s holdfast. I remember it being a little west of the actual city, but it was close.”

“That’s where we landed, right?”

“Yes,” Harrah confirmed, “Camelot was across the Bristol Channel, called the Severn Sea back in the days of your first life.”

Tori’s eyes went wide, “I was searching for the Seventh Sea all night last night on my phone. I kept remembering being able to ride there, and from there to Merlin’s home.”

“Names have changed over the years, plus your memory is far fuzzier than Gwyn’s,” Harrah shrugged.

Gwyneth giggled a little, “That’s why you were glued to the damn thing and looking frustrated.” She lay a hand gently on Tori’s arm and the other woman relaxed at the touch.

Tori sighed, “I wish I was suddenly an encyclopedia like you two, but I’ll have to relegate myself to hitting things.”

“Pfft. You get to be the pretty one, too,” Gwyn offered to cheer her beloved up.

“I’m the pretty one, now shush, both of you,” Kilgharrah warned as they swung around the hill to its western facing side. For a moment it appeared to just be an additional part of the rolling slope, but that illusion faded away, leaving a low-ceilinged entrance that vanished into darkness and descending deep within the earth.

Tori tugged a crankable flashlight she had retrieved from the Land Rover free of her jacket. Several cranks later and it was shining brightly into the opening of the cave. Thin crystal veins winked back at the trio as they descended, the light panning back and forth. Tingles and chills rolled through the nerves and spines of each of the three intruders.

“Something smells wrong,” Gwyneth warned. “I-I don’t remember ever coming here, but this seems off.”

Kilgharrah audibly sniffed at the air, her tongue darting out even in her human form to taste, “You’re right. It feels like Morgan left something behind, but whatever it is isn’t active.”

Tori tugged at Caliburn, freeing the blade from its sheath. It shone brightly, reflecting the light of the flashlight as if it were itself a torch. Its brilliance helped to light up the caves even further. What stood out was a pillar of crystal embedded into the back of the wide cavern, a humanoid figure contained within. Even Tori could recognize the form instantly, “Merlin.”

Scree and detritus was all that the cavern contained aside from its crystals. Some care taken with footing and the three were able to pass through it easily enough, arriving at the vein that contained Merlin. His body was badly battered, bruises and blood all over it, clothing torn and shredded. Whatever he had endured before his imprisonment had been severe.

“Old bastard likely did nothing but mock her, knowing him,” grunted Kilgharrah as she rapped one knuckle on the crystal. “This prison stinks of Morgan, too.”

Gwyneth sniffed at the air, “Bitter like sour wine turned to vinegar.”

“If one word describes that bitch, it’s ‘bitter’.” The elder drake motioned to Tori, “No enchantment can survive a blow from Caliburn. Tap the crystal and it should collapse.”

Tori nodded and did as she was told, tapping the prison once with the edge of the blade. Cracks quickly began to lattice their way through the crystal, spreading out from where Caliburn made contact with it. An additional tap was added from the blade for good measure and the crystal shattered away in chunks, leaving Myrrdhin free from the shoulders up, one hand also poking out.

“Nnnnng, fuck you, Morgan…” muttered the wounded enchanter.

Kilgharrah smirked, “Yeah, he’ll be fine.” She started to tug and yank at the broken crystal, causing more to fall away. Soon the hands of all three were yanking and tugging, freeing Myrrdhin from his bonds. As he slid down into a puddle of injury and woe, Tori stopped him from falling, getting one arm under his shoulders to help him stand.

“Nng, how long has it been?” muttered Myrrdhin.

“Handful of days, you old goat,” grunted Kilgharrah, “Now you owe me a boon.”

One hand waved weakly, “Assume I’ve already lied to you about paying you back later.” His head lolled about as he struggled to focus on the faces of his saviors, “Oh, hey, Guiny! Oh, you’re so pretty!”

“Thank you, old rascal,” grinned the younger of the two dragons, “You hid me in a dragon egg.”

“I did! It was a good joke on Morgan. She spent a whole lotta time looking for you,” giggled the old mage, “Left Arthur to run around saving the world over and over while looking for something she’d never find. I think I might’ve made her mad.”

“I think you did, old friend. Let’s get you out of here. At least to a bed and someplace we can bandage you up,” Tori told the enchanter, starting to lead him and the two dragons towards the cave entrance.

“That’s our cue to cut in, then,” laughed a dark, feminine voice from the cave entrance. Sebile stepped in front of the entrance, several men in dark fatigues with guns following behind. The sorceress wore a crimson suit with pants tailored perfectly for her, a puffy white blouse beneath it. Black boots with low heels covered her feet. Her dark hair was pulled back into a thick braid and her features were beautiful but cruel, an emulation of her mistress.

“Oh, Sebile, I see you’ve been demoted to corralling the hired help!” Myrrdhin giggled from where he clung to Tori’s shoulder.

“Silence, charlatan!” snapped the sorceress and motioned the gunmen forward as she began to withdraw, “Kill the man and the blonde on the right, I want the other two alive.”

A dozen armed mercenaries began to file into the cave, guns raised. As the first pair fired, their bullets impacted only dragon scales as Kilgharrah’s true form was revealed, roaring forward with flame and claw through the soldiers. Men died screaming as the dragon was merciless in tearing them apart. One was bitten in half, another pair died to a gout of flames, but more were torn to pieces by her claws, leaving her splattered with gore and viscera.

“That’s still damn impressive to see,” muttered Myrrdhin, but looking to Tori and Gwyn. Mentally, his clarity was returning, “We should follow her out. Quickly.”

Tori nodded in agreement and the three followed the carnage up and out of the cave, picking their way through the ruin of so many grown men. As they emerged from the cave, automatic gunfire echoed across the Welsh fields, a trio of Land Rovers parked just outside the entrance. Kilgharrah hefted one of the vehicles in a single foreclaw and tossed it through a group of men, flattening them, even as others attempted to circle and fire upon the dragon.

“Sebile’s keeping the dragon’s charms from putting those men to sleep and giving them courage to keep fighting. Kill the sorceress and they’ll break,” hissed Myrrdhin, pointing her out to Tori. Sebile had fled behind the mercs, using them as bodyshields, and was spreading something out on the back tailgate of one of the Land Rovers.

Tori leaned Myrrdhin against the side of the cave’s entrance, “Then I’ll handle her, I need you to…” She glanced at Gwyneth, “Love?”

Changes and undulations rippled through Gwyneth’s entire body, as if she was fighting to prevent herself from shifting into another form. Claws and scales appeared then vanished, horns curled out, then withdrew, “S-something’s… augh… something’s w-wrong…!”

Myrrdhin chanted in an ancient tongue and his eyes glowed with power, “The bitch is casting a charm upon her! She has… Daghda’s beard! She has some of Gwyn’s scales!” He screamed out, the power of his magic broadcasting his word across the hillsides, “KILGHARRAH! THE SORCERESS HAS DRAGON SCALES! KILL HER!”

Kilgharrah roared in rage, “YOU SHALL NOT HARM MY SISTER, YOU BITCH!” and flames poured out from her, inferno snaking forward and threatening to consume the Land Rover and Sebile with it. As it nearly reached her, Gwyneth’s eyes glowed a sickly green and she launched herself into the air, clothes shredding away as the red dragon barreled into her sister, teeth and claws smashing into the silver dragon’s flank and forcing her back and away from the sorceress.

“Fuck!” Myrrdhin screamed out, “How many scales does that cunt have?!” He staggered against the stone and slid to a seat on his ass, “I have no strength in me, Arthur. You need to hunt down the bitch and kill her!”

A nod was given to the old wizard as Tori gripped Caliburn tightly and ducked her way towards the Land Rovers. One was on its side from the battle, the other two still upright. All of the remaining men were glued to the battle raging along the ground and in the air as a red dragon attempted to maul the elder wyrm. Kilgharrah attempted escape and defended as much as she could, batting away the younger dragon with her tail several times, but Gwyneth had no such compunction, pouring flames and teeth and claw into her sister’s hide and wings.

Men dove away as the two leviathans crashed hard into the surface of the green pastures. Rock and dirt buckled and crashed upwards in every direction with the violence of their struggle. Claws dug deep furrows through silver scales and Kilgharrah roared in rage and pain before flinging the red dragon aside, crushing yet another one of Sebile’s mercenaries.

“I WILL SHIT YOU OUT ON MORGAN’S GRAVE, SEBILE!” screeched the ancient wyrm, her rage without depth.

Tori crept up behind a mercenary, still glued on the giant beasts battling near and far, before cutting him down with Caliburn’s blade. Modern equipment and clothing parted beneath it like they were made of air, even his rifle was sliced neatly in half. He fell apart before her, but Tori did pull the pistol from his holster, wielding Caliburn with one hand and the sidearm with her left.

Gwyneth renewed her assault upon her sister, launching herself into the silver dragon before Kilgharrah could reach Sebile, sending both of them tumbling. Kilgharrah struggled more and more to hold herself back from hurting Gwyneth, instincts fueling the need to defend herself, to end the attacks upon her, as her wounds mounted. Her claws latched into one of the wings of her sister and she tore downwards, shredding through it and kicking Gwyneth away to send her plummeting downwards from hundreds of feet in the air.

The impact was earth shattering, sending debris and dust clouds in every direction. One of the two remaining Land Rovers tipped over, crushing yet another man that was using it as cover and Sebile was sent spilling to one side. The sorceress screeched and began searching the ground, collecting the thin red scales that had been sent in every direction.

Tori kicked up to her feet and sprinted towards the sorceress, pressing Caliburn’s point to the other woman’s throat. “Enough.”

Sebile snarled up at the reborn sovereign, her hand gripped tightly around the pair of scales she had found, “I have enough to make her kill herself before my life ends. I may die but your queen will be lost to time once more.” Green incandescence radiated from her hand as it gripped the scales etched in arcane runes.

“She’s not lying, for once, Arthur,” Kigharrah snarled as she landed, shifting to her hybrid form between human and dragon. One horn had been broken completely off and her body was covered in deep scars and burns. A visible limp slowed her gait.

“She’s still molting. Shouldn’t have let her transform outside of the house,” laughed the sorceress as Gwyneth jerkily dragged herself forward in her own hybrid form, claws held to her throat. “I’m going to stand now. Try to harm me, she dies.”

Tears streamed down Gwyneth’s face and she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” One wing had been reduced to a ragged mess and dragged behind her instead of being tucked neatly against her back.

“Not your fault, little one. I love you, still,” whispered Kilgharrah.

The half dozen remaining mercs slowly approached Sebile’s side as she stood, smirking triumphantly, “Here’s how this works. You give me the sword and I don’t kill her. If I see a dragon in the sky or a car behind me, she dies.”

“And we’re going to just take your word that you’ll, what, leave the scales in the corner mailbox for us?” Tori demanded as she followed Sebile with Caliburn’s point, “I don’t think so.”

“I hold the life and death of your queen in my hand…” Sebile started only for Tori to interrupt.

“And you know damn well that the moment you do anything, you and your remaining men die. Die forever. We’ll cut you apart and drop you into the Severn Sea so you’ll never be found by Morgan to bring back,” threatened Tori, eyes narrowed as she regarded Sebile.

“Oh, Arthur, there you are,” giggled the Sorceress.

“Drop the scales and you may leave. With a message to your mistress that this is over.”

“And there’s the overblown sense of mercy,” laughed Sebile as her power flared bright through her eyes and around her fist. Gwyneth launched herself forward, not at Kilgharrah, but at Tori. Clawed fingers carved into very human flesh as the gun in her off hand fired reflexively, impacting into the ground between them.

Tori screeched in pain and had to fight her instincts not to carve into her lover with the blade. She dodged backwards again and again, shredded jacket trailing from her left shoulder and bicep, as the dragonette tried once more to rip into her.

A pair of the remaining mercs opened fire at Kilgharrah point blank with their rifles. A spray of ammunition sent her backwards. Scales protected much of her, but open wounds and damage meant that the gunfire was having a far greater impact than it normally would. The rest of the men dogpiled into Tori, bearing her hard to the ground. One took Caliburn through the chest and he fell back, dead within moments, but that dead man carried the blade free from her as the others pinned her to the grass.

Sebile cackled as she pulled the weapon free from the corpse that had trapped it and held Caliburn up, “The blade of kings!”

Gwyneth collapsed onto the ground, no further compunction given, weeping in a pile of misery and shame as she curled her wings about herself like a child.

“Aww. The poor baby. Let me put you out of your misery,” Sebile smiled wickedly as she pointed Caliburn at Gwyneth and thrust forward, aiming at the center of the red dragon’s back.

“GWYN!” screamed Tori as she bucked under the weight of so many attackers, still failing to free herself from the three men atop her.

Caliburn did not pierce the heart of its target, as Sebile had intended. As Gwyneth had once done for Artoria, so did Kilgharrah for her sister. The elder wyrm stood before the blade as it stabbed forward and instead of Gwyneth’s lifeblood, it drank that of the silver dragon. Caliburn’s point sliced cleanly into her and through her center, right through the breast of the ancient beast.

Kilgharrah coughed, blood pouring freely from her lips as she staggered, sliding back along the blade.

“Stupid creature!” spat the sorceress, “You buy them nothing and die as well!” She raised the bloody sword.

“With my life force, I spend it to break your charm forever, petty witch.” Kilgharrah chanted in ancient draconic, the tongue forgotten by all but Myrrdhin and the great wyrms of old, and the scales shattered and dissolved within Sebile’s hand, turning to worthless dust. As the ancient leviathan collapsed to the shattered earth of the Welsh pastures, she murmured to Gwyneth, “Save them now, little sister. Please forgive me.” With her final word, both eyes went dull, and she was gone.

“No! No, no, no!” screeched Gwyneth as she roared into her full draconic form once more, flames pouring free from her and into the enemies around her. Each of the vehicles caught flame and exploded high up into the air, sending Sebile and her men scattering.

The red dragon galloped with her huge strides, collecting Tori in one claw, then Myrrdhin with another. Damaged wings beat at the mid-day sky and carried the wyrm up and over the horizon in a wobbily pattern, away from the site of the battle.

Gwyneth smashed hard into the earth once more as her brutalized wings gave way in the foothills of the Cambrian mountains. She did her best to protect her human cargo as she tucked them close to her body, but eventually rolled to a stop and let herself shift back into her nude, human form. At least she had no wings that would ache and throb in that form, only her heart and soul would.

“Oh, Kilgharrah, you noble creature,” murmured Myrrdhin as he limped his way over to a shattered tree stump and settled on it. “I knew I picked smartly.”

“You knew she was going to die there today, didn’t you?” Tori accused the mage as she knelt next to Gwyn, wrapping her jacket around the other woman who was curled tightly into a fetal position.

“It was one possibility. I had hoped it wouldn’t be the one we faced,” muttered Myrrdhin, even his head was hung low, the sorrow etched on his face, “She was a good friend, and I mourn her, too.”

All Gwyneth could do was whisper, “I’m sorry.” To herself, to those around her, and to the world it seems. Over and over, she did it as she buried her head in Tori’s jacket.

“Well, now Caliburn’s fucking gone! And an elder dragon is dead! Looks like Morgan got everything she was aiming for!” Tori snapped out, settling next to Gwyneth and pulling her love into her lap, even as she sobbed and apologized repeatedly. “And Gwyn’s more traumatized than ever! That bitch mind raped her and forced her to try kill us!”

“Then be cross at her! Not me! I am not the conniving cunt that did that to her, nor am I Morgan! I am your ally, Arthur!” Myrrdhin snapped right back, “I have been beaten and imprisoned and gave away part of my life force to give you that bloody blade and you are yelling at me!” Tears leaked down his cheeks, “All while I have yet to even take a moment to mourn one of my dearest friends on this earth!”

“I-I,” Tori stammered at first, then dipped her head in shame, “I’m sorry. They were ready for us, had a plan, and beat us. That was my fault and I’m throwing blame. We came to rescue one ally, only to lose another and our greatest weapon. I have failed you and to protect my beloved.” She squeezed tight around Gwyneth, kissing the brown curls regardless of the streaks of blood and muck throughout.

“I’m sorry, too, old friend,” Myrrdhin’s voice was quiet as he wiped at his cheeks with what was left of his shirt. His expression tightened as he regarded Gwyneth’s broken form, covered in wounds and her shoulders still bobbing up and down as she sobbed.

“Where do we pick up from here? Harrah was responsible for all our money and transport. Gwyn’s not just hurt, but destroyed…” Tori gave a forlorn look to the mage.

“Don’t forget to count yourself among the casualties,” the mage motioned to the lacerations across her arm and forearm.

Tori sighed, “To be honest, I had barely noticed with everything else.” She looked at the injuries and not even a thin trickle of blood was coming from them.

“You’re lucky you have that scabbard still,” Myrrdhin pointed at the leather strap that still hung free from Tori’s right shoulder, “Kilgharrah did a halfway decent job remaking Caliburn’s scabbard, including its ability to inhibit bleeding. You’d be far weaker, otherwise. Bandage yourself while you can.”

Tori peeled her tank top off, leaving herself in just a halter, and tore it apart to make bandages not just for herself, but for Gwyneth. Myrrdhin spent several moments treating his own shirt, similarly, binding a mixture of his own wounds and those of Gwyneth. By the end, with the need to have access to her frame, Gwyneth was sitting up straight once more. Her stare forward was hollow and lost.

Myrrdhin settled to one side of Gwyneth, waiting as Tori sat down on the other. He then leaned his head on one of her shoulders, Tori’s jacket still clutched about her. Tori wrapped them both up tight, her long arms letting her gather both up, though Gwyn was transferred into Tori’s lap.

“It hurts, I know,” the older enchanter spoke after a long silence, “Kilgharrah was good and decent, in the end, and she gave her life so we could live. We must do what comes next for her sake, so that sacrifice was not in vain.”

“How? I ruin lives just existing near people,” croaked Gwyneth, her first real words in some time. “If it’s not my husband, it’s my sister. In the end I push them into Morgan’s lap so she can butcher them.”

“Stop that!” murmured Tori, wiping away fresh tears from Gwyneth’s cheeks, “Morgan and Sebile made their choices and chose harm instead of being decent people. You made mistakes no one could have guessed would have ended the way they did.” Tori took a breath, “The first time I stepped into the ring, I thought I knew everything.  I had been listening to Hector and Kay, watched fight after fight. I thought I would step in and just destroy my opponent.”

Myrrdhin smirked, “There’s a reason I bet against you that fight.”

Tori eyed the young-looking wizard, “Of course you were there. Anyways, I stepped up and got knocked out in the first round. I was so fucking full of myself, I got annihilated.”

Gwyneth tilted her head to regard Tori, “Really? I knew you probably lost fights, but…”

“Next couple didn’t go much better. I nearly gave up. After the third loss in a row, I sat in the locker room bawling my eyes out. Hector had to wait until all the other girls had left to come in and collect me. Sat down next to me and said to me,” Tori puffed out her chest and cheeks, mimicking her uncle’s voice, “Tori, now that you know what it feels like to lose like that, you don’t like how it feels very much, do you?” Tori then shook her head as if to show what the young version of her had done, “Good. Use that and make sure you win next time.”

“D-did you?” stammered Gwyn softly.

Myrrdhin giggled, but Tori shushed him, “No, but I lost by decision instead. One point. I hated it, but I had improved, so the next time I won. TKO in the fifth round.” Tori regarded Gwyn with a softer expression, “You’ve been knocked down a few times, beloved. Time for that rage and pain to be felt by Morgan le Fay and Sebile. They need to understand we are just as relentless as they think they are.”

Tori stood, helping pull Gwyneth to her feet and then to stabilize her. “I am Artoria, the last sovereign of the Britons and you are my Queen. Not just a human queen, but the last remaining child of the Queen of Dragons. At our side we have the greatest, most storied wizard that has ever walked this earth. Who could stand against us?”

“Probably the second most storied wizard this world has known,” shrugged Myrrdhin before he giggled, “But it was a pretty speech. I think I know what we might need, though.”

Gwyneth blinked owlishly at the enchanter, “What?”

“Gads, Myrrdhin, could you make this place more out of the way!” called a voice from the surrounding trees and scrub bushes. It was a young man from the sound of his voice and his appearance, though his accent was very muddled. Handsome, dark haired and bright eyed, he smiled broadly with his hiking backpack and gear as he crunched towards the trio. “You said bring spare clothing for two women and yourself?”

“Aye! Please!” Myrrdhin laughed, motioning with one hand to their new arrival, “This is Tori and Gwyn, and yes, they are who you think they are.”

The new arrival’s face flushed bright red at the state of undress of the two women. “Uh. I, um. Sorry!” He dropped his backpack to the ground and quickly produced clothing that he tossed towards them, constantly glancing away.

“Gal’s a bit old fashioned, you’ll have to forgive him, but he’s good people,” laughed Myrrdhin as he accepted a shirt for himself and pulled it on.

Gwyn, even with the clothes pressed into her hands, stood and stared after Gal for several long moments, eyes wide and features pale. “G-gal? Y-you l-look just like…” Her voice trailed off into a faint murmur.

“I look like my father, my queen, yes,” Gal kept glancing away, not meeting Gwyneth’s gaze.

“Uh. I don’t recognize old faces yet, so you’ll have to tell me. Who’s your father, sir?” Tori asked before pulling a t-shirt with a local football club’s logo on over her head.

“Oh, my apologies, my king. I am Galahad, a knight of the Round Table, recently returned to your kingdom after my time in paradise as reward for bringing you the Grail. My father is Lancelot du Lac.”

“Get out!”

Sebile stormed through Morganna’s manor and snapped at the man sitting as her guest at dinner. He glanced to the sorceress, who nodded once in acknowledgement, sending the man scurrying out of the room. Two servants followed with him to ensure he was handled properly.

“That was the Home Secretary, Sebile. What news from Wales?”

“My phone got destroyed and I know you don’t answer numbers you don’t recognize,” Sebile snapped her fingers and two of her mercs began to cart in a heavy case, “Kilgharrah is dead, but Myrrdhin, Guinevere and Arthur reborn have escaped. Kilgharrah spent her life force to seal Guinevere’s soul. Scale charms won’t work anymore.”

