Author's Note: I would first like to once again acknoledge that Guardians of Time belongs only to Marianne Curley.

Secondly, I would like to thank Cadee Alison Annie More (the name has been changed to protect the innocent) for the wonderful book she gave me that helped me write the descriptions for the outfits that Ethan, Isabel, and Renate are wearing in this chapter, and will help me with the setting and events of the next few chapters. Daily Life in Medieval Times by Frances and Joseph Gies (just in case I can get sued for not mentioning them...)

Thirdly, I would like to say that the castle described in this chapter and others to come is an actual castle in France: the Château de Chenonceau. While this castle was in use during the time that Renate would have been alive (if she had been a real person, but no, she is my character), it was only used to house the royal family of France at the end of the sixteenth century. I tried looking for an image of the palace that housed the royal family of the thirteenth century--the time of Renate's childhood--but unfortunately all such castles were partially or completely destroyed by the Third Estate in their bloodthirsty French Revolution. If you would like to actually SEE what Renate's home looks like, instead of reading the pathetic excuse for a description that I have (really, the description doesn't do the castle justice) you can see it and read its history at http/

MISHA: I am so glad you have had enough Arkarian/Isabel mold (that is now what I am calling "fluff", since I have had more than enough of writing romance. I won't be writing any more!

TRIN: I'm sorry, I really can't write any more mold between those two. Even my best friend, who is the most romantic writer I know, gagged when she read the last chapter for this fanfiction. So no, there will be no more mold between Arkarian and Isabel, or maybe not even between any of the characters. If there is any at all, it will be very VERY minor and not very potent. Maybe just holding hands, but that will be it. Especially since they have now entered the thirteenth century, where any physical contact with the opposite gender and the whole world gasped and went, "OMG DID YOU SEE THAT HE ACTUALLY POKED HER!" Thanks for the review, but no more mold! Please don't ask me to do it!

And now on to the story...:

Chapter Thirty-seven: Ethan

I hate it when I'm wrong. I really do. Especially when I'm wrong about the Order.

It turns out that the Order's soldiers really aren't giving up without a fight. Even though we'd figured that most of the soldiers were forced to work for Lathenia like Rochelle had, it turns out that a lot of them actually liked working for an evil, power-hungry goddess bent on revenge. And later on they enjoyed working for her child too, I guess. Although why you would want to work for something that evil escapes me completely.

Most of the missions I'm sent on are to fetch random trouble-makers who found the last remaining sphere that allows them to go back in time and mess with the past. The strangest mission I've been sent on was this one where someone actually tried to destroy Adam and Eve, thinking to destroy history itself. The person was insane—literally! She was my old school principal, Ms. Burgess! Apparently she was mad at me for stealing away "her Marcus". Ew.

But today when Arkarian brings my soul to the Citadel for briefing, I can tell that something's wrong. For one thing, Renate is here as well. She hasn't been on any of the missions I've been sent on in the past month and a half, partially because she hasn't been fully trained and partially because it would cause indescribable damage if anything was to happen to her during a mission. But no, she's here, looking just as confused as I feel.

"Who have you told about Renate?" Arkarian asks distractedly, running a hand through his long, blue hair.

"No one," I reply, amused by his anxiousness. It's not often that Arkarian gets worked up over something. "I've been taking her to work with me and everything, but everyone just thinks she's my girlfriend. Whose car has been in the shop for nearly two months."

Arkarian's eyes narrow to slits. "And you thought no one would notice that, Ethan? I thought I'd trained you better than that."

"Well how would you explain bringing your girlfriend to work every day?"

"I wouldn't have told everyone she was my girlfriend, I would have told them that she was a student who needed to shadow me for a few weeks as part of a paper she was doing for her college class."

"Well we didn't think Renate would be staying this long, did we?"

"Sush!" Renate ends the debate. "What's going on, Arkarian?"

Arkarian turns to look at Renate as if it is the last time he is ever going to see her, and then leads us both to the holographic sphere at the center of the room. "Take a look."

I look into the sphere, trying to work out what time period I'm looking at: a medieval castle, but that could be nearly any time period, especially since a lot of them have been preserved or rebuilt. But somehow the numerous granite turrets look too authentic to be from a rebuilt copy. It looks like a gigantic manor with a mill on one side. The whole thing is being supported by granite pillars that disappear into the river the palace is built over. The black rooftops contrast the almost white color of the granite walls, and there is a long bridge with a two-story gallery built over it that leads to the land. It is a giant, granite fortress. A magnificent garden sits on one side, a beautiful array of flowers and trees that swirls in mesmerizing colors. In the center of the garden is a fountain filled with glistening, clean water. I have no clue when or where this place is, but Renate knows all about it.

