Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are property of Disney. The characters of Dr. Marianne Ellis and Cameron Ellis are property of me, Trynia Merin. Charles Quin Cassidy and Michelle Jennfer Cassidy as well as the magical sword Wavedancer are property of Javagoddess which I use with her permission. Our characters mean no harm to the show. Mummies Alive characters mentioned are property of DIC. My thanks to Jade for html coding and editing, and to Javagoddess for her inspiration in this one!
To Slay Or Not to Slay the Dragon
By Trynia Merin/ Janeth Rhian
Part 2: Ancient Feuds
1035 AD Scotland
Laughter ensued from the lofty halls of Castle Moray. It was early fall, the harvest having been taken in little by little by the toiling of the serfs under the Clan's protection. Frost began to chill the air, precipitating on every leaf and sheaf that was not already safely gathered in. Among the shorn fields ran the road to the Castle, splitting the fields in twain as it wound around the hillside towards the cliff. Many a traveler passed by this way in Summer for Tournament, and Spring for Maying and such. Still they tolerated the fires of Beltain secretly, knowing many of the old religion still sneaked away to practice such pagan rites. Many a druid still crept among the trees to do their own rituals, unmolested. There was still powerful magic in the countryside, that even the new religion brought a few generations ago, could not ignore or suppress without uprising from some of the powerful Clans. MacBeth stood at Gruoch's side, thumbing his chin thoughtfully as he watched his lad playing.
It was another such day free of battle, free of danger save those of the disruptive clan feuds that might erupt without his mediation. Always something shuffled the powers amongst the various Clans and alliances in Scotland. Then it was either King or counselor that put it to rights, by his reason, or by sword if need be. "Moray is still beautiful this time, beloved," Gruoch cooed into his ear, and he sighed.
"Indeed I far prefer it to the usual pageantry of Scone," he muttered his affirmation. Here at Moray they could relax a bit, far from the usual hustling at the main seat of power.
"Has been ten years past since we quit these halls, and I miss them so," she sighed back. "Aye, my wife. I too long for simpler times... but think of the many days we have not had worry of battle. And I am at your side as I always wished. I grow sick of war."
"One only wishes the clans themselves would behave," she whispered, lowering her voice.
"There's no denying there's no love lost between Stuart and others," he muttered. It was a tenuous peace holding Scotland together. Yet Moray, his ancestral clan, held much wealth and power, keeping the smaller clans in line. And now that Moray was fused with the main holdings of the King, it remained his chief duty to keep Scotland strong and united. For if it fractured, it could fall and the pieces would take all God's wisdom to glue together. Suddenly there came a clattering of armored feet upon the stairs. Gruoch drew in her breath sharply as her father and several other retainers moved into their chambers.
"Do forgive the intrusion, Sire, but there has been a ghastly accident from one of the outer Clan's properties," Grouch's father Bodhe, and MacBeth's steward huffed.
"Father... I thought ye were out t' hunt," she said.
"And what prey we found that found us," muttered one of the others, Constantine.
"Hush lad," Bodhe muttered. "What is this... that has found you?"
"Your favorite squire, had found it fit to follow the rabbit to the forest depths... along the outer forest of your land... and later when he did not return, we sought the council of several bewildered clansmen under Moray's allegiance... and they were sore afraid. Yon lad lay sick abed with many a blooded wound."
"What?" MacBeth gasped. "My son's friend, and cousin Hamish down?"
"They moaned and said a Dragon itself had been seen."
"Dragon?" asked MacBeth. Gruoch shivered. "But we have not seen scale nor wing of such in Moray for centuries!"
"Aye tis true. But it is said they lay in wait, for their waiting comes in droves."
"Not to question, but my son had sought one for his spurs, and there were none to be found in all of Moray," MacBeth muttered. "True, but they saw it the same. And the clawmarks have said it so."
"Could it not be a Gargoyle?"
"Don't even say that!" MacBeth snapped. "You know we are allied with Demona's clan... and she is my chief advisor. If she were to even suspect you accuse one of hers you'd be as good as dead."
"Forgive me but it is a valid query," Gruoch said to her husband. "Gargoyle claws and Dragon claws. Can they not look the same?"
"We need one who knows Dragons and their ways," MacBeth mused.
Later, MacBeth told Demona of the news. She landed, and paced about the battlements as the Moon rose overhead. "Fools! If they cannot tell the work of a Gargoyle from a Dragon."