Morgan rolled her eyes as she dropped her napkin from her lap onto the table atop of the exquisitely laid out meal that had been abandoned. “Then what bloody use are you?”

Sebile smirked and turned to the case as it was held up in front of Morgan. She unsnapped the steel clasps and lifted the lid, normally reserved for rifles and firearms, but instead, nestled in the foam, was Caliburn.

“Does this please my queen?”

Morgan shot to her feet, a dazzling smile on her features, “Sebile, my sweet darling, you have positively lifted my heart.” She reached out, hesitantly, as if afraid it was not real, until her blood red fingernails clacked and tapped along the steel of the Blade of Kings. A soft sigh, as if she had just been pleasured, oozed out of Morgan as she could feel the enchantments and magics worked into the ancient weapon.

“Oh, my Sebile, come here…” One hand motioned to the other sorceress, who slipped up against Morgan’s side.

“For you, my queen. I have retrieved it so that you might rule forever, and I shall serve you for all eternity as your most devout worshipper.” Gentle kisses were rained upon Morgan’s cleavage, bared by the low-cut dress she had been wearing.

Morgan purred, “Oh, beloved, you make me so happy tonight,” and slipped one breast free from her dress, letting Sebile feast upon its flesh and its peak. “Shall I take you to bed and make you my consort for my new kingdom?”

Sebile’s crimson lips greedily devoured and pleasured the flesh of the woman she was so devoted to, “Yes, my queen. I will serve you for eternity and birth you as many sons as you shall ever want.”

One firm hand captured Sebile’s jaw and turned her to face Morgan and hold her gaze. Her smile was crueler than ever, “Good girl.”

Chapter Text

Gwyneth remained sullen in the back of the beaten-up Volvo that Galahad had hiked from. Her crying and constant apologizing had stopped, but she remained silent and downcast. No one blamed her for it, or the events prior, though they knew she blamed herself. The constant reminder of her past life’s transgressions whenever she looked at Galahad was plain as well, as she could not look him in the eyes or even seem to finish a sentence. In lieu of proper communication, she had fallen back on letting Tori do all the speaking for her.

They drove back to where the Crystal Cave was, Myrrdhin sure that their former pursuers would be long gone, as they would prioritize protecting their prize, the Blade of Kings, over any sort of continued confrontation. There was still a dragon among them, and that remained a very dangerous thing. The battered sedan rumbled up alongside the rented Land Rover that Kilgharrah had paid for and that is where they dismounted.

All four tires of the vehicle had been shot out, but things such as their passports and paperwork were still inside, as were all of Kilgharrah’s credit cards and the keys to their hotel suite. They would at least be able to recover their clothes and have some time to pull money from an ATM before society realized Kilgharrah was dead.

Sebile and her men had not even bothered with the silver dragon’s corpse. She had been in the middle of transforming into human form when she died and death had finished the work. Her eyes stared upwards into the sky, unblinking. When they reached the elder wyrm’s side, Gwyneth broke down again, hugging the body to her as she wept. There were no admonishments or reprimands, everyone felt it.

Myrrdhin settled next to the pair, squatting, “We were married for a while, she and I.”

The revelation took a moment to break through her shower of tears, but Gwyneth quieted down to only light sniffling, “W-what?”

“Truly. In the fifteenth century for a while. It was for a cover story, a charade, but we grew comfortable in it. Eventually just started living like it for a few decades, even considered whether to try for children.” The wizard gave a sad smile as he leaned over and closed the dragon’s eyes, “One of the happiest times I’ve had. She was a good companion, a good friend. Do not blame her for all the cruelty she subjected you to, blame me. I demanded it of her, and she railed against it for so long. Remember the kindness, and what she gave to keep you safe.”

“We should put her to rest. Respectfully, properly,” Tori suggested, “That tree over there seems like it has a good view of this landscape. A decent place to be put to rest, one we’ll find easily to come visit our friend.”

“Aye, my sovereign,” Galahad had dropped ‘king’ for ‘sovereign’ since he seemed to want to keep referring to Gwyneth as his queen. “I’ll fetch a spade from the vehicles and we’ll go about doing this properly. A fallen comrade should be honored, after all, and I would do justice to a dragon who fell to protect our noble lady.”

As Galahad stumped his way back to the vehicles, Tori shook her head, “He’s something. Were all the knights like that?”

Myrrdhin gave a wry smile, “No, he was special over all of them. His father’s skill at arms, physique, and good looks, but his mother’s temperament. Elaine was such a gentle and noble soul. It made him considerate and kind, always doing the right thing. The boy’s still saving himself for marriage, even after a thousand years in the heavens above.”

Tori leaned down and slowly scooped up Kilgharrah, surprised at how light she was shaped as a woman. Gwyneth shuffled to her feet and trudged after, still dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of the Hello Kitty shirt that Galahad provided. “Doesn’t seem like he has the money that Harrah did.”

“No, he spent it all on training and equipment. At least what I gave him. The boy’s an ascetic. He just sits in his apartment and reads his Bible or Thomas Aquinas all day and he’s happy.” Myrrdhin shrugged, “But he’s now an expert in every modern weapon I could think of to point him towards and spent two years in the Ukraine as a volunteer to learn the ropes. Over three hundred confirmed Russian kills and nearly as many Uke civvies saved. Galahad’s an asset, don’t worry.”

“He was your plan in case things went tits up, eh?”

“Sort of. He was ready in case they did, and would’ve joined us if they hadn’t. There’re a couple even worse cases that didn’t happen, thank Daghda,” grunted Myrrdhin as they reached the tree atop the gentle swell of an undamaged hill. It looked out over the green countryside with the Cambrian Mountains looming to the north. As the day was clear they could make out the Bristol Channel to the south.

“I don’t think I wanna know about those,” muttered Tori.

“It involves fewer of us living,” Myrrdhin dug around in his pocket and produced a handkerchief, covering Kilgharrah’s face as Galahad arrived with a pair of spades, one from each vehicle.

Between Tori and Galahad, both two adults in prime physical shape, they were able to get a reasonably deep grave dug out for the elder dragon. After laying her within, the quartet stood aside, and Myrrdhin cleared his throat, “Galahad, you’re easily the most devout of the lot of us. Would you lead a prayer and then let those that loved her say their piece?”

“Aye, old friend, it will be my honor,” Galahad clasped his hands before him and lowered his head, reciting from memory. His voice was strong and firm, rich with reverence and devotion, not just for the divine above, but for the fallen at his feet, “Heavenly Father, thou who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Though this being is leviathan, one of the great wyrms of legend, we commit their body once more unto the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesu Cristos. May this being, who sacrificed their life for the most noble of reasons, in defense of another, earn their passage to Your side and forgiveness for their sins. Amen.”

“Amen,” Tori found herself intoning alongside Galahad. It had been a long time since she had been devout, having lost the strength of her beliefs with her mother’s death, but she could feel some of the old habits pulled forth with the power of Galahad’s piousness. Tori took a step forward and cleared her throat, speaking hesitantly at first, but growing more bold as she spoke, “I didn’t know her long. She, uh, she made a very bad first impression. But she really tried to turn things around, and in the end, she gave everything to save her sister’s life and give us a chance to get away from true evil. She was a good person, and I wish I’d gotten to know her longer. Thank you, Kilgharrah.”

Myrrdhin eyed Gwyneth for a moment, but when the young dragon said nothing, he took over after Tori, “She was a good wife. A better friend. Even when we fought, we did so knowing we weren’t all that mad at each other and would be back to throwing sarcastic barbs in a fortnite. I’ll miss the shit out of her.” A soft cough let everyone know he was done.

Gwyneth eyed the lot of them, a sour expression on her face. A sigh escaped her, “I guess you’ll just stand there until I say something.”

“You should, love. Closure helps,” encouraged Tori.

“I guess,” signed the brunette as she looked down at the still and silent Kilgharrah, “You were a shit mother. I hated it. All I wanted was for you to love me properly or to just fucking die and stop tormenting me.” Tears sprung anew from her eyes, “But then suddenly you were my sister and everything was so different. You were funny and kind and loving and… how dare you fucking die for me! How dare you!” Gwyneth screeched through her tears, shouting down at the corpse, “I was supposed to be able to hate you and now all that I feel is the pain, every moment my heart is being torn out of my chest! I tore you down like I did Arthur and now everything’s a wreck! WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST LET ME DIE?!” Her voice broken into such a shriek it cracked and she collapsed, Tori rushing to her side to catch her before she impacted into the tilled earth.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one wants you to die,” Tori reassured her lover, even as Gwyneth turned and began pounding into her chest with her fists.

“NO! KILL ME! KILL ME! I RUIN EVERYTHING! HANG ME FOR TREASON BEFORE LANCELOT FUCKING SHOWS UP! I AM ROTTEN TO THE CORE! YOU DESERVE BETTER THAN ME!” wailed the grieving woman, snot and tears mixing in a slurry on her face and chin as she keened out her laments.

Tori held Gwyneth tight against her, absorbing blow after blow until exhaustion began to creep in and the battering slowed, then ended, Gwyneth’s face buried into the crook of her beloved’s neck. With the smaller woman gripped tightly, Tori looked to Galahad, “Can you fill it in? I think I need to spend some time with Gwyn.”

A spade was hefted and Galahad nodded, “Aye. I’ll take care of everything here, see to your lady love.”

“Thank you, sir. You have my appreciation,” Tori offered as she hefted Gwyneth like a child, the smaller woman’s arms and legs both wrapped around her to cling tightly. Together they walked over the lee of the next hill, letting the tree that Kilgharrah was being buried beneath vanish from sight until the next stand of trees was reached. Tori settled upon an old stump, felled by an axe long ago, and just held Gwyneth silently for a while.

Eventually, through sniffles and snot, Gwyneth asked, “W-why are you still here?”

“Because I love you with all my heart,” Tori confessed truthfully.

“I am everything wrong and ruinous about what has happened to all our lives. How can you?”

“Because you are right about being wrong, but wrong about all those other parts,” Tori remarked as she used the hem of her shirt to wipe gently at Gwyn’s features, riding them of some of the accumulated sorrow.

“You’re twisting words like Merlin would,” Gwyneth protested as she was being cleaned.

“Now who is twisting words? Comparing me to that old liar. Please,” smirked the blonde. She licked at the cloth hem and then rubbed for an especially stubborn smudge, which made Gwyn wrinkle her face up sourly from the extra effort. “Our enemies are responsible for their own actions and us for ours. If we have made mistakes, we must move past them. That is life and how it must be, otherwise they succeed and so much good will be lost to this world.”

Gwyneth let a tiny smile appear, “You sound just like him now.”

“I am him,” Tori admitted, “And he is I, but you, my beloved one, are my queen. I would no sooner harm you than dash the most precious pottery against a wall out of spite. We need you, both your kindness and heart, but also your might and power. You are a dragon, love, a force of ancient legend that is mighty beyond belief. You are also Guinevere, my queen and my beloved, and if you do not believe we can win the day, then how can we? You are my inspiration and my soul.”

“H-how do I not ruin everything again?” pleaded Gwyneth, her fingers stroking along Tori’s cheeks, “Please tell me so my heart does not break into even more pieces, for I do not know if I could survive this again.”

“Believe in yourself like I believe in you, beloved Gwyn,” Tori cupped her queen’s cheeks and locked eyes with her, holding her gaze, “Everything we do is together. Whether it be victory or failure, you and I are one, for all time, remember?”

“Forever and ever, one soul, one life. Always,” Gwyneth recanted part of their wedding vows, which she had written that day so long ago herself. Gentler tears flowed as she stared deep within the eyes of her beloved sovereign, “Arthur, I will always love you in whatever form you take. Until the ending of the earth.”

“And I shall always love you, until the sun swallows the earth, and time itself comes to an end. My queen. My Guinevere,” Tori clutched tightly to Gwyneth, letting her own tears finally slip free to mix with those of her counterpart.

Minutes of silence stretched between them until Gwyneth finally said, “Plus, there’s a promise my sister made I want to keep on her behalf.”

Tori raised a curious brow at the other woman, “Oh, what is that?”

“I’m going to eat Sebile and shit her out on Morgan’s grave for what she did,” snarled the dragon.

“Gwyn spotted a flock of sheep a few pastures over, so is feasting to speed up her healing,” Tori explained as she walked back to the gravesite. Galahad’s work was done, and Kilgharrah had been fully laid to rest.

“Well, that speaks better of her mood,” grunted Myrrdhin, “That she’s taking care of herself a bit more at the moment.”

Tori nodded, “Aye. She was rather forlorn for a while.”

“Bit of an understatement,” quipped the old enchanter, but he sighed, his heart not in it, “But I understand completely. There’s a dragon sized hole left in all our lives at the moment, but we need to focus on recovering the sword.”

“Agreed, though Gwyn is very, very keen on killing Sebile in a very graphic manner,” Tori glanced back behind her, watching the shadow of a dragon dive back over the horizon.

Myrrdhin smirked, “That I don’t blame her for, and it’ll likely help us.”

“So what’s your plan? What’s Morgan’s plan? You know everything, clearly, so it’s time you spilled the beans, you old know-it-all,” Tori prodded the old wizard both verbally and with a finger, nudging him hard enough he rocked slightly to one side.

Merlin grunted, finding himself bracketed by both Galahad and Artoria. “Ganging up on an old man?”

“You’re not old at the moment,” Galahad observed, “Think of it more as supporting my sovereign in being interested in your answers.”

“Fine. I don’t really have a plan, per se, that’s your job, Arthur. What I do know is that Morgan wants to use the blade that killed her son as a funnel in which to bring him and his whole army from Camlann hills back.”

“So what? That’s, what, two-three hundred men in a world with modern armies?”

“You mock, but you don’t understand the depths of her evil. She plans on sacrificing a large portion of some urban center, I think London since Caliburn wasn’t in America anymore, and then blaming it on nuclear terrorism. A lot of nasty words get thrown back and forth between London and Moscow until someone lobs a nuke.”

Tori felt cold run through her as she matched stares with Myrrdhin, the old enchanter utterly serious and straight faced as he delivered the final line about the nuclear weapon. “You’re telling me she wants to end the world?”

“The modern world, yes. You have to remember, Tori, Morgan is Brythonic, a true Briton, like you and Guinevere used to be. Predates even the Welsh and the Romans.”

“I’m Frankish,” interjected Galahad. “Sort of… French?”

“Yes, we know,” Myrrdhin did not make much of an effort to hide the condescension before turning back to Tori, “She sees everyone, just about, on this island as an invader. And the modern world, thanks to the British Empire, is one huge stain against what she thinks should rightfully belong to her people, so she wants to burn it to the ground. All of it.”

“Jesus,” muttered Tori, “She’s fucking insane.”

“Yup! Absolutely batshit, and a raging narcissist. The years have not been kind to her mental stability,” warned Myrrdhin, “So imagine a world reduced to a cinder, and into it her army of highly trained, motivated, and magically enhanced former knights of the Round Table, lead by Mordred himself, emerge from their bunkers she has in Cornwall, the last refuge of her people.”

“She burns the world to ash, happy to rule the pyre, and claims Great Britain as her own little fief, rebuilding a twisted Camelot in her image,” Artoria made a disgusted face as she imagined it, glancing to Galahad who mirrored the expression.

Myrrdhin tapped one side of his nose with a finger, “Exactly so. Can you see why she must be stopped? She’d be responsible for the death of billions if she had her way. She’s been working the British politicians for years, amping them up that any sort of attack needs to be met with nuclear deterrent. If something happens in London, they could fire on Moscow, and then that’s it. The old Soviet piles fly into the sky and the Americans send everything at everyone, the Chinese after.”

“Armageddon. The End of Days,” murmured Galahad.

“And those are the stakes, lad and lass. Motivated, yet?”

“Oh, Mister Secretary, you look positively green about the gills,” Morgan regarded the Defense Secretary for the United Kingdom from across the table in one of the fanciest restaurants in London. He had just returned from a restroom break, looking even worse than when he had left.

“Y-yes, well, I think maybe something to do with the fish did not agree with me,” the Secretary patted his bald head with the monogramed napkin from the restaurant, soaking it through quickly with the level of perspiration that was pouring out of him, staining even into his suit jacket.

Morgan motioned to one of the Secretary’s bodyguards, “This is your man, correct? Sir, could you collect the Secretary and take him to the nearest hospital? I think he’s unwell.”

“Now, Mrs. Fayle, it wouldn’t do to walk out on one of our biggest contrib—” The secretary failed to finish the sentence, collapsing unconscious to the carpeted floor of the fine dining hall.

“Help!” cried Morgan, her acting nearly perfect in showing concern and worry, “Please help this man! I think he’s quite ill!”

All eyes turned to the Defense Secretary and Morgan quickly retreated, a casually chanted charm allowing her to slip from the minds and memories of everyone in the restaurant. She strode confidently out and to the waiting Mercedes outside, Claudius keeping it idling with the heater going in the chill of the evening.

Sebile waited in the back seat for her lover, stealing a long, lingering kiss from Morgan as she settled into the car, showing how pleased the elder sorceress was with her apprentice for securing Caliburn. “My beloved queen, how did it go?”

“Mm. It seems the Defense Secretary has been poisoned by Russian Polonium, secured from their embassy not three nights ago under mysterious circumstances,” smirked Morgan, fingertips idly playing over the soft flesh of Sebile’s shoulders.

“And the Saxon government will blame the Muscovites. Tensions will be so tight, it will just take the tiniest bit of fraying…” purred Sebile as she let a hand wander up Morgan’s thigh and she could already feel the heat between her legs.

“Mmm. Murder always makes me so wet, take care of it for me, beloved,” Morgan spread her legs invitingly.

“As my queen commands,” Sebile complied as she knelt between Morgan’s thighs.

“… at Number 10 Downing, the Prime Minister’s office has been sharply critical of the Russian response to the death of the Defense Secretary, linked to a type of Polonium used by Russian provocateurs in assassinations of Russian nationals in London previously. The Foreign Ministry has ejected the Russian ambassador, revoking his diplomatic credentials and sending him back to Moscow, and the American Foreign Secretary is in route from Washington…”

“Turn it off!” spat out Myrrdhin as the old Volvo roared down the M4 towards London. “Doesn’t help those idiot Russkies have been spouting stupid anti-English propaganda since the Uke war started. They’re still bitter about the Great Game of the nineteenth century.”

“Well, in this case, for once, they’re as much victims as everyone else,” signed Tori from the back bench with Gwyneth.

“Morgan’s making her first moves, clearly. She’s getting the Anglo-Saxons on the edge of war versus the Rus,” Galahad observed, “Won’t take much. The Rus don’t care much for the English. Even their soldiers blame London for their poverty instead of the dictator in Moscow.”

Myrrdhin jerked a thumb towards Galahad, “Even he gets it.”

“So, that leaves finding the bitch before she makes things go nuts. Storm her home, kill her, take the sword back,” Tori suggested.

“Well, we’d need her blood to locate her,” Myrrdhin scowled, tensing, then sighing as he seemed to come to a resolution. “Give me your hand, Tori.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re her granddaughter.”

“WHAT?” All three others in the car asked at the same time.

“You heard me, all of you. Artoria is Morgan’s granddaughter. I…” Myrrdhin scowled, “I made a deal to keep the line of Pendragon alive for a couple more generations. Long enough for you to be born, Tori.”

“What’d you do, you piece of shit?!” Tori almost launched herself over the seat towards the passenger seat that Merlin was in, slapping repeatedly at the back of his head.

The car slewed dangerously to one side as Tori’s violence rocked the vehicle, even with Galahad driving, then rolled to a rough stop in the M4’s breakdown lane. Merlin screamed out his annoyance, “Ow! Mother fucker, we’re going to crash like your mom did if you don’t fucking stop!”

Tori pulled back at that, tears rimming her eyes, “How fucking dare you after dropping a bomb like that?”

“Well, if you would stop fucking hitting me, I’d tell you what’s going on!”

“You were never going to say until the absolute last second. I can tell!” Artoria shot the accusation towards the enchanter, her face contorted with fury.

“God damn right I wasn’t, because this is the fucking reaction I get in every version of this conversation!” Myrrdhin rubbed at his head, “About forty years ago, the Pendragon blood was so thin one last marriage outside of itself and it’d be gone. The only other source of any part of it was the blood of Arthur’s mother that still existed, Ygraine of Tintagel. That exists in one form, Morgan le Fay. So I… I promised her a future exists where she gets the blade if she let you reincarnate one more time, so she handed me a girl I took to the States.”

Tori did not even answer that, stepping outside of the car. The reborn Arthur paced back and forth in the greens along the side of the road, stewing in incandescent rage that could be felt rolling off her in waves. Gwyneth leaned forward from the back seat, “That wasn’t kind of you, Merlin. She hasn’t even told me about her mother, and you’re saying now that she was Morgan’s daughter?”

Myrrhdin watched Tori pacing outside still, and kept his voice loud enough she could hear, so he would not have to repeat himself, “She was, yes. So, I put her someplace completely alien to Morgan. A small community in New England, one with a strong church presence. Her mother was adopted by a lovely family and by charms and arranged happenstance she met David Pendraig and fell in love and had Artoria. Then, when Tori was eleven, they were on the way home from a late-night church function and a drunk driver plowed their car.”

“That’s too convenient, bard,” Gwyneth shot the accusation, “Because then she goes to her uncle Hector and learns everything about fighting and boxing and being a warrior.”

A frustrated expression crossed Merlin’s features, “Listen, it was the only future in which she succeeds. The only one! I had to make sure she became the warrior she needs to be.”

“What’d you do, old man?” Galahad eyed the wizard.

“I-I-I made sure that she would end up with Hector and Kay, so they’d teach her. Hey, listen, it proves that Morgan’s just crazy on her own. There’s nothing wrong with her bloodline, Madeline Pendraig and Tori both turned out decent and kind and…” The passenger door flung open, Tori yanking It outwards to drag the wizard and his youthful looks from the car. He was tossed bodily into the greens, a swift kick following the throw to send him splaying.

“YOU SENT THAT MAN TO KILL MY FUCKING PARENTS!” roared Tori as she launched herself at Myrrdhin, fists flying in her rage and grief, “ALL SO YOU COULD TURN ME INTO A FUCKING WEAPON!”

Chapter Text

“I must have her, Myrrdhin!”

