Mists of Time

by Queen

Sailor Pluto is sent though a doorway into an era of legend.... (complete)

4. Time, Which Reveals Fate

Mists of Time

Part 2 Time, Which Reveals Fate

Fear no more the heat o'th' sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages.

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages.

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o'th' great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.

Care no more to clothe and eat,

To thee the reed is as the oak.

The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,

Nor th'all-dreaded thunder-stone.

Fear not slander, censure rash.

Thou hast finished joy and moan.

All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee and come to dust.

-William Shakespeare

from Cymbeline, King of Britain IV.259-76

Setsuna pressed the coltsfoot brew to the old woman's lips. She drank, and smiled up at the two faces that met hers. "There," the man said. "That should take care of your cough," he helped her up from her chair.

"Thank you, Brother."

"You're welcome. Go with God," the woman smiled and stood, smoothing her skirts and heading to the door.

"You're good with these people, Gaius," Setsuna told him, smiling at the robed monk. He chuckled in return.

"Ah, lady druidess, but without your skill in medicine, old Cady would still be hacking her lungs up when the weather changes."

"Maybe," Setsuna placed her herbs back into the leather bag she carried. They stood inside Gaius' small hut, not a far walk from the village nearby. He had come here, a Christian monk, hoping to convert people to his faith. He had succeeded in many ways, although at times he still discovered people praying to the Goddess. Such belief is often difficult to uproot, and they welcomed Setsuna and her abilities happily. "Care to escort a druidess to the local pub for a mug of wine, Gaius?"

"A young one such as yourself? Certainly," he offered her an arm dramatically, and Setsuna accepted it, grinning. Gaius was middle aged now, no longer the young man he was from Constantinople. His brown hair had begun to take the shade of iron at his temples, and laughter lines were deepening around his eyes. If not for the shaved pate on his head, he would still have had all his hair.

"I'm far older than I look, Gaius." Not a day older than when I became ban-draoi. Ten years, and I have not aged a day. I wonder what the others would say to such a thing. I wonder....

"Setsuna? Are you well? You went pale there for a moment."

"Fine. Come. I'm thirsty." The two made a odd pair, strolling easily down the path. Dark was only now beginning to fall, the setting sun in the west staining the sky red. The image of a Christian and druidess, arm and arm, chatting easily was a rare one in these days. The local pub was called "The Mystic's Dream" and the image of head in the clouds decorated the post, a clump of ivy snaking around it. They broke apart as they entered and ordered watered wine from the barmaid, settling themselves by the fireplace. Men from the fields began trickle in as the work day completed, coming for a pint of mead before sleep and repeating the process of farming the next day, laughing and calling to each other as they came. Ale and mead flowed around the tables, and Setsuna and Gaius were both left to themselves in their corner, watching the men.

"...will convince you!" Gaius joked, half serious, holding a finger up at Setsuna.

"I am not going to become a nun, Gaius, no matter what you say of your Holy Virgin."

"Ah, Setsuna. A shame!" he broke apart a crust of bread the barmaid had brought, smearing it with cheese, then stuffing it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "You would be a Abbess, surely," his eyes twinkled. "Or is it the clothes? Black too dark?"

Setsuna nearly choked on the wine she was sipping. "Gaius, I wore black robes for all my training years! Now I wear blue. Day in and day out. I am so tired of wearing them. Someday, I will make the most beautiful clothes anyone has ever seen."

"I don't doubt it," Gaius lifted his glass to her slightly. "I suppose the robes of a monk are dull as well." He picked at a fold of his coarse brown robe. "To your career as a tailor."

Setsuna smiled somberly and lifted her mug in return. "To your convincing me to be a nun," they drank and turned their gazes to the room once more. Several men began a raunchy song, singing to the barmaid, who laughed and flirted back. A man strode into the bar, shouting for a drink. The reaction was instantaneous.

"Kade!" the barmaid shrieked, dropping her tray and running to the man, who swung her around laughing, kissing her on the cheek.

"And how are you, cousin Hulda? Still have the men in town chasing after you? I see you do!" louder laugher accompanied this, and the newcomer was surrounded by by men. He winced once, when one slapped him hard on the arm.