"Please, it is not their fault for their ignorance." MacBeth pleaded. "But none of us has seen a Dragon for generations."
"Hmm, pity them. But I tell you it is not a Gargoyle who would do this... for all the Gargoyles still alive in Scotland are known to me!" she hissed, eyes turning red. "I know... but I need your advice... how do I deal with a Dragon?"
"Why must you humans see fit to conquer and deal with those that may need to survive?" Demona asked him. "I swore to protect Scotland and all her inhabitants... if this Dragon is a threat."
"Does that only mean those citizens who are Human?"
"No... that is not what I meant," he sighed.
"I know you do not mean otherwise. But I must be ever wary of those that destroy my clan," she sighed. "What have you seen of Dragons?"
"There are many sorts. And they are most cleverer than most Humans," she muttered. "My kind has had many dealings with them. And not all are favorable. But be warned, they will stop at nothing to survive, as my clan would."
At the high castle, MacBeth sat fretful upon his throne. There had been more tales of attacks, and even the advice of those magicians he had sought had proved useless. He'd even visited the forests in the hope he could find those practices of the Goddess religion, for who better would know the ways of such creatures then they? But such kept their words from Christian men, lest their precious ways be forever taken from them. So he sat, watching the local Bards that had since come through, relating their tales of Song for a meal or a weeks lodging. Most of the minstrels had proved to know the same songs and tales he had known as a boy.
"I bid you greetings, most High King," came the newest voice. "I beg of your hospitality, for I bear tales from Eire, emerald isle... by way of Moray, and ask that I may entertain you this night."
"Do sit by the fire, and keep us in thrall," Gruoch asked, her breath drawing in sharply.
One musician seemed the same as another, save this newest that had come to take his turn at the hearth, a strange fellow that looked of the old Goddess Religion. He could glimpse the blue wode upon the wrists, that he himself had taken as a last vestige to the old ways, and the peculiar absence of cross or Christian symbol upon the man's person. Not unusual in itself, but the peculiar accent with which he uttered his song smacked of Eire. Many bards trained in that tradition had that lilt, and an almost spellbinding edge to their voice. Gruoch herself sat transfixed as those most blue eyes flashed with delight, holding her under what must be witchcraft.
"My wife, what ails you?" he asked, moving her elbow.
"What... pray forgive me Husband, but I was elsewhere... the music is captivating." A twinkle came within the eyes of the Bard, as he finished his song. A sigh of sadness came as he ceased.
"You, come here!" MacBeth said. "Good sir, I would ask you to come closer, and tell us more of your land."
"You do me much honor, most high King," the musical voice replied, with a slight laugh. Long raven hair fell about his shoulders as a black waterfall. He wore no beard, his face rounded with youth, inconsistent with the eyes that held so much wisdom. Indeed they seemed the slightest shade off from the blue he originally thought. Almost a green. The golden Torque about his neck had the heads of two dragons facing each other. Not unusual for a heathen... but when he glimpsed the symbol of the Dragon amongst the man's harp ornamentation.
"Your song, of Dragons.," he muttered. "Had me most interested since there has been no Dragon in Moray for centuries."
"Would that it was true?" the man asked, eyes winking. "For I have heard otherwise."
"Indeed," MacBeth said. "And it is obviously of interest to you."
"As it is of interest to you, good Sire."
"You see, there are not many that know of Dragons, save those who have won their spurs by their quest," MacBeth spoke. "And those of us are few and far between."
"And you wish for me... to perhaps help you, for you'd be having trouble."
"Aye for we don't know how many there are," MacBeth said calmly. "I'd be reminding you a lance isn't the only way to stop a Dragon," the Bard said coolly. "Be it so, but I am sworn to protect my people, those under my reign... and already one of my men has taken ill."
"Perhaps I may help him," the Bard said. "If I would be permitted to see him."
"If you can help him, perhaps... you would consider joining us other nights by the fire, good Musician. And there may even be a place for you if you can help us against this... Dragon."
"I would ask a boon of you sire, if I am to help."
"Name it."
"That no one is to quest this Dragon, till I have seen it myself... and that there be more told about them... for there may be a way to stop it without risking the lives of those men under your Oath."
"I say slay it!" came a voice, which MacBeth silenced with a raised hand.