Uther Pendragon took hold of the neck of his old friend’s robes, a maddened gleam in the eyes of the king as he regarded the wizard.

“You just struck the alliance! You swore you would marry his daughter Morganna when she turned fifteen in three months! Gorlois took the knee and acknowledged your crown and the Blade of Kings as legitimate!” protested Merlin, gesturing wildly. As old as he looked, he was still young, thanks to the curse that had been inflicted upon him by the old gods to go along with his foresight.

“My beloved friend, bard of my kingdom, please, you must! It is the love of storybooks and the tales you spin in my court! A beauty beyond compare, a grace unequalled. With her, my kingdom will have a true queen, and our children…” Uther gripped a hold of the enchanter’s robe with both hands, “Tell me of our son, prophet. I’ll know if you lie. What will he be like?”

Myrrdhin squeezed his eyes shut, a heavy sigh coming from his wizened form. All the possibilities and options raced through his keen mind and when his eyes opened again, tears slipped free from them, “Oh, Uther, you poor fool. Your son… Your son would be one of the greatest men of the ages. A noble and chivalrous soul whose name will grace books and the lips of men for eons. Pendragon shall be revered alongside the names of the saints themselves.”

“Yes! I knew it! I knew this was the woman who should be my queen! Ygraine! Oh, what a perfect name!” Uther threw his hands up, releasing the bard, and danced a circle, his hauberk jingling about him as he hopped happily.

“… and it will doom you, Uther Pendragon. Your name will be known only due to his, and you will be cast down as a villain for all time. A rapist and an oathbreaker. Worst of all, you set us on the steps to damnation for your lust and greed. Hatred from a woman spurned, and a child given such a need for vengeance she will bring about the end of days in so many of these possibilities that it is terrifying.”

“She? A woman? I fear no woman, Myrrdhin! I am Uther Pendragon, king of kings and lord of all the Britons!”

“Please, old friend, listen to me. Yes, Arthur will be beloved, but the fall from those heights… the age of strife and darkness that comes will be assured and fires will one day rain from the heavens.”

Uther shook his head, “I will not countenance cowardice, enchanter. Do not counsel timidity to me. Only by choosing greatness each time have I gotten this far. Cast the charm, give me Gorlois’s face so that I might take his woman, and should there be war, I will win it. Your king commands you, Myrrdhin.”

Myrrdhin bowed his head, “A-as my king commands.”

“Arthur. That is a fine name for a son,” murmured Uther as the charm was cast.

Myrrdhin’s blood sprayed across the grass and shrubs off the M4 motorway. It was Tori’s fist, one of several blows, that sent it in every direction. Her attack had been quick and relentless, enough to pressure any fighter at an equal caliber as she was, and she was very good for her weight class.

“Get up! C’mon, you murdering shit!” she screamed at him as he lay prostrate across the lawn.

Before she could fall upon him again, Galahad took her in a practiced hold, capturing both her arms, and locking his fingers behind her head to pull her away. His face contorted in concentration as she struggled to free herself and counter the hold. The knight was bigger and just as well trained, if not better. Her struggle ended with her pressed flat against the side of the old blue Volvo that the group had spilled out of, both her and her captor breathing heavily from the exertion.

Gwyneth raced to Myrrdhin’s side, having retrieved a first aid kit that had been among the many, many pieces of equipment in the car’s trunk. His nose had been shattered, one eye shot through with red and already swelling shut. At least one tooth was gone as well, his lip split.

“Are you done?” Galahad’s tone held no patience.

“I am your sovereign, get off me!” snarled Tori.

“No, I will not allow you to sabotage yourself in your rage and grief. You will calm and you will talk this out. We have far too few allies for you to do something you will certainly regret later to one.” Galahad’s grip did not relent, his expression and tone still stern, “You will swear your peace or I shall not grant you pardon.”

“Galahad…” snarled Artoria, still trying to force the issue and failing.

“Swear it! On your honor, Arthur of Camelot! Artoria of America! Now!”

Tori cursed loudly, but when one more attempt to slip the hold failed, finally yelled out, “I swear it!”

As soon as the words left her lips, Galahad released his grip but kept himself standing between Tori and Myrrdhin. “Say whatever words you must, but find your peace with the old wizard, and do it now. We must save this world and none of us have time for this.”

Tori let herself drop down to the grass, sitting down against a wheel of the car. Her hands were held loosely on her knees and she looked up at Galahad, “Always about the quest, eh?”

“It is what I do, as they say. It saved you once, if you have yet to remember.”

A sigh escaped her and she nodded, “Bits and pieces. Kind beyond measure, but when your focus was up, always so intense.”

“Like his father that way,” Gwyneth commented as she helped tend to Myrrdhin’s wounds.

“Aye, as you say, my queen. I like to think I have taken my sire’s qualities, but not his failings. My father is beloved to me, but I acknowledge the harm and pain he has wrought.” He stepped away, leaving the space between Artoria and Myrddhin empty but for the hurt between the two of them.

“Tori, I’m sorry,” mumbled the old wizard, “I really am.”

“You’re always sorry, yet you just keep being a bastard, don’t you? How many times did you apologize to Ygraine after her husband was killed and she’d been raped over and over?” Artoria asked pointedly.

“A lot,” mumbled Myrrdhin. “You don’t undstand…”

“Make me understand why you had to murder my parents. Why you made a deal with fucking Morganna of all people. Who cares if Pendragon dies out so long as she doesn’t get the fucking sword?!”

“Because it doesn’t matter if she never gets Caliburn!” spat out the mage, hurling a handful of ripped up grass at Tori. “In the futures where she waits for you and the sword, we had a better chance! It was worth it because it bought me decades! Time for Galahad to return, time for you to be born and come to us! More champions to fight against her! So what if she got the sword? Even if she never saw it again, she was still going to burn the world to ash, only with no one to stop her. She’d be a little more lonely without Mordred, but who fucking cares?”

“God, Merlin, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tori spat back, throwing her own handful of grass.

“What’s wrong with me?!” screeched the enchanter, startling Gwyneth away a few inches with the intensity of it. “I’ve been fucking cursed, if you don’t remember! You have no idea what it’s like to be Cassandra and Doctor Strange rolled up into one! I see every possibility all the time, without trying, and it is everything not to go fucking mad from it!” His voice broke with a sob at the end of that, cracking as tears poured down his cheeks to mix with his blood.

“Myrrdhin, I…” Tori attempted to start to craft an answer.

Myrrdhin instead interrupted her, “No! You will fucking listen for once! Every moment I am trying to figure out what the best chance is that gets the least people I love and care for killed, and I am forced, over and over, to make decisions that put my friends, my loved ones, the beings I fell in love with or watched grow from babes at risk to protect billions that I will never meet.”

His arms gestured wildly at the world around them, “I don’t know these fucking people! I don’t care who they or what they do. I don’t have the bandwidth to, it’d drive me mad, but the only way to save them is to give away the people I care most about! Instead, I tweak every chance, every odd in the favor of you and Gwyn and Kilgharrah and Gal and keep trying over and over to keep you alive through the worst of the shit that’ll be thrown at you, all so strangers I’ll never meet and will never know aren’t immolated by a madwoman!

“All because Uther fucking Pendragon couldn’t keep his fucking dick in his pants! He broke every oath to take a woman, and I hate him and love him for it! That pairing helped bring me some of my dearest friends in all the many worlds and realms beyond, and it torments me and tears at my soul, because it’s damned the world with one little girl’s pettiness! So, did I put that drunk driver in front of your parents? You’re fucking right I did! I burnt away the lives of two people I loved! So that you’d be ready, so that you’d have a chance, and so that billions of assholes I don’t give two shits about don’t die because a little girl’s mother was raped thanks to my cowardice!”

With that final piece said, Myrrdhin sagged and went silent, staring down at the green grass between his legs.

“Oh, God above,” whispered Gwyneth, eyes wide with recognition and sympathy, “You feel like you fucked everything up and you’re desperately trying to fix it.” Both her arms snaked around him and she squeezed him tightly to her.

Galahad settled next to Tori where she sat next to the car. The king reborn looked down, her expression contrite as she learned the truth of things and Galahad clapped her knee firmly with a hand, “He’s a manipulative old bastard, but he’s your friend, and he’s always done what must be done, no matter how much it’s hurt at the outset. I’m sorry for your parents, truly I am, but use the strength the Lord has granted you to both persevere and to forgive.”

“Galahad, you really were the best of them, weren’t you?”

His response was a simple shrug, “I do what I can, and I try to serve as a good example for others.”

“Humble, too. Christ,” sighed Tori, “Everything stems from my father, I mean, Arthur’s father going in to steal Ygraine from the Duke of Cornwall and breaking his betrothal to Morgan.” When there was no response, she called out, “Doesn’t it, old wizard?”

Myrrdhin peeled himself out of Gwyneth’s embrace, putting a chaste kiss to her cheek before looking over, “Yes. Morgan’s rage and pain, your original birth, and every single other event in a direct, unbreakable chain.”

“That’s why you taught her, isn’t it? You felt… you felt you’d wronged Morgan,” Tori asked of the mage.

A nod preceded the answer, “There were chances I turned her into a force for good by doing that. I tried to take that path. Hoped I could split the difference and have a world where you existed side by side with Guinevere and Morgan served as your advisor and took her own husband. Lancelot, in fact, I had hoped. That she would end up loving you as a sister as she saw how decent and kind Arthur of Camelot would be.”

“Feels weird you not being the cynic of the tale,” Tori murmured, a vague hint of a jest, though no one laughed.

“Well, after Morgan’s betrayal, that’s when that nature in me arose,” shrugged the enchanter as he regarded Artoria. “I’m sorry, Tori. Your mother and father were decent, wonderful people. Your mother, especially, the opposite of her own mother in every way. I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me after this, but please help me stop Morgan.”

“Why didn’t you have children with my sister?” Gwyneth’s inquiry was a gentle interruption.

Myrrdhin’s face contorted and he looked around, muttering, “She hadn’t gotten pregnant yet in all our tries. I figured that…”

“No, you know if she could have gotten pregnant or not. Why?”

“Because… because in all the futures where today’s events happened, I couldn’t bear to tell them their mother had died. I put aside our happiness, because I didn’t think I could bear the heartache.” The wizard picked idly at a few blades of grass, “I am a coward, after all. Sacrificing others, never myself.”

“Only your own happiness and joy. Buried in your bitter solitude forever, anxious that some tiny thing doesn’t go wrong,” Artoria summarized as she stood and shuffled over, offering her hand to Myrrdhin to help lift him up off the ground. “I’ve judged you a villain, and I was wrong. It is I who should be abandoned in this, not you.”

Myrrdhin accepted the hand up and admitted, “These things are not something I like to speak about. It is hard to grasp the nature of my existence, harder still to understand my decision making. I understand this, I’m not so alien to normal people that I don’t.”

One of Tori’s hands wrapped around the back of Myrrdhin’s head and hair. She felt him tense beneath her and instead of inflicting worse upon him, drug the old sage in tight to her, wrapping him up and squeezing tightly. “You piss me off sometimes, old man.”

“I know,” he whispered, pressing tight as he wept and held his dear friend close to him.

Buried deep in the East End, the heroes made their way to third floor apartment in a tenement that had seen better decades. Graffiti and hoodlums circled about the entire neighborhood, though none came anywhere near Galahad as he led the group towards the apartments. Wary looks were cast towards the Grail Knight, but one sharp glare was enough to send them scurrying.

“They don’t seem to like you much, Galahad,” Tori observed, keeping a wary eye on the locals.

“We had an early confrontation. They learned not to sell poison where I can see it,” Galahad stated flatly as he jogged up the stairs, bypassing the elevator with its ‘Out of Order’ sign that looked to have been since the mid-Eighties.

At the apartment’s door, Galahad put three knocks into the door, then another two after a short pause. A trio of knocks returned from within, and Galahad tapped another pattern. After, the door clicked multiple times, a long series of locks being undone, and then opened. It revealed two men, one a broad-shouldered blonde, the other a slender, brown-haired man. Their initial expressions were a mixture of wariness and seriousness.

It was the blonde who stuck his head out for a moment, regarding the others with Galahad. He nodded to Myrrdhin, recognition on his face. Tori he gave a curious look to, but Gwyneth caused both his eyes to go wide. “My queen?”

Gwyneth offered a curtsy and a gentle smile, “Aye, returned at last.”

A sharp glance was cast to Myrrdhin, “You said nothing about fetching a traitor and an adulterer.” Broad-shoulders spoke with a hint of an accent that matched Galahad’s, what Tori had learned was a Frankish tilt to the tongue.

“Shush, Bors, are you going to let us in or what?”

Bors scowled, but stood aside, letting the party enter. Gwyneth made sure to toss him a dirty look for the accusations as the quartet finally made their way in to safety. The door was shut and each lock thrown behind them, securing the small apartment. It was a tiny domicile, three utilitarian cots the only form of sleeping placement, sleeping bags with a major chain brand logo on each one. A small shrine with an icon of the Virgin Mary and Christ had been set up against one wall, a Bible and the works of Thomas Aquinas in front of it. The rest of the apartment was storage. Guns, blades, tactical equipment, everything that might be needed to fight a sudden war. Stacks of MREs and tinned food resided in the kitchenette, as well.

“I see you’ve been shopping with the money I sent you boys,” smirked Myrrdhin as he looked around.

“Intros, old friend, please,” Tori nudged the wizard.

“Ah, yes. When Galahad returned to us, he brought the other Grail Knights with him back from paradise. Before you stands Sir Bors and Sir Percival. With Galahad combined, we have three of the greatest of the Round Table, the most noble and virtuous,” the mage motioned to each in turn, who gave perfunctory bows as Gwyneth was present.

“And, boys, you have already correctly guessed Gwyneth’s true identity. This is Guinevere reborn, manifested into the dragon egg that Arthur once received as a present from Leodegrance. She is both your queen and a dragon of legend. Oh, and Bors, do be nice to her. She’s come a long way, plus this is a new lifetime. Give her a chance.”

“As you say, magister,” grunted Sir Bors, who gave Guinevere another perfunctory bow, “You are my queen, and I am at your service, but I shall also defend the honor of my king should it be needed.”

“Bors was rooting for Gawain during the challenge,” Myrrdhin lowered his voice to mock a whisper to Tori but said it loud enough to be heard regardless.

“He was right, that is all that matters,” grunted Bors, expression still sour.

Gwyneth stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Bors’s arm, “Then you were right to cheer for truth. In my past time on this earth, I made mistakes. Those were my mistakes and belonged to no other but me, and now I must work to undo them with kindness and good works. That is all that is left to me.”

Bors’s expression softened a bit, “Repentance can always be strived for, and forgiveness earned. I do not see the arrogance of the falsely virtuous in your eyes anymore.”

“I pray you never will, Sir,” Gwyneth stepped back, hands clasped before her.

Percival offered a lopsided smile, “Well, by the cross, you melted that exterior a bit.” It was clear he was the youngest of the three, slender and lithe, his brown hair was cut into a bowl shape, but had been growing recently, making it a bit wild. He offered another bow, “The stories of our Queen’s gentleness have proven true. I was not yet in court when you went into exile, my queen.”

“A pleasure,” Gwyneth offered gently.

“Who is this final person? Another woman?”

Tori did not wait for Myrrdhin to announce her, standing forward and letting herself stand sternly before the two, “I am Artoria Pendraig, last heir to Arthur Pendragon, whose soul has been reborn into me. I am the wielder of Caliburn, though the witch Morgan le Fay has stolen it. We are here to ask your aid in a quest, to retrieve the Blade of Kings and end the mad schemes of Morganna.”

The pair of Grail Knights glanced to each other, then back at Artoria. Even Bors’s eyes had gone wide, but Percival had a grin so broad it seemed his face would split in half. Bors stammered over his words several times, but Percival clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, glee writ across his face.

“A quest, Bors! From Arthur himself! Just like old times!”

“You’re sure this is…?” Bors finally got a sentence out, looking to Myrrdhin.

“Look at me, good sir, not the wizard. Who do you see standing here? Some woman dredged from the modern day, or your sovereign demanding the service you have pledged?” Artoria felt like she almost flubbed it when she hesitated to put her fists on her hips, almost bringing them up to cross over her chest before finally just resting a fist on each side of her hip bone. She took a breath to try to calm herself, actively digging down deep in her mind and soul to try to channel the man she had once been.

Bors focused, his hazel eyes searched Tori’s features, and his expression scrunched tightly together. A long moment of silence passed and one of his hands rubbing at the leather sheath for a pocket knife, the folded blade clearly contained within. Those incisive eyes darted up and down along Tori’s face until he paused, eyes going wide, and he knelt, “My liege, you have my apologies.”

Behind him Percival clapped his hands and shouted, “Bully!”

Tori exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath. One of Myrrdhin’s hands patted the small of her back and she turned to give him a nervous smile.

“You’re doing better. Remember, Arthur’s not a different person, he’s you. As you accept that more and more, you can just go by instinct like Gwyn does,” reassured the old sage.

“Still leaves me feeling weird. Too much of the American egalitarian in me, I guess, making it hard to channel the sovereign,” shrugged the reborn monarch.

“Your accent’s getting muddled, though,” Gwyneth observed with a giggle, “You almost sounded British.”

“So’s yours,” Tori shot back, not incorrectly.

Gwyneth’s response was to stick out her tongue briefly, a small smile left behind after, “Kilgharrah had a British accent the whole time I was with her, so I fall into it a lot easier.”

Bors settled on the edge of a cot, presumably his, and asked, “Tell us everything? Please.”

“All is ready, beloved.”

Sebile had finished arraying the ritual components and altar atop the roof of the Westminster manor that Morgan had made her home for the last several decades. It was lavish and posh enough that the sorceress had hosted everything from the Prime Minister to the Beckhams in the mansion over the past pair of decades. All as part of the larger plan to bring back the kingdom of the Britons.

As part of the renovations and reconstructions that the building had endured over the years was a huge verandah upon its rooftop. It had masqueraded as a garden for years, someplace to come watch the sunset or sunrise on a nice morning with a cup of tea or some coffee. It would now serve as the nexus of the ritual to draw in the souls of some of the richest and wealthiest citizens of the Norman kingdom and send their souls screaming into Hell in place of the army once defeated at Camlann, including Modred, Morgan’s long dead son.

Plants and the greenhouse had been cleared away and the altar prepared with its etchings and scrollwork upon it. Icons to the Morrigan and to the all-father Dagda decorated most of it, yet more sitting upon it amidst a pile of candles whose tallow was made from those sacrificed over the years, infusing each with a soul.

Before the altar lay the case containing Caliburn. Forged in the shape of the martyred god’s favorite symbol, it was sealed with the power of distant Avalon, and Nimue’s protection again ill-use. Sebile had painted a few more runes around it, ready to finally break Nimue’s restriction upon the magic. Only then could it be used as a funnel to bring back Mordred.

“What a beautiful scene you have laid out for me, Sebile. The greatest of my servants and first of my consorts.” One of Morgan’s hands reached to idly stroke Sebile’s belly, “And the charm that I used to make seed and put into your belly seems to have worked. I can feel the life inside you now.”

“A boy child, I think, beloved. Another son for you to use as you see fit, one that Mordred can teach the art of war and killing to. For you,” Sebile fawned over her queen, her eyes wide with adoration.

“You spoil me, Sebile,” Morgan laughed softy and brought her hands back to run over the ritual robes she had prepared, hand stitched by herself for the events of the night ahead.

“I do not do enough. You deserve the world, my queen.”

“Of course I do,” Morgan smirked, then glanced to one of the mercenaries that stood guard. Charms had been cast to keep them ignorant and unquestioning. They would fight to the death, regardless of their status as hired killers. “Captain, everything quiet? There are enemies about this night.”

A quick check of his hand-held radio and the captain nodded, “Yes, mum. All check-ins reported. We will keep you and your home safe.”

“Of course you will,” Morgan said without confidence, looking instead to Sebile, “Even if Myrrdhin isn’t on his way, the moment he feels the tides of magic shifting, he’ll gather every one of his allies and come running. They still have a dragon.”

“Claudius, Markus, and I will make sure nothing makes it to you, my queen, even at the cost of our own lives.”

“Don’t be so ready to die just yet, my son needs to be born.”

“Of course, my queen,” Sebile offered a partial bow before straightening, eyes darting towards the mercenary captain.

His radio had started to squawk, reports coming from the front gate of the walled property coming in quickly. “Give me a report of what’s going on,” he demanded.

“…some homeless girl…” one of the men reported, “…begging for food or bottled water, we’re telling her to sod off, but she...”

Roaring audible even on the roof erupted from the front of the mansion, leading both Sebile and Morgan to sprint to the edge of the verandah so they could see what was going on. What may have been a small girl at the gates had erupted into a red scaled leviathan, ripping its way through the steel bars and stone wall. Men fired point blank into the beast with their sidearms and rifles only for it to inhale and send a jet of white hot inferno into each of them, leaving nothing but ash and melted firearms behind. A battered Volvo skidded behind the dragon and up to the driveway, four armed figures poured out of it followed by a smaller fifth.

Morgan stared down at her old master and he turned to look up and smile at her, winking once before he turned to follow Artoria and the knights of the Round Table into the manor, a dragonette hybrid following behind.

“Then let us have our war, old friend,” Morgan growled as police sirens began to wail in the distance.

Chapter Text

Arthur stared down the length of his blade at his opponent, both eyes narrowed in concentration. His grip was held up, blade forward, and ready to guard or parry as needed. Before him, his opponent kept his sword up high, tip up and his grip almost over his head, ready to attack and strike downwards. As his training told him, Arthur waited for the incoming attack, and it was not long in coming.

He caught the incoming strike with his own blade, one hand holding the pommel, the other flat against his own blade for stability. In riposte, he took a short chop with the tip of his blade, gripping around the middle of his blade with his mailed gauntlets, knowing he would not be cut, and forced his opponent to deflect instead of him. A pivot and he was striking with pommel instead of blade, a powerful tool in its own right. That blow was dodged, and Arthur fought back the frustration always seemed to build in any fight that was longer than a handful of moments.

