Hey ! I hope you're well, all of you. I don't quite know if anyone reads this, but we're still snailing ahead.
Bors' voice had lost nothing of its power as he ranted.
"You're a ghost. A spirit of the dead. Bad spirits… bad spiri…"
Wack !
Dagonet's meaty hand had found Bors' skull, and the giant sent his friend away with a hush.
"Get lost, Bors."
"Of course ! I'm not having dinner with ghosts !"
And the boisterous man scurried away as if a devil was chasing him. Bors' superstitions should have been laughable, really, but Frances cringed inwardly. This wasn't how she'd hoped that Kristan would be received by his former brothers in arms. His stoic face didn't give anything away, but deep down, she knew it hurt him.
Frances berated herself for her stupidity; Bors had given her a good luck charm to keep the evils spirits away after her plunge into the icy lake. How had she forgotten ? She knew he was superstitious… But again, so much had happened in between. Well. There wasn't anything she could do but squeeze Kristan's hand, and wait.
Dagonet stood there, his clear eyes unsure, a short dark-haired woman by his side. She looked so thin, so frail that the Keeper of time understood why Gawain called her a mouse. But beside the shy exterior – she clearly deferred to her husband – dwelt a spine of steel and gentle care. The mind of a healer. It was written in her eyes.
How would Dagonet react, he who also believed in ghosts and spirits ? The two men faced each other in the corridor that led to the great hall. Former comrades whose bond had been stronger than most – after Bedivere, of course. Kristan's eyes and posture were painfully open; he was exposing himself for the sake of his former comrade. For a moment, everyone seemed to hold a breath. Then Dagonet took a step forward, and grabbed Kristan's cheeks in his meaty hands with a smile.
"Brother", he choked.
And Kristan's arms wound around the giant tightly. He seemed so small compared to Dagonet, it was almost risible. Frances exchanged a relieved look with the healer before the giant released her man, and hugged her to death as well. Surprised, the squeaked.
"And you too, Frances. I thought I'd never see you again."
Frances sighed, winding her arms around Dagonet with a sigh.
"Me too, Dag."
At last, the giant released her, and she gave him a smile.
"I'm glad to see you well, and happily married."
The gentle giant returned a full grin this time, and he gestured for his wife. But a shrill cry interrupted the presentations.
"I hope you don't intend to embrace all of the knights like this !"
"Ragnell !", came Gawain's indignant voice.
Frances froze, taken aback by the sheer possessiveness of the blond woman who was dashing down the corridor. Given her protruding belly, that was a mighty feat indeed. Beside her, Dagonet and his wife chuckled. Stealing a glance at Kristan, Frances found a smirk upon his face. Good. His eyes were still misty, but at least he found some amusement in the situation.
"So you are the witch and the knight returned from the dead ?"
Frances and Kristan turned at once to face the blond fury that was Gawain's wife. Seven or eight months pregnant, at least, she seemed a force to be reckoned with.
"Ragnell ! The Lady Frances and Sir Tristan are members of this court. Show some respect."
"Hush, you."
Gawain was getting red in the face, and Frances nearly reached for him – a reflex – when Kristan grabbed her hand instead, and snaked the other arm around her waist. The young woman deflated, soothed by the touch of her beloved. Of course, Ragnell was jealous ! Bless her man for his quick thinking; she might have lost her hand if she had touched Gawain. Biting her lip, Frances smiled and gave more room to Kristan.
"Do not rile up a pregnant woman, Gawain. I'm please to make your acquaintance, Lady Ragnell."
His smooth voice and charisma did the trick, and the blond fury cocked her head aside to study them both. Or rather, to assess how strong and truthful their couple was. Then she deflated with a humph, and turned to her sheepish husband.
"All right. So am I. Now let us be seated, my feet are killing me. What are you all doing in the corridor anyway ?"
Frances repressed an amused huff, and winked at Gawain before he followed his wife, mortified by her behaviour. Had he really forgotten how rowdy they used to be in the tavern, before this lot was tamed… aherm, married ? There was nothing to be ashamed of. She caught Dagonet's wife's twinkling eye, and smiled.
The lot of them followed in the main dining room, just a door away from the King's hall. The walls were high – the result of roman's influence for sure. For once, Frances' wasn't about to complain; Arthur and his knights had done a great job building Camelot. Rock and timber were arranged in a welcoming place, and the long tables reminded her of the tavern. It wasn't too crowded, but many eyes lingered upon them when they settled at Gawain's table.
Many young knights also shared dinner with them, and if the King wasn't present tonight, their presence caused a few rumours to run around the room. Who were those newcomers, greeted like friends of old, that ate and drank with those legendary knights ? Where did the familiarity come from ? And why did they call him Tristan, like the fearsome scout they had all heard about ? Some advanced that he may be a cousin – there were no tattoes, after all. Some that the fiery witch had returned, dragging the knight's soul in tow.
