Prologue -- Santa Barbara, 1989

"This is stupid!" Shawn mumbled, throwing down his pencil on the table. He leaning back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and watched dismally as the pencil rolled off the table and onto the floor.

Henry looked up from the evening's newspaper, pausing midway in his venture to take a gulp of coffee. If he knew anything about his son, it was that whatever he was about to say, it would involve some sort of complaining or pleading in order to weasel his way out of the act of finishing his homework that night. A venture that would prove useless, if he had anything to say about it. For now, though, he decided to humor him. "And what, exactly, is so stupid, Shawn?" he asked, setting his paper down and looking across the table toward him.

"This story!" Shawn cried, tapping the half-written paper in front of him as if to prove a point. "Romeo and Juliet? Come on! I could think up better stories in my sleep." He pushed his English book away from him defiantly in another attempt to flaunt his unrest.

Henry had to hold back a taunting smile before it could spread across his features. Instead, he reached forward and pulled the book toward him, flipping through the pages before looking up at his son again. "You could, could you?" he said nonchalantly, still beating around the bush to see what kind of argument Shawn could come up with, and whether it was worth discussing at all.

"Of course! Instead of 'star cross'd lovers' I'd have dragons, knights and castles. That's what people want to read. Not some depressing story about two people killing themselves over 'the power of love.' Pff."

Henry could do nothing but shake his head at his son's response. "And this has nothing to do with you watching Conan the Barbarian for the eighth time this afternoon?"

Shawn paused. "No," he replied, resisting the urge to glance at the TV where the movie was paused at the ending credits. The seasoned police officer before him could tell he was lying through his teeth.

Henry sighed and got up from his chair, pushing the book back toward Shawn and turning it to the first page. "First of all, Shawn, this is a play, not some fantasy story that you can just pick up and immediately understand. There are certain elements Shakespeare conveys that no ordinary work of fiction could even begin to elaborate on. Second, the world you're describing doesn't even relate to the setting of Romeo and Juliet. Why would there be dragons in a love story?"

"But there was a sword fight and everything!" Shawn feebly countered, glaring at the painting of the two lovers in his book.

"Yes, there was. And why were they fighting?"

"Um..." Shawn muttered, frowning as he realized he had fallen right into his father's trap. "Love."

"Exactly," Henry said, leaning down and picking up his pencil off the floor. He handed it to Shawn and pushed his chair closer to the table. "Now finish your essay, and no killer robot doodles in the corner like last time." He picked up his newspaper and coffee cup and headed into the living room.

Shawn looked down at his paper, his frown developing into a scowl as he leaned over and began to write with more force than necessary.

"At least Arnold Schwarzenegger did it with style.."

Present-- Santa Barbara, 2010

Shawn Spencer was a man of simple tastes. He enjoyed the mantra of 80s movies, obscure jokes and water balloon fights as much as the next person.

So it's only logical that when the opportunity came to play dress up, he was the first in line.

"Gus! Hurry up! They're about to open the gates!" Shawn yelled, pacing in front of the covered dressing room stall.

"I can't believe you talked me into this, Shawn." A disgruntled voice came from within the stall, followed by some stumbling and muted cursing.

"Pff. It's only for one day. You've been coming here forever and this is the first time you tell me you can rent costumes?" The faux psychic chuckled, knocking against the wood in an attempt to hurry his best friend along.

"I have not been coming here forever, Shawn. You're the one who brought me along. I don't even like these festivals."

"This coming from the man who cried for three days after hearing Heath Ledger died."

"What? He was great actor, you can't deny it. Besides, what does that have to do with anything?" Gus replied, futilely trying to defend himself against Shawn's persistent taunts.

"Dude, you've seen A Knights Tale like, 27 times. It's not hard to piece together the reason why you come here every year," Shawn said nonchalantly, bouncing on the balls of his feet and debating whether he should just leave Gus to his own devices and just sprint toward the gates, where they were starting to let the crowd in.

There was some more fumbling inside the stall before the reply came. "I do not come here every year. Why do you care that I express an interest in the Italian Renaissance?"