A quick thrust came in on his left, sloppy and quick, and Arthur dodged away from it, seeing the opening his opponent had let open to his own left. He struck forward, going for a thrust up and under the armpit, only to find his blade slapped away, his opposite prepared for the false opening after the feint. Arthur found himself off balance when his attempt did not connect and his nemesis danced out of the way, slapping a the flat of his blade hard on Arthur’s ass, sending him splaying.

“God damn it!” the King cursed, pounding a fist hard onto the packed dirt of the training yard.

“Oh, Arthur, you make it too easy! That impatience gets you every time!” The accent from distant Gaul and the Frankish lords that ruled it was unmistakable as Lancelot du Lac pulled his training helm free from his head and hooked it to his belt.

“In a real battle, I’d just have Caliburn! It’d cut through any parry or armor!” protested the sovereign as he rolled over and offered his hand up to his friend.

Lancelot reached forward and pulled the King up, a wide grin on his handsome features. Once he had Arthur to his feet he stepped in and embraced his old friend tightly, squeezing the other man to him. “Better to know these skills and not need them, than to need them and not know them. In case you do not have Caliburn at your side, I want you to win.”

Arthur returned the embrace, crushing the other man firmly against him. The bigger of the two, Arthur had the wingspan to really get both arms around and give a proper hug, even in the training gambesons both men wore.

When the embrace went on long enough that other knights in the yard were starting to take note, Lancelot patted at his friend’s shoulder, Arthur finally getting the hint and releasing him. A step back was taken, and Lancelot ignored the stares as he smiled at his flushed-faced friend, “You will think on these things, yes?”

“Of course!” The laugh from Arthur was nervous, as he had noticed the eyes turned towards the both of them. “Something tells me that was our final round. You have someplace to be?”

“Our beloved queen had planned a ride, and her erstwhile bodyguard is needed.”

“Hmph, well, if I wasn’t receiving the new Duke of Cornwall I would come to join you.”

Lancelot rolled his eyes, “Another? What happened to Gorlois’s, what, third nephew?”

Arthur gave his friend a smirk, putting the point of his sword into the ground, his hand resting on the pommel, “I’ll let you take a guess, but only give you the single tilt at it.”

“Morgan.”

“Ah! Got it in one!”

“Arthur, my friend, one day you had best do something about that woman. She is a nuisance.”

“She’s my sister—” Arthur began to protest.

“Half! And she resents you beyond measure.”

One hand rubbed at Arthur’s face at the familiar argument, one that he had repeated not just with Lancelot but a dozen other advisors and friends over the last few years, “I have little family, Lancelot, I want to reconcile with her. Hell, she can have Tintagel! I don’t care! Just… I want a day when my children play with hers, and our halls fill with laughter. Is that so terrible a future to conceive of?”

“How is it, Arthur, you have no patience in battle, but the saints above would be jealous of how kindly you treat her?” Lancelot gave a genuine smile even as he shook his head, “But as much as a fault as your patience can be, it is one of your deepest virtues. I would not be here, otherwise.”

“If I can turn a man who once tried to kill me into one of my truest friends, I can bring Morgan around, and we can be brother and sister. I am not my father; she has nothing to fear from me.”

“Lancelot!” called Guinevere from where she had appeared at the doorway, a happy expression on her face as she waved. She wore a beautifully stitched seafoam green riding gown, “Hurry! While there’s still light!”

“As you can see, Arthur, I’m being summoned,” laughed Lancelot.

Arthur waved dismissively with one hand towards the knight, “Go, make sure she enjoys herself.”

“But of course!” Lancelot laughed as he turned to retreat.

Arthur smiled towards his wife, blowing her a kiss before waving. Her pleased expression wavered momentarily as if some hidden worry lingered beneath the surface. One hand’s fingers wiggled towards him, a small wave, but she used Lancelot’s approach to cover her retreat, and the kiss was never returned as they vanished within the halls of Camelot.

“You have it. Your instincts are better than you credit,” Bors offered the compliment with the vaguest hint of a smile.

“Yeah, just seemed right…” Tori went through the motions of ejecting the magazine from her rifle, followed by the single round in the chamber, then reseating the magazine, chambering a round, and readying the submachinegun to fire once more.

“Mmm. One of your lifetimes was during modern times. An RAF ace during the Blitz, if I remember correctly. He did spend a couple of weeks in northern Germany on his own after getting shot down. That was a story,” a colossal grin creased Myrrdhin’s features as he recounted.

“I still don’t remember any of those other lives. Just Arthur, and even that’s in drips and drops.”

“It’s the only one that matters. Most of the others will just show as instincts and feelings, it was the same in every other life, too.”

“Well, I’m glad some of it makes this faster. Your life will depend on it, Arth-Artoria. Apologies, liege,” Bors interjected.

“S’ok. I’ve been getting it a lot, I’m getting used to it,” Tori waved it off as she set the gun down on the kitchen table.

“Well, while you’re taking to this well,” Bors gave an annoyed look to Gwyneth, who had been completely uninterested in the tutorial on the sidearms selected by the Grail Knights.

Gwyneth rolled her eyes and sat up, “Bors, my dearest, I’m a dragon.” She laid the tactical vest she had been fidgeting with to one side.

“This could still be…” Bors began, unable to finish before Gwyneth grew out a single claw from her hand and proceeded to dice apart the tactical vest as if it were made of paper.

“The only weapon I fear is Caliburn, kind sir. I thank you for considering my safety and capability to handle myself, but in the end, I will rely on what my sister taught me.” Gwyneth smiled as her claw retracted, leaving her finger completely human-looking again.

Percival barked out a laugh, “She gotcha there, Bors.”

Bors harumphed out an annoyed sound, but admitted defeat, “Fine. As you said, I just wanted to ensure you were taken care of.”

Gwyneth offered a bright smile, eyes glittering through her glasses, “Between you three brave knights and my valorous queen, I have not even the slightest fear of my safety. We will stop Morgan, I have faith.”

That appeared to mollify Bors, who nodded seriously, “As you say, your Highness.”

“Are we convinced I won’t shoot myself, then?” Tori asked to get the conversation back on track.

“Looked good to me. Well, as good as we can get unable to practice our shooting without drawing the city guard,” Percival smiled again as Bors simply nodded in response.

“The police,” grunted Galahad.

“Yeah, them. Same thing,” shrugged Percival, the uncaring half-grin glued to his features.

Tori rolled her eyes as the three knights launched into an argument about being more familiar with the modern era. Instead of staying to listen or participate, the once and future sovereign slipped out onto the tiny balcony of the East End apartment. It gave her a view of the low apartment blocks stretched out in each direction and an accompanying haze from the low-hanging air pollution.

Nostrils wrinkled in disgust as the smell of stale ozone invaded Tori’s sinuses. Her hand waved in front of her face, and she regretted her retreat to the balcony until she spotted a squad of younger kids kicking a battered football back and forth up and down along the street. Cheerful calls and playful taunts drifted up to her, putting a hint of a smile back on her face.

She watched the kids below as the patio door opened again, disgorging Galahad onto the balcony. “Hail, my sovereign.”

Tori grunted, “Hey. Come out to check on me?”

“To be honest, yes.” Galahad admitted as he stepped up to the balcony railing and glanced down at the play occurring below, “Well, there’s a good reminder of what we’re trying to protect from Morgan.”

“Them getting to live their lives.”

“Aye. Just so,” Galahad confirmed, holding onto the railing with one hand.

Tori regarded the knight carefully, a thought nagging at her as she studied him. After several moments, she decided to voice it, “You look ridiculously like your father, which I’m sure you know well enough.”

“As you say, my sovereign,” Galahad raised a brow, “What brings up this line of conversation?”

“More memories,” sighed Tori. “Arthur truly loved him. The feelings I remember are… intense.”

“I knew him less than I wished. We did not even meet until I became an adult. He left my mother behind to raise me alone to continue his affair with…” He trailed off and let that hang in the air.

“It’s okay. Gwyn and I have made our peace with it. I hold nothing of your father against you, Gal. You’ve only been decent since I’ve met you in either lifetime.”

“Thank you, my sov—” He smiled at the stern look he had started to receive, interrupting himself to instead say, “—Tori. I try to use his mistakes as object lessons for my own life.”

Tori grinned broadly at the use of her nickname, “A thousand and a half years in paradise as a reward before even finishing your lifespan stands testament to the success of that.”

Galahad shrugged, “I’d rather be on this world doing good works than spend any more time there, to be honest. It was… it was nice and all, a big warm blanket and a parent’s love all rolled into one, but there was no drive or sense of urgency. I admit I function better under such conditions.”

“Some men do, seems you’re one. Like your father. He festered when left sedentary, which was as much my – I mean Arthur’s – fault as anyone’s,” Tori sighed. “You didn’t come out to hear me bag on your dad, though.”

Galahad offered a wan smile, “No, I started it first, so it’s fair. As perfect of a swordsman as he was, he paid for that by his failings elsewhere in his life.”

“Between Gwyn’s adoptive mother, my parents getting killed, and yours, nobody here has the childhood they wanted. I guess we just have to make it up to each other through being the kindness and love we all need in life,” Tori clapped Galahad’s shoulder with a warm smile.

The smile was returned, a twinkle in Galahad’s eye, “I do love seeing Arthur shine through with you. Everyone always talks about Caliburn and the Round Table. His decency and kindness made him a man worth fighting and dying for.”

“I-I hope I can live up to that, but I’m not so sure with what I did to Merlin earlier…” stammered Tori, suddenly feeling put on the spot.

“Well, the little bit of hotheadedness also tracks. He could be impulsive, but he would feel horrible guilt about that after. You’ve done nothing you couldn’t walk back that I’ve seen, so you’re doing well from what I can tell,” consoled Galahad with a soft chuckle.

“If I’m doing well by the standards of the most virtuous of the Grail Knights, then I think I’m doing okay,” laughed Tori. “Though you remind me a lot of my ex-boyfriend. That’s a compliment; he was good to me but moved to California and decided to ‘free me’ to let me live my life instead of pine after him.”

“I thought you liked, um, women?”

“Only found that out recently. Before that, I thought I was just another straight girl who happened to be a tomboy.”

“A woman or girl who acts more masculine? Modern slang still catches me occasionally if not related to warfare.”

“Yeah. So I’m bi? I guess? Gwyn’s implied that’s what she is, too.” Tori shrugged and leaned on the railing with her elbows, watching the city, “Always trying to be decent and upstanding, would be super serious most of the time, but underneath was the softest and kindest soul. I like guys like that.”

“I, um, well, um,” Galahad stammered, red coloring his cheeks as he let his flustering show through.

Tori laughed at the reaction, “I’m not hitting on you, don’t worry.” She then winked, “I might if Gwyn wasn’t in the picture, though.”

“Thanks? Now you’re just making this awkward.”

“Hah! Consider it my gift as a friend, then.”

A soft laugh came from Galahad, “Well, thanks, but that is a weird gift. Also, Percival will be disappointed. The lad’s besotted, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Tori blinked and shook her head, “No, I had not.”

“He can’t stop staring at your arms. Thickest any of us have seen on a woman like you and he can’t stop mentioning them when you’re not in the room.”

The blonde sovereign gave a glance down her shoulders and biceps, a confused look on her face. “I know I’m not a small girl, but I’m not some bodybuilder. I’m in good shape…”

“Dainty ladies like Gwyneth are more what we were used to,” admitted Galahad. “I ran into a few Uke female soldiers, and they could be stout, but not combined with the, um, well…”

Tori grinned at her companion, “You can say pretty.”

“Not combined with a pretty lady, too,” confirmed Galahad, “Which you are.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s something that’s inherited from Morganna,” Tori made a sour face as she named the witch.

“Unfortunately, the tales of her beauty were not exaggerations, and she used that to dire ends,” answered Galahad as he appraised Tori’s profile, “You’ve got Arthur’s hair and eye color, thankfully, but that jawline and nose are definitely Morgan’s.”

Tori’s expression turned even more sour, “Now there’s a way to kill my mood thoroughly.”

“My apologies.”

“Never need to apologize for telling me the truth, Gal. Even if it sucks. Especially if it sucks.”

Galahad nodded, “A good policy, in my opinion. Better the truth than some protected feelings.”

“Exactly. Though how she gave birth at her age,” smirked Tori, “I’d hate to imagine the doctor’s bills to keep that a safe delivery.”

“She maintains her age and beauty through mag—”

“I know, Gal, it’s a joke. Disarming the power of your enemies through mockery is an American tradition,” interrupted Tori before Galahad could go too far with that.

“Oh, yes, of course,” grinned the knight, then tried his own jest, “I’d hate to be the unfortunate fellow that had to be your grandfather. That poor soul had no idea what and who he was getting into.”

Tori snorted, then gave Galahad a playful punch on the shoulder, “That was positively lewd.”

“Ahem, yes, well,” the knight grinned broadly despite the flush in his cheeks.

A chuckle was allowed from the lady sovereign as she regarded Galahad for another curious moment, finally saying what she had lodged in the back of her head, “God above, you’re easy to like—just like your father.”

Galahad chuckled first, then sobered, “I will take the compliment for what you mean, there.”

“Good, it was meant as one. Your sovereign does have one command for you, though – when this is all over, find someone who loves you as much as you deserve to be loved, and have a happy life with them. A paradise on Earth you’ve earned just as much as what’s above,” Tori pushed away from the rail and turned towards the patio door.

“Oh, what terrible deeds my liege demands of me,” Galahad gently mocked, pulling aside the door for his sovereign and letting her re-enter the apartment first.

A handful of hours later, a few drops of Tori’s blood gave Myrrdhin the time and resources he needed to cast a charm that would direct him toward Artoria’s closest blood relation. That meant Morgan le Fay, her grandmother. Myrrdhin showed no great surprise when he called out, “She’s in Westminster, of course. Only the fanciest for a narcissist like Morgan.”

“We’ll have to get in fast,” Bors cautioned, “The police will show up very quickly to such a nice area. They won’t know what’s going on and be very dangerous innocents. I don’t want to have to hurt them.”

“Agreed. Anything we can do to avoid dealing with cops would be best,” Tori added in.

“I’ll sing the charm of sleep and forgetting in draconic should they show up,” Gwyneth volunteered, smiling at the thought of being useful. “They’ll just slump over and take a nap.”

Myrrdhin nodded in appreciation, “Thank you, my dear. That will be lovely.”

Galahad clapped his hands together, “Well, then, gentlemen and ladies, how quickly do we want to do this?”

“Tonight,” Artoria’s tone was firm. “We can’t let Morgan hold onto Caliburn one second longer than we have to. We have no idea what her timetable looks like, and if she completes the ritual Myrrdhin thinks she will enact, then thousands of innocent people are going to die in what will look like an attack on London. I’m sure she has some way to point at the Russians in hopes of starting the nuclear war that’ll end the modern world.”

Myrrdhin nodded, “Exactly so. We’d all like more time to prepare Artoria for a fight, but our enemies will not give us that luxury. Morgan knows she has to work quickly; her scale charms won’t work against Gwyneth again, and a dragon is something she truly fears.”

A snarl twisted up Gwyneth’s delicate features, “She will pay for my sister’s life.”

“We’ll be there to make sure that happens, my queen,” Bors spoke for the Grail Knights, giving a half bow to indicate his deference.

“Grab the gear, then. As soon as it’s dark, we hit Morgan’s place with everything,” ordered Artoria.

Gwyneth rapped lightly on the wrought iron gates of the English manor that Myrrdhin had indicated was Morgan’s home in London. They had been watching it since before sundown, and she was well aware of all the hired thugs that patrolled the building grounds, which looked like it had been built sometime in the 1800s.

“Hello?” the dragon disguised as a woman in frumpy clothing called out, “Is anyone there?”

A man in a security guard uniform approached, a rifle slung over one shoulder, even in the United Kingdom. His accent was thick and Cockney. “Miss, you need to get outta here. I'm not having any panhandling tonight.”

“My Uber dumped me out here, took my phone with him. I can’t call anyone and I’m dying of thirst. Could I make a call? Or get some water?” Gwyneth gave a bright, hopeful smile.

The guard rolled his eyes, a second approaching and chattering on his radio. “No, you need to fuck off. You won’t have to worry about me calling the bobbies, Miss Yankee, I’ll just come out there and slap you around myself.”

“That’s dreadfully rude!” protested Gwyneth. “I’m just a lost little girl who could use a phone and some water. Are you certain I can’t come in?”

The second guard’s radio squawked again, and he growled into it about telling some homeless girl to fuck off.

“Either get lost, or you won’t like what happens when I come out this gate,” warned the original guard, leering at the slender brunette, “Might just spread your legs open and take a few turns riding you with the boys.”

“Well, gentlemen, we can’t have you doing any of that,” Gwyneth’s voice became a deep rumble as she expanded and contorted, clothing ripping away as she transformed into the full majesty of the red dragon. Scales rippled along her flanks as claws long as swords crashed down and through the gate, tearing it free from its hinges.

Both men screamed in terror, one of them pulling his rifle free to fire an uncontrolled burst of bullets into the scales of the beast before him. It had no effect as Gwyneth’s head darted forward on its serpentine neck and neatly bit the first of the two men in half. Legs fell away, and the dragon’s teeth ground together. The crunch of bones was audible before the great wyrm swallowed.

“Holy shit,” whimpered the remaining guard, turning to run towards the reinforcements pouring out of the house towards the gate. He never reached them as the dragon’s flames washed over him and his possible salvation.

Galahad’s battered sedan screeched in through the gate behind the dragon as she walked towards the building, shifting down into her hybrid form as a dragonette. Wings folded up neatly behind her as she proudly walked straight up to the door, unafraid as men and a woman with guns swarmed past her and waited to each side.

She ignored Myrrdhin staring up at the roof. Instead, she focused on putting a hard fist into the thick double doors of the manner, being the battering ram for the armed team. Her draconic strength sent both blasting inwards, tumbling through the foyer as bursts of gunfire spattered off her scales and the wings she wrapped around herself. Gwyneth absorbed the damage as a pair of grenades clattered into the manor, thrown by Bors and Percival. Both flashbangs burst nearly simultaneously, Gwyneth’s eyes hidden by her wings.

As the gunfire slowed, men stunned by the grenades' effect, the dragon roared and charged forward, her claws carving through mercenaries and weapons alike.

Chapter Text

Men assembled in the entry hall of the manor that belonged to the heiress known as Morgan Fayle. Most of them were ex-military or cos from across Europe, but Fayle had asked for so many men that a few of the ‘less qualified’ types had been rounded up by the PMC that she had employed. That had meant a boon for Ratma Padvil. He had been discharged less that honorably from His Majesty’s service and had been little more than a thug for hire until Westminster Security Concerns had policed him up last week in a wave of hires.

He was starting to wonder how lucky he really was as he hastily checked the safety on the German made submachinegun that had been slapped into his hands. Something that sounded like a mix between a lion and a warning klaxon had roared outside and he could see flames through the front windows of what had been a posh posting until just a few moments ago. A dozen other men had assembled around the huge central staircase that led up from the main hall to the upper floors, using the bannisters as cover.

Ratma was at the top of the stairs, staring down the barrel of the gun as two men shoved a pair of chairs under the handles of the entrance’s double doors. Just as they darted away from it the portals shook in their frames, hammered by something beyond inhuman from outside. Only shadows and flames could be made out through the stylized crystal glass of the glass that framed the doors, no assistance at all in seeing what was coming.

The doors shuttered a second time, massive cracks splintering up and down through the great oak constructs. They did not survive the third, tearing free from hinges and splintering as they were flung inwards. That is when Ratma got to see the most beautiful and terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life. She was tall and graceful, well over two meters in height, with the wings that curled out of her back giving her even more height. Whatever she was, she was shaped like the most beautiful of women, seemingly uncaring about her nudity. Red scales layered her body, her belly and breasts bare. Curled black horns, like a ram’s, emerged from a cascade of brown curls on her head and framed the effortless magnificence of her features.  Her eyes were narrowed with anger, yellow of iris with pupils slit like those of a cat. Behind her twitched a tail like a Komodo dragon’s, sharing the same red scales as the rest of her.

“FIRE, YOU STUPID FUCKS!” screamed the ostensible sergeant of the security team, snapping men out of the reverie the creature’s appearance had brought on. It felt like to Ratma and the rest of them something was trying to draw them into stupor and sleep just by the thing’s presence, but another force worked hard to counteract it in their heads.

Gunfire sounded throughout the entrance hall, the 9mm shells spattering harmlessly against the beast’s scales as she wrapped herself in her wings. Without warning, grenades clattered in and past the beast, landing amid the first group of security personnel. Properly primed, they exploded almost immediately upon reaching their desired impact point. Ratma’s vision turned white and his head rang as the flashbangs did their job well, forcing him to clutch at his ears, a trickle of blood coming from one of them.

Counterfire sounded as men stormed the hall around the beast. Ratma blinked rapidly, trying to get his vision to return. A massive red blur tore through man after man, her claws and fangs used to shred apart the security. Any chance there may have been to stop her was lost when men moving with military precision gunned down anyone attempting to put up a fight. There were four of them and something like an observer trailing behind the lot of them, hands stuffed in his pockets as if there was not a care in the world.

As the dragon ascended the stairs, her majesty undeniable with every step upwards, Ratma tried to put his gun down. He wanted, desperately, to put his hands up and yell out that he surrendered. Nothing was worth dying to this sublime creature. All he had to do was just fall asleep, something in his mind told him, but he had not. As she approached him, her bloody claws held open, he realized that she was humming a tune, a soft sound that demanded he abdicate his consciousness to her.

Instead of all that, something dark and malicious gripped onto the back of his mind, and when Ratma willed his body to surrender, he instead raised his weapon and started to pull the trigger.

Ratma Padvit was dead before the first round cleared the chamber.

“They’re inside and most of the men are dead,” snapped Morgan, no longer bothering to maintain the charm that would allow the mercenaries to fight without succumbing to a dragon’s magic.

Sebile nodded at the warning and squeezed her hand around the glass case that held the last vestige of Accolon’s soul, shattering it and letting the glass shards dig into her hand. Blood added to the putrescence of the Knight of Flies’ final piece of his mortal form. The tooth split open and morphed, reforming the creature of Beelzebub as Sebile chanted her own spells, drawing on the power of her blood and what was left of Accolon’s promises to the devil of the depths.

