The Return of Avalon
Author: A. Jacelyn
Summary: When there's trouble in Avalon and the plateau is in danger, a messenger is sent forth to find the Chosen One and the Protector's daughter to bring them home. Set after "Legacy", but Malone's around and Finn isn't.
Disclaimer: Forgot about this the first time, so here goes. I don't own The Lost World, any of the characters, or anything related to it, really. Need I add any more?
Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so please review (and be nice)! I'm afraid that this is looking rather epic-y, but I'm trying to get around to the plot. A very big thank you to everyone who reviewed.
Chapter One: Light and Laughter
John Richard Roxton, hunter, adventurer, and Lord of Avebury, watched his lady as she trudged through the jungle ahead of him. Allowing himself a brief moment to observe her unnoticed, he gazed in open admiration of her slim figure. Her dark curls were, to his dismay, twisted neatly into a braid. He much preferred them loose, flowing over her creamy shoulders like a wave upon the sea. How he dreamed of being able to freely run his fingers through her hair, losing himself in the flower-and-jasmine scent of her…..
"John?" Marguerite called, startling him out of his reverie. She looked at him questioningly. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." God, she's beautiful, he thought. As always, he was amazed that the sole price of this goddess's company was to be stranded on a South American plateau. He would have gone to hell and back for her, walked across a bed of hot coals just to see her smile, hear her laughter.
"Are you sure? It's not every day that I outdistance the great white hunter only twenty minutes into a trip," she quipped, blue-green eyes sparkling with mischief.
Roxton took a step closer to her, brown eyes taking on a predatory gleam. "This hunter is after a particularly elusive prey that requires patience over speed," he returned.
"And just what would this 'prey' be, milord?" Marguerite purred, leaning into him.
"A most beautiful, intelligent, courageous, and desirable..…" Roxton whispered huskily, leaning forward to claim her lips in a passionate kiss. She responded to his touch instantly, returning his kiss ardently and running her elegant hands over his shoulders. He drank of her deeply, tangling his fingers in her hair--and suddenly broke their embrace, softly cursing. Not again, dammit! Marguerite looked up at him in surprise, then rueful acceptance as he scanned the jungle around them intently.
"What is it?" she asked anxiously, recognizing the tension in his strong body.
"I thought I heard something--" Roxton broke off and dove for his rifle as something rustled in the brush nearby. Raising the weapon to his shoulder, he pushed Marguerite behind him, then watched in surprise as a girl dashed out of the brush. Two raptors leaped out after her, and the child screamed as one of the raptors slashed at her back. Roxton took aim quickly. Four shots rang out and then all was silent.
Marguerite rushed over to the girl, who lay writhing on the ground in pain, her long blonde hair strewn about her. Red blossomed, staining the dark blue silk of her dress. Roxton knelt beside the heiress as she gently removed the clothing. She cursed softly, noting the deep gashes on the girl's back. Working quickly, Marguerite ripped the edges of the dress and tried to stop the bleeding. "That's the best I can do, John. She needs medical care, and soon," she whispered, looking up at Roxton.
"We'll take her back to the tree house, then," Roxton said. "Can you understand me, child? You're safe now. It will be all right," he reassured her. The girl's clear blue eyes were filled with unshed tears, and she was biting her lip to keep from crying out. Roxton felt his heart twist at the sight of a child in such agony, and trying so hard not to give into the pain. "I'm John Roxton, and we're going to take you home." He lifted the girl into his arms, disregarding the blood seeping through the makeshift bandages.
"I…" the girl whispered, looking about her dazedly. Seeing Marguerite, she tried to raise her head. "M…" she began before falling limply into his arms, unconscious.
"Marguerite!" Roxton shouted. "We need to go now!" Marguerite grabbed his pack and rifle and they raced back to the tree house. Reaching the electric fence, Roxton began yelling for Challenger. Marguerite opened the gate as the others sent the elevator down. By the time they had reached the tree house, Malone had gotten the medical kit out and Veronica had found the bandages.
"What's this?" Challenger asked, looking at the girl in Roxton's arms.
"We found her on the trail. Raptor attack," he replied grimly.