"We've already been through this at Tri-Con, Gus. There's a certain--" Shawn stopped when he saw Gus step out of the stall, clad in a jaded green tunic and pants, with a hat to go with it. He had to clamp down on his lip to stop his initial response of laughing out loud. "What are you, Peter Pan?"

Gus looked down at his outfit and then glared at Shawn, adjusting his hat. "I'm Robin Hood."

"What? The men in tights version?"

"Stop it, Shawn. You know you took the only last good costume on the rack. I had very limited options to choose from," Gus shot back.

Shawn looked down at his own costume, smirking as he did so. He did look very good, if he said so himself. His outfit consisted of a whole suit of shiny plate armor and chain mail, similar to the ones worn at a jousting tournament. "Well, this probably the only time I'm ever going to be coerced into attending a Renaissance Faire, so why not go all out? Anyway, come on. We're going to miss it."

The unlikely duo made their way toward the front gates, where the crowd had managed to dwindle down to a manageable few. They gave the attendants their tickets and headed inside. Shawn seemed somewhat intrigued by the different outfitted people around them, stopping occasionally to ogle certain scantily clad women and stare at odd street signs advertising some of the weirdest food he'd ever seen or heard of in years.

"A Scottish Egg? What the heck is that? Since when is an Egg of Scottish origin? Do the chickens come from Scotland?"

Gus knew even trying to answer that question would only bring about a slew of new ones, so he kept quiet and continued their trek toward the jousting stadium, where distant cheers and shouts could be heard. He knew the layout of this place a lot better than Shawn, who was struggling to keep up, not being able to resist the oddities that surrounded him.

They managed to find seats in the stadium near the front, after pestering a group of teenagers who were taking up a whole row by laying down. They were just in time too, because just as they sat down a booming voice surrounding the stadium, announcing the start of the event.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Milords and Miladies! Put your hands together for your champion and renowned knight, Sir Mitchell Williams!" The crowd cheered as a rugged man on a white steed trotted into the stadium, brandishing his lance for all to see and generating even more of an uproar.

"Mitchell Williams? Really?" Shawn scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why can't they have better names? Like Tak the Dragonslayer, or Bartholomew the Merciless, or Moe the Flatulent?"

"Moe the Flatulent?" Gus asked, giving Shawn a pointed look.

"Well, I didn't say they were all good," Shawn replied, pausing for a moment as he heard the next name being called. "Now that's a name," he announced to Gus when another knight by the name of Rhys MacIntire was called into the stadium, galloping along on a black horse. The two knights faced each other and gave a bow, before turning and heading toward their respective posts at each end of the field. Shawn blinked as he saw one of the many hooded servants on the field adjust something with Rhys' lance before handing it to him, but then he just shrugged as the horn blew signaling the start of the first round.

The horses started off at a trot and then gradually gained speed as they neared each other. The knights atop them raised their lances and then lowered them to point at chest level. Gus was cheering loudly beside him along with the rest of the crowd. Shawn himself had to admit he was interested to see the outcome of the joust, even though he knew it was all fake.

A resounding crash was heard throughout the stadium as the two knights met at the middle with their lances. There seemed to be a long silence as they watched the one named Mitchell get propelled off his horse and onto the ground, splinters from the lance raining down on him. Rhys managed to stay on his horse and gave a victory gallop around the stadium as he was greeted with more cheers.

"Damn! That Rhys dude must be really good! He unhorsed him in one blow!" Gus said excitedly, until he saw Shawn's hardened look and frowned. He followed his best friend's gaze to Mitchell, who was still on the ground and beginning to be surrounded by attendants on the field. The cheers died down to a whisper and they watched with breathless anticipation as one of the servants turned the knight onto his back.

There was a collective gasp around the crowd, and then a scream. A bright red color could be seen tainting the bright armor the knight wore before it was covered quickly by one of the attendees. The damage had already been done however, loud voices and shouts surrounded them, and not of the cheering kind.

Sir Mitchell Williams was dead.