I don't own any characters other than Elle Knight. That credit goes to the BBC

2

Elle curled up under a tree and tried to ignore the biting cold. She didn't know where she was. Worse, she didn't know when she was.

She had landed none too gently in the middle of the woods. After she had finished cursing the dragon, its ancestors, and its spawn, she had taken stock of her injuries. A split lip, bloddy knuckles, and a colorful collection of scrapes and bruises were all suvioners from her fall down the cliff. Nothing that some Neosporin wouldn't cure. Elle looked up at the sun and set off through the trees to try and figure out where she had been dumped. She wandered for hours until she came across a dirt road. She hid in the trees and hoped against hope that she had just crash landed in a renaissance faire. People in period clothing moved past, some mounted, but most on foot. In the distance, Elle caught sight of their destination, a magnificent white castle.

She was going to kill that dragon with her bare hands.

Elle pushed the dragon out of her mind and looked for cover. The sun had already started to dip low in the sky and there weren't going to be any street lights in this place. She ducked under a tree and tried to make herself comfortable. Shivering, she wished she had paid attention in Girl Scouts when they learned to build a fire. The air seemed permanently moist, and in no time her jeans were soaked through. It was already too dark for her to try and find a different place to sleep so Elle leaned back against the soft moss and tried to ignore how wet everything was.

Elle couldn't remember falling asleep, but she woke up when the tip of a sword pressed coldly against her throat. She opened her eyes, startled, and looked into the coldest pair of blue eyes she had ever seen.

"Get up slowly, witch."

She was surrounded by men on horseback, the sun only just starting to rise. Elle looked from one cold face to another, completely bewildered. She did as the man commanded and gulped past the sword still pressed to her skin.

"Is this completely necessary?" Elle asked.

She ducked to avoid the backhanded slap the knight aimed at her. The sword bit into her skin and Elle slammed her hand against the wound. Not deep. Not long. She would survive. Angrily, Elle stomped down hard on the flat of the sword and it was wretched from the knight's hand. She had startled him when she ducked, despite the blade at her throat. Had he truly been paying attention, she would never have gotten him to drop the sword.

"Was I bothering you?" Elle demanded. The other knights closed in on her angrily, but she was not interested in them. Her eyes were only on the old man. "No. I was asleep. Now, I'm sure I was very scary, lying there snoring, but take a Paxil and calm the fuck down!" She took the sword and chucked it over the knight's head so it landed somewhere in the woods. "Next time, learn some manners or, at the very least, get a better measure of who you are bothering before you swat at them!"

Uther Pendragon was a match for any man. He was a seasoned knight, a battle veteran, a proud king. But he was no match for the lecture directed at him from this petite woman. His knights poorly hid their amusement though they kept a careful eye and level sword on the stranger in case she did something stupid.

Uther was thoughtful. "If you are not a witch, how do you explain your clothes?" he asked.

She looked down at her jeans and t-shirt. No one expected her to laugh. The girl glanced carefully at the knights around her before she carefully took a step back. Without warning she launched herself into the air, tucked her knees, and executed a perfect front flip. She landed toe to toe with Uther a smile on her face. "I dress to be comfortable. And to move."

"Ladies wear dresses." Uther insisted, not impressed.

"I'm not much of a lady," Elle admitted.

"Father, this could just be a misunderstanding." Another knight spoke up. He was frowning at her, his blue eyes confused. "Perhaps it's best to just move on?"

Uther was fascinated by this strange capture. No one spoke to him that way. Ever. Morgana got her dander up every once in a while, but this was different. He dare say, refreshing. He looked her over in the pale, morning light. Someone had beaten her, Uther observed. Her lip was split and there were terrible bruises up and down her arms. Aside from the blood that dripped down her neck to stain her strange tunic, he had no idea where her injuries had come from. She was small with a head of dark curls and large dark eyes that blazed with indignation. If she would only stop scowling, she would be very pretty indeed.

"What is your name?" Uther asked, thoughtful. He still wasn't sure that he didn't want to have her killed.

"Elizabeth Knight." Elle looked up and grinned wickedly. "Buh-bye."

Uther immediately dismissed any thought of the girl being magic. She was far too scrappy. She stuck her foot into another knight's face and used him to vault herself into the tree they had found her under. Uther sighed as acorns and leaves rained down on them.

"Bring her down, but don't kill her. She is amusing, if nothing else."

"Milord, do you think her a witch?"

Uther shook his head. "I think her a fool. Get her down."

Arthur had never seen anyone move like that in his life. She was fluid and grace and very, very fast. Fortunately for his knights, she had absolutely no fighting skills. Elizabeth Knight squirmed and flailed like a boneless cat, but eventually, they got her down.

Elle sat in the moss, shivering with cold, with a dozen swords on her. Still nothing would stop that mouth. "Don't you have anything better to do?" she demanded.

Uther smiled. "I can't decide whether to execute her or applaud her," he whispered to Arthur.

"Father, we did bother her first. And I still don't think she realizes who we are. Just look at her. There is no way she is from Camelot."

"Then she will be educated. Be thankful, Elizabeth Knight, that my son has a kinder heart than I do." He turned to Arthur. "You want her to live? She is your responsibility. If there are any problems," he turned his cold eyes on Elle, "any at all, she will become my responsibility. And I deal with problems in only one way."

Elle recognized a threat when she heard one. The knights all began to mount up again and depart. One stayed behind, the one that had spoken for her. He extended his hand to her and pulled her off the ground. Her hands were freezing. Upon closer inspection, Arthur realized she was shivering head to toe, her lips almost blue with the cold.

"I'm Prince Arthur," he said.

Elle stared at him for a long time before she started swearing again. "Fan-fucking-tastic."

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