"What, come back from the army and you can't even take a hit? C'mon! They make you into a prissy girl there?" Kade looked at him a moment so somberly that the action around him stilled. Then he rolled up his sleeve to show a heavy field dressing wound up his arm, flecks of blood showing through. Murmurs rippled through the room. "Hey, priestess! Brother Gaius! Could you-?" he was cut off by Setsuna, who pushed the man brusquely aside, pulling her bag out.

"Who bandaged this?"

"Field surgeon. Who're you? Brother Gaius? Who's this?"

Gaius answered him as Setsuna bent to work, unwinding the gauzy material. "This is Setsuna. From Mona. She came here a few weeks after you left for the army last year, Kade. She'll clean you up."

"Get me some wine, and some cloth, for a fresh dressing," Setsuna ordered Hulda. Quickly, she scurried to fetch it.

"I'm not bleeding to death," he tried to brush Setsuna away, but she grabbed his arm and held him still.

"The dressing is good, but nothing was placed on the wound to cleanse it. Hold still. This will sting," she dabbed a napkin into the pitcher that Hulda had brought, then wiped it over Kade's arm. He grit his teeth, but remained silent. "Blade cut. Broadsword? Who's been fighting and where?"

"Badon. To the south, two days. The Pendragon standard. Some Jutes joined with some Angles and Saxons. Cut in from Ireland, crossed through inland. We moved to stop them."

Gaius crossed himself feverently. "And the King?"

"Dead."

Silence. The room hung heavily, staring at Kade. "Dead?" Gaius whispered hoarsely. Kade nodded once, hanging his head. Setsuna tied the wrapping tightly, and stood, backing away. Badon. And so it begins....

"We laid siege to the town they took. Had them trapped in a bottleneck. They had to break out, or starve to death. Uther led the counter, with his wife's son with him. I was under Uther's second captain, and I saw it. The Saxon commander...hell. Man was a giant! Stood seven feet tall and with the muscles of a bear! Threw a spear! Straight through the fighting! Pierced Uther's chest. I saw him fall. Arthur...good God, I've never seen a thing like it." Kade crossed himself. "He has this dog, Arthur does. Cabal. He and that dog...somehow, they hacked their way through the line. Arthur must have killed fifty men to do it! He met the commander in the line. Beheaded him. One stroke. Sweet Jesu, I thought he'd be killed. Two men, followed him. Lot's sons, Gawain and Beauhands...ah, Gareth, I mean. Beauhands is Arthur's standard bearer. They waded through, and Ector and Kay fell in behind. Pulled Arthur out. It was the pit of Hell in there. Arthur though, rallied Uther's men and led a charge. I was in the right flank, and we crashed through the Angle line. Bloody Hell it was. The Saxon pigs running like the Cwn Annwn on their arses! Ah, not that the Hounds of Annwn are real, Brother," Kade said apologetically to Gaius, who indulgently nodded and urged him to continue. "Well, we took Badon back, sending those bastards running to their mothers!" he balled a fist. Hulda provided him with a mug of ale, and he quaffed it, polishing it in a single gulp. "Ah. Thanks. Needed that. Strange thing though about Uther. They found the body. His eyes were poked out and his tounge...it was black, hanging out. That's what I was told, anyway."

And so, Morgan, you have succeeded in the first part of your curse....

Gaius cleared his throat and asked, "Who holds Camelot?"

Kade shook his head. "I don't know. Arthur is marching his army to Camelot. They were camping in Londinium for supplies and rest," he reached for another mug of mead, and began to down it.

"Brave man!" one of the men shouted, and was chorused by several others, who surrounded Kade.

"Setsuna," Gaius took her arm and led her to the front of the tavern, away from the men inside. "If no one holds Camelot, then...."

Setsuna placed a consoling hand on his arm. "I wouldn't worry, Gaius. The Sword in the Stone will decide the next in line for the throne."

"The what?" Gaius was confused. "Sword in the Stone? Is that on Mona?"

Setsuna stared, beginning to feel her stomach drop. "You have never heard of the Sword in the Stone?" No...the Sword. Excalibur! It exists! It must! It is one factor of the legend that is consistent! There IS a Sword! Gaius was only watching her curiously. "You've never heard of it? Gaius, are you completely sure? Never? Not even once? You're not from Britain...could you have missed it?"