Markus and Claudius, traitors to ancient Rome, flanked the scene of the resurrection of miasma. Guns were held ready in case he came back wrong, and it would not be the first time that had happened. The dread knight coalesced, an even fouler version of himself than before. Mindless rage filled his snarling voice as his head darted back and forth, gathering a view of his surroundings.

Both former legionaries brought their guns up hesitantly. The demon knight lashed out blindly around him first with his fetid claws, then the battleaxe he remembered that he had hanging from his belt, hitting naught but air. Slowly the flames of sight lit once more within his cavernous eye sockets and his warped vision of the world around him returned.

It was only when he spotted Morgan that he quieted and dropped to a knee. “My queen,” his voice burbled in his native Brythonic tongue.

“Accolon, the usurper and his pets come to kill me tonight. Stop them. Even should it cost you your final life on this earth,” demanded the sorceress who would be queen.

“As you command,” the Knight of Flies pledged, a swarm of the things already buzzing about him. He only paused long enough to spit at Sebile’s feet, a hissing, spitting puddle of rot that left pits in the hardened tile of the roof.

Sebile sneered her disdain to the rotten chevalier’s back as he descended into the house, the Roman pair following him.

“Worry not, beloved Sebile, this is almost certainly the last time we see him. We have worn his soul thin and threadbare like an ancient blanket. One more tug and he comes to pieces. He will face a dragon, Arthur, and three Grail Knights. He dies tonight,” Morgan reassured with a smile.

“I understand, my queen, but… how are you so calm?”

“Because, my consort, I will see my son again ‘fore the morning sun rises! And fire will reign down and destroy the world the invaders have stolen from me!” Morgan lifted Caliburn free of its case with magic, the Blade of King hovering in the sky above the Westminster manor. Her voice rose like a banshee’s wail across the posh English neighborhood. It thrummed through every living being and through every home. “Anál nathrach, orth' bháis's bethad, do chél dénmha!”

Nimue’s wards shuddered and wavered about the blade as souls were ripped free from their bodies and slammed into the ancient magics like battering rams. Over and over, in the most inelegant and brutal manner that magic had ever seen, were the lives of innocents spent freely. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, the hired help, and the affluent alike, simply fell over dead. Souls had been torn from them and then expended like the cheapest coin. Police cars screaming down the lanes slammed into trees, the Metropolitan police force members dead without ever seeing their foe. 999 Emergency lines screamed for aid as households dropped one by one, only for voices to fall deathly silent part way through the call.

Panic was beginning to fester within the city of London.

“ARTHUR!” screeched Accolon as he barreled down the stairs at full gallop, the two legionaries barely able to keep up with the undead knight. “I WILL GUT YOU AND YOUR PET FUCKING DRAGON!”

On the third of the three floors of the house, Accolon stalked towards the staircases that lead down to the second. Gunfire sent him staggering backwards and the two Romans scurrying for cover as the Grail Knights spotted them first. The Knight of Flies hawked and spit one of the flattened bullets out, grinning through now missing teeth.

“Try harder,” he mocked as the battleaxe swung, building up momentum on its chain.

“Hurry up!” Myrrdhin called from below, teeth gritted together, “She’s started! Innocents are dying and I’m using all my strength to prevent her from doing the same to you!”

“No one here is innocent!” roared the undead knight, “Scions of the invaders, they all deserve death! Even ARTHUR, the bastard’s son, fought them! Are you a coward now, Arthur? That you would welcome the despoilers of your own homeland?” The axe flung forward, demolishing the banisters at the top of the stairs into splinters and sending Galahad and Bors both scattering away from its filth.

As the axe was reeled back, in the heroes took their chance to make their assault. Percival hurled a pair of grenades forward, no longer using flashbangs, but shrapnel that exploded directly behind Accolon. Force and razor sharp fragments of steel sent the Knight of Flies hurling forward and put even more distance between him and his Roman minders. Markus staggered back and away, peppered with lacerations while Claudius made a few desultory shots with a handgun before ducking back behind a doorframe.

Gwyneth roared her way up the stairs and into the hallway that the knight and his Romans had emerged from. Artoria followed in her wake, a stream of gunfire perforating Accolon and pinning him against with the wall with its force. Under no illusion it would kill him, it was Gwyneth who shredded into him with her claws, tearing and rending apart the foul knight.

“YOUR WOMAN FIGHTS FOR YOU! COWARD!” screeched the eyeless Knight of Flies in useless rage as each piece ripped from him dissolved into nothingness. He collapsed inwards, reduced to nothing but a torse and a screaming face, shouting slurs and hatred up at those he hated most.

Claudius made one further attempt to aid Accolon, drawing steel and trying to stab the dragonette between her wings. It earned him a slap with her tail, sending him head over tail into the wall with a crunch. Artoria followed that up with a burst into his head and chest, killing the man outright.

Tori stared down the hallway as the third man that had come after them bolted, holding a wounded shoulder and bleeding profusely. The amount of blood on the floor hinted that he did not have long left himself.

Gwyneth leaned forward and gripped the throat and voicebox of the Knight of Flies, ripping them out and silencing his screeching and insults. The next swiped tore through his spine, decapitating him completely. Head and torso began to dissolve into nothingness, leaving only stain and rot on the carpet and flooring below where they had been.

“This feels too easy,” spat Tori, the scent of the diseased knight still stuck in her sinuses.

“Fuck your easy,” Myrrdhin growled, Percival having to help him up the stairs, “It’s taking everything I have just to slow the bitch above us. At least a thousand dead so far, more coming. I don’t know how long Nimue’s magics can hold out.”

“Can Lady Nimue come here? Aid in this? Surely, she must sense what is occurring!” Bors pleaded.

“Do you see a pond or lake nearby? The Thames doesn’t fucking count, either! There’s a reason that Morgan picked this specific manse!” Myrrdhin slumped against a wall, “Go! I’ll stay here and keep the wards as strong as I can make them. As I have gotten younger, her powers have outstripped mine. I cannot defeat her without you. Our hopes rest in you, Tori, Gwyneth, my brave knights.”

The heroes of Camelot raced forward towards their confrontation with the enchantress.

“My queen! Do you sense it?” Sebile called out, focused on aiding her mistress’s magics.

In the middle of Caliburn’s wards, there was a chink. A tiny tear. The smallest of imperfections. Something had come loose in the assault upon the ancient magics. Something could now be pulled through. Perhaps only a single soul, but that would be enough.

Morgan smiled triumphantly as she gathered the souls of an entire family of four, an infant included, and ripped them free from their moorings. Sent screaming into the hells below, she fulfilled one of her ancient bargains with Beelzebub, and grabbed hold with the magics she wielded and pulled. Brimstone and sulfur belched forth as Hell spat out one of its own, a betrayer on the same level of damnation as Brutus and Judas Iscariot.

Screaming with his anger and cruelty, Mordred Pendragon stepped forth out of nightmare and into the physical world once more. His hauberk had been charred and fused by the time spent below, the hole where Caliburn had pierced his heart now sealed with gruesome scar tissue. His face was soot stained and cruelly set, a mirror of his mother’s but with a blonder hue to his hair, like his father’s.

“Mother,” rumbled out the dread knight in ancient Brythonic, “You have finally called for me.”

Morgan cackled triumphantly, “My beloved boy!” She cared little how much of brimstone he stank, she kissed his cheeks regardless, tears flowing from her eyes. “You are as handsome as I remember you.”

“And you just as beautiful,” Mordred embraced his mother briefly, then stood back to assess his surroundings, still a seasoned warrior’s instincts driving him. “This world is alien to me.”

“’Tis. Know this, we have Caliburn, the Usurper is just below us in this house, and he brings a dragon imbued with Guinevere’s soul here. Take up the sword that is rightfully yours, my son.”

Mordred turned, eyes ablaze with glee as he realized the blade hanging behind him was the Blade of Kings. He snatched it from the air and wielded it in a two-handed grip. “Not even a dragon can stand against Caliburn in the hands of the rightful King.”

“Go, my beloved son, and kill them all.”

Even as Mordred turned to advance, Morgan slammed another brace of souls into Nimue’s wards, dimming its ability to hold off the knight’s malice that much further.

The injured Roman burst through the door at the top of the stairs just ahead of the pursuing Gwyneth and Artoria. “They’re here!” he screamed out to the air above, “Accolon’s dead!”

He collapsed and silence as the last of his hearblood left him and the heroes emerged onto the roof of Morgan le Fay’s manse. Only three remained on the roof, Morgan herself, Sebile, and a dark armored man wielding Caliburn that was dangerously familiar to Tori.

She narrowed her eyes and old memories crawled into place and she knew who it was, her voice a low hiss as she said the betrayer’s name, “Mordred.”

“Father! You’re a woman now!” He laughed heartily, and it would not be an unpleasant sound if it were not laced with cruelty. Mordred had never been short of charisma. “And Lady Guinevere, you look radiant as a dragon, might I say.”

The three Grail Knights spread out around their allies, guns raised. Artoria glanced around at them, then back to Mordred, “You’ve brought a sword to a gun fight. If you even know what that means.”

“You wield them like crossbows, but I suspect they can fire more than once,” Mordred glanced at the weapons, quickly assessing. He had never been considered a fool or stupid, having inherited his mother’s quick wits.

“Surrender, end this madness,” Artoria demanded, her own gun trained not on Mordred but on Morgan. It was the first time she had actually seen the woman in person and she was a mirror image of her birth mother, her face far too similar to the one Tori saw in the mirror each morning.

“Madness, Arthur? Sorry! Artoria!” Morgan giggled behind a hand, “Oh, dear granddaughter… he has told you, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” hissed Tori through her teeth, “He has.”

“And you still trust that man after what he did my dear, sweet, innocent daughter? Tsk. Tsk.” Morgan clucked her tongue audibly, languidly approaching Modred from behind and lovingly caressing a broad shoulder, “We’re all family here. You surrender. Come with us. You won’t be king, I’m sorry to say, but if you kneel it’ll be your family name that lives on, that rules. You’ll be renowned for your wisdom, for being the one who had the vision to accept a new future.”

“A future built on a pyre of a billion souls!” snarled Gwyneth, claws clacking. “What you demand is madness, Morgan!”

“A billion souls who stole Britain from us! From both our families! Even Arthur knew enough when he was alive to kill them every chance he could!” Morgan snarled out, vitriol marking every word. “The Anglo-Saxons! The Danes! The Normans after! And the world their British Empire built! You call what I ask madness, I’m not the one who stockpiled a million apocalypses waiting for the day some greedy old man grew too fearful! I’m just accelerating the process!”

“Let this world burn, Father. Or is it Niece now?” Mordred smirked.

Morgan nodded to her son, “It’s niece.”

“Don’t listen to this foolishness,” Galahad whispered harshly as he leaned in towards Tori.

“I’m not,” she reassured him, “But I had to give them the chance.”

Mordred rolled his eyes, “Always too forgiving, Niece.”

“It’s so cute how much you all and Guinevere love each other now after all that betrayal in another lifetime. Almost as if Sebile was casting a charm I taught her while we spoke that bound your love so that no matter what injury you humans suffer…” Morgan gloated as Mordred lunged forward, clipping Bors’s shoulder with Caliburn’s blade.

The Grail Knight was sent spinning away from the blow, cut clean to the blow by the perfect cut of the Blade of Kings and a similar wound erupted on Gwyneth’s shoulder.

“… so does the dragon!” called Sebile from behind the altar, a charm of Daghda raised high over her head. She cackled with triumph.

Gwyneth shrieked in fear and pain as she clutched at her wounded shoulder. Her wings flapped once and then she was aloft, her full dragon form revealed as she dove for the younger of the two enchantresses. She echoed Kilgharrah’s final threat, “I AM GOING TO EAT YOU AND SHIT YOU OUT ON MORGAN’S GRAVE!”

Gunfire echoed as Morgan incanted wards of protection and defense, sending the bullets ricocheting away from herself and Mordred as the dread knight swung again and again, aiming for any of the regular humans that were on the roof. Percival added Bors in retreating, his arm hanging loose at one side. Seeing his chance, Mordred attempted to pursue the wounded Grail Knight, the one who would not be able to get away from him.

Galahad rushed in and swung the butt of his rifle hard into the side of Mordred’s head. It staggered the dark knight a step, and standing next to him it illustrated how huge of a man Mordred was. Easily a half a foot past six in height and well beyond two hundred pounds, he cracked Caliburn’s pommel into Galahad’s temple in response and kicked the man away. Above the dragon staggered with the force of the blow, as if a wrecking ball had hit in in the side of the head. She was forced to dive low, missing Sebile entirely, and swing back around, shaking the cobwebs loose as best she could.

Mordred spun Caliburn about, stabbing down with the point to try and spear Galahad through. The Grail Knight scrabbled and rolled away. Tori assailed the Betrayer from the other direction, slamming the butt of her own gun hard into his jaw. She followed up with a hard uppercut from her off hand as she released the gun to let it swing on its strap. A quick series of jabs followed and sent Mordred back several steps towards his mother.

“Fists?” spat out Mordred, a gob of blood splatting on the rooftop tile.

Artoria advanced quickly on what was once her son. She feinted a blow at his face and he brought the sword up in a parry that threatened to take off a hand. The feint worked, her hand retreating as she kicked hard enough at a knee that a satisfying crack echoed. Mordred wobbled and then dropped down onto his good knee, as his left refused to bear his weight any further. An elbow from Artoria was already on the way as the knight dropped, splitting a lip and sending a tooth skittering across the roof.

Mordred’s reply was predictable, a wild swing with the blade to try to force Artoria to retreat. With no intention of trying to parry the Blade of Kings with her hands, the reborn king danced back and swung her gun back up and aimed at her true target. She stood within the radius of the sorceress’s wards.

A single round roared out of the chamber and impacted Morgan in the shoulder, throwing the enchantress back with a screech as the magic barrier shattered with the resounding crash of plate glass. She scrabbled away and behind a massive cement planter. Galahad and Percival saw their opening and put a burst of rounds into the dread knight. The power of Caliburn was still impressive and his hellforged hauberk stopped some of the damage, but even the betrayer’s blood was painted across the tile once more and he screamed in rage and pain.

Wounded and staggered, Mordred wobbled back and forth as the Knights dropped their magazines and began to reload. He sneered through his bloodied teeth and lunged forward towards Tori, busy trying to line up a second shot on Morgan. The black knight grabbed hold of her mane of blonde hair and yanked yard enough that the sounds of scalp tearing could be heard. It forced the dragon to scream and miss another swipe at Sebile.

Mordred brought Caliburn around and pressed it to the throat of his former liege. His breath against her skin was fetid and stank of the abyss, laced with the brimstone he had bathed in. “Tell me, Niece, do you wish you’d taken our offer now?”

“You would have lied and stabbed me in the back even if I had,” Tori hissed back at him.

“True!” Mordred barked out a laugh, “You died either way you chose tonight.”

Caliburn pressed into Tori’s flesh, cutting through the outer layers of flesh. A king’s blood leaked forward and over the blade, and Artoria could think only of Accolon’s original fate as it happened. Pressed into the cut, feeling it begin to dig into the collarbone itself.

“Nimue! Your King calls on you once more! Enforce Caliburn’s prohibition! It has tasted the blood of its own sovereign!” Tori called out to the heavens above.

“No!” shrieked Morgan, covering her face with her arm, feeling the well of magic before any others.

Caliburn erupted with searing light, pouring out the virtue and valor it had been crafted with, engulfing the entirety of the manse’s roof.

Chapter Text

The Home Secretary stared pale faced at the reports scrolling through his tablet. He swiped from one to another and the staggering number of dead already reported. “Are we certain, Colonel?”

“Almost certainly. Gas, it has to be. A nerve agent. Something the Russians cooked up, I would place my guess on. Plus, there have been reports of a significant explosion near the epicenter of this event.” A very serious looking man in a very serious looking uniform nodded to the Home Secretary.

“A-and our boys at the scene?”

“Several have already been lost, just as dead as the civilians. Even with NBC gear equipped. Whatever it is, it is insidious,” the Colonel scowled, his moustache bristling with anger.

“After what happened to the Defense Secretary and the continued threats from Moscow over Ukraine funding and the financial sanctions…” The Home Secretary’s hand was shaking as he set the tablet down on the table he was seated at. Implications of what this could be, and what it could lead to, were beginning to chill him to the core.

“Yes, sir. Exactly, sir.”

“Wake up the Prime Minister. Inform Buckingham that His Majesty needs to leave the capital immediately with the entire Royal Family.”

A sharp salute was presented and waved away by the secretary. The colonel turned smartly on his heel and marched away, leaving the Secretary staring at his trembling hands.

“Dear God,” he whispered, half in prayer and half in existential terror. “It’s all coming undone.”

He pulled his cellphone free from his inner jacket pocket and quick dialed a number from within his contacts list. It rang several times, then was answered by an American accented voice.

“Mr. Secretary of State, this is the Home Secretary of His Majesty’s government. Yes. Yes, I’ve seen the news. We believe it may be a chemical attack, possibly Russian in origin. Yes, this is an Article Five situation, sir.”

There was a long pause as the Home Secretary listened to the American on the other end of the line. He sighed then made his position clear, “By this time tomorrow, sir, I believe we may be at war with the Russian Federation.”

In Devonport, Portsmouth, and Clyde, sleek submersible vehicles slid out into the dark waters of the North Sea. Buried deep in their bellies were the nuclear payloads that were meant to protect the British Isles and NATO against the threats presented to them by the East and other foreign powers. Each vessel checked and double checked their orders. They were clear.

Go silent. Go deep. If High Command ceases constant updates on the wireless, fire upon the designated target packages.

High above the Earth, satellites captured images of empty moorings and drydocks. With this information, the counterparts of the British naval forces responded in kind. Murmansk, Archangel, and Vladivostok emptied their inventories, and Russian submarines disappeared into the depths, following orders nearly identical to those of the British.

The Americans were not far behind, nor the Chinese.

The death of billions waited like a promise deep beneath the ocean waters.

Mordred shrieked as he staggered away, Caliburn clattering to the ground. As Accolon had before him, Mordred’s eyes had been burned clean out of their sockets. Burnt pits remained where once his eyes had been, skin that had endured the fires of damnation, was blistered from Caliburn’s light. He clutched his face with both hands, gripping at his ruined flesh.

Artoria blinked a handful of times. Her vision had been dazzled, as if a camera’s flash had been right in front of her, but her sight was already returning to normal. She scooped up Caliburn, feeling its familiar weight once more. She did not hesitate as she swung it laterally with both hands, and the Blade of Kings swept through both of Mordred’s wrists and his neck as if they were made of air. The black knight collapsed in a heap, dead once more.

Gwyneth landed hard on the roof, claws digging into the tile as she stared down Sebile. The still blind sorceress shrieked as she could sense huge weight of the wyrm above her. A claw closed around her and Sebile was hoisted up close to Gwyneth’s snout, “YOU REMEMBER MY PROMISE, SEBILE?”

“No, no, no, no, please, please!” begged Morgan’s consort, eyes milky white with the blindness inflicted by Caliburn. “I-I-I am pregnant! Please let the baby live!”

That gave even the dragon pause, snorting out soot and smoke from her internal fire over the witch, “YOU ARE A LIAR AND A MURDERER.”

“She’s not lying,” hissed Morgan, clutching her shoulder and slumped against the planter she had hidden behind. She blinked rapidly, still trying to shake the dazzle from her sight, “I created seed and put it in her. She has a baby on the way.”

“You’re not begging for her life,” Tori brought Caliburn’s point under Morgan’s chin, “It’s for that child’s.”

“You already killed my son,” snarled Morgan.

Tori gave a glance to the corpse near her, “Twice, actually.”

Galahad stood to flank Tori, gun held ready. Percival continued to tend to Bors, the wound in his shoulder severe. A scowl marred the Grail Knight’s face, “She’s hiding behind the child to avoid justice. If it is innocent, and has earned a soul already, it will be tended to.”

“Kill them all, let God sort them out?” smirked Tori.

“No,” Galahad was firm in his response, “A child born or an innocent woman, even of the Angles or Saxons, would never have earned my blade. Mercy is never weakness, but this isn’t mercy. This is a ploy.”

Artoria nodded, “From the best of us. I agree. Gwyneth, my love, as you will.”

Sebile screeched as the dragon hurled her up into the air, pinwheeling through the night sky. Huge dagger filled jaws opened beneath the witch, letting her land within them. Her screams vanished as Gwyneth bit down with a sickening crunch. With several chews and a swallow, the wyrm had devoured her prey completely.

“KILGHARRAH, YOU STAND AVENGED!” roared out the dragon.

Morgan glared daggers up at the reborn king, “Fuck you, Arthur. There’s the real you. Usurper. Rapist’s spawn. Child of lies.” Her hair was a matted mess of blood splatter and sweat. Mascara had cascaded down both her cheeks in thick streaks. She still grasped one shoulder, blood leaking slowly from her bullet wound.

Tori sighed and tapped Caliburn’s tip under her grandmother’s chin, “God damn it, Morgan. I remember more and more, and all I can recall is how badly I once wanted you to just come around and be my sister.”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” Morgan took a mocking tone to her voice, “Oh, Morgan, can’t you just sit and be pretty in Tintagel and make new little Cornish dukes to kneel to me?”

Even Galahad rolled his eyes at that. Gwyneth shifted into her dragonette form and stood to flank Tori’s other side as her lover regarded Morgan.

“It’s over now, Morgan. You tried to end the fucking world. You’re utterly insane. I just…” she sighed and rubbed at her nose with one hand, “… I didn’t want to kill my own grandmother without at least talking to her first.”

Morgan snorted, “Too sentimental to be swift, too cruel not to show mercy to what could have been your uncle or aunt in nine months. Please, your hypocrisy has followed you from life to life.”

Tori let Caliburn prick out a few drops of blood from Morgan’s throat, “Are you so eager that I execute you for your ancient treason?”

“I was never guilty of treason!” hissed Morgan. “Uther, your father, broke the treaty with my father. He raped my mother and murdered my sire! I owed you no allegiance and never feigned it! By law and right I was Duchess of Cornwall and held no accord with you, nor ever knelt to you! I am no traitor! I was loyal to the Britons, Cornwall, and the line of Gorlois! Always!”