"You can put her in my room," Marguerite offered. Veronica started in surprise, then went off to get some antiseptic. Roxton laid the girl gently on the bed, as Marguerite roughly pulled Challenger to her side. The scientist seemed surprised at her gesture, as did Marguerite herself. Shrugging, Challenger began a quick examination.
Though bleeding profusely, the gashes were shallow. Withstanding infection, the girl would be fine. Ned and Veronica left to prepare dinner, seeing the situation well in hand as Challenger quickly disinfected the wounds, then bound them tightly. Relaxing as he sat back to scrutinize his handiwork, Challenger was surprised to note that Marguerite was still there. In fact, the typically indifferent heiress was sitting on the bedside, holding the girl's limp hand and gently brushing errant strands of hair from her face.
Unable to mask his surprise, the scientist looked over to Roxton, who was standing behind Marguerite. The hunter merely shrugged, long ago having gotten used to accepting anything from the mercurial heiress. Though also confused by Marguerite's actions, he was secretly pleased. "She'll be fine, Marguerite. Come on, let's get some dinner before Ned and Veronica finish it all," he teased.
"No, I think I'll stay here with her, just in case she wakes," Marguerite told him, still watching the face of the sleeping child. Roxton and Challenger exchanged confused glances, then shrugged and left quietly, knowing the mysterious enigma that was Marguerite Krux would take them more than a few measly years to unravel.
"What are we going to do with a child?" Challenger muttered as he entered the common room.
"We're going to keep her here until her parents come for her. Certainly she's not going out alone into the jungle again," Veronica said heatedly. The scientist looked up at her in surprise.
"Besides, Marguerite seems attached to her," Roxton added, amused. Everyone paused at that statement, then determinedly returned to preparing lunch. What was it I said? Oh yes, Marguerite, attached. Roxton couldn't keep the grin from spreading across his face. My Marguerite, with a child.
After lunch, Ned finally voiced the question everyone had been wondering. "What's with Marguerite? I mean, we all know children aren't her favorite people, and…..well, Marguerite's not the most..…err…..child-friendly person..…" he added hesitantly with an apologetic look at Roxton. The hunter struggled not to laugh at Ned's poor attempt at diplomacy. "How'd you find the kid?"
"We were heading for the lake where Veronica had spotted some deer earlier, hoping to bring some venison back when the girl just broke through the brush, chased by a pair of raptors. We got the dinosaurs, but only after one of them got her. We weren't about to just leave the girl there, so I picked her up and we ran home. She passed out just after the attack," Roxton informed them.
"So why is Marguerite--" Ned was cut off by a call from Marguerite's room.
"She's waking up!"
Roxton reached the room just as the girl's eyes fluttered open. "How are you feeling, my girl? That was quite a wound you managed," he said genially.
"Better, sir," the girl replied quietly, trying to rise. Marguerite carefully helped her up, arranging the pillows to support her weight. "I…..where am I? Do you know me? I..…I can't seem to remember….." her voice trailed off. Her blue eyes darted about the room in panic, seeing the five explorers around her.
"She's obviously suff--" Challenger began informatively, but Marguerite cut him off before he could get another word out. The heiress had seen the way the girl's eyes had widened in fear at the scientist's words. Marguerite couldn't understand why she noticed the child's every motion, or why the child's fear should so effect her; she simply acted upon an instinct that was so natural it frightened her.
"Don't worry, sweetheart, everything will be fine. You just go back to sleep and try and get some rest," she said gently. The explorers couldn't keep the stunned expressions from their faces at her caring words, then at the way the girl relaxed, reassured by the least 'child-friendly' member of their "family".
"Will.….will you stay with me?" the girl pleaded softly, her hand tightening on Marguerite's.
"I'll be right here," she promised. To her surprise and the others' astonishment, the girl nodded and slumped back into the pillows. The explorers were dumbstruck and remained dead silent as the girl's breathing regulated and she fell into a healing sleep. Marguerite tenderly tucked the girl into bed, then stood, smoothing out her skirt. Looking up, she noted the four gaping mouths and stupefied expressions. "Close your mouths," she ordered tartly, careful to keep her voice down. "It's called common decency. Now, what was that you were going to say, George?"
"I…the girl's obviously suffering from amnesia, but you didn't mention any head injuries. Roxton?" he queried, overcoming his surprise in face of a medical mystery. "Roxton? John!"