Gaius shook his head sadly. "I came from Constantinople, Setsuna, but I have lived here over fifteen years now. I would have heard of such a strange thing if it existed."

Not again. I have lived ten years since Mona, traveling peacefully, healing and teaching words, math, showing stars to people with no knowledge. I began this, ensuring Arthur's birth. Am I forced to ensure his safety as well? That he become High King? Is it my duty to protect him here? Even from afar? If the petty kings begin to squabble over the crown Uther held, then Britain will be even more vulnerable to invasion. Badon. How many died? What price in blood for a battle over British soil? I will not let it! I was told I may interfere... I have already done so with Arthur's mere birth! Imagine a man such as Lot of Lothian on the throne! Or Mark of Cornwall! Both defied Uther regularly! Mark is even said to have murdered Tristan, who he himself sent to fetch Iseult from Ireland's shores. Arthur. Merlin is still with him, surely. He would not leave Arthur's side. I told him long ago, but surely he has discovered the boy's importance on his own by now. I cannot speak of the future to others. Foreknowledge is dangerous. But, if I may interfere...I must find that Sword!

"Gaius. Promise me something."

Startled by Setsuna's sudden vehemenence, Gaius agreed, crossing himself. "On the Word of the Lord. Setsuna, what is it?"

"Tell no one of what I have said to you of the Sword in the Stone. It is important, Gaius. Breathe no word of it. Swear?"

"Swear."

"Thank you, Gaius. You're a good man. Go with the Goddess."

"And you with the Lord. You're leaving now?"

"Yes. I have to get to Londinium. Immediately. Two days to the south and east. Good bye, Gaius. Oh, Gaius. Those books of mine, at my home? Take care of them for me." Setsuna waved, leaving Gaius staring, and set off to her small cottage in the woods. She had lived there almost a year, taking the battered house a widow who had died recently had lived in. She had fixed it up, cleaned it, and filled it with books and scrolls. She hurried, and gathered up her saddlebags, putting in a change of clothes and some food she kept in the house. I must hurry. Londinium. They're already there. Who knows how long they'll remain? Two days. Assuming I can even find Excalibur. She slung the bags over Kore's back. Kore pranced, realizing she was to be on a journey again, not merely a trot through the village. Kore, too, had stopped aging after Setsuna had left Mona, remaining in her prime. All right, old friend. I know you're eager. To Londinium!

Kore's hooves churned clods of dirt behind them as they flew over the fields. This must be what it is to fly! Wind carried Setsuna's hair back in a stream of green and black as she leaned forward, midnight blue robes rippling around her. There! At last! And the camps of armies are at the foot of the city! She reigned the black mare in, stopping on a cliff edge. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air, and she had almost been forced to stop in a town several miles back the day before in the thunderstorm. Grey clouds still swirled overhead, and puddles of water settled in the ground around them. Boulders from some long ago cataclysm sloped down the hill, and she had Kore pick her way around. The Sword in the Stone. I must find it. Setsuna swung from Kore's back, searching for a larger puddle. She found one, and knelt beside it, concentrating carefully. She held a hand over the water. Mist. I must see the Sword. Show me the Sword that Arthur will wield! Vapor rose from the puddle, swirling around Setsuna's hand. The mist coalesced, frothing, then drew back to the edges, revealing the image of a sword, buried hilt deep in a crystal spire. The scene drew closer. The sword's hilt was a crescent, and it shone dimly with light. The Sword...no. No. It cannot be...show me more! Where is the Sword? The image in the pool widened, to show the rubble of what was once a prayer room, a single spire jutting out of the floor in its center, Excalibur rising from a crack in the smooth crystal casing. The tower was crumbling, damaged through war and time, but Setsuna recognized it. It is the Sword of the Moon! Excalibur! No! It can't be!

Setsuna broke away from the puddle and image reflected there. She backed up, sitting on a nearby stone. Kore came to her and pushed her gently with her nose. "Kore," she scratched the horse's ear. I must go to the Moon. I began this back at Tintagel all those years ago, ensuring his birth. Now, I will complete what I started. Scrying does not lie. No one else knows of the Moon Sword. No one on Earth alive, at least. I will bring the Moon Sword...Excalibur...here. It is my mission now, to protect Arthur and what he stands for. I am the Lady of the Lake. Setsuna stood. "Wait here, Kore," the horse whickered, and tossed her head. Lets see if I can still do this.