“She’s not wrong,” Gwyneth murmured, “She never knelt to Uther or Arthur. She’s not a traitor like Mordred was. She’s just…” The dragon narrowed her eyes as she searched for a word, “… a murderous cunt.”

Morgan barked out a laugh, “Lady Guinevere, that I cannot argue with.”

The red wyrm gave Morgan a disgusted look, then glanced at her sovereign, “Tori, my love, do we have to listen to her bullshit any longer? I’ll need a grave to shit Sebile out onto.”

Tori brought Caliburn’s blade back, ready for a strike, “Right, say whatever prayers you wish, Morgan, it’s time this ended…”

“Wait! What time is it?” Morgan shouted out, a wicked smile on her features.

Galahad glanced at the watch reversed around his left wrist, “Twenty-four hundred…”

A deep rumble echoed through the midnight sky over London. Half a heartbeat later a tremor followed behind it, leaving each of the heroes on the manse’s rooftop having to check their balance. All eyes fell upon Morgan as she began to laugh loudly, even letting go of her shoulder with the power of her mirth.

“What have you done?” snarled out Artoria, the tip of her sword back to the sorceress’s throat.

“Beautiful how clear the night is, isn’t it? You can even see Big Ben and the Millenium Wheel from here, can’t you? Just look there…” Morgan gasped out the words, trying hard to suppress her glee.

In the distance, smoke poured up and into the atmosphere. It nearly obscured the massive clock tower that stood over parliament with how thick the pillar was. Elizabeth Tower, the structure that held the clock, appeared to teeter and wobble. Time rolled in slow motion as it fell forward. Big Ben was thrown into the Thames as the Elizabeth Tower collapsed forward and into the river, ripping itself free from the Houses of Parliament.

“The Muscovites had so much of that radioactive poison in their embassy. I thought there’d just be a little. Enough to kill a man or three, but there was enough to fill a shoe box!” giggled the sorceress. “So, I cast a charm on it so Myrrdhin could no longer see it and gave it to someone who had the skills necessary to utilize it. I had to learn from that old manipulator someday, eh? I couldn’t chance everything in a physical confrontation with the Knights of the Round and a dragon!”

“You insane bitch!” Tori screamed, “What have you done?!”

“It’s a dirty bomb,” Myrrdhin gasped, emerging onto the roof. He was covered in sweat and his features were pale, “I can finally fucking see it and she set off a dirty bomb in London’s center made of Russian poison.”

Morgan cackled as the abyss began to yawn before them. “You took my children and my kingdom from me, Arthur. I’ll take your world from you.”

“Mr. Prime Minister, I must stress the danger of the area to rescue personnel –” The Home Secretary was in the middle of explaining the current paralysis of the emergency response teams when every window at 10 Downing Street shattered inwards at once. The men and women in the cabinet room ducked behind chairs and under the massive conference table at the loud, booming bass of the explosion that had created the effect.

Alarms of all types screamed throughout the building. RaSP bodyguards rushed in through nearly every entrance and hauled at the lapels of the Prime Minister, dragging him up and out, towards the elevator that would take him deep beneath the residency to the safety of the bunker buried in the earth. A relic of the Cold War, it served as an emergency response command center.

“Mr. Secretary?” One of the RaSP took him by the shoulder, “You’re being requested below.”

The Home Secretary shrugged off the hand, “Do we even know what happened?”

“No, sir. Orders are to get key personnel to safety.”

“You have to stay with me until I go?”

The bodyguard nodded, “Correct, sir.”

“Do I have a moment?”

“Just a few, sir,” the bodyguard’s features turned sour.

Without another word the Home Secretary stalked out through the front of 10 Downing Street, his feet crunching on broken glass through most of the path. Even the front door was off its hinges, the steel ripped free from their moorings by the shockwave that had blasted the building. As the Home Secretary leaned out over the front steps of 10 Downing, he looked up to see the thick column of smoke pouring into the sky from the direction of Parliament.

He watched in horror as Big Ben collapsed and vanished beneath the rooftops of the surrounding city. Dread crept up his spine, goosebumps pimpling his flesh. Everything that had been whispered into his ear was coming true. Britain’s enemies had come crashing down upon the nation all at once.

A trembling hand grabbed at the bodyguard’s sleeve, “Take me to the bunker immediately.”  

Tori’s vision flashed with the red of rage and fury. She slashed forward with Caliburn, it’s blade passing through where Morgan’s neck should be. Instead, in a blink, the enchantress was simply gone, the echoes of her laughter hanging on the wind. Concrete groaned and split apart as the sword cut through the planter she had been leaning against with ease.

Swears and curses poured out of the blonde as she hacked apart the planter with further strokes, scattering potting soil and a what remained of an innocent fern across the rooftop. She screamed into the empty air in frustration and grief, cheeks both slick with her tears.

Gwyneth’s voice was soft as she gently placed her hands on Tori’s shoulders from behind, “Hey, dearest, please… Tori, please stop.”

Tori whirled and pulled up short of saying or doing anything. Instead of the dragonette, was the slender brunette, curls spilling all around her and doing a vague job of hiding some of her modesty. Blood seeped down one shoulder from where the sympathetic wound had opened when Bors was hurt.

“Tori, you’re scaring me a little,” Gwyneth whispered softly, eyes wide with worry at the outburst.

“I-I… I’m sorry,” Tori whimpered out the apology and let Caliburn clatter to the roof so she could scoop her queen up and into her arms, “I’m so sorry, I failed. I failed everyone.”

“It’s not over and done yet, Artoria,” Galahad confirmed as he and Percival helped bring Bors over, the eldest of the Grail Knights looking wan from the blood loss.

“Big fucking Ben just fell over!” cried Tori, her choler raising once again.

“Arthur Pendragon, stop whining,” demanded Myrrdhin, the ancient wizard stomping hard with one foot. “And pick your fucking sword up and sheathe it. It has earned far greater respect from you than how you are treating it. You are the king of past and future, fucking act like it.”

Tori stared slack-jawed at the enchanter for a long moment. In another circumstance, it may even have been funny to see. None of the observers had any sense of humor remaining after how the night had transpired so far. In lieu of any retort, Artoria leaned down and collected the Blade of Kings, peeling the scabbard that had been hanging from her back off so she could slide the sword away in a far more respectful manner.

Myrrdhin gave a wry look to Tori, “Better. Now, there are … some … outcomes that do not involve the end of the world.”

“Tell us what they are, before more of us despair,” Gwyneth pleaded softly. As she awaited the response, she found herself wrapped in Galahad’s jacket without warning, allowing the Grail Knight to look directly at her once more. She zipped it shut and tugged it downwards, at least getting it to her thighs.

All three of the Grail Knights gave Myrrdhin a worried look but awaited the magician’s judgment.

“If Caliburn can be corrupted to pull from the depths below, what then is its natural source of power?” Myrrdhin asked of the group.

Each of the heroes looked between themselves, curious expressions on their faces. It was Galahad that pointed upwards, still looking unsure.

Myrridhin tapped a knuckle along the crossguard of the weapon that Tori held, “Aye, Galahad, something like that. It was imbued with the valor, nobility, and honor of the very idea of chivalry and the concept that the church came to call the Saints.”

“It’s holy, basically?” Tori ventured.

“Sort of. Not as you know it. The gods exist because people wanted them to, not the other way around. Even the various forms of the All-Father and the martyred one that’s so popular in Rome. Caliburn exists because men wanted a noble symbol to hold up and prove their righteousness. Nimue was kind enough to put a few charms on it to force them to live up to it or suffer for it. Look at what just happened to Mordred.” To make his point, Myrrdhin kicked the black knight’s corpse. It barely moved.

Myrrdhin made a sour expression, then continued, “The hells, the below, the diabolic is the counter and exists for the same reason. Unfortunately for us, mankind’s always been nasty, so they’ve been in the game a bit longer. It means they know the cheat codes, to use modern parlance. This is where Morgan gets her power and makes her deals. They know that mankind’s belief is why they exist and want to break that tie and just be, which would make them insanely powerful.”

“Turning earth into hell on earth would go a long way towards that, I bet,” groused Tori. “Do we have time to…?”

Myrrdhing waved a hand, “Yes, we have a bit. They’re still panicking beneath 10 Downing at the moment. No one’s decided yet. To make a long story short—”

“Too late,” quipped Gwyneth.

Myrrdhin smirked, “Glad to see someone’s kept their sense of humor. Anyways, as much effort as Morgan was throwing at Caliburn to make it do something evil, it’s really easy to use it to make something good happen. It leans that way, it sort of wants people to be noble and upstanding.”

Tori raised a brow, then ventured, “So… we can use Caliburn to, what, help the people where the dirty bomb went off? Reduce the damage enough that the UK government chills the fuck out?”

A smile, then a tap of the nose came from Myrrdhin, “Exactly that. Treat it like the symbol of divinity that many believe it to be and that’s just what it becomes. That means it can heal as well as kill, it can save as well as defeat. We go in there, right past the emergency services, and do what heroes are supposed to do when innocent people are being threatened and are hurt.”

“You save them,” Galahad announced, enthusiasm creeping into his features. “A true knight does not stand by when the innocent and the weak can be protected or saved. Even at the cost of their life or livelihood.”

“Hah!” Myrrdhin slapped Galahad’s shoulder lightly. “Good lad!”

“I mean, if that’s what my sovereign wishes of me…” stammered out the Grail Knight, but even the injured Bors was nodding his head in agreement.

Tori slung the scabbard of Caliburn back over one shoulder, “Myrrdhin’s right. If there’s some way we can save or help people, we do it. As long as the nukes haven’t been tossed, there’s a chance. A way it can possibly be stopped.”

Gwyneth stepped forward as well, voice insistent, “I shan’t be idle either. I don’t care how scared people will be at first, but, if I have to, a dragon shall fly injured direct to hospital. Or I’ll dig them out of rubble myself. Anything!”

Myrrdhin clapped both hands together. “Get me to ground zero, my brave Knights of the Round Table, and I shall use a charm to pull the poison out of the air and give people a chance to survive this. It will take much out of me, and I likely will be of little use as a wizard for a while after, but I will give everything to stop Morgan.”

Gwyneth peeled the jacket off of herself and handed it back to Galahad. Moments later, her form shifted and twisted, the great red wyrm standing upon the roof of Morgan’s manor. Her wings laid out flat as she settled down on her belly, almost like a cat.

“EVERYONE GET ON, I SHALL FLY YOU STRAIGHT THERE.”

Both wings spread out majestically as she rose again, five passengers upon her back. Each clung to one of the others and to the ridges and scales of the dragon’s spine. One great beat of her wings pushed her up and into the air, and with her legs tucked neatly beneath her, the Pendragon soared over London.

“Toffington! Get your ass over here!” screamed DI Thornton.

She had been walking home when most of Parliament Square had vanished in a roar. Even Big Ben had come tumbling down, which had left her chilled to the bone. Once she had gotten her wits together, the police inspector had rushed towards where the bomb had gone off. Buildings all around the square looked like they had been smashed by an enraged toddler.

Toffington, her partner and a rookie detective, had been walking home with her since he lived two apartment buildings down from her. They still had a ways to go, and had not been particularly near the square. They had both sprinted towards it when the explosion happened.

With Toffington’s help, the DI got the door to the van she was pulling open. A ride sharing gig sticker was plastered on the remains of one window. Inside was a young man of south Asian descent, gasping for breath from how the vehicle had deformed and was pressing the steering wheel into his chest.

“Hey, hey, we’re going to get you out of here,” Thornton kept her voice level and calm, just like the training had dictated. “What’s your name, son?”

“P-Patil,” gasped out the driver.

“Patil, that’s a good name. I like that name, Patil,” Thornton tried to pull up on the wheel, anything to try to give even a little bit more space while Toffington worked at trying to slide the man out. Neither seemed willing to budge.

Thornton eyed the driver’s side. He had a thick black sweater on, but she could tell that it was soaking up blood from some wound in his side. Perhaps even a broken rib based off the sounds of pain he made with every breath. He could suffocate or bleed to death if they did not move him.

One more attempt to move the man failed when he screeched loudly in pain, causing Toffington to jerk away. The young man scowled, then reported, “I can’t budge him, mum.”

“Nor I this wheel—” started the DI. She went silent as a massive shadow passed over both of them and the vehicle. Winds gusted past all three Londoners as heavy wings beat against the air and something out of nightmare and legend landed directly in front of them.

A massive beast, forty feet long from snout to the tip of its tail, crunched down on the broken pavement and rubble in front of the shattered van. Red scales covered its body, and around its draconic features were horns curled like a ram’s. Five human figures scrabbled down from its back, one with their arm in a sling. Some appeared to be armed with guns on straps, but no one made an effort to point them at anything.

Even the driver of the van just stared at the soldiers and the beast that had brought them. Thornton finally let her brain just settle on the word it wanted to, and that word was dragon. The great wyrm’s huge head swung around, nictating lenses blinking open and shut over its red and yellow eyes, the pupils slit like those of a cat.

“DOES THIS MAN NEED HELP?” grumbled the dragon, somehow able to be understood.

Toffington whimpered, backing up a step, but Thornton saw her opportunity, stepping towards the drake instead, “Yes! He’s trapped, we, uh, we can’t get him out.”

Two claws were meticulous in their movements, peeling apart the vehicle until the front of it could simply be lifted away by the creature and tossed aside. The engine and front wheels landed on the spot where the poor statue of Sir Winston had ended its flight, half embedded into a sidewalk. A desultory final bleat came from the van’s horn.

Patil gasped audibly, taking huge, ragged breaths once freed from the wreckage. He sat on the driver’s seat still, clutching to the edges of it with his hands. Terror was overwhelmed by gratitude, and he offered a faltering smile, “Th-thank you!”

“W-who are you people?” Thornton asked, staring at what she had assumed were soldiers with their guns. The three men may have been soldiers, but the tall blonde woman looked more like an athlete, and she had thought there had been a sword on her back for a moment but dismissed the initial impression. The young fop that stood with them was certainly no combatant. Thornton had spent two tours in the Sandbox and knew how a soldier stood at a glance.

“I am Arthur reborn,” the blonde spoke confidently, as if there was not a thing bizarre about what she was saying. Her accent was a weird muddle of Wessex and American, “and when the night is darkest, I have returned with the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin, and the Pendragon herself.”

The sword carried by the woman calling herself Arthur became clear to see to Thornton, who blinked and wondered where it had materialized from. Arthur swung it off her back and pulled the blade free. It sang as it cleared its sheath, a longsword made of the most perfectly forged steel, and it glittered in the guttering light of so many fires and shattered lights.

“AND I AM GUINEVERE, BOTH HER BRIDE AND THE SYMBOL OF BRITANNIA,” rumbled the dragon, a smile curling the wyrm’s features.

“Uh, I, um, DI Thornton, with the Metropolitan Police service. I, not to be rude, but what the bloody fuck?” Thornton kept glancing over at Patil to check to make sure he was still breathing, but everything had gotten so weird so quickly, she was nearly staggering herself.

One of the three soldiers laughed and clapped the DI on the shoulder, “I completely understand, mate. Can you help Guin and I locate other injured and survivors? We want to take advantage of her strength to free the trapped and fly injured to medics. Will you do that for us?”

Thornton glanced at the man who sounded almost French to her ears. He was more handsome than just about any man she had ever met in person, and she had to bite her lip hard when she looked at him. He looked like any soldier or merc in a tactical vest, fatigues, and an H&K rifle slung on his back.

She realized, she could either question and fight the crazy, or she could get busy saving people. Thornton nodded, tugging her radio free from the pocket of her jacket, “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

“You’re panicking at the moment, Mister Templeton,” the Prime Minister informed his cabinet member. The tone of his voice dripped with disdain at the loss of decorum.

The Home Secretary clutched at the sleeve of the PM, his voice and features wild, “You have to order a first strike! We must remove the Russian’s teeth before they can start dropping Iskander missiles on our heads!”

The PM rescued his own arm with a hard yank, pulling away from the Home Secretary, “Jonathan, I expect far better out of you than this. At this time, we do not have any proof this is actually the Russian Federation or anyone they’re associated with. There are a variety of terrorist organizations that we have been following lately…”

“Leaving the people of this kingdom undefended at what is clearly a time of war…” began the Home Secretary, face turning red with the anger of being ignored.

“…dragon over Westminster…” announced the monitor glued to the BBC since the PM and cabinet had emerged into the bunker.

The Prime Minister ignored everything the Home Secretary babbled and ranted about as he turned to the flat screen. He pointed to one of the military staff nearby and ordered, “Turn that up.”

“Aye, sir,” saluted the naval attache, who then located a remote and turned the volume to maximum.

A female reporter with the BBC logo floating beneath her head stood with her back to the badly damaged façade of the Houses of Parliament. The Elizabeth Tower’s ruined stump jutted up out of it, and debris lead all the way to the banks of the Thames. A thick jacket was wrapped around the reporter’s frame to insulate against the chill of the late night growing into early morning. “…reports of a dragon, first over Westminster, and now here at Ground Zero have been confirmed. A vast thing, at least twelve meters long from snout to tail, have been confirmed. This very reporter has spotted it scooping up injured and flying them to medical stations sprouting up all around the damage, or digging the trapped free from rubble.”

Clearly on cue, the news center cut to multiple reels of a huge red lizard flying overhead, then another of a closeup of it landing. It ripped a car open with ease while a woman with a Metro police badge on a lanyard pointed, then lifted an injured woman free of the vehicle with the greatest of care. Within moments, the wounded civilian was on a gurney and being led into an ambulance.

The entire command bunker fell silent, staffers, cabinet members, and the Prime Minister himself staring in dumbfounded awe at the screen. A faint cough, the sounds of soft breathing, but little else could be heard over the reporter going through what was being seen on the monitor. When the dragon swooped in behind the reporter to land, live, a sharp intake of breath came from multiple bodies at once.

“HELLO!” rumbled the dragon, somehow intelligible.

The reporter started, turning to the great wyrm, and stammered out a greeting before introducing herself and telling the beast that she was with the BBC news.

“GOOD! I WANTED TO SAY THAT WE NEED ALL THE HELP HERE WE CAN GET! VOLUNTEERS! THIS IS NOT A TIME FOR PANIC OR CASTING BLAME! STIFFEN THOSE UPPER LIPS, ROLL UP OUR SLEEVES, AND HELP OUR FELLOW MEN AND WOMEN!” The drake leaned in close to the camera, letting it capture the nictating lens of its cat-like eyes. “YOU HAVE THE PENDRAGON AND THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE TO KEEP YOU SAFE! REJOICE, FOR ARTHUR HAS RETURNED TO US WHEN WE NEED IT MOST!”

The reporter stammered, clearly still terrified by the leviathan, “A-a-a-and can we ask your name, Sir D-d-dragon?”

“I AM GUINEVERE, THEREFORE I AM A LADY DRAGON!” chuffed the wyrm, lips curled up into an approximation of a smile, “I AM THE PENDRAGON AND THE QUEEN REBORN WITH MY BELOVED.”

With those words the beast shifted and adjusted, vanishing off the side of the camera’s shot. What re-appeared was a slender, but very pretty brunette woman. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, covering everything from the neck down. She spoke with an odd accent, sounding American one moment and then almost Welsh the next, “As you can see, I’m as much a person as the rest of you. I am not to be feared, the only thing to be afraid of is not helping if you can.”

“W-w-what we just witnessed was the dragon shifting into the shape of this young woman. Some… some… well, for lack of a better word, magic has allowed it—uh—her to change form into that of a human woman,” the reporter explained for the sake of her audience.

Guinevere gave a brilliant, beautiful smile to the camera, “Magic’s as good a word as any for how I do what I do.” Her expression turned serious once ore, “Even if you can’t come down here to help, we need you all to believe in us. To believe in Arthur and Merlin. The magic of Caliburn—you know it as Excalibur—will cleanse this place of the poison a madwoman used. We will save every life we can, but we need the UK’s politicians to remain calm, to not lash out, to stay cool headed. In return, the heroes of ages past will save every British citizen it is possible to save. I so swear it.”

“Thank you lady, uhm, Lady Guinevere. Your… uh… highness?” The reporter continued to stumble over her own nervousness, only to have Guinevere rush into her and give her a tight, one-armed hug.

Guinevere squeezed around the reporter’s waist, “I appreciate you letting me steal your camera and your news show for a moment.” The drake released the reporter and then stepped away, in mere moments she resumed the shape of a dragon and lifted into the night sky.

The scene cut to the desk reporter in the studio who attempted to put what just happened into some form of words, “… I, um, well, you’ve heard it here live. An interview of sorts with a dragon, and her announcement that none other than King Arthur and Merlin have returned from myth itself…”

The Prime Minister cleared his throat loudly, the first to gather their wits, “What in the bloody blue fuck was that?!”

“Um, sir, that was, uhm, a dragon?” one of the junior staffers offered unhelpfully.

“This is some sort of trick! A Russian psy-op, a-a-a…” the Home Secretary stammered and ranted.

The Prime Minister threw a dirty look at his cabinet member, “Mister Templeton, you are being exceedingly unhelpful. Considering this has all occurred on your watch, I think it would be best for your resignation to be on my desk shortly. In lieu of that, I will be forced to announce your sacking…”

Templeton grabbed the lapels of the Prime Minister’s jacket, “Wesley, you don’t know what you’re saying! We need to hit the Russians before this gets further out of control…!”

“The only thing out of control is you, sir!” snapped the Prime Minister.

One of the RaSP bodyguards peeled the Home Secretary’s grip free from the PM’s suit and dragged the man back several paces. Firm hands kept the doughty older gentleman in place, regardless of his attempts at a struggle. Even the RaSP man looked annoyed, the usually dispassionate features of his calling marred by the irritation.

Templeton whined, “You’re dooming this nation!”

The PM rolled his eyes, then directed a question at one of the military attaches, “Is the blast zone safe? Any of the same suspected symptoms as Westminster?”

“All signs point to yes, sir,” the officer flicked back and forth on the screen of a tablet, “There were radiologicals that were detected initially, but that appears to be a false positive. Several sweeps have happened since and nothing. Both Westminster and Parliament Square are also showing nothing on repeated tests for chemical agents. The commissioners for both the fire brigade and the Metropolitan police just got on scene at Parliament Square and report no injuries among the first responders.”