"Wha-what? Oh, yes. It's possible. She fell after the raptor attack, but we were more worried about the slashes to notice anything else. She did seem disoriented, though." Challenger's lips held a hint of a smile, knowing what had caused the hunter's preoccupation. He examined the girl's head gently, then stopped abruptly as she let out a soft moan.
"She's got a nice bump on the back of her head. Minor concussion, I'd say. She'll sleep for fifteen hours at least, but that's all. The amnesia is what has me worried. Head injuries are tricky." He paused, obviously working another of his theories out. "The girl's obviously European, but no expedition would bring a child. And yet you found here only two kilometers from here, and we know all the local tribes. Where could she have come from?"
"That dress she's wearing is pure silk, Challenger. It couldn't have been made near here," Veronica observed, "But I don't recognize the necklace she's wearing. It's not from any of the tribes I know of."
"A necklace? I'm surprised she's still wearing it, Marguerite," Ned quipped.
"What, no scathing rebuttal?" Roxton laughed. "You're losing your edge, my dear." Glancing over at Marguerite, he watched incredulously as she removed the necklace and held it up to the light.
"I knew she wouldn't be wearing that necklace long," Ned whispered to Veronica. Roxton stepped behind Marguerite, his handsome features displaying his disbelief that she would so callously steal from an unconscious child.
"That necklace is hers, Marguerite," Roxton told her sharply, still careful to keep his voice down.
"I know. I wouldn't think of taking it from her," she replied, abstracted. Ned and Veronica exchanged confused glances, as Roxton stepped in front of the heiress, still absorbed in a minute examination of the tiny silver charm.
"I mean it, Marguerite," he repeated forcefully. She looked up at him, surprised.
"I told you already, I know," the former international jewel thief snapped, gently refastening the charm around the girl's neck. "Now, since you're no longer required here, why don't you and Challenger go clean up dinner, since Ned and Veronica were kind enough to cook and I'm needed here." Placing her hands on her hips, she looked at them pointedly. "Unless there's another reason you should be loitering in my room?"
Remembering the volatile temper of the mercurial heiress, Challenger, Veronica, and Ned wisely fled her private sanctuary; each naming an activity that required their attention. Lord Roxton, however, rose to the challenge and turned to face the fey-eyed beauty, using his debutante-disarming grin as a first strike. He advanced upon her as she rose to meet his attack, her weapons ready.
Ned waited in the family room, eager to see who had won the latest skirmish in the ongoing war between the hunter and the heiress. Veronica had left to retrieve the tools she'd dropped when Roxton had come dashing in and Challenger was in the lab, but he had remained in the tree house on the pretense of clearing the table.
Veronica had given him a knowing look and whispered, "Marguerite. If I'm wrong, I'll take her dinner when I get back" before the elevator took her down. He privately thought that he'd gotten the better deal—Roxton would at least be civil if he lost, while if Marguerite…hearing Roxton's heavy steps, he quickly grabbed a pen and pretended to write.
Observing the British Lord from the corner of his eye, Ned noted the pleased, almost smug grin on his face and a similar grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Veronica would be serving Marguerite's dinner tonight, he noted with satisfaction.
Marguerite Krux…Though their jungle hostess had stolen his heart, it was the heiress who had captured his reporter's curiosity. Mysterious, dangerous, and possibly deadly was how he had originally written of her. With the few questions she had been forced to answer for him, he had pieced together that her past could undoubtedly be the best story ever told--besides his journals of their plateau life, of course. But Marguerite rarely, if ever, spoke of her past, only elaborating when the situation demanded it.
Thoughts of the wily woman automatically led Ned to thoughts of the tree house's other female occupant--as did nearly his every train of thought he admitted, blushing. Unlike Marguerite, Veronica's independence was unhindered by her generosity, kindness, and innate honor, and sincerity shone in everything she did. She was the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing woman he'd ever met. Gladys in all her English finery and impeccable etiquette couldn't hold a candle to Veronica's simple elegance and inner strength. The rumbling of the elevator heralded the arrival of the woman of his dreams, interrupting his reverie.
Stepping out of the elevator, Veronica was greeted by a grinning Ned Malone. "Sorry, Veronica. You lost," he told her, handing over a plate of food and glass of water. "Sure hope Marguerite's not a sore loser…for your sake," he teased.