"Cela est ma maison!" she exclaims excitedly, a smile lighting her face.

Arkarian grins back at her. "Je sais," he answers. "C'est là où votre mission prochaine a lieu. Un soldat—."

"This is all very interesting to listen to," I cut in, "but unfortunately only two people in this room can speak fluent French."

Renate raised an eyebrow at me, putting her hands on her hips. "Si vous avez payé plus d'attention aux leçons je vous ai donné, alors peut-être vous pourriez participer dans ce discours!" Then she turns back to Arkarian and says something, jerking a thumb in my direction.

"Hey!" I protest when Arkarian starts laughing. "What did you say about me?"

Smiling evilly, Renate takes my hand in hers. "Rien," she says softly. I do remember that word—Renate has been giving me French lessons so I won't be totally clueless when we go back to live in her time period, but I can't seem to pick it up—it means "nothing". I highly doubt that the joke she told Arkarian was "nothing". She was probably "taquiner me", or "teasing me".

Arkarian coughs softly, interrupting the moment to bring our attention back to the sphere. "As Renate pointed out, that is her home: the Château de Chenonceau. It is where your next mission is going to take place."

I furrow my eyebrows, thinking. "So, someone has gone back to Renate's home?" I ask, trying to make sure I'm hearing correctly. "Are they trying to kill Renate?" I realize I've wrapped my arms protectively around Renate, but she doesn't seem to be protesting the hard lock I've put her in.

Arkarian nods slowly. "They have gone back in time, not to Renate's adulthood, but to her childhood. I want to send you and Renate back; you for the obvious reasons, and Renate because she knows the castle like no one else ever could."
"Why can't I go?" Isabel's voice screams, followed shortly by her body as she uses her wings to appear glaring up at Arkarian. "I could help!" she points out, stabbing Arkarian in the chest with a finger. "I should be there in case anything happens! I can heal Renate, adult or child, if anything goes wrong! I can—!"

Arkarian grabs the hand of the finger that Isabel has been stabbing at his chest with each point she makes, ending her protests. "You know why you can't go!" he insists. "You said you were fine with it last night!"

"That was before we found out about this particular mission!"

"You're not going."

Isabel stares Arkarian down, breathing heavily. "I am going."

"You are not." Arkarian is meeting Isabel's glare, the intensity of his—worry?—matching that of his wife's anger. "I am not sending you into the past until after—."

"Matt said I could," Isabel says softly, a smirk growing on her face. "He said he sees nothing wrong with sending me back in time."

"When you asked him did you mention the fact that you're pregnant?"

"WHOA!" Renate and I exclaim at the same time, and then offer our congratulations. Arkarian drops Isabel's hand to smile proudly at his wife while they accept our well-wishes. The argument is only resurrected when I say I see nothing wrong with Isabel coming with us.

"Have you all gone insane?" Arkarian explodes. "What if something happened that killed her or the baby? What if she overexerted herself? What if—?"

"Arkarian, it will be a sad day when the most powerful healer to ever exist can't even heal herself," Isabel points out. "And Ethan is going, he won't let anything happen to me. Will you Ethan?" I nod quickly at Isabel's insistent glare. "See? Nothing is going to happen to me. Matt even said it's okay!"

For a moment no one says anything. Arkarian and Isabel just glare at each other, while Renate just looks too scared to say anything that might cause the couple to break into another string of arguments.

"Look at it this way," I offer slowly, gathering everyone's attention. "You already know the baby's going to be born. We've all seen that, haven't we?"

Arkarian shakes his head. "You of all people, Ethan, should know that history can easily be changed."

I nod my head slightly, trying a different angle. "Well, then," I shrug. "I guess it's a question of whether or not you trust me to bring Isabel back to you."

Now Isabel narrows her eyes at me. "I won't need any protection!" she argues.

I give her a look. "Do you want to go on the mission or not?"

That silences her.

Arkarian looks like he's having a hard time deciding. He doesn't want to risk his wife and future child, but at the same time he doesn't want to show me that he doesn't trust me, and he wants to see Isabel happy. I personally don't see anything wrong with letting her go; like Isabel said: it would be pretty sad if she couldn't even heal herself.

"How about I leave my bow and arrows at home?" I offer. Since Matt and Neriah's wedding, I haven't parted with the weapons. They've come everywhere with me, even to work when I hide the arrows in my briefcase to use as daggers if anyone from the Order decided a direct attack at me or Renate—especially since our identities weren't hidden while we were in the dungeon.