All in all, Frances wasn't quite sure how the knights interpreted Kristan's return. He was different, and they tip toed around the subject rather deftly. Spirits and fairies were part of their folklore, after all. Better to leave Tristan's ghost some distance rather than delve in spiritism. The mood, awkward, at first, very soon settled into the usual one she used to know at the tavern. Ale flowed, served by different people than Vanora. Food was wolfed down, and game of darts and daggers were fixed on the pillars without a second thought.
It was as if Tristan had never died. Perhaps this is how the knights wanted it, after all. Frances wasn't surprised to see Kristan play the game. Like a fish in water; he was diving into his past life, and basking in it. Channeling Tristan who, deep down, was screaming to be let loose. The young woman gave him leave to find that companionship again, watching the proceedings from afar. As Ragnell had excused herself pretty early, pretexting she had other children to care for, she found companionship in Dagonet's wife.
Aihne was a very interesting woman, with a dozen years of experience in healing and great conversation skills. She told her of her meeting with Dagonet – as he saved her life during a raid by wayward Saxons – and their subsequent marriage. She told her of Lucas, his adopted son who was now eighteen of age and a fearsome knight already. Lucan, damn, the little boy with blond curls they had found in the Christian pit ! She wasn't surprised; that kid had had a rough beginning, and nerves of steel already.
And while Frances caught up on the happenings in Camelot for the past eleven years, She watched, mesmerized, the tip of Kristan's dagger nick at Gawain's on the target. And she laughed her head off when the tawny knight remained jawslacked, amazed that the former scout could still beat him after eleven years… and all those changes.
Kristan's grey eyes twinkled as he stole a kiss from his woman, and Frances shook her head. How could they ever understand how the modern man and his fifth century self-mingled, creating a unique persona ? Galahad's thoughtful expression told her he wasn't blinded by Kristan's playful mood. He knew the man was different, he could see it, plain as day.
There was a joy to him, now.
What would be his role, now, in the fifth century ? Why were they here in the first place ?
The same questions probably roamed Kristan's skull, but Frances decided to push them back to tomorrow. For the moment, let their hearts be mended, and the merry reunion put balms to their wounds. She had not realized how much that month, four years ago, had branded her; she missed it. Missed the 5th century, even if she wouldn't live here permanently. Just like she missed middle earth.
Unfortunately, destiny had other ideas. So when a tall, pale woman walked into the hall, her haughty expression set in disgust, Frances knew the game was over. She watched the stranger's dark locks, the awareness of her eyes, and her body tensed at once. Half a second later, Kristan was at her side, his hand playing with a dagger. Amazing, how his sense of danger still warned him.
"Who is she ?", he whispered in her ear, kissing her temple for show.
"We're about to know", she responded.
A quick glance at Gawain told her he was well into his cups, but not Galahad who watched the woman approach with little fear. He knew her, and trusted her. Good. Kristan didn't sheathe the dagger, but he made a show to play with it instead of holding it threateningly.
Frances stood tall as the woman approached, taking in her pristine complexion and ethereal gait. Weird, it felt as if the woman wasn't entirely incarnated. Galahad suddenly appeared by their side and the woman bowed to them in greeting. Frances responded to the gesture, curious.
"Welcome, lady Frances and Sir Tristan. I am Morgana, Arthur's half-sister."
A chuckle escaped Frances' lips. SG1 knew Morgana by other names; she was the one who gave them the coordinates of the SanGraal after all... fifteen hundred years in the future. What was an ascended being doing here ? And why wasn't she scheming with Merlin ?
"Good cover story, that one. What do you want, Ganos Lal ?"
Morgana's hazel eyes lost their warmth, her sharp features hardening at once.
"Peace, Keeper of Time. I protect that which you protect."
Beside her, Frances heard Galahad's gasp; he obviously didn't know what Morgana was in the first place. They needed to discuss her actions in private; Morgane le Fey wasn't a being she trusted much.
"What is your aim ?", she asked, leaning into Kristan's hand at the small of her back to seek reassurance.
The ancient ascended being pursed her lips, giving her a stern look that took her aback. It was little wonder Morgana had chosen to impersonate a teaching Hologram on Atlantis. She nailed the 'no nonsense' attitude pretty ruthlessly.
"You know the others won't let Merlin build weapons. I am trying to temporise, and help King Arthur in his efforts of peace."
"The others ?", Galahad asked.
"The Alterrans. Listen, I'll explain later, there's a lot you don't know about the first Saxon war. And Merlin. We'll have a closed meeting, all right ?"
The dark-haired knight nodded his assent, and Frances took a peek at Kristan. His eyes had not left Morgana and he shrugged.
"You know more than I do about those things, little fairy."
