§ § § -January 23, 1982

It had taken Leslie a good fifteen minutes just to go through all the available costumes suitable to be worn at a King-Arthur-era masquerade, and another fifteen trying to choose from three different gowns. One was glittering gold, another shimmering silver, the third an iridescent black with metallic red, gold and green designs trimming it. She allowed herself to take her time only because she knew Roarke was busy changing into his own costume; but by the time she finally settled on the black gown, her guardian was waiting a bit impatiently in the inner foyer, frequently consulting the grandfather clock in the study. "I daresay it's long past time you made your choice, Leslie Susan," he scolded mildly.

"Well, I couldn't help it…I found such gorgeous dresses," Leslie protested. "But I think I like this one best. Maybe it's because of this Juliet cap." She raised the little round black cap that matched the dress she had picked; a sheer black veil descended from one side of it. "Do you think I'll look okay in it, Mr. Roarke?"

"It would be difficult for me to answer that question until I see you in the gown," Roarke pointed out. "Hurry and get changed so I can tell you."

She grinned and rushed up to her room with the gown and cap, and in less than ten minutes she was back, marveling at the floor-dragging skirt and the way the red, green and gold metallic threads in the trimming glittered and sparkled in the light. "What do you think?" she asked, twirling the cap in her hands.

Roarke grinned at her under the dark mustache he had donned for the night. "You do indeed look spectacular, my child," he complimented her. "Come here and I'll help you put the cap on. There should be shoes to match this gown as well."

She nodded and came up the steps, then studied his costume carefully for the first time while he affixed the cap to her head in the proper fashion. "Who're you supposed to be, anyway?" she asked, taking in the white robe, belted in black and covered at the shoulders with a short cape adorned with glittery silver stars and a crescent moon. A broad-brimmed white hat completed the costume, perched atop a chin-length jet-black wig that matched the mustache.

Roarke chuckled, fitting the cap in place and stepping back. "Merlin, of course," he said, as if it should have been patently obvious. "Well, that looks lovely. Let's find those shoes and get to the ball before we're unforgivably late."

Leslie wished her friends could see her dressed this way as she accompanied Roarke to the same open-air dining room, cleared now of tables and chairs, where King Arthur and Ralph Rodgers had had their unfortunate fight. Not far away stood Ralph Rodgers, looking a little self-conscious in a leather jerkin over a lemon-colored leotard; beside him was Queen Guinevere, resplendent in a gold gown that made Leslie glad she had chosen the black one instead. It would never do to try to outshine a queen! Roarke approached Guinevere first thing and lifted her hand. "Ah, my lady, how lovely you look," he said, kissing it.

"Thank you, Mr. Roarke," the queen replied, "and thank you for taking so much trouble. But…I am worried about Arthur. Nobody's seen him all afternoon."

"Uh…I didn't do a very good job of taking care of him," Rodgers admitted sheepishly.

"On the contrary, Mr. Rodgers, I think you have done a splendid job helping the king redetermine his values, reassess his lifestyle, and, uh…" Roarke's gaze shifted to Guinevere. "…reevaluate his personal relationships."

"Ah," said Guinevere, regarding him in amusement. "So that's what this is all about."

Rodgers peered at Roarke. "Now I understand. That reverse polarity you were talking about? You did that on purpose."

Roarke met his challenging look with pure innocence; but then a trumpet began to sound a fanfare, saving him from having to come up with a reply. They all turned to the entrance and watched King Arthur himself—this time regal and highly admirable in gold armor, crown, and the fur-lined robe Leslie had expected, complete with attached shoulder cape—ride majestically in on an armored horse. The attendees parted for him and applauded as he rode into the enclosure; two attendants assisted him in dismounting from the horse.

Beaming, Arthur acknowledged the accolades and paused when Roarke, Leslie, Rodgers and Guinevere intercepted him. "Your Highness," Roarke said and bowed. Leslie curtsied alongside him, earning smiles from both Arthur and Guinevere.

Arthur looked at their host. "You are looking at a man who has put foolish pride behind him, Mr. Roarke."

"I congratulate you, Your Majesty," Roarke replied gravely.

Arthur's gaze shifted to Rodgers, who said, "Your Majesty, I owe you an apology."

"No, no, young Ralph. You've made me believe again. Things I let go in my life too early—fairy tales, romance, love." He said this last as he gazed at Guinevere, extending his hand to her; she stepped forward and took it, with a small, regal smile. Roarke nodded at Leslie and gently nudged Rodgers, and they stepped aside to give the king and queen a modicum of privacy.

"Since coming to this place," Arthur said, "I have looked at myself with new eyes, and beheld a fool."

Guinevere regarded him, pleasantly surprised. "Can this be Arthur, king of all England, my lord, speaking?"

"No, Guinevere. Only a man who has made your life, and his own, miserable; who begs your forgiveness and declares his undying love for you."