"And risk your life? No wouldn't it be far better to find another way? There is more than one way to deal with a Dragon... if you know how... that would leave a wife with her brave husband there to bounce his children on his knee, and warm her bed with his presence."
"Well spoken," Gruoch muttered. MacBeth didn't fail to notice this. Nor the fact that every other maiden and matron in the hall had their eyes on the Bard as well.
September 1st 1999 MacBeth's Mansion in New York City:
Steel clanged on steel. Sweat poured and steamed up her glasses. Mary panted, as if for her very life. She spun about; both hands clutching the heavy long sword as she arched it over and met his blade from behind. "Guid!" came Lennox's voice. "But never break your attention, lass!"
Mary spun, slicing air as she inhaled another breath. Her eyes fixed firmly into those of Lennox MacDuff. Switching his sword to one hand, he eyed her thoughtfully, matching his pace to hers. Underfoot the glossy waxed floor squeaked as she set into a fencing pose. "No, this is no fencing!" he reminded her. "Dinnae think like that... this is real broadsword fighting... from the most ancient of days... look up! Keep yuir back straight... And keep yair opponent off balance..." His next arc swung, harshly beating against her weapon. Mary despaired as her sword sprung out of her bruised hand. She saw his next stroke, swinging close. Screaming in fear she threw up her foot, to kick his wrist. MacBeth grunted, backing away as Marianne ducked his next pass, and threw her into his midsection. Angrily she shoved him down, grabbing his sword arm with all her strength. A feral scream erupted from her throat, from far beneath her rational thought. "Easy lass!" MacBeth said, pushing her off him. "Lesson's over! Take a breath now..."
"I am sorry," she said. "But I hate... being defenseless..."
"Where did that come from?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "For a moment there it felt as if I was fighting a savage!"
"I don't know... something snapped in me..."
"No harm done," he said, brushing himself off as Mary picked up her sword from the floor. "Ye've a lot of anger and instinct. Ye got to channel it, lass. And it was grand that you kept fighting even though ye were disarmed. A true warrior does not let the lack of a weapon stop them. But ye need more skill. And then ye'll not need to resort to throwing your opponent down with brute strength."
Marianne saw the look of pride beaming bright in those blue eyes. And the thrill of adrenaline pounded in her veins. She felt so alive at that moment when she'd hit him down. That thrill filled her with shame and guilt. No, I'm supposed to hate fighting... why do I like it? What is happening to me?
"Why is there that look of doubt in yair eyes, lass?" he asked her, pulling off his fencing mask as he came to her side. "I only speak truth."
"I felt so alive that moment. But I abhor violence... what if it consumes me?"
"All the muir reason t' be properly trained. Ancient knights went through years of training from bairn to manhood. Ye canne expect t' be a true warrior in a few short weeks. Great fighters are forged like a sword, not shaped out of nothing like a magician's spell."
"I thank you, Lennox," she said softly, catching her breath. "But I still feel such confusion inside."
"Lass, you will be a good fighter. Lord knows ye have the heart and spirit of a warrior. I knew it when I first lay eyes on ye. Yer blood is that of the Hielanders, ma ain. The Stewart is the blood of kings... as is what flows in yair veins... and is nothing to be hidden away. Why else would have you been chosen to fight by Andrew himself?"
"But you wanted nothing but to destroy me," she said, looking at the floor. "And here I am taking lessons from you!"
"Twas Morgan of the Fairies that bewitched me before. You must trust me, lass. I have my ways about me, but I am a King of Scotland, and a King without Honor is not worthy to wear the Crown.. nor never was."
"I have to go," she said hastily, handing him back the sword as she carefully wiped it off. "No, keep it. Lest ye loose your fighting edge."
"I couldn't possibly... it must be one of your finest."
"A good blade. Take it. As a student."
Reluctantly she took the weapon as he sheathed it in its scabbard. There was no magic. It was just an ordinary sword, albeit a relic from Lord only knows how many centuries ago. And rushed quickly out of Lennox' apartment as she felt the electricity pass from his hand to hers.