"Pluto Planet Power! Make-up!" Her aural light burst around her as she completed the henshin. The Timestaff formed in her hand, and she stepped down, carrying it delicately. Her fuku had altered somewhat since her last time, when she had appeared to Taliesin at the Lake. Her boots now showed high heels, and her earrings were shaped as arrowheads. She looked down at herself. "I would have expected heels to be uncomfortable," she rocked back and forth, then shrugged. "Well, Kore?" the horse snorted and whinnied. "Glad you approve. Now. Let's hope I can get to the Moon," she closed her eyes and concentrated on the Timestaff. To the Moon.... Her hair floated up around her, and she faded in a wash of crimson light.

The stars were clearer there, without the blanket of atmosphere to obscure them. The Moon. Silent and empty, once home to a thriving civilization long lost. The form of Sailor Pluto coalesced before the ruins of the Silver Millennium, the red mist swirling and solidifying around her, and she opened her eyes, looking at her surroundings. The Earth. Strange...it is always the Moon that is thought of as a crescent. Here, it is the Earth that appears in a curve. The earthrise was on the horizon, glowing blue and green and grey, the ocean water sparkling smoothly. Ah. Britain. It is covered by clouds. The storm. I would have loved to have seen it from here. Now. Thunder and lightning in the clouds. Beautiful. Sailor Pluto tore her eyes from the Earth and returned to the halls of the palace, her heels striking softly on the crumbling marble. Columns rose above her, fell around her. She walked through, remembering the way she had taken so many centuries ago. She stopped at the entrance way of the Prayer Room, her hand touching the pillar beside her lightly. No one but the Queen may enter. Queen Serenity. Please help me. Is this right? Sailor Pluto held the Timestaff in her hands, praying silently as the silvery moondust blew across the marble floor.

Before the Prayer Tower, a figure began to take shape, a figure of moonlight and shadow, illusory but strong, rising from the floor and standing. She remained tiny, her hair moonlit white and her dress of moondust. A crescent graced her brows, and she smiled at the somberly praying form of Sailor Pluto. "Setsuna...." the illusion whispered, and in the velvet quiet of the Moon, the words carried to her ears. Pluto looked up at her name to see the shadowy shape of Queen Serenity before her.

"Queen?" she knelt, lowering her eyes respectfully.

Warmly, the Queen spread her arms. "Come closer, Setsuna. You have grown so." Pluto obeyed, falling to her knees to be closer to eye level with the holographic woman. "Yes...you look like both your parents. You have done well, Setsuna, Sailor Pluto. I see that you have come on a mission...for the Moon Sword?"

"Yes, my Queen. There are people who need the strength of the Silver Millennium again."

The moonlit figure shivered, her image blurring a moment before she continued. "The Sword is meant to protect the Princess, who in turn protects the Earth. The Sword may be wielded by the pure of heart, and the generous of spirit. The Sword belongs to those who protect the Princess, Sailor Pluto, but it is meant to defend the people from harm. The world you stand on is on the brink of the Dark Ages, on which great knowledge will be lost, of our time, of knowledge gained by the Earth's scribes. By taking the Sword, you hold off that Darkness for some small time. It shall be inevitable. But the Wheel of Time is turning already. Guard the one who will protect the land, Setsuna, as you have. Take the legendary Sword, and see it to its owner. It will not have its full power in this time, for it is not in the hands of my daughter's guardians, but it will remain unequaled in strength. Return the Sword to its home as its mission is fulfilled. It shall wait for my daughter. Setsuna. Princess of Pluto. Protect the people as you best know...." the illusion began to fade. "I cannot remain...my energy must be saved. Farewell, Setsuna...." Queen Serenity's image was gone in a swirl of moondust.

"Queen..." Pluto touched the spot on which she had stood. "Farewell," she waited there a moment, the breathed deeply, sighing with determination. She looked up to the spire that the Sword was encased in. "Excalibur," Setsuna stood, moving quietly to the spire. A tiny series of words had been written onto the Sword's hilt. Setsuna mumbled them softly to herself, running a hand over the pommel of the Sword.