She goggled. "Forgive me, but…I can hardly believe my—"

"I understand," he murmured. "I know you wish to stay on here, in this world, and I pray you have every happiness. I shall love you always."

Leslie pulled her head back slightly with surprise. "She's staying here?" she hissed.

Roarke shushed her and smiled a little, and they watched as the king released Guinevere's hand and began to walk away. She turned to watch, then called, "Arthur?" He paused and turned back to her, and she went on: "I have no wish to stay here. I wish to be in Camelot…with my king. The only man that I love."

Slowly Arthur's face began to brighten; she came up to him and placed the gentlest of kisses on his lips. Smiling at her, he took her arm and said softly, "To Camelot."

They started away for Arthur's horse, then paused as if remembering something and looked back. "Young Ralph, my friend," Arthur said. Rodgers approached him with Roarke and Leslie just behind him, and Arthur smiled at him. "Would you kneel?"

Rodgers shot a questioning look at Roarke, who nodded once; the younger man sank to his knees, and Arthur said grandly, "In recognition of your devotion to your king, because you believe in the dreams of knighthood and the ideals of the Round Table…" He lifted Excalibur smoothly from its scabbard. "I herewith dub thee Sir Ralph, Knight of the Realm." He touched each of Rodgers' shoulders with the sword and resheathed it. "Rise, Sir Ralph."

Slowly Rodgers arose, quietly radiant; Roarke nodded and smiled at him, and they all watched Arthur remount his horse, and then Guinevere take her place directly in front of him. Roarke smiled. "If you follow the road to the sea, Your Majesty, you will find Camelot."

Arthur nodded acknowledgment; then he turned the horse and headed out of the enclosure, while the guests applauded them out and the trumpets again sounded a fanfare. Leslie was almost as enraptured as Rodgers, who blurted in wonder, "You see it? It really happened?"

Roarke said, "Oh, indeed, Sir Ralph, Knight of the Realm!" He smiled again.

"Sir Ralph, Knight of the Realm," Rodgers murmured dreamily, his face bright. He drifted forward, stars in his eyes. "Sir Ralph. Knight of the Realm."

Leslie grinned and murmured to Roarke, "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" Her guardian looked at her and laughed quietly.

All of a sudden there was a clanking behind them, and a familiar voice said, "Sorry I'm late, boss." Leslie turned around and found herself staring at Tattoo, very nearly swallowed from view by a suit of armor that was far too big for him.

Roarke hardly glanced at him. "It's all right, Tattoo," he said, still gazing after the departed Arthur and Guinevere.

"Is this better?" Tattoo asked, and only then did Roarke turn and do a double-take at sight of Tattoo's costume.

"Oh, much better, Tattoo, much better," Roarke assured him dryly.

Tattoo's eyes crinkled with delight inside the helmet; that was all they could see of his face. "That's what I thought," he agreed.

Roarke nodded, but turned aside and tried to stifle a resigned chuckle. Leslie shook her head, grinning at his reaction.

"Good grief, Tattoo, what happened to the jester outfit?" she asked in disbelief.

Tattoo snorted. "Oh, come on, Leslie. Everybody expected me to show up as a jester. That's what all little people dress like at masquerades, right? So I decided to surprise them all. The boss said it was okay if I left the party for a while to change my costume, and this is what I chose. It's a real change from the same-old-same-old, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah," Leslie agreed, matching Roarke's dry tone. "A real change all right." She rolled her eyes. "Frankly, I liked the jester costume a lot better. You looked better, and I could see your face."

"What?" said Tattoo in amazement. "My face?"

"Yeah," she retorted, and with that reached out and flipped down the visor on his helmet before he could leap back out of her range. "Now try that." Beside her, Roarke let out a very undignified snort and began to laugh in spite of himself.

§ § § - January 25, 1982

Since Saturday had been such a long and eventful day for them all, Sunday had come as a day of welcome rest—for the reunited Billy Williams and Sara Jean Rawlins, who were busy supervising the mixing of "Shadow Games" in the studio and getting reacquainted in the process; for Ralph Rodgers, who was the beneficiary of a brief arrangement on Roarke's part to send him back to Camelot, for real, for the day; and for Roarke, Leslie and Tattoo, who were able to make huge inroads on backed-up paperwork and other chores that too often got neglected in the course of fantasy-granting. When Monday morning arrived, they all were refreshed and rested, and all quite happy.

Ralph Rodgers was certainly happy, in his own subdued, shy way. When he stepped out of the rover to bid his hosts farewell, Tattoo greeted him with, "Sir Ralph," and he and Roarke bowed while Leslie curtsied.

"Sir Ralph, Knight of the Realm," Rodgers said again with quiet pride, and smiled. Then he peered at them. "Uh, tell me, Mr. Roarke, about that reverse polarity that brought King Arthur to Fantasy Island."