The officer peered further at the tablet, “And, um, well… um…”

The PM raised an eyebrow, sparing a brief glance towards Templeton as he was manhandled out of the room, before telling the officer, “Spit it out, son.”

“The dragon seems to have been helpful in search and rescue efforts. The fire commissioner said she has, to quote, the snout of a rescue dog and the claws of a backhoe.”

“And they’re just accepting this?”

The officer nodded, “Aye, sir. Should I instruct them to, um, detain the dragon?”

“No, um,” the PM gave a soft laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, “No, that won’t be necessary. I think it’s time I went and took a look at this myself.”

The most senior of the RaSP bodyguards interjected, “Sir, I don’t think that’s wise…”

“I don’t care, I’m going,” the Prime Minister stalked towards the elevator back up.

“Gods above and below, I’m fucking spent,” Myrrdhin slumped against a twisted lamp post. His breathing was heavy and sweat soaked every inch of him.

Tori helped him make it to the ground safely, her hands leading him down, “You said it worked, though. Everyone’s safe from that shit Morgan put in the air?”

Myrrdhin nodded, “Yes. I warn you, I won’t be much help for a while, though. Between what I gave Nimue to get you Caliburn and that, I could use a vacation of a decade or three.”

Tori smirked and ruffled the sorcerer’s hair, “We’ll see what we can do to get that for you.”

Myrrdhin barked out a laugh, “You seem in a better mood, at least.”

“Aye, things don’t feel so hopeless anymore. Helping get folks clear of rubble and ruined cars aids with that,” Tori let herself slide down to settle next to the old wizard at the base of the lamppost.

“If this works, then I think we’ll have a reprieve from Morgan for a bit. She’s expended all her pawns with her gambit, and now she’s fled, injured and alone, back to Avalon.”

“You sure that’s where she went?”

Myrrdhin nodded emphatically, then seemed to regret it as he winced and rubbed at his neck, “It’s the only place she can simply poof off to like that. Her stewardship of it is what she traded for her immortality. Her, Nimue, and Queen Norgales.”

Tori looked confused, “Wait, she works with Nimue? I thought they were enemies?”

“They do and they are. Why do you think the Lady of the Lake never shows up in person? It’d get awkward. They still have to work together to keep Avalon hidden and safe, so Nimue sometimes uses you as a proxy.”

“Is this why, even as enemies, you can still make deals with her? To make sure I was born?”

“Yeah. We’re creatures of myth, Arthur, there’s precious few of us. As much as we can hate each other, we all have an interest in continuing to survive and for people to keep believing in us.” Myrrdhin offered a wan smile, “Even Morgan dreads the day humanity ceases to believe entirely. Then her power vanishes and she’s just a sad, bitter, old woman waiting out the clock.”

Artoria had to fight down a knot of dread deep in the pit of her gut, “How-how does that affect me?”

“Little, I’d think. Worse comes to worse, you don’t reincarnate again and Caliburn is just a sharp hunk of steel. You and the Grail Knights are the most human of all of us, now. You’re just people. You all are exceptional, remarkable people, but just good old-fashioned humans nonetheless. Worry more for your lady love.”

“I do and I don’t,” Tori looked up, watching as the shadow of the dragon passed over them for one of the many times that night. “She’s changed so completely from the woman I met back in the dorms. Quiet, mousy, afraid of her own shadow, just…”

“Now you feel overshadowed,” offered Myrrdhin with a chuckle. He gave Tori a gentle nudge with an elbow, “None of this is accomplished without you both. You’re a team. This is the real her, though, Tori. Don’t forget that and be happy for it. Guinevere – Gwyneth – of old was as gregarious and lovely as it gets. People flocked to her and to you. For different reasons, though.”

Tori pushed her way back up to her feet, “I just wish it all came flooding back like it did with her. She’s almost forgotten that quiet little mouse.”

“That mouse was a product of trauma, Tori, don’t forget that. Do you love her any less for it?”

A shake of the head was Artoria’s initial answer. Her eyes followed the red drake’s pattern across the sky, another victim being carted to safety in her claws, “I’m in awe of her. Instead, I feel like I’ll hold her back.”

“If anyone won’t, it’s you, Arthur Pendragon. Now go, leave me to rest, and be the big damn hero you are always meant to be. Light the way for her so she flies true.” A tired hand waved up at Camelot’s sovereign.

Tori laughed, not bothering to correct Myrrdhin on using the masculine version of her name. Instead, she ruffled the mop of brown hair on his head, “Recuperate, old man. We’ll need you.”

Myrrdhin chuffed softly, then let his head lean back against the warped steel of the lamp post. His eyes drifted shut and when they opened again, Tori was gone.

“I THINK THAT IS THE LAST!” the dragon declared triumphantly. “I CAN SMELL NO OTHERS BENEATH THIS BUILDING OR ANY OF THE OTHERS NEARBY!”

DI Thornton cheered, then tentatively reached out and patted the rear haunch of the dragon. “Thank you, Gwyn, truly.”

“NO, THANK YOU, INSPECTOR! MAY I BORROW YOUR COAT?” Rubble scattered as the dragon turned to regard the detective with a single eye, its nictating lens wiping away dust from the lens.

“Um. Sure?” Thornton pulled her long coat free from her frame, the hem of it past her knees. The heavy work had made her open over the course of the evening, but she had not discarded it completely in the late autumn air.

Scales shifted and folded in on each other as the dragon stepped forward onto the pavement below the ruined building. The leviathan collapsed inwards, her wings vanishing into her back as drake became dragonette and then entirely human. A slender woman with a huge mop of curly brown hair was what remained, a brilliant smile on her lips. Clothing was completely absent from the woman and Thornton understood the need for the coat at that point.

“Oh, yeah, let’s get you covered,” laughed the inspector as she wrapped Gwyneth in her coat. The tiny dragon had to pull up on the sleeves to get her hands to appear out the ends.

“Thank you so much!” chirped Gwyneth in her muddled Welsh / American accent. It seemed to grow thicker with every moment. “It’s more about modesty than warmth. I don’t get cold.”

“I imagine not with the whole fire-breathing thing. You do that, right?”

A sly smile came to Gwyneth’s features, “Maybe.”

“That must be something. Not, um, not that you already aren’t.” A nervous flush crossed Thornton’s features.

“What’s your first name, detective?”

“Um. It’s Elise.”

“May I use it?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Thornton rubbed at the back of her neck, her blush growing fiercer.

Gwyneth let one hand touch the inspector’s elbow gently, “Thank you for all your help, Elise. You know this town far better than I and you were invaluable for knowing which buildings to check first.”

Thornton could feel the heat from her embarrassment increase even further, if possible. She stammered out an unintelligible reply. It brought a soft giggle from the dragon, so Thornton tried again. “Y-you’re welcome. My duty and all.”

“Pish. It was the right thing to do, so you did it. You ran towards the danger and tried to help without thinking about yourself. You’re a hero; never let any other say otherwise.” Gwyneth gave the detective a dazzling smile, “I’ll ask my beloved to knight you as soon as this is over. You’re worthy of the Round Table itself.”

“I, um, that’s… that is very kind of you to say, Lady Guinevere.”

“Gwyn! Just use Gwyn!” laughed the dragon. “Now, if you’ll excuse this next part…” She began to hack and cough and sputter until a pair of glasses were spat out of her mouth, covered in a nasty smelling concoction of effluvia.

Thornton pinched her nostrils shut, “Christ above, that stinks!”

Gwyneth’s pretty features wrinkled up as she sniffed at the glasses, “Ugh. There’s some Sebile on them. I’m going to have to wash them so many times.” She rummaged around in her borrowed coat until a handkerchief was produced and she worked at cleaning the glasses, “I don’t think you’ll want this kerchief back.”

“No, I think not. Who’s Sebile?”

“The bitch that murdered my sister. One of the enchantresses responsible for tonight’s events. I promised to eat her, so I did.”

“Y-you eat people?” Thornton stammered and took a step back, apprehension creeping into her demeanor.

Gwyneth sighed, then gave Thornton a disappointed look, “Yes, Elise, I do. I am a dragon, but I swear to you, on my life, it has only ever been villains. I’d sooner bare my belly to a blade or a tank shell than harm an innocent. You’re included in that.”

“So when you look at people…”

“… I see people, Elise.” Gwyneth recrossed the distance between them, touching the inspector’s shoulder, “I’m not a monster. I spend most days just being human. I prefer it, in fact. I just eat eggs, bacon, sandwiches, normal stuff. People taste bad, actually.” Gwyneth made a ‘yuck’ face.

A wan smile came to Thornton’s face, but she did not pull away, “I imagine the bad ones taste worse.”

“Like bitter, old shoe leather. I don’t recommend it.” Gwyneth stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes, holding the expression until she saw Thornton’s smile become genuine. Satisfied she had cleared the air, she stuck her glasses on and blinked through them as her eyes adjusted.

“Do you really need those? They’re thick as a bottle.”

“Yeah, my human eyesight’s kind of crap, to be honest. It’s perfect in my other forms, but even in my past life in Camelot it wasn’t great.”

“Can’t you change that?”

Gwyneth shrugged, “At this point why would I want to? This is me. The original me. I don’t want to not be Guinevere. I spent my life as a hatchling dreaming of this form, this woman, and now that I can be her, I am, damn the consequences.”

“A nice sentiment,” Thornton murmured, any further words covered by the sudden blaring out of a loudspeaker.

“TO THE DRAGON KNOWN AS GUINEVERE, PLEASE REPORT TO THE EASTERN RESPONSE COORDINATION TENT. HIS MAJESTY’S GOVERNMENT SEEKS A WORD.”

“Uh-oh,” the dragon smiled. “Sounds like the principal has summoned us.”

“Sounds like. So, how’s it work if you’re a queen and Arthur is a king?” Elise stuffed her hands into her pockets, growing colder without her coat to keep her warm any longer.

“His Majesty is still king of the UK. No one’s throwing crowns at us, I’d think. Camelot technically doesn’t exist any longer,” Gwyneth shrugged beneath her borrowed coat, the thing dwarfing her. She began to trudge her way towards the east, the mob of rescue vehicles and tents obvious even at a distance.

DI Thornton followed, her partner having vanished amid the other responders that had arrived. She had not begrudged him that, as the dragon seemed to make him too nervous to speak. Thornton, aside from her moment of trepidation about the cannibalism, found Gwyn rather endearing. An earnest effort to help had begun to win the police inspector over.

Once they had reached the command nexus of the UK’s response, it took some shoving and corralling to get Gwyneth through. No one believed the slight brunette was a dragon, and Thornton had to do some shouting and badge waving to get the woman through to where the police commissioner stood. It was when Thornton realized the PM himself was standing next to the commissioner that she froze.

“Well, DI, you were yelling that you had the dragon with you, where is it?” the commissioner gave her an annoyed look.

“I’m right here!” announced Gwyneth, her voice barely audible in the din of squawking radios, shouting government workers and other contributors to the cacophony.

Thornton pointed at Gwyneth and shouted, “She’s right there, sir! She-she can change!”

“Just like on the telly,” the PM interjected, stepping in front of the commissioner. “Thank you, DI. I’d like to speak to our draconic savior.”

“Uh, yes, sir, of course, sir. Pleasure to be of assistance, sir,” Thornton rattled off quickly.

The Prime Minister extended a hand to Gwyneth, “I take it you know who I am already.”

Gwyneth gave a dazzling smile, one finger pushing her glasses back up her nose, “Yeah. I’ve seen you on the news.” The other hand grasped and shook quickly. “Gwyneth Fier in this life, or as I’m probably going to be better known, Guinevere Pendragon at your service.”

“Pleasure, mum. I suppose we should get it out of the way now… THE Guinevere? Like myth?”

“Yup. The dragon part came later, but yes, I am her. Not claim, not believe, not think, I am.”

“… and there’s an Arthur?”

Gwyneth giggled a little, “Yes, sir, there is. He’s a she this go around, though. Reincarnated as a lovely young woman named Artoria. So don’t be surprised when a blonde built like a truck shows up.”

“Dragon?”

“No, sir, human as you are. I’m the only dragon of our little band of heroes.” Gwyneth stepped up to the PM’s side and captured his arm with hers, hugging tight against him. “Shall I tell you the whole story so it makes sense?”

The PM gave a wan smile, “I’m not sure any of this makes sense, young lady.”

“Well, let’s start by asking… did you recently have someone trying desperately to get you to bomb Russia?”

One of the PM’s eyebrows shot up as he appraised the young dragon hanging off his arm, “How did you know that?”

Gwyneth gave her most charming smile, “Well, do I have a tale for you. It involves Morgan le Fay, Merlin, and the whole cast of mythic characters. Magic, Excalibur, and the Once and Future King. If you weren’t absolutely convinced I’m a dragon, you wouldn’t believe any of it. Hell, if I hadn’t experienced it, I wouldn’t either.”

“Now it really does sound like myth.”

“Well, my story starts where another story ended, at the Battle of Camlann…”

By the time Tori was starting to get frustrated enough that she was pushing and shoving, she finally spotted Gwyneth in the crowd. What she did not expect was to find Gwyneth chattering happily with the man she recognized as the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. A pair of very dubious looking bodyguards stood to each side, bulges for firearms evident under their suit coats.

One moved to intercept Tori until Gwyneth waved and yelled her name loudly. The dragon then murmured something to the PM, who waved Artoria forwards and towards him. They stood in front of one of the makeshift refreshment stands for the first responders. It was full of tea and coffee options and a box filled to the brim with donuts and scones. A small gaggle of reporters stood nearby, taking notes but not interrupting.

Even as Tori approached, Gwyneth had turned back to the PM and was continuing with what she had been saying. “So that’s how we got here. I decided not to use the magic that makes folks forget because I knew I had be able to convince you and others to stay calm, reasonable. Plus, a big shiny dragon to look at was a nice distraction.”

“Hail to thee,” Artoria greeted once through to the pair and instantly regretted it. “Ugh, I mean, hi. Hello, howsitgoing?” She made a sour face at her failing ability to use modern phrases.

Gwyneth giggled softly, “As she remembers more of her past life, she keeps using old colloquialisms. I caught her speaking in Brythonic the other day.”

Artoria went still, “Did I? You didn’t say anything…”

“You did, beloved,” Gwyneth confirmed, then introduced the other woman to the PM, “This is Artoria Pendraig, the reincarnation of my husband, now my wife, and sovereign of Camelot and the Brythonic kingdom.”

“Your Highness,” the PM gave a slight, formal bow. “You’ll have to forgive the lack of ‘majesty’ as that’s reserved for our Royal Family. I’ve been told you’re blood descended from the original on top of… well…”

Tori bowed her own head briefly, “Aye, sir, ‘tis true. Seems Arthur and Guinevere’s son landed in Wales, then the family migrated to America some time ago. End of the day, here I am.”

“Your spouse has a wild tale. Magic, Merlin, dirty bombs, et al. I was told you even have Excalibur, but…” The PM looked left and right as if trying to figure out where the weapon had gotten off to.

Tori pulled the blade off her back, still firmly in its scabbard. Once she held it up, the PM’s eyes went wide, the charm upon it letting him see it once pointed out. It shone in the flood lamps of the encampment. “By ownership of this blade am I known as King of the Britons. Or Queen. Or Sovereign, however you prefer. Behold, Caliburn, the Blade of Kings.” With those words, the blade was pulled clear of its scabbard, singing softly as it was held aloft.

With the charm completely superseded as the blade was pointed out to all, the encampment went silent. Even the PM’s bodyguards stared at it instead of intervening with a naked blade so close to their charge. All around, men and women began to kneel instinctively, acknowledging the power held within Caliburn.

Even the PM wobbled, one hand gripping the table near him to prevent himself from dropping down. One of the RaSP guards did kneel down on the pavement below them. It took biting down against every instinct and reaction within him for the PM to keep standing. He cleared his throat, “Well, Dame Artoria, I cannot deny the power within that blade. C-could you put it away?”

Tori gave a lopsided grin as she slid Caliburn home into its sheath, “Sorry. Of course.”

As quickly as it had come, the pressure abated, and the PM found it easier to stand. All around the first responders rose to their feet, bewildered. “Between that, the dragon, and the story I just heard, I-I am positively flabbergasted. It’s something out of a BBC sci-fi show.”

“More fantasy, I’d think,” quipped Gwyneth with a smile. She sipped at a Styrofoam cup full of tea and winked over at Tori.

Tori took a serious tack, “As amusing as the thought is, we’ve still lost a lot of people today, Mister Prime Minister. Gwyn, the Knights of the Round, Merlin, and I have done our level best to reduce those numbers as much as we can, but the bulk of the work was done by the brave men and women that surround us. What we want to ensure is that the blame is put where it belongs, on a madwoman, and not on some other actor.”

The PM let a scowl cross his features, “You’ll have that, for certain, Missus Pendragon. I assure you that the full might of His Majesty’s government will come down on Miss le Fay, or Fayle as we knew her, with an extra helping of Interpol on top of it. Terrorism for any reason, especially the apocalyptic beliefs that fueled her, will not be tolerated.”

Tori smiled, “I didn’t think they would be.”

“We have a long history of handling terrorism in this nation,” the PM continued, making sure the cameras could see him as he spoke. “We hold a stiff upper lip, and we see it through. The British people are not to be underestimated, and this government will pursue justice with every resource available at our disposal. If you’re listening, Morgan Fayle, turn yourself in. It’s the only way you’ll find any respite.”

As the PM ended his statement, the reporters who had been quiet surged forward. They pushed past His Majesty’s prime minister and instead stuffed microphones and recording cell phones into the faces of Gwyneth and Artoria.

“Are you really Arthur reborn?”

“Are you really Guinevere?”

“Will you be contesting the Royal Family’s claim to the throne of the United Kingdom?”

“When’s the coronation?”

“Where’s Merlin?”

“Are you really a dragon?”

“What does a lesbian relationship in the royal family mean for the youth of Britain?”

They came in a flood, leaving the two reborn sovereigns stammering and overwhelmed. The pair squeezed tight to each other, letting the PM escape the onrush. As the questions came flying, Tori leaned in close to her beloved, their foreheads touching.

“Maybe you should make them forget after all…”

Chapter Text

Thunder rumbled across the rugged island that man had long known as Avalon. Storms had lashed for days on end, reflecting the tumult of its guardians and the relationship that strained near to breaking. Flashes of lightning lit an ancient stone edifice at its center, upon which the Well of Souls was kept safe deep below.

The heavy doors that guarded the temple’s portal creaked loudly as they were forced open, then closed against the gale of wind that threatened to tear through the building. Water pooled inwards from the door from where Morgan staggered in and towards elegantly carved furniture that made up the entry hall to Avalon’s single structure. Blood dripped and mixed with the water as Morgan found a seat and dropped into it, caring little for how the water would affect the cushions and pillows and their beautiful stitchwork.

“Daghda’s beard, you look like shit, Morg,” Norgales, once a queen and now one of Avalon’s trinity of guardians, remarked drily as she approached. Of the three, she was the least of them in both power and appearance. Still, she was an ageless beauty and a sorceress whose peers only included Nimue, Morgan, and Merlin himself.

She was also Morgan le Fay’s only true friend.

“Fuck you, Norri,” hissed Morganna. They both spoke in Brythonic, the language native to both women. They punctuated it with modern English where needed, when words that had not been created in that ancient tongue were necessary.

Norri clucked her tongue, “Now is that any way to speak to the person who’s about to stitch you up?” She hefted the polished wooden bowl that was in her hands, revealing very modern gauze, forceps, and other instruments of first aid.

Morgan sighed before peeling out of her soaked clothing, leaving the lean, dark-haired sorceress sitting in her small clothes while the ritual robes she had wearing formed a puddle next to her. “Just get on with it, please.”

“Of course, my dearest Morg,” laughed Norri softly as she lifted her skirt to reveal a steel flask hidden in a garter on her thigh. She slid it free, took a swig from it herself, then poured out a fifth onto the bullet wound oozing blood in Morgan’s right shoulder.

Morgan hissed, then snatched the flask away from her friend and drained the rest of it. It was a very strong whisky with a clear amber color. It felt hot rushing down her throat, like it was exactly what she needed. The flask had refilled itself by the time she set it aside.

“I take it things did not go well. I’d turn on the BBC, but the satellite’s shit in this weather. The radio is all over what’s going on in Londinium, though.” Norri pulled a stool over and began to cut open the wound further, allowing her to reach in and start to tug the bullet free.

“London,” reminded Morgan.

“Yes, yes, yes. Boudica’s least favorite town: the old Roman trading port. The English capital. I do watch the telly, you know. My English is getting rather good,” Norri let some pride creep into her voice.

Morgan grunted as the bullet emerged and was discarded, “I sometimes wonder if I should’ve left that modern crap back on Britain.”

“I rather like it all. Nimue and I love the shows,” Norri chirped as she stitched the wound shut.

Morgan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, “Where is she?”

“Out, enjoying the weather. She’s furious with you. Said she’d let you get settled in before she came back.” Norri was not gentle in tugging the stitches as she closed Morgan up.

“No real surprise there,” Morgan let herself deflate and watched her friend work silently for a moment.

Once the wound had been closed and the stitches tied, Norri poured a bit more alcohol over the wound from her flask. The container vanished back under her skirt and she offered a pleased smile, “There, job well done. Is your mental state where it finally should be? The island putting you back to right?”

“Yes, Norri, I’m… I’m calm at the moment,” Morgan assured her friend.

“Good,” Norri proceeded to slap her friend’s sealed wound, “You’re a fucking idiot when you’re away too long.”

Morgan yelped, then scowled at her friend. She wanted to scream, to argue, but as the island soothed the maladies that often tore through her mind, she had to admit that Norgales was correct. Instead of snapping back, she sighed and began wrapping her shoulder with gauze.

“You are definitely more centered. Angry Morgan would be all over me for that,” remarked Norri before extracting some clips for the gauze from the first aid bowl.

“Maybe I was away too long,” admitted Morgan.