September 7th, 1999, Central Park West;
Marianne arrived back at her apartment late. Blood flushed her face as she fumbled with her keys, promptly dropping them. "Confound it!" she cursed, as she felt the sword thump in its casing too. Heart pounding she kicked open the door. Had to get in. had to look busy? She slipped the sword under the couch, and sat upon it, breathing heavily. What was going on? He was he instructor! But why would he give her a sword? All these doubts and confusions flustered her all the more. When the doorbell rang she jumped two feet out of the chair. She opened the door, to see Chas there, a smile upon his face. It was too much, as she felt a bit dizzy. The smile melted into a look of concern as the fresh bouquet he carried was forgotten, and his slender hands gripped her. "Mary, whatever is the matter?" he asked her. Soothing warmth filled her arms as his healing energies moved into her body. He guided her to the sofa and sat her down.
"Nothing," she breathed heavily. And felt quite ill.
"Mary, have you forgotten t' eat lunch again?"
"Yes, that's it... I must have forgotten to eat."
"Yer all breathless... where were you?"
"Having a bit of a workout," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "I had forgotten you were coming over, or I would have been here sooner."
"No harm done," he grinned. For a moment she settled down. Till his sharp eye noticed something poking out from under the couch. Mary kicked it back with her heel as she grabbed the bouquet from his hands.
"These... are lovely... you didn't have to."
"I insist," he smiled, kissing her hand. And took both of her hands in his. "I've news."
"So have I."
"You first," he said.
"I've been offered a chance... to do some traveling... for a unique trip... to England..." she breathed. "Oh..." he said. "And when... would this be?"
"In a week or so. As you know I am not an American Citizen, and I must renew my work Visa. So the MOMA is sending me over to handle an art restoration project they are handling with the British museum. For a whole month. I could be there longer, but that bit's tentative. They need someone familiar with the English preservationists."
"That's wonderful," Chas says, gripping her hands. "And I... have news as well, and some important questions to ask you..." His foot brushed against something, and he looked down. A strap protruded from under the couch.
Hastily Mary pushed it back with her heel, in desperation. His eyes questioned as he glanced down. "What's wrong... what is that... it looks like a camera case strap or a gym bag."
"Er, it's nothing, something I'm keeping for a friend," she hastily said, and her face flushed. But those blue eyes clouded over, and she felt the blood in her face.
"Mary... what is that?" he asked, and he pulled the strap as he extracted a casing for a weapon. Instead of the gym bag he'd expected.
"I..." she stammered.
Chas quickly undid the lacing of the package before she could stop him. For how could she hide it from him, who was a blacksmith, and who had make weapons? And he whom could tell a blade's condition on sight would certainly tell a wrapped sword with the same ease. He held up the scabbard, his fingers tracing over it. "This... is a fine blade indeed... but why?"
"I needed to practice," she said, face hot as she stammered out an explanation. "And. I didn't want to use Wavedancer for a mere sparring."
"Of course not Mary, but why didn't you ask me? I would have given ye a blade easily fr t' practice. Wait... where did you get this?"
"It's a loan," she said, not sure of how much to tell him. He drew the blade, and ran his finger over the edge. Picking up the sword he balanced it in his hand, testing the weight, and reversed the pommel as he stared down its length.
"This... alloy isn't modern... yet it's steel... but forged by human hand... and the grain is..."
His eyes grew gray as his jaw clenched. Slowly he sheathed the blade in its scabbard again. Mary winced at his angry stare. Like a volcano waiting to erupt, there was dead silence, and calmness in his frame that scared her.
"There is only one place you could this sword." he said, voice low. Ice laced each syllable. "Tell me the truth Mary, all of it."
Not able to look him in the eyes, she took the weapon from him. "He offered to teach me," she stammered. "And you... I need to be the best... I can... for my mission."
"Don't you know what this man is capable of?" Chas' voice said, in that low quiet tone that stabbed into her even worse then it would if he had yelled.
"It's not what you think," Mary said, seeing the accusation in his eyes. "Nothing happened."
"Mary, he's a betrayer!" Chas voice rose, the fire present. His raised voice made her flinch.
"I need to learn!" Mary shouted back. "There is only so much you can teach me! And when you aren't here... and enemies may strike at any time!"
"He's an old enemy of mine!"
"I know, but you worked together to help rescue Arthur and me! Can't you put aside your feud for the greater good? Besides, the Gargoyles have said MacBeth has changed... and had spoken in their defense!"
"He can't be trusted!"
"Why are so angry at him?"
"He slew one to whom I had given trust!" Chas cried. "And I cannot believe you would ask him of all people as a teacher!"