Roarke relented at last. "I admit to a slight—a very slight—subterfuge, one that not only satisfied your fantasy, but made you a Knight of the Round Table."

"Hm," Rodgers mused. "And?"

"And, at the request of a very old friend named Merlin, restored peace, love and harmony in a place called Camelot," Roarke concluded with a broad smile.

Rodgers grinned. "That is just…that is…that's wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Roarke."

"You're very welcome, Mr. Rodgers." Roarke shook hands; then Rodgers shook with Tattoo and finally Leslie, exchanging goodbyes with them all and heading for the plane.

Sara Jean Rawlins and Billy Williams exited the second rover and stood before their hosts with bright smiles. "Ms. Rawlins," Roarke acknowledged. "Mr. Williams."

"Mr. Roarke, I don't know how you did it," Sara Jean said. "I don't think I want to know. But I'll never forget you as long as I live."

"I consider that to be the ultimate compliment, Ms. Rawlins, thank you," he said.

"Course, what Sara Jean says goes for me too, Mr. Roarke. Now if there's anything we can ever do for you—" Billy began.

"As a matter of fact, there is something you can both do for me," Roarke said.

Billy and Sara Jean exchanged looks. "Just name it," Billy urged.

"Well, I thought perhaps…an invitation to your wedding," Roarke suggested.

Sara Jean smiled hopefully. "Mr. Roarke, I've got no folks; I'd be real proud if you'd give me away," she said.

"I will be honored," Roarke said, very pleased.

Tattoo spoke up then. "Ms. Rawlins? You didn't forget, did you?" Leslie, who had already had her autograph book signed by both Sara Jean and Billy the day before, and Roarke shot him perplexed looks and then eyed each other, as if each thought the other knew what Tattoo was talking about.

Billy and Sara Jean grinned. "Oh no, Tattoo, we didn't forget," Billy assured him and glanced over their shoulders. Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie turned to see a native girl come forward bearing a guitar, which Sara Jean accepted and then presented to Tattoo. "For you." She looped the strap over Tattoo's head, and Leslie could see that the guitar, like her book, bore Sara Jean's and Billy's signatures.

"Oh, thank you," Tattoo said, delighted. "Thank you!"

Sara Jean smiled and turned to Roarke. "Well, I 'spect we oughta be goin' now. Thank you very much."

"Much happiness to you both," Roarke said with a smile, and they bid one another goodbye, watching while Billy and Sara Jean made their way toward the dock.

"Bye," Tattoo called after them and then began to strum the guitar, which Leslie knew very well he didn't play, while humming some wordless, tuneless melody in accompaniment. She winced and looked pleadingly at her guardian.

"Please," Roarke said, not having to be encouraged to put an end to Tattoo's attempt to make music. He reached out and removed the guitar, handing it back to the waiting native girl. "Please, take it to his cottage, will you?" The girl nodded and bore the instrument away, much to Leslie's relief. "Thank you."

"But boss—!" Tattoo began to protest.

"Later, Tattoo, later!" Roarke admonished him. "Not here!"

"Not anywhere else people can hear you, either," Leslie added direly. For that she was rewarded with an impressively filthy glare from Tattoo, which made Roarke laugh before raising his hand and waving their final farewells.

§ § § - April 20, 2007

Leslie's friends were laughing as she wound up the narrative. "Oh, Leslie, that was just cruel!" Maureen scolded her through her mirth. "Poor Tattoo."

"Oh, seriously," Leslie retorted, laughing herself. "The real cruelty would have been letting him try to sing in front of all those people. And I don't think any of you guys ever heard Tattoo sing."

"Oh?" said Christian curiously. "What did he sound like?"

Leslie and Roarke looked at each other, then both snickered, and Roarke said, "Let's just say he was much better off sticking to his painting." Everyone burst out laughing all over again.

When they'd settled down, Myeko asked, "So did you go to their wedding?"

"They came back and had it here," Leslie explained, "so that Father could give Sara Jean away as she'd asked him to. It was a really gorgeous wedding. Beautiful summer day. I never saw so many paparazzi. I think I might have showed up in the background of some of the pictures in the country-music magazines—at almost the last minute, Sara Jean asked me to be her flower girl. I couldn't resist."

Just then Errico yawned, then looked around sheepishly at all the surprised faces the action had attracted and essayed a grin. "You must all forgive me, but I'm afraid I much need to get some sleep. It's been a beastly long week, I'm sure you all know. I am sure, though, that my dearest wife would appreciate hearing more stories. Perhaps, Mr. Roarke, if you and Leslie are willing, and all the rest of you can be here, we might commence to meet here at the same time tomorrow evening, and hear more of these delightful adventures?"

"That, we can do," Roarke said with a smile, nodding at Michiko. "I've been enjoying the telling, and I have no doubt Leslie has as well. So we will see you all here tomorrow, if you can come."