“You know, better than anyone, you start to lose yourself anytime you’re away longer than six months. You become this angry, vindictive shit that won’t let anything go. Plus, you focus on Arthur and Myrrdhin when they don’t matter even a little towards your actual duty of protecting this island and its treasures.”

“Mentally ill is the term they use for folks like me now,” Morgan’s expression turned sour as she admitted it. “That first week on the mainland I went and spoke to a specialist in the field. He agreed I suffered heavily from trauma stemming from my mother’s rape.”

“You don’t need one of those modern frauds to tell you that. How often have you and I talked it over?”

Morgan snorted, “We’ve spent decades reliving and reviewing it. You know me better than anyone, even Nimue.”

“Right. You took what happened to your mother very poorly and started lashing out at everything. Even people who didn’t have anything to do with the crime. Being pissed at Myrrdhin I can understand, he’s a liar and a shit, but at Arthur? The boy wasn’t even born.”

“I know. I know. It’s all projection, I can admit. I’m just so mad I can’t do anything to Uther anymore. Fucking Saxons stole that revenge from me.”

Norri clucked her tongue again, “No, they didn’t. They did it for you. Stop being mad at them because you couldn’t kill a man. He deserved every awful thing that happened, and even the myths correctly regard him as a rapist and a pig.” The former queen stood and rummaged through a trunk, producing a sky-blue colored dress, which she held out to Morgan.

A quick dance of Morgan shimmying into the plain, comfortable dress ensued. Once dressed she settled back into her chosen seat, finding a towel pressed into her hands. She began to press her hair with it. “You remain a true friend, Norri. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“See, this is the Morgan I like,” giggled Norri as she settled across from Morgan.

“Nimue just rants at me for when I’m a bitch. You call me on my shit, but also don’t get mad. I-I admit I need that.”

“Of course, dear. What are friends for, after all? You and I have always been there for each other and we are always utterly honest with each other.” Norri leaned forward, a huge smile on her features, “So, did you see her?”

“Who? Guinevere or Arthur?”

Norri reached over and tapped the top of Morgan’s head in annoyance, “Your granddaughter. Don’t diminish her by referring to her as your ancient enemy. Who was your brother, might’n I remind you.”

Morgan frowned, but did not protest, “I saw both, okay?” A moment’s silence followed as Morgan felt the initial annoyance and anger fade completely, “She looks like a blonde me. Just broader of shoulder and thicker of frame.”

“Oooh, so she’s a great beauty, then?”

Morgan nodded, “Aye. Brave and true, if a little too forgiving still. Fought Mordred to a standstill with her fists while he held Caliburn. I was torn between being in awe and furious.”

Norri’s dark eyes glittered with amusement, “Oh? What is it now?”

“Mostly awe. She’s what I would’ve hoped for in a granddaughter.”

“Your first to make it to majority, if I remember.”

Morgan sighed, “Don’t remind me of that, but yes.”

“Do you really want her dead?”

Morgan scowled before looking away. Her initial answer was an inaudible croak, followed by the soft admission of, “No. Now that I’m more… me… no, I don’t. She’ll never forgive me after what happened, though. Once the fires start to rain down…” Morgan trailed off as she caught Norri’s expression.

A huge grin split Norri’s features, “Sorry to disappoint you, but before you got here, the news reports on the radio were all about how you were the most wanted woman on Great Britain. How Artoria, the king reborn, and her dragon were saving lives and telling the truth to everyone.”

Morgan sagged in on herself, “Probably for the best. I lost everything, everyone, in that gambit. There’d be no one left to rule with me.”

“You really have come to your senses,” chirped Norri happily. “Good. You need to stay here, at home, with us for a good long while. I want you in a far healthier place before you try going back to Britain again.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I’m serious. No more talk about killing so many innocent folks. Or trying to harm your own granddaughter. She is your only living blood relative, at the moment. This isn’t just a reincarnation of the man anymore, but your actual blood kin. Reconcile, for fuck’s sake, Morganna. Family is your everything, so start acknowledging it.”

“Why are you always right?” groused Morgan.

“It’s my specialty. My foresight and insight might not be on the level of Myrrdhin, but it’s better than yours and Nimue’s combined. You listen to me for a reason, dearest.” Norri hopped up off her stool and held her arm out for Morgan, “Come. Let’s go visit him like you’re always dying to do as soon as you get home.”

Morgan stood, an expression of contrition on her features as she took her friend’s arm and let herself be led down the staircase that filled the back of the temple and into the bowels of the edifice. She remained silent until she stood before the aging sarcophagus of her brother, the once king of Britain and Camelot.

“Some of that new stuff you brought last time helped clean off the mold better than ever,” Norri remarked happily. “I’m loving all these modern things they’ve been dreaming up these last few decades.”

Morgan let her fingertips trail over the features carved into the granite of the sarcophagus’s lid. “Hello, Arthur. I think I’ve missed you more than ever.”

“That ride here from Camlann was the first time I think I ever heard you be honest to him.”

“He was dying!” snapped Morgan, sorrow replacing the anger in her voice almost immediately, “Apologies, Norri, I… I owed it to him.”

“Well, he can’t hear you now, so be honest again.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I wish… I wish I’d been different. You never needed to be.” Morgan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the stone countenance of her brother; Nimue’s chisel work having done well in capturing his handsome likeness. “You always were my brother, never less than. We came from the same womb.”

Norri wrapped Morgan up in a hug, her head leaning against her friend’s shoulder, “There you go. You always feel better getting that off your chest.”

“I do and I don’t. I left behind something on the mainland for Arthur. I mean, Artoria.” Morgan planted a kiss on Norri’s head, then peeled away, a wan smile on her features. “I even feel bad about it now.”

Norgales gave her friend a curious expression, “What’d you do, Morg?”

“When I pulled Mordred up and out of the depths for his brief foray into the land of the living, his wasn’t the only soul I found down there, among the betrayers and the unfaithful. I saw another and decided, just in case, to yank it forth, too.”

“Morgan, what’d you do?”

“I don’t think it’ll be a threat, not a mortal one. More a tribulation. If she handles it well, to make it up to her, I’ll even make the effort to reconcile, like you demand.”

“Who was it, aside from Mordred, that you would rescue from damnation?”

As Morgan spoke the name, Norri’s eyes went wide.

“… as the sacking of the Home Secretary became official today, polling has shown that confidence in His Majesty’s government has waned to an all-time low. That lack of confidence has not just been in the majority’s governance but also His Majesty. The decision to leave Buckingham on the night of Morgan Fayle’s apocalyptic instigations while the woman many are viewing as Pendragon reborn rushed to…”

Tori snatched the remote and flicked the television off, ending the reporter’s diatribe mid-sentence.

“I was listening to that!” whined Myrrdhin from the comfort of the government-paid hotel couch. He was engulfed in a ridiculous-looking hotel monikered bathrobe three sizes too large for the small man.

Tori gave the wizard an annoyed look, “You may be getting comfortable soaking up the government indemnity like some dignitary, but we can’t just sit and wait for Morgan to…”

“Pfft,” scoffed the enchanter. “Morgan’s off in Avalon. You know this already. Even I don’t know how to get there. The only time you ever saw it, you were dying, and I highly doubt those memories are anywhere in that skull of yours or ever will be. Nimue, Morgan, and Norgales like their privacy.”

Tori made a frustrated sound in her throat, then tossed the remote back into Myrrdhin’s lap. “So, we just sit here while the UK tries to figure out what to do with us?”

“I believe that’s what I proposed already,” Myrrdhin turned the television back on, flipping quickly through a variety of morning news programs. Each expressed the same thing in slightly different ways, that the current UK government was teetering on a No Confidence vote in Parliament, that His Majesty was too ashamed to show his face in public, and that Big Ben was going to cost a truckload to repair. The human cost of that night, nearly fourteen hundred British citizens, was almost completely eclipsed already.

“If the King abdicates,” Tori groused, “They can give it to one of his sons. I do not have any interest in being a figurehead for a modern democracy.”

Myrrdhin giggled at the grumpy commentary, “I mean, I can’t blame that sentiment. Who’d want to? Oooh, ribbon-cutting ceremonies and knighting the odd playwright? I wouldn’t want to do that, either.” The old seer paused, then pointed at the door, “Gwyn’s entering in three… two…”

The double doors to the consular suite burst open and Gwyneth plowed into the room, arms arrayed with bags from the fanciest shops in London. She was wearing a completely different outfit than she had left in, covered in fashionable colors and silks. Even her glasses had new frames that matched her accoutrement. “My loves!”

“Oh, gods above, she’s discovered fashion,” groaned Myrrdhin.

Tori was up and off the couch, moving to help collect bags from her queen. Behind Gwyneth was DI Thornton, their personal minder over the last several days. The police inspector was equally as heavily laden, if not more so, than Gwyneth was. Only then did Tori notice that there was a pile in the hallway that had been left behind.

“Gwyn, love, where’d you get the money…?”

“My sister, not the taxpayer, don’t worry. I’m an heiress now.” Gwyneth laughed as she helped drag everything into the suite. “Plus, we had to get Elise an outfit, too.”

Thornton blushed at the callout, “I’m sorry, mum, she insisted, it’s just that…”

Gwyneth teased with a poorly hidden giggle, “She has a date!”

Tori raised a brow and regarded the embarrassed police officer, “Oh, with whom?”

Thornton’s answer was an incomprehensible mutter, but Gwyneth inserted herself with a sing-song voice, “Gal-a-had.” Gwyneth winked and then poked her sovereign gently. “He even said you ordered it. To find someone nice.”

Tori let a smile creep onto her features, “I did, didn’t I? Don’t worry, Inspector, you’ll not find a more perfect gentleman. Treat him well; he’ll be the best man you’ve ever met in return.”

DI Thornton stammered, her face still beet red, then formed an actual sentence, “I can tell he’s a good man. I’ll be decent to him, I promise.”

“Good! Then I approve. Don’t be too flirtatious; it’ll just embarrass him. Just… just be kind. Oh, and he won’t make a move until you’re married. Just a warning.”

“He, um, he already told me. Said he knew how ‘licentious’… who even uses that word?” Thornton’s smile faltered as she questioned it, then continued, “…modern women were and wanted to make sure I wasn’t expecting something he wasn’t ready for.”

Tori giggled, “Yeah, that sounds like him.” She gently patted Thornton on the shoulder, “Good luck.”

“Plus, my kid loves him, so that’s already a thousand points ahead of all my prior exes.”

“Wait, what, you’ve got a kid?”

“I’m thirty-three, Miss Pendraig. My kid’s seven and already idolizes Galahad. Won’t stop talking about knights and princesses and, good Lord, when Gwyn and dragons come up…”

Gwyneth gave a soft laugh, “I gave him a quick ride this morning.”

Elise produced her cellphone and showed off pictures of a gap-toothed seven-year-old boy straddling the neck of a red dragon, “Made his week. Maybe even month.”

Tori peered at the images, then chuckled, “He’s a handsome lad, Inspector.” Tori corralled Gwyneth into her arms, “That was sweet of you, love.”

Gwyn leaned into the hug, “Percy’s a lovely lad. He’ll fawn over you if you let him, though.”

“Percy?” Tori directed the question to the boy’s mother.

Thornton shrugged, a ‘what can you do?’ expression on her features, “Percival, yes. Named after the knight himself. Wants to meet his namesake, but the real one won’t leave Bors’s side until the hospital releases him after the surgery on his shoulder.”

Tori gave the police detective a sympathetic look in return, “Well, thank you for escorting my beloved, DI Thornton. If I could steal some time with her?”

“Of course,” Elise extracted a single bag from a very modestly named shop from the pile and then retreated from the suite after saying her goodbyes.

Tori turned, Gwyneth still in her arms, then called out towards the couch, “That means I’m tossing your ancient ass out, too, old man. Go to your own suite and get some rest.”

“Bah! I know when I’m not wanted,” the old man in question popped up, quite spry in the physical form of a twenty-year-old. He stole several handfuls of snacks that had been delivered by room service on his way out, munching away at something that stank of fish eggs as he left via the same route as Thornton.

With the doors shut, Gwyneth twisted in Tori’s arms and got her own around the tall blonde’s waist. “So, did you want to go for a ride, too?”

Tori laughed, kissing the brunette’s forehead, “In a bit, maybe. Well, I did want to go flying before retiring to the bedroom. I also wanted to talk to you.”

“We’ve not flown since that first night, and I keep promising you. I’m all yours until tomorrow morning, I swear it.” Gwyneth leaned in and rested her head on Tori’s chest, sighing happily at the feeling of her lover against her.

“I want to always make sure this is clear, beloved – I love you. Beyond measure and words, I love you.”

“I know, my liege. As I love you, forever and always, through however many lifetimes are thrown at us,” Gwyneth looked back up, blinking through her wide, stylish lenses.

Artoria sighed, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “As much as I want to bask in our triumph, it keeps nagging at me that something is left undone in preventing Morgan from succeeding. I don’t know what, though.”

A slender finger poked right over Tori’s left breast, “Your heart tells you that you should be ruling, leading others, not moldering here in this gilded cage.”

“That’s part of it, I think. The UK’s government clearly wants us to go away now that we’ve done our part.”

“The people don’t. I think we’ve captured their imagination. There’s been precious little of that in the world lately, so folks are happy to latch on.”

“What do you feel is best? Should I put myself out there?”

“That’s how it works, my love. Lead them the way that works best for you. You’re the one with the Blade of Kings. People instinctively bow to you.” Gwyneth smoothed out the front of Tori’s shirt as she spoke, “You’re still too American at times.”

“I know. I want everyone to be equal and everything to be fair.”

“Pfft. That’s just you being Arthur at the same time. Remember why you made the table round?”

“So there’d be no head. Thirteen equals seated together, even when the king was present.”

Gwyneth gave her sovereign a brilliant smile, “Precisely. You don’t have to conquer to command. I have faith in you to make the right choices. Have faith in yourself.”

“Thank you. I think I needed to hear that, beloved.”

“That’s my duty. To inspire you so that you can do the same to others.” Gwyneth gave a quick peck to the tip of Tori’s nose. “To protect your body and soul while you work to bring others together.”

Tori smiled softly, “My mouse truly has become a dragon.” She leaned down and nuzzled her cheek against her lover’s. “I’ll figure it out. It feels like things will work out fine as long as you’re here with me.”

Gwyn slipped her glasses off and set them aside on a table, letting the affection wash over her. The drake clung to her sovereign, “I was always a dragon. I needed my king to know my true self finally.” Chocolate eyes batted their lashes as Gwyneth let the first few buttons on her blouse free, “I need my sovereign to help me with these clothes, so I don’t rip them when we go flying.”

“What terrible deeds a king is called upon to perform,” laughed Tori as she helped free first her lover, then herself, from the shackles of clothing. The two dragged each other into the suite’s bedroom, caught in each other’s embraces, and their lips locked together.

Chapter Text

Deep, unhealthy-sounding coughs came from the impact crater that had formed south of Bristol. Within lay the form of a man, curled into a fetal position, and whimpering with the pain of the hard landing. He lay there for hours, a drizzle coming with the morning sun that crested over the horizon. It took every ounce of strength that he could just to turn towards the sky and let his mouth collect the odd-tasting precipitation.

It felt strange to him, as if some other fluid was hiding in the water, like a blade’s oil. He was not sure if the smell was him or the rain. It did help, though, and eventually he was able to rise. Mud and soil caked his entire body, obscuring the myriad of burns and scars that had been etched into his flesh by his time below.

He did not know why he had been pulled from hell itself. A scowl formed as his memories flooded back. Mordred had broken free of his chains. That was not something the stranger could countenance, so he had tried to follow. Something had, at the last moment, helped pull him free as well.

The scowl turned into a low snarl as the stranger remembered who had been there to drag him free from damnation.

“Morgan,” he muttered the name darkly under his breath. He remembered the promises she had made to him if he stood by Mordred’s side on Camlann’s hills. Her promises of whom he would wed if he had fought for her bastard son.

A betrayer doubly so, he had become. He marched across the field between the two armies and stood once more beneath Arthur’s banner, breaking the last of his oaths and promises. Damnation had been worth the expression on Mordred’s face, doubly so when he had gutted the first of Mordred’s faithless knights.

He had died, though. A pile of his enemies at his feet, Mordred’s blade through his chest. He was supposed to be dead, but he was not. With his last breath he had watched Caliburn rammed through Mordred’s chest, even as Arthur perished with the bastard. That Arthur had not appeared in the pits below, even for a moment, told the stranger everything he needed to know about who was in the right. The returned stranger finally made the correct choice, which comforted him.

As he staggered forward, he was presented with a world alien to him. Bright lights and massive structures were spread in every direction. The city of Bristol looked, for all purposes, like a metropolis greater than the tales of the Rome of the East, or far away Alexandria and Damasq. Carriages zipped past on ribbons of stone, finer of make than any Roman thoroughfare, and massive signs dotted the landscape. Their lettering was Roman, but their ordering made no sense to him.

Realizing his nakedness, the stranger darted away from the lights and sounds. Houses stretched around him, huge and grand in their nature compared to what he was used to. He found one without lights within and smashed through a window with a rock. Within was luxury finer than any feasting hall or fortress he had wintered within. He was able to locate trousers and a shirt, though, of a weave so smooth he at first mistook them for silk.

In what looked like a library, there was a framed map on the wall of the island of Great Britain. The stranger still could not recognize the writing, but the shape was very familiar to him. He shattered the glass and the frame across the desk and pulled the antique paper free.

On the map, across the channel, Basse Neustrie was marked with the name of ‘Normandy’, which seemed odd for a man who had once called that land home. Londinium had been renamed ‘London’ on the map. A date was written near the compass in the corner, of 1492 A.D., which he did recognize. He could tell the map was an old, precious thing, and even then, the year was a thousand beyond what he remembered.

Winchester. Bristol. York. They were in places he remembered cities and fortresses, but none had names he knew any longer. What worried him most was the lack of Camelot on the map. Where it should be was empty space, as if the great capital of the British peoples had never existed. Instead, it was London that had a star, as if that was the seat of power. Not even Caer Myrrdhin was marked on the map. The Severn Sea had the lettering of ‘Bristol Channel’, the first part the same name as the city abutting it.

“This world is completely new to me,” the stranger realized, murmuring in a language no one within miles would understand. Gingerly, he folded up the map and slipped it away into a pocket.

He spent more time in the invaded home. A sink and faucet were found and figured out, allowing him to clean his hair and face. A handsome, dark-haired man looked back at him through the mirror’s sheen. He marveled at how much of his youth had been recaptured in his rebirth, and how the scars of ancient burns were beginning to fade away.

The kitchen was explored next, with the stranger laughing at the concept of the refrigerator. He spent more time than he would like to admit playing with the light that flicked on and off as the door opened and shut. Cold, clean water from bottles within it was welcome, as were the fresh fruits and vegetables. Grapes finer than any he had ever eaten were happily devoured, as were cold, cleanly sliced chicken breasts. A loaf of fresh bread, half eaten by the owners, was finished off as well once the pantry was raided. It took a few tries, but the pictures of beans on the tins told the stranger he would enjoy the contents, and once he worked out how to get the lids off, he was not disappointed.

His belly full, his face clean, and his body clothed, the stranger stepped into the living room and settled onto the couch. A low table in front of it seemed like a good place for his feet and as his heel landed on a long thing made of a flimsy material, the flat wall ahead of him lit up. Moving images of faces and people lit up the television and the stranger stared in awe.

“… and today we have our first in-studio interview with Gwyneth Fier, the woman who is the Pendragon, and the reborn queen of the British people…”

The stranger leapt to his feet, ready to run or assault the moving tapestry of light and sound until the words ‘Gwyneth Fier’ floated through his ears. He went completely still, and he settled into a squat instead of back on the couch. He watched as a curly-haired brunette, clothed in the most brilliant and revealing clothes he had ever seen on a woman, walked across a stage to settle onto a white armchair.

Her skirts only went down to her knees, and her feet were in open sandals, letting him see both her ankles and toes. Her neckline plunged to her sternum, and her sheer sleeves let him see the skin through the translucent material. A pair of frames sat on her face, making her already wide eyes seem larger than ever before.

His heart skipped beats as he watched the woman settle and greet her interviewer. The stranger did not understand a word they said between them, but he did not care. He only wanted to stare at Gwyneth as she smiled and spoke. His eyes were only for her as her earrings dangled and bobbed from her ears, and her hair flipped when she turned her head. Skin smoother than silk glimmered in the light of the modern living room, and the stranger found himself licking lips that had gone completely dry.

“… and is it true that you also speak languages that would be considered dead to our modern ears? Words no one has heard in centuries?” the interviewer asked of her guest.

Gwyneth gave a beautiful smile as she answered, “That’s right! My English is good, as is my Welsh and French, but I also know a little Latin, the Draconic tongue, some ancient Frankish, and Brythonic, the language of Arthur and Camelot.”

The stranger’s ears perked at the words ‘Arthur’ and ‘Camelot’, which he recognized. He leaned forward as the interviewer asked Gwyneth to say something in Brythonic so that the audience could hear what it sounded like.

“Well, alright! Welsh has its roots in that tongue, so they sound vaguely similar. Here goes –” The next words that Gwyneth spoke the stranger understood perfectly, even with a bit of an accent added to them, “My name is Guinevere Pendragon, queen of Camelot reborn, and I am here to aid my beloved Arthur when our land needs it most.”

He scrambled past the coffee table. As he reached it, the stranger’s fingers stroked over its smooth surface, tracing the features of Gwyneth’s face. Everything about her was just as he remembered: her perfection and beauty, her resolute posture, the effortlessness of her smile, and the joy in her eyes. His heart soared and sank all at once.

She was here with Arthur, she had said, to save the kingdom. The prophecies of the Once and Future King were true. The Pendragons had returned to rule once more. If that were so, what reason would Morgan have to free him?

Both of his eyes screwed tightly shut at the whirlwind that raged within him, deep within his heart and soul. Guinevere was everything to him. He would risk damnation a thousand times to be at her side.

But for Arthur…

Bright blue eyes re-opened and the stranger stiffened. A decision was made, and come whatever may, he decided he had to know. To assuage what burned in his breast, and to find out what burned in hers.

Lancelot du Lac strode forth to find his queen one final time.

To Be Continued...