"I must be able to effectively fight! Can't you put your differences behind you! He saved our lives, and proved himself to the Gargoyles! He is an ally of King Arthur!" Mary protested, looking him straight in those eyes, which were crimson by now.
"It's not yer business to worry about that!" he suddenly snapped. "I forbid ye to see him!"
"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice cold. "He's corrupted your mind! Using you to get to me! Don't ye see it?"
"I cannot believe you'd say that!"
"It's not beyond him to try! He's using you Mary! He wants you for himself, and I'll not let him take you from me!"
"Don't you trust me to make my own decisions!"
"It's not you I mistrust! It's him!"
"Then fine!" Mary spits. "Who are you to judge what is right and wrong for me?"
"I am the man y' love!" he retorted, the orange glare like fire in his gaze. "And I don't want t' see ye get hurt! Curse it! Y' have another responsibility to yourself, and to me!" he exploded, grabbing both her shoulders and shaking her. For a moment it looked as if he'd hit her. But she knew he would no stoop so low.
"You owe it to me to remain true to both!" he shouted.
"Get your hands off me, or so help me," she cried, pushing away. Anger boiled up, hot and wicked. How dare he, this presumptuous self-righteous prig! To presume ownership of her life, her destiny! "How dare you presume such a thing!" she cried. "Who are you... that says this! To think I am cheating on you.. You jealous..."
"I only want to protect you! And keep you from being corrupted by those that would seek to turn you to darkness! Even if blasted George himself is leading you to it!"
"I have a responsibility, to him! To be the best I can, and do what he asks!"
"Can ye not have the freedom to decide fer yerself if it's worth becoming his slave? What if he asks you to do something you know is wrong? Then what will ye tell yer precious Saint then?"
Chas fell silent. While she felt the next angry words flow before she could stop them, "You're not my father, my brother, or my husband! What gives you the right to tell me how I should live my life?"
Her words hit him sharply, for his angry face evaporated into shock. The eyes became a deep shade of blue, holding sadness and more hurt than she could imagine. Angry tears moistened them, as they regarded her. Mary felt a piece of her die in that instant. And a barrier closed off her surge of feelings in the next. Separation came in the eyes, as if she could no longer reach him. "If that's the way it is, is it?" he said quietly. The crestfallen look stabbed at her heart. His eyes became deep indigo as he turned away from her. Stooped over he left the room in icy silence.
"I suppose it is," she returned, voice low and flat.
"Then so be it," he replied, voice dead. Hot anger flared in Mary as she slammed the door behind him. "How dare he!" she cried. "How dare he!" Again and again she screamed these words, like a mantra. Till her sounds came into the empty apartment with no answer. Sobbing she buried her face into the sofa, banging the floor with her fist.
Scotland 1035AD, the forests of Moray:
"Stand back, men!" MacBeth shouted to his retainers. Again the Dragon reared, spewing its green gas upon them. Coughing and choking they fell back. Slowly it moved, to cover the entrance to the cave.
"Back you beastie!" shouted Constantine. "IN the name of God get back!"
Roaring the Dragon swiped, as Constantine moved forwards. A strange urge seized him, as he held his lance, the reigns of his weapon in one hand. The lance point danced, as the Dragon's eyes followed the bright skewer.
"Fall back you fool!" MacBeth shouted. Suddenly everything happened at once. For Constantine's lance moved, stabbing into the beast's flank as his horse reared. There came an angry bellow as the Dragon reared, green gas belching into the man's face. Constantine's horse whinnied, falling over as the gas stunned him.
"No!" MacBeth shouted. "Get out of there ye idjit!"
There came a swat of claws that easily brushed the young Knight aside. And he sailed into the bushes. Angrily the Dragon flapped its wings, a mighty wind slashing against the party. Their horses reared, sending the men back in fear. Galloping they vanished, stopping only to pick up the wounded and fallen.
"That spawn of hell!" cried one of the men.
"You fools, it's going to get us now!" shouted Bodhe.
"Fall back!" There came a loud roar from overhead, as they saw a jade and emerald shape pass over the sun. A loud blast of fire singed trees ahead, cutting off their retreat as they hastened.
"Fly! Fly!" MacBeth screamed. Only when they reached the gates of Moray did they stop. Constantine had lost much blood as MacBeth urged everyone in.