Frances deflated; she'd never had to face an Alterran without Daniel Jackson before. What could she do, really, when Morgana could dephase herself into a incorporeal being ? But if the legends were true, the witch would sire Mordred to be Arthur's downfall. How dangerous could a being born of an Alterran be ?
Wasn't Guinevere Merlin's daughter ? Was it too far-fetched to think that Morgana didn't want Arthur's well-being in the long run ? Perhaps bluntness was the only answer, there.
"All right. So you still plan on sleeping with Arthur to have a son ?"
The look of disgust on Morgana's face was priceless, so Frances rushed to correct her blunder.
"Ok, never mind. Artistic licence, I guess."
A severe eyebrow climbed on her forehead, and the ethereal woman gave her a nod.
"You have a year, perhaps a little more before the Saxons swarm this place. Get prepared."
And thus was sealed the understanding between the Keeper of Time and Morgane le Fey. So when the Seer walked away, Frances turned to Kristan.
"We might be here for longer than anticipated."
Hope danced in his grey irises.
"Yes. Great, this gives us time."
She realised, then, that Kristan was happy to be reunited with the knights. He had a chance to live the things he'd dreamt about his whole life. Like a kid in a candy store; what medievist didn't dream of jumping in the past ? Now, the magic of the necklace offered him that experience on a silver platter. So, despite the trauma of the earlier battle, her beloved found in himself to be happy. Frances kissed his jaw, then turned to Galahad who was tugging at her sleeve.
"Time for what ? We can't move the whole of Camelot and its villagers away."
Frances' eyebrows climbed on her forehead, and she exchanged a meaningful look with Kristan. Was it so crazy, somehow, to transfer the people of the Kingdom in Camelot, the one they visited through the Stargate ? Would Merlin we able to find a way ?
"Actually… that's a great idea."
After all, the old sorcerer had designed a library in the star city – a library she had burnt but hey… it wasn't her fault. Which meant it had existed before Merlin died. And given how old he was, it wasn't preposterous to think that Arthur's subjects had actually followed him through the Stargate to settle in the new Camelot.
"Frances… this is crazy", Galahad started. "There's no place in Brittany that is going to be safe from the Saxons if Camelot is overrun."
But Kristan's arm landed on his shoulder.
"Let's meet tomorrow with Arthur. We'll tell you everything that we know…"
"…and we'll plan ahead with Morgana's prediction, all right ?", Frances finished.
A smile formed upon Galahad's face at hearing them finishing each other's sentences.
"Perhaps we should summon Morgana."
"No! Let's not", Frances exclaimed.
The dark-haired knight seemed taken aback, his clear eyes clouded.
"Why? You trusted Merlin, why wouldn't you trust the Seer ?"
Kristan's scoff caused her to elbow his ribs. The memory of discussions, deep in the forest with Tristan popped in her mind. The scout had been the only one who actually knew how wary she'd been of the Sorcerer.
"One, I never quite trusted Merlin entirely. Second, her intentions are more complicated than it seems. We need to think this through, and I have knowledge to share."
Galahad nodded, and she was glad for his evolution. The former pup might have thrown a fit and demanded answers at once, but Arthur's confident was wise enough to use patience. She was so engrossed in her admiration that she failed at spotting Lancelot who crept behind her.
"Knowledge to share, what about ?"
Frances started, sending him a reproacheful look, but not devoid of fondness. His eyes were sad, but his countenance as proud as usual; he was hiding his grief. On his arm, a dark-haired beauty shyly looked at the ground. The dark knight shook her playfully.
"So, there you go, Ella. You wanted to meet her."
The woman – she was probably thirty or so - curtsied without letting go of Lancelot's arm. But not a word passed her lips.
"This is Ella, my sister. Ella, this is the lady Frances, and Sir Tristan."
She whimpered, and they all wondered if she was about to die of a heart attack when she suddenly lifted her head and grabbed Frances' hands. Taken aback, the Keeper of Time froze, trapped in the girl's hold.
"Thank you, thank you for saving Lancelot's life, lady witch."
Frances froze, the reminder of her decision, on the battlefield, returning full force. The bolt that had crushed her chest, the subsequent pain…
"She's not a witch", Kristan said. "She's a fairy."
Ella released Frances' hands, as if scalded, then took a step back.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, sorry for calling you a witch, I didn't mean to."
"Ah Tristan, you scared her", Galahad scolded.
Then, seeing his brother's sheepish look, he slapped his shoulders and went on his merry way, leaving them behind to prevent Ella from descending in full blown panic. Frances gave her man a scolding look, then reached out to grab Ella's elbow. It was so hard to realise that Lancelot was nearly forty years old, now, and his younger sister older than herself. Especially when she behaved like a fifteen year-old with a crush on her favourite star.
"Do not worry. Lancelot didn't deserve to die, I am glad I was here to prevent it."