I can tell that my offer has helped Arkarian's decision a bit. Was he actually worried that I would let someone just take my arrows and hit Isabel with them? I would never let anything like that happen! After Rochelle, I would never let go of my arrows for anything! I don't want another accident like that! I don't know what I would do if I ever allowed anything like that to happen again…

Arkarian finally sighs, as much of an affirmation as we're going to get, and sends me, Renate, and Isabel to the Citadel to get new identities and knowledge for the time period.

When I walk through the long line of clothes and bodies, I come out in a red long-sleeved woolen tunic fastened at the neck with an eagle brooch. Over this tunic is another, outer tunic of deep, navy blue wool. This outer tunic is lined with what feels like rabbit fur, and has wide, loose sleeves. A circular mantle lined with more rabbit fur is fastened with a bronze chain. A thick, black leather belt is fastened at my waste, the buckle a bright bronze color that matches the chain that is fastening my mantle. And of course, no man's medieval costume is complete without bright red hose held up by the same under-belt that is also holding his underwear in place. Covering my now strawberry blonde hair a linen coif, held in place by two strings tied under my chin like a child's party hat. This garment is navy blue with bright red flowers embroidered on it, and two bright red feathers held in place by red buttons on one side. And the last part of my outfit would be the ridiculously bright red slippers on my feet. I love being a member of the Guard! What other person gets to run around in two tunics, a silly hat, slippers, and hose nearly every night?

I turn away from the mirror I had been looking at myself in—sighing at the sadly pale skin—to see Renate stepping out of the aisle. She is wearing a long, red wool dress that matches the red of my clothes. This red dress has long sleeves that end with a lining of rabbit fur. The neck of her bodice is also lined with rabbit fur. The silk belt is navy blue that matches my tunic, and goes all the way down to her navy blue slippers. There is a single sapphire-studded necklace around her neck, and a navy blue wimple covers her hair and the back of her neck.

Isabel comes out, not decked in the bright colors that Renate and I are in, but in a simple black linen dress that covers a white undergarment that shows only the long sleeves. Her hair, also blonde, is covered by a simple white wimple, and her shoes are simple black slippers. It's obvious that, while me and Renate are wearing the clothes of a lord and lady of the time period, Isabel is to be a servant or a maid.

The knowledge dust falls on our heads, giving us our identities for this mission. Turning to Renate, I gesture for her to tell me who she is now.

Renate dips me a deep curtsy, spreading her skirts wide on either side of her as she bows her head and bends her knees in the most graceful curtsy I have ever seen. "Lady Ouida of Versailles," she murmurs, bringing herself back from her curtsy just as gracefully as she had gone down.

I bow to her, bending neatly at the waist with one hand at my stomach and the other on my lower back, and introduce myself: "Your loving husband, Lord Arnaud of Versailles."

Renate and I turn to Isabel, who glowers at us and says simply, "Coralie."

I raise my eyebrows at Isabel, shaking my head reproachfully. "You were the one who wanted to go on this mission, remember? Don't go getting upset that you're the servant."

Isabel immediately sinks into an exaggerated curtsy. "Oh, I apologize, my lord, my lady," she says sarcastically. "I must have misplaced my manners… let me go find them while I fetch your chamber pots."

"You won't convince anyone that way!" Renate protests, taking Isabel seriously. "Servants never speak to the nobility! Well, some of them do, but they are quickly punished or sent away from the chateau. You have to be more polite, more graceful. And you can't go around fetching chamber pots from other rooms, either. There's one per room, so if you go moving them around then it would just confuse people."

I make a weak attempt to hold in the laughter I feel bubbling up in my chest, but it lasts only a second before I explode. This mission is going to be more fun than I thought, with someone who has actually been to the time period coming with us. While I have gone on missions with Arkarian, it has never been to an exact time and place that he has been to before. I think the only time that would have ever happened would be when Isabel and I had to go and make sure he was actually born, but Arkarian did not come on that mission and probably doesn't remember his actual birth. The only person insane enough to remember his own birth is Matt, who claims to even remember the moment he was conceived.

We make our way to the darkened door that will take us to the past, meeting Arkarian just outside. Arkarian, though, has only come to try one more time to talk Isabel out of coming with us. His attempts are futile, since Isabel seems to have made up her mind. He gives her a last kiss and tells her to be careful—all the while glaring at me as if to say, If you let anything happen to her I will personally kill you, former Apprentice or not—and lets us through the door.

Renate jumps first—eager to see her home again—followed by Isabel—eager to show Arkarian that her pregnancy doesn't hinder her ability to function—but I hang back to give one last bit of comfort to Arkarian.

"'Take what comes and live without complaint,'" I quote from one of my favorite books, "'Life is a woman's gift, death is God's. What will be, will be.'"

Arkarian gives me a wry smile, looking as if he is on the verge of laughter, and then pushes me through the door, telling me to quote someone other than Merlin next time.