"Drop the portcullis... it's a Dragon attack!" The Dragon whirled, slashing with its tail as it circled. There came a hiss and whoosh of flame that narrowly missed. And then winging and dipping, it flew quickly away. "Don't come back, monster!" MacBeth shook his fist at it.
October 2nd, 1999, Indoor Pistol Range in NYC:
"You can't go on like this," Elisa Maza told Marianne as she took aim at the paper square, 15 yards distant. Mary gritted her teeth as she pulled the trigger of her 0.22 beretta. With a flash and a pop the little bullet slammed it's way into the target downrange. Shot after shot she placed, till the magazine was spent. Elisa took her place after Mary, clicked off the safety of her 0.38. And aimed with all precision. Behind her plastic safety glasses her eyes narrowed. And unloaded the whole magazine in seconds.
"Your turn."
Marianne selected her revolver, a 38 smith and Wesson, a reproduction that she carefully kept in her safe when company was over. Taking a deep breath, she aimed carefully.
"I called his apartment, but there was no answer... and I even called his sister. She said she had no idea where he was."
"That's not good," Elisa said.
"I feel totally rotten," Marianne sighed, firing another round. One bullet spanged off the floor. Putting down the empty gun, Marianne felt her jaw clench. "I just can't think."
"Mary, look. I'm your friend. And from what you told me, he was foolish to assume he could tell you what to do. When you'd made your mind up. But did you stop to think how much it hurt him that you went to MacBeth in the first place?"
"I know it did! But MacBeth told me himself that this had nothing to do with... oh the blazes with it. I'll never see him again. And it's all my stupid pigheadedness," Her face crumpled yet again. And she turned her back to Elisa, tears dripping down her cheeks. Lately she seemed to do nothing but cry.
Elisa took her friend in her arms and hugged her close. "Now look, you have to get on with your life," she said. "I know this hurts. But you have a career, and a very special destiny. A responsibility. Maybe he's not willing to be part of it... but you sound like you were only acting in duty. Being a cop, I know it's hard to choose..."
"Elisa, I've lost him."
"If he really loves you, you'll find him again. Lord knows you love him, or you wouldn't be this miserable. Jalapeno, I've had my troubles with my own relationships. I've doubted him many times. But always our bond triumphs. And yours will too, if you're meant to be."
"But what do I do?"
"As I said before. Get on with living. Don't let this stop you. That's the last thing he'd want. Give him some time... and he'll come back if he really loves you."
"Or if I go after him," Marianne said resolutely. "What do you mean?"
"I... think I have an idea where he might have gone. But there's no way of..."
"Oh no, are you thinking?"
"Perhaps... but I leave for England tomorrow... for a stint at the British Museum... and while I'm traveling... I could take a week or two of holiday to go home... see Mum and Da."
"That might be what you need. But take care."
"Elisa, haven't your friends heard anything about him?"
"Nope. None of my PI friends have seen anything. But don't worry. You'll be the first to know if we do."
"I appreciate this."
"Hey. And I'll ask our friends if they've seen anything."
"I'll ask them myself," Marianne smiled.
Scotland 1035AD Castle Moray:
"You fools, don't ye naff idjits know what ye've done?" Cassidy shouted as they limped in. Constantine wheezed and choked, gasping as blood dripped from a chest wound. "You speak course indeed, Eire one!" snapped the Steward. "Can ye help him?"
"Bloody fool," MacBeth snapped. "He just had to take the beast on himself!"
"What?" Cassidy exploded. "Why did you provoke it?"
"It was attacking a farming field, and we hastened to stop it!" MacBeth shouted. "Ever closer it comes to Moray... why we trapped it before the cave."
"Trapped it?" Cassidy questioned, raising a dark eyebrow. Slowly he examined Constantine, pulling off the armor to look at the wound. Expertly he applied a mixture of herbs and poultice, stanching the bleeding to a halt. Taking a strange dust he breathed it into the man's gasping mouth. Constantine stopped heaving, and turned on his side, hurling into a basin.
"He'll be all right. No thanks to his foolishness," Cassidy finally said to the waiting group.
"Why are you so sharp, Cassidy?" MacBeth asked him. "One of my men was wounded."
"Because ye provoked it!" Cassidy countered. "I warned ye... that dragon is a mother... protecting its nest... which was most likely in that cave!"
"Its lair?" MacBeth asked.
"Yes."
"On Moray, a dragon's clutch?"