Silenced by the jungle girl's irritated glare, Ned grabbed his precious journals and retired to his room, worried as always that his writing would suffer the wrath of a woman. Veronica's smiled wryly at Ned's reaction. After Marguerite had ripped a few pages and edited his prized journals, Ned had been overly protective of his work--and overly suspicious of what either woman would do in a temper.
After steeling herself to face a disgruntled--and thus possibly dangerous--Marguerite, Veronica was startled to find the heiress fast asleep, the girl's head tucked comfortably beneath her arm. She shook her head ruefully. "Should have known you'd never cease to surprise me," the blonde whispered, placing the tray on the bedside table. Veronica paused at the door, turning to take one last glance at the unusual sight. A faint smile graced her lips before her mouth opened in shock.
"Impossible," she breathed, keen eyes surveying the scene again. A hand touched her shoulder and she jumped.
"Easy, it's just me," Ned smiled down at her. "Afraid to face our international jewel thief?" At her uncharacteristic reticence, he eased around her to look her in the eyes. "What is it?"
"You don't think," Veronica began hesitantly, then shook her head. "Never mind. It's impossible. Forget it." She turned away from him, leaving the poor man looking about in complete bewilderment as he noted the sleeping Marguerite. Finally succumbing to the fact he would never understand women, Ned Malone sighed and returned to his room.
Veronica heard his footsteps as he padded down to his room. He couldn't have seen, as she had, the striking resemblance between woman and child. Despite Marguerite's dark locks and the girl's fair ones, the two were near-images of each other. Faces in the repose adopted only in sleep, the similarities had become glaring--shape of the face, set of the eyes, delicacy of bone.
I won't believe it. It can't be true. It's impossible.
Shaking her head, she slipped into bed. It was impossible, utter nonsense. She had simply been imagining things…..or so she told herself. And yet, sleep was a long time in coming, and even then it offered only dark questions.* * *
Roxton awoke the next morning to a wonderful smell emanating from the upper level of the tree house. Veronica must have woken early to give us all a good breakfast, he thought cheerily. A kind act, typical of the jungle-born blonde. Dressing quickly in eager anticipation of a savory meal, the hunter strolled over to the kitchen. "Smells great, Veronica," he commented as he snatched a fruit from the table.
Looking up, he noted two pairs of eyes fixed upon him--green amused, blue confused. The fair-haired one spoke first. "Veronica? Oh, Miss Layton is sleeping still, I believe. But Marguerite here offered to help me with breakfast," the girl told him to his astonishment.
"Marguerite? Cook?" Roxton's tone said it all.
"Is there a reason she shouldn't cook?" His amused chuckle quickly became full-blown laughter at the child's confusion and Marguerite's annoyance.
"I'm John Roxton, by the way," he said, offering the girl his hand once he'd controlled his laughter.
"I know. Marguerite's told me all about you, Lord Roxton." His startled glance at the brunette seemed to amuse both ladies. "I'd like to thank you for saving my life yesterday," she continued.
"All in a day's work," he replied jovially. "I do hope that Marguerite's mentioned a few of my better traits, though."
"Which ones?" Marguerite's quick repartee seemed to amuse the girl even more.
It was then that Veronica decided to make her appearance. "Nice of you to cook, R--" she began, stopping abruptly at the sight of Marguerite. "Oh…Marguerite…nice of you to cook breakfast." The girl's slight smile amused Veronica despite her precarious situation with the heiress.
"I only did so because she wanted to," Marguerite replied crossly, pointing at the girl. "And I'm not going to do so again if all you both can do is stand and gape." Roxton and Veronica exchanged an amused glance as Marguerite resolutely returned to slicing fruit.
"Guess we'll set the table then, and leave the cooking to you ladies," Roxton said with a smile. Quickly finishing his self-appointed task, Roxton glanced back over at the kitchen. Marguerite, having finished with the fruits, was helping the girl grill pancakes on the "stove". The sight of them almost made him burst into laughter again. The girl was carefully checking the pancakes nearly every five seconds, while Marguerite was trying to help as much as possible while staying as far from it as she could.