"When this sword shows its light...The Silver Imperium Crystal follows the heart of she who would become queen. Take the completed crystal, and release the Great Power of the Moon. Give service to the Moon's Holy Tower, and once more bring peace to our kingdom...."

Words meant for the future. For Serenity's daughter. This is the method of sealing for a creature that nearly destroyed us. Let it remain for the future. Sailor Pluto placed a hand on the hilt, and pulled. The Sword slid slowly from its crystal sheath, and cracks appeared in the crystal from the motion. The crystal shattered in some spots, breaking off as the Sword came free, humming slightly at the vibration of its release. So you are the Singing Sword.… Pluto smiled slightly, whispering softly, "Thank you, Queen Serenity," then she left the room, returning to the barren walkways outside. Someday this will come again. I wait to see how. But until those days, I will worry myself with these. Return me to the Earth. To the field of stone over Londinium.... The crimson mist swirled up around her again, circling her and the two relics she held, Timestaff and Sword.

A bitter wind blew as she returned to the stony ground of the planet, and a smattering of rain kissed the rocks around her. Here is the place. Over Londinium, in a quarry of stones. The Moon was hidden from view by the grey stormclouds. "Let a stone hold the Singing Sword," she chose a large one, and struck the Sword into its top. Made of stuff far harder than any diamond. It sank into its new scabbard, up to the hilt, covering the inscribed words on the base of the blade. Thunder rumbled loudly, roaring through the skies as several fingers of lightning touched the Earth around her, white hot. She leapt back as one of the streaks hit the pommel of the Sword, and blew apart the top of the surrounding rock, melting in a puddle the stone at its base. Kore reared, screaming wildly, and Pluto grabbed at her halter to calm and reassure her. The lightning danced around the blade, then centered on it, the different ribbons of light focusing on the blade. There was a crackle as steam rose from around the Sword, and the bolts withdrew, returning to the clouds overhead. Vapor hovered around the Sword in the Stone, and rain began to beat more steadily around them. Pluto stepped forward to see what had happened to the blade. Where the method of sealing had been printed in silver, a new script of gold was stamped. Sailor Pluto read the new words aloud.

"Who so pulleth out this Sword from this Stone shall be rightwise King, borne of all England."

Simple. Elegant. A single line that promises so much to the owner. The space around its base has melted from the lightning strike. The rain will help with that, to cool it. Now...I must ensure that the legend of the Sword is formed. To go straight to Merlin would help, yes, but...the people must believe in it, not only the nobles. What good is a people if they hate you? The camps. I will go into Londinium, disguised, and see that rumors are whispered.

"Pluto Power! Morph me into an old woman!" her fuku lengthened, but remained black, a heavy hood overtaking her head. Her long green black hair turned white, but her bronze skin and garnet eyes remained, though she became wrinkled and stooped. Kore tossed her head, fidgeting, as she took on the appearance of an old nag. Her halter became coarser in appearance, a poorly woven rawhide braid for a bridle. Her back bowed from age, hips jutting out. She hobbled over to Setsuna, who was surprised to hear her voice come out harsh and scratchy. "We make a pair, don't we Kore? Come on. Let's get our old bones out of the rain." They tottered down the slope, heading for the lit town of Londinium.

Water slanted down from the skies as Setsuna tied Kore to a post outside the door of a tavern. There she was out of the wind and rain. Air tugged at her clothing, whipping it around her body as she turned inside the place. It had been easy to find a tavern with soldiers, so many encamped around the city's skirts. This place sat at the bank of the Thames, and the smell of fish mingled with sweat and sour beer. Wind slammed the sign above the door against the wooden walls, and Setsuna, bent, entered quietly. Heat radiated out from the packed bodies and roaring fireplace. It was late, and most of the men were already deep in their cups. Several men at the first table were pounding fists against the table repeatedly, cheering on a man standing, who was gulping down a massive tankard of mead. He finished with a flourish, and the men erupted into applause and howls, ordering another round. Setsuna took a place at the bar, the last chair on the end, close to the fire to dry her dampened clothing. The bartender came to her, a grumpy looking man with a grizzled beard. "We don't let nobody jus' sit ere. Ye ain't order'n nuthin, best be movin along, woman," he swiped the bar before her with a cloth, scattering crumbs. Setsuna kept her eyes lowered, but quietly reached into a pocket and withdrew a darkened gold coin. The man's eyes bulged in their sockets as she placed it on the table. "Sweet Lady! Forgive me, old mother! What can I do for ye?" he stumbled over himself to get her drink when she said simply,

"Honey wine. Then let me be."