"You must give me time... I can stop it... but it will take time... please I beg of you... if you want your men to live you must,"Cassidy pleaded with them.
"All right. One more day. But if it kills another subject, so help me, I won't hesitate to stop it!" MacBeth hissed, turning as he left Constantine to revive in the Bard's care.
"Bloody fools," Cassidy muttered. More vigorously then necessary he slapped the herb-laden sponges to the fallen knight's chest.
October 7th, 1999 8pm Marianne's Apartment:
Marianne was just putting another carefully folded shirt into her suitcase when she heard a soft tapping at her glass. Turning, she moved to the night darkened window. Two white eyes blazed behind the panel, after she raised the blind. There came another soft scratching. Marianne swung open the deadbolt, sighing with relief, "You scared the life out of me for a moment... the pair of you..."
"Sorry, we just thought we'd stop by..." said Brooklyn.
"Yeah, we were in the neighborhood..."added Lexington.
"Come in, it's a bit chilly," Marianne said, swinging open the door.
Brooklyn and Lexington moved into the warmly lit space. "Heard you were leaving," Brooklyn muttered, as his sharp eyes took in the suitcases and trunks.
"First thing tomorrow," she sighed.
"England, huh?" the slender red gargoyle said as Lexington closed the window behind them.
"I... need to sort some things out... and the museum is sending me..."
"Sounds cool," Lexington piped in. "What exactly will you be doing there?"
"Restoration work," she said, sitting down on her easy chair. Lexington perched on the arm of the sofa, Brooklyn upon her hassock. His thin arms folded across his knees in a classic gargoyle pose. "Also, there are some personal things I thought I'd sort out over there... I might not be back for a while..."
"Visit your parents?" Brooklyn asked. "Yes... I... just need to get away... there's just too much..."
"Hey, we get it," Brooklyn said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Just don't forget about us, okay?"
"How could I forget about you chaps," she sniffed. "You've been wonderful friends."
"Come's with the protecting part," Brooklyn said.
"I don't suppose, anyone's heard anything," she murmured.
"Uh nope," Lexington said. "Matt's buddies didn't show up anything yet. And we haven't' heard from Angela. She, Broadway, and Hudson were going to Avalon to visit Princess Kathryn and Tom."
"Lucky people," Brooklyn muttered.
"Fifteen rookery sisters," Lexington sighed. "Anyway they said they'd ask if he's been seen there."
"Good of them," Marianne murmured, as she started to get up.
But Brooklyn was already on his way to the kitchen ahead of her. "Coffee?"
"A bit late for that," she sighed, hugging her knees much like Brooklyn had done. "Sometimes being in love is the worst experience anyone can go through."
"You're not kidding," Brooklyn said, as he came back with a bag of chips and some dip. "Especially when the one you love... is with somebody else."
"Angela, huh?" she asked. "Angela,"
Lexington nodded. "And we're stuck with Xanatos at the castle with reruns."
"Hope I'm not boring you guys," she laughed.
Brooklyn well knew the downcast look in those pretty eyes, even though Marianne was trying bravely to hide it. It mirrored his own, when he walked in on Broadway and Angela that one night in the library. "Parting is such sweet sorrow," he muttered again. Indeed the room had gone silent, for Lexington suddenly pulled on his arm. Marianne hunched her knees into her chest much as they once remembered Tom doing years ago. So like a small child she seemed, ironic considering she was older then their friend Elisa perhaps.
Brooklyn perched on her chair arm, laying a claw upon her shoulders, "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah... are you all right? You kinda zoned out there for a moment," Lexington added, perching at her feet. How odd it seemed for these ancient creatures to speak in American slang.
"I'm terribly sorry," Marianne drew in her breath, feeling the waves of despair wash over her once more. "I was just thinking about how he... used to make me dinner each night I was here... and... how much I miss... oh damn."
Once again she faught to keep back the tears, but failed miserably. Brooklyn gripped her shoulders gently in his talons as she pulled off her glasses. Lexington busied himself in a hunt for the tissues nearby. "Hey, Mary," Brooklyn murmured. "It's okay... nothin to apologize over.. really."
She chuckled through her tears at the sight of Lexington helpfully holding up the box of facial tissues to her. "Did Elisa put you up to this?" she sighed, dabbing her eyes.