Ned Malone strode in next, though at the emphatic gestures from the others made no comment on the current chefs. Marguerite's suspicious glare seemed to reinforce his resolve in controlling his usually cheeky tongue. Challenger chose to make his appearance just as Marguerite and the girl brought out breakfast--a heaping stack of steaming pancakes and a delicious-looking fruit salad. The chefs settled the platters on the table to the utter astonishment and pleasure of their clientele.
"Is…is something wrong?" the girl asked hesitantly when no one moved, her voice no more than a whisper. "Marguerite said that you all liked pancakes and we thought that you might like some. She said that they're your favorite, Lord Roxton, and that you would be hungry after yesterday."
"She said that, did she?" Roxton asked, raising an eyebrow at Marguerite.
"Yes, that. And I mentioned your lack of manners as well," the heiress shot back.
"They look wonderful," Veronica said appreciatively, quickly forestalling another argument between the two.
"That they do, my girl," Challenger agreed, serving himself a few. Ned had beaten them to it and had already finished half a pancake.
"Mmm…delicious," the reporter commented, before burying his face in more food. Conversation was suspended for a bit as the explorers devoured helping after helping, pausing only to commend the chefs. Both Marguerite and the girl's cheeks were flushed with pleasure from the unexpected praise.
Finally, when he could find no more food, Challenger stood with a groan. "That's more than I've eaten in years, and more than I should eat for years." The others laughed and he smiled. "I'll clean up here, since you ladies were kind enough to cook such a wonderful meal."
"I'll help," Ned offered.
"Well, Veronica and I should be off if we're to get anything today. I think we'll head over to where we found the girl and see if we can find any sign of her family or tribe," Roxton said.
"I guess that leaves you and I with the housework," Marguerite told the girl, who remained beside her. Roxton was surprised to discover that the child hadn't left Marguerite's side all morning. He noted the strange look Veronica's face and resolved to ask her about it later. Grabbing his rifle and his hat, he saluted Marguerite jauntily with his hat before joining Veronica in the elevator. A raised eyebrow and tiny smile was his only reply before he was swept out of sight.
* * *
Challenger had observed the morning's events with a barely concealed amusement. Their new houseguest had taken to following Marguerite about like a lost puppy, and the heiress obviously had no inkling of how to deal with the situation. Oh, she'd tried to foist the girl off on both men, but to no avail. The child always managed to find her way back to Marguerite. Ned had left shortly after lunch to chop firewood in an effort to conceal his mirth. Just because Marguerite had managed to still her razor-sharp tongue with the child, didn't mean she refrained from slashing poor Ned down when he'd unwisely neglected to conceal his laughter.
The girl. Challenger frowned. She was European, most likely British, he asserted. That much could easily be derived from her appearance and speech. Beyond that however, the scientist was at a loss. He had told them earlier that she couldn't be from an expedition, yet she wasn't from any tribe they'd encountered. Veronica said that she hadn't recognized the symbol on the necklace, but perhaps the Assai and the Zanga would know more. On one note, at least, they could be thankful—the child's injuries had practically healed overnight. Challenger was slightly unsettled by this anomaly, but attributed it to the healing powers of youth.
Looking up, he saw Marguerite heading towards him, her little blonde shadow still in tow. Until they found the child's family, he would enjoy watching Marguerite interact with her. The sight of the former thief forced to care for a thirteen-year-old girl was certainly entertaining, but the fact that Marguerite was actually good with the girl had been a real surprise. Even more unusual was that he couldn't detect any irritation in her demeanor, only amused resignation. "Challenger, we're going down to the far pond to do the laundry and go for a swim. We'll be back before dinner."
"Are you sure that's safe? What about her injuries? We don't want her to exert herself."
"We'll be fine. As you said, the wounds were superficial, and they're nearly healed. The walk is short, and I can handle myself." At his skeptical look, she continued, "I'll be careful. Don't worry about it. Isn't there some crazy experiment that demands your attention?"
"Oh, yes, yes of course. Go on." With that, the professor turned back to his lab, already in another world. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she turned to her shadow.
"Well, best be off before he blows up yet another section of the roof. Come along." Grabbing her basket of laundry, rifle, and hat, Marguerite strode into the elevator. The girl followed not a step behind, carrying another heaping pile of dirty laundry.