The dark-haired woman seemed to relax, and latched upon her brother's arm once more. The look Lancelot gave her warmed Frances' heart; at least, she had prevented another terrible loss. And somewhere, deep within, the terrible guilt of Tristan's sacrifice eased a little.
"Our tribe was overrun. There are not many survivors, and Ella and our cousins returned with me."
From the grief-stricken gaze the young woman addressed her brother, Frances guessed that their parents had not survived the raids from the Huns. Her husband, maybe ? Her children ? What traumatic memories dwelt within the shy woman ? She wondered. What regrets, laid at Lancelot's feet for being absent at the time ? Another weight upon his shoulders, courtesy of the romans.
"How many tribes have disappeared ?", Kristan asked.
"Most. Gawain is the only one who returned in full. Galahad's died, Dag's mother came back, and Bors' brothers made it. But there are not many Sarmatians left in the plains of Sarmatia."
The young woman nodded, wondering who had taken the trip back to look for the scattered tribes. Overall, she was pretty happy Arthur had followed her advice and allowed his knights to gather what remained of their families.
"How about Tristan's… my family ?", Kristan asked.
MY family. Frances' breath caught, her hand snaking around her scout's arm. Lancelot gave them an uneasy look before answering.
"The Yazigues wouldn't leave their territory. You know how stubborn they are. Somehow they already knew you wouldn't come back. A cousin of yours was made chieftain, and I think they're still battling up there."
"I'm not surprised", Kristan answered, impassive.
His mask could have meant many things; Frances wouldn't know until she asked him. On the other hand, he was in a tough place. Hearing that the family from your past life, a family taken from you by slavery, might have been at hand… But from what he had told her, Tristan's sister and twin brothers had already been dead when he passed away. Eleven years later, it wasn't too strange to think that neither his father not mother remained. An entire line, wiped out by disease, childbirth and battlefields.
Tristan's family, destined to meet their end in a manner or another. Had the scout lived, he might have had nothing to return to in the fifth century.
"Oh, hey, sheephead has returned !"
The four of them turned around, finding a young man that Lancelot cuffed on the head with a smile. Who would had the gall to name the first knight, King Arthur's first counsellor, in such a derogatory manner ?
"Gilly !", Ella scolded, sending him a glare.
Frances sniggered, glad to see Lancelot's sister livelier. Then, she realised who, exactly, she was facing. Bors' eldest. Gilly, the only boy of their brood that used to have a name. Nearly six feet tall, twenty or so years old, a grin plastered upon his face and light blue eyes that twinkled merrily under a shaggy mane of auburn hair.
"What ?", he said cheekily. "I've seen sheeps with less locks than that…"
Then, the youth darted off to avoid Ella's slap. The dark knight sighed, giving the impression he wouldn't give chase. It was just a ploy. One moment later, Lancelot took off after Gilly, following the boisterous laugh around the hall. No one seemed to care much about the mess, people huddling over their seat to avoid being caught in the crossfire. It was quite hard to believe that Lancelot was nearly forty years old in this moment.
"Bâaaaaaaaa!", came another voice from the other side of the hall.
Dumbfounded, Frances studied the blond locks of the second youth. His face was familiar.
"Is that… ?"
"Lucan ! Show some respect", thundered Dagonet's voice from his seat.
The young man complied without missing a beat, sending an apologetic look to his adopted father. The giant gave him a scary look before he sat again, dragging his wife in his lap without effort. So, he was the kid they had rescued from the pits of hell… Wow. This, somehow, gave Frances more insight on the time that had passed than any tales of Sarmatian tribes.
Gilly scattered to the winds, disappearing with pointed 'Bâaaaaa' echoing in the corridor. Amused, Frances exchanged an incredulous look with Kristan who suddenly burst in laughter. The stoic façade had given way to an unleashed young man, and she watched, mesmerised, as he dissolved into tears. His mirth permeated through her, and so, she had gathered the tall scout in her arms, laughing all the same even if she didn't understand any of it. At last, the former knight squeezed her tight, and whispered in her ear.
"Lancelot and Guinevere were doomed before it even started."
Frances caught his eye, grey irises twinkling in delight.
"Uh ?"
"Goats and sheeps don't get along well."
It was so absurd, so very stupid that she started laughing as well, snorting in his shoulder. And Kristan kept her against him to muffle her giggles. But damn, it was so overwhelming, so nice to laugh like this, ensconced in her lover's arms that she couldn't rein her amusement.
Deep down, she knew it wasn't nice to flaunt her own joy in front of Lancelot. But again, there was nothing rational about this moment. They had travelled back to the fifth century, seen the magic of Avalon and barely survived the last battle. Their nerves were just too strained to handle it.
And once the giggle dissolved, Frances turned to Lancelot, still in Kristan's embrace. Perhaps there was hope for Lancelot to find true love, after all.