"Uh, yeah," Brooklyn said, and slipped a firmly muscled arm around her shoulders. He was glad she didn't flinch at his touch. Marianne let him give her a reassuring hug as the red wings wrapped around her. There was nothing alterior in the embrace, merley a friend trying their best to comfort another.
Lexington placed a claw over her other hand as she continued to cry. Her sobs were shared in their miserable faces. Neither gargoyle felt much like hot chocolate now. But Brooklyn tossed his head towards the kitchen, and it was the smaller gargoyle that padded off to bring back several mugs and a tray.
"Help us help you," Brooklyn said, drawing back from her for a moment.
"Pardon?"
"Heard that from a movie."
"Jerry Maguire," she laughed softly. Tissues dabbed away the tears.
"My protectors," she shook her head as Brooklyn offered her a mug of tea.
"Hey, it's in the blood," Brooklyn said. "And there are all kinds of protecting too."
"Including cheering up damsels in distress?" she asked him. They shared her laugh.
"Elisa's your friend, and so are we," Lexington said. "And hey, you're kinda far away from your own clan... so..."
"It's ironic, that the most helpful people... are gargoyles," she laughed again, dabbing both eyes this time.
"I've had well a crush on someone. I know it's not the same, but hey, heartbreak and all."
"Heartbreak," she shook her head.
"He's still out there," Brooklyn said. "And maybe if..."
"Maybe if," she hoped, looking out at the rain battering the window. Wondering if he was looking at the same moon that slowly drifted behind the dark clouds. And missing her as much as she missed him.
She lifted her tearstained face to peer at both sets of bright eyes in the dim of night. Three lonely beings sharing the silence together, their eyes saying the rest of what was to come. Somehow the pain seemed bearable, even if the ache in her chest did not diminish. Past Brooklyn's cascade of white hair she looked to the moon dancing behind the stormclouds. Its silvery beams suddenly flooded the room in pale painted hues.
"Chas, wherever you are I will find you…" she murmured. "But only on your terms… and in your time
"There's always another sample for you to test," Lexington said, holding up his mug of hot chocolate. "You wouldn't want to let the museum down would you?"
"Hmm, that's the only thing that doesn't change with an argument," Brooklyn laughed. "There's always a job to do. Us, protecting this burg, and you… whatever it is that Saint wants you to do. Wish I was going to England. It would be neat to check out the London Clan."
"Yeah, I hear Una and Leo have some cousins about our age," Lexington laughed. Then he saw Brooklyn's brooding look, and stopped.
"Hey, send us a postcard, and if you run into King Arthur," Brooklyn said, as both of them moved within arm's length of her. "Let him know what's been going down here!"
"King Arthur…" she muttered. "Yes… I will."
A sudden faraway look came into the tear-swollen eyes. Lexington and Brooklyn exchange questioning glances. "What's up?" Lexington asked her.
"Oh… nothing," Marianne murmured. "Just suddenly realized another person who might well depend upon us… and may well be able to help."
"Him… how?" Brooklyn asked.
"Because he might have been to Avalon before Angela would get there?" Lexington supplied his wide eyes even more wide as he guessed. She nodded vigorously.
"And if anyone knows where he might be, perhaps those of Avalon might, and if I meet up with Arthur… there may still be hope of finding Chas."
"But what about your trip?"
"It's still on and if I know Arthur, he's most likely traipsing there this very time in his search for Merlin! The last time we parted he said something about the Midlands… and who knows?"
"The Midlands?" Brooklyn's eyebrow-ridge rose.
"Near the town of Raveloe, where my museum is sending me, there are old caves. One was reputed to have a connection to Merlin the wizard… one of his secret magical caches. My friend Lydia Duane had excavated something from that town…"
"You mean the gal who found the scrolls of Merlin?" asked Brooklyn. "You know her?"
"My mother had her as student when she was at University. You see, my mother is quite an expert on King Arthur… and Lydia's lifelong fascination with Arthurian legends. Well we knew each other through my mother, for they kept up correspondence."
"How does that connect with you?" Lexington asked. "Why are you going there?"
"Similar ruins have been found near the old town church. And the name of Merlin was translated there. So if anywhere Arthur might be, is the very place I am going!"
"Sweet!" Brooklyn grinned. "But how does that help you find Chas?"
"Arthur said that he passes through Avalon each time, in the hopes it will send him where he needs to be, on his quest for Merlin. It seems the most logical place for it has been in the news."