The walk was short and pleasant. Though farther than where they usually did laundry, Marguerite had thought the girl might enjoy the flower-filled meadow near the pond. Marguerite halted for a moment on the path in disbelief. She, Marguerite Krux, thief, seductress, and assassin--creature of the underworld--was going out of her way to take a girl to see some flowers. What has gotten into me?
"Marguerite?" a soft voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see that the girl had dropped her basket, face pale. "Can we stop for a minute, please? I wouldn't ask, but I..…I…..things are spinning," she finished wryly.
"Of course. It's not your fault. I should've been paying more attention. Here, come sit down." Silently Marguerite wondered at her own actions. She hadn't snapped at the child once all morning, she'd done things she thought the girl would like, and now she was apologizing? Inwardly she laughed at herself. If only my old "associates" could see me now, she thought. The fastest way to eliminate them all--let them die of shock.
"I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done," the girl said after a time. "I mean, I know I'm a hindrance and must be an annoyance, following you about. And you've been just wonderful. It's strange, you know? I can't seem to remember even my name, and yet I'm not frightened--I feel safe." She paused, deep in thought. "I know that it's strange to have this kind of conversation with a complete stranger, and yet…..it's like I've known you forever and can tell you anything." The girl turned her blue eyes to Marguerite, looking up at her earnestly. "Are you sure you don't remember me, or know anything about me?"
Marguerite hated to disappoint the girl, but she couldn't lie to her. She shook her head. "I'm sorry."
The girl's face fell for a moment before she composed herself. "That's all right. I'm sure I'll remember soon. It'd be strange for you to keep calling me 'girl' all the time. Let's go check out this pond of yours."
They reached the pond soon after and spent a pleasant hour scrubbing laundry while Marguerite told stories of their plateau life to the enthralled girl. Marguerite secretly enjoyed her young companion's undivided attention. The girl, for her part, found the stories both interesting and comforting. Slowly, the explorers were becoming friends rather than possible threats.
Even while engaged in two tasks, Marguerite's sharp blue-silver eyes missed little. She had carefully selected the more humorous of their adventures, leaving out the numerous no-win situations, near-fatal wounds, and some of the more barbaric practices of the natives. Had she not been worried of frightening the girl, she would have found the dearth of tales lacking the aforementioned articles amusing. As it was, she was somewhat relieved when they ran out of dirty clothing.
"What now?" Despite her injuries and amnesia, the girl was still a bundle of energy. Marguerite had also noted that the girl's moods were nearly as fickle as her own were--though never as venomous.
"Well, I thought you might enjoy a quick swim. And your dress could use a good scrubbing as well." Marguerite gestured to the bloodstained garment. "After that, there's something I think you might like to see before we head back."
"What is it?"
"It's a surprise. Now do you want to stay out in this heat or are you going to get in the water?" To Marguerite's surprise and alarm, the girl leapt straight into the pond, disappearing beneath its waters. "..…Girl? Are you all right?" Running to the water's edge, she scanned the surface for sign of her.
Suddenly the girl popped up in front of her, splashing water all over Marguerite as she laughed in delight. Spluttering angrily, Marguerite glared at her, eyes a stormy gray, indignant fury in her very posture. The girl grinned at her unrepentantly from the water, her blue eyes sparkling.
Marguerite couldn't help but return the smile. "So you think you're safe, do you?" With that short warning, the fight began in earnest. All wildlife fled the area as wild shrieks and shouts rang out from the clearing. The laundry got another thorough rinsing, as did every shred of clothing the two were wearing. Finally, exhausted, soaking wet, disheveled, and happier than she'd been in a long time, Marguerite collapsed on the bank. The girl sank down beside her, and her joyful laughter filling the air.
It was infectious, this jubilant herald of carefree innocence that Marguerite hadn't heard in years. She couldn't help herself--she joined in, and their laughter rang out, clear and bright. Marguerite experienced once again the exuberance of youth. She was not plagued with doubts about her past, fears for her future, but lived only in the joy of the moment.
When their laughter finally subsided, they just relaxed on the bank for a moment, silly smiles on their faces. Marguerite rose first, waterlogged clothes clinging to her slim body. "Well," she said with a small smile, "at least you got the blood off your dress."
A/N: There is a real reason for Marguerite's odd behavior. I might even figure out how to explain it.