The drink appeared before her, and the man fidgeted a moment, then collected the coin slowly. When she did not grab it back, he tucked it into a pocket and hurried to the back room to store it safely. Such money was not often flung around. Setsuna waited patiently for her moment, listening to the men shout and boast of their battle prowess. She sipped quietly, biding her time. The glass had been half emptied when she heard two men in the corner table. One was heavily drunk, shouting about the upcoming glory of Camelot.

"Arthur will be king o' all Britain, I tell ye, Malin!" he quaffed another gulp of beer, smacking Malin on the back as he leaned forward, shouting. "Got us a good man! Scaffered hundreds 'o men he did! Good King I tell ye! Glory of the gods be he!"

"Landon, ye're drunk as an ass. Arthur ne'er be king of all Britain. He's born bastard."

"Bastard the king! Malin! Be you speakin' gainst the king? I'll rip your throat out your arse-!"

"If that were e'en possible Landon, I doubt it'd be. I'm Arthur's man, no questioning that!" Malin placed his hand over his heart and bowed slightly from his seat. "Fought at Badon I did, in the regiments! As ev'ry man ere!" Several men who heard the exchange sent up a cheer at that announcement. "All us saw what the dux bellorum did! One stroke," Malin swiped his hand across his neck. "No more bastard Saxon!" More cheers greeted that. "Aye, Saxons driven back, but Arthur's got no blood right to the throne." Malin shook his head sadly and buried his face in a pot of ale.

"If he be Uther's he does! Ye said it yerself!" Landon pulled the bowl from Malin's mouth. Malin pushed him back, wiping his lips with his shirt sleeve.

"Aye, Landon. If he gots none of Uther's blood in 'im then he has no right. If he does, then he's born bastard, and can't rule anyway. None o' the bloody nobles 'ould follow if he weren't some prissy castle living brat. 'Sides, that he's Uther's is naught more than rumor anyway. If he ain't got the blood, then he can't. Not my choice."

"Then we'll storm Camelot!" Landon roared drunkenly, gyring his hands around him.

"Get yer arse in yer chair, and sit down, man. It'd take a miracle of God to get Arthur to the throne."

"Ah, but there has been such a miracle," an elderly woman at the bar scratched. Her voice was soft, but strangely amplified within the wooden walls. The slurred speech of the men grew silent and the hoarse shouts died down as Malin and Landon turned their attention to the black robed silhouette, framed by the fire. She kept her face turned down to her mug of wine.

Malin stood and watched her carefully. "An' who're you, old mother?" Setsuna chuckled, the sound harsh with her disguised voice. She placed her mug down on the countertop, turning on her stool, still keeping her hood down, letting only the white clumps of hair to dangle.

"Britain holds to the last rays of wisdom. Light from the holy isle. There is a Sword of ancient times, lost to the memory of men. Forged by the lightning. It sits in the rocks above Londinium, waiting for its master. Only the future King may pull it from its sheath. The Sword in the Stone," she held up a finger in warning, and lifted her head, allowing them to fully see her strange red eyes. A ripple of breath fluttered through the room's silence. "Placed there by magic's hand. For who so pulleth out that Sword from that Stone shall be rightwise king, borne of all England," with those words she lifted her hands up before her, casting a tiny glamourie. Any who knew of magic things and spells would know her trick. She was there, but not there, the others in the room forced to avert their eyes from her, look around her. To them, she had disappeared from sight, seemingly by a simple wave of hand.

Setsuna hurried carefully to the doorway, avoiding inadvertent contact with any of the men. She succeeded, and as she slipped into the rain, she heard the men beginning to murmur amongst themselves. Imagined? No, impossible. A Sword in the Stone? Above Londinium? Forged by lightning? Tonight? In the rain? There was lightning. But why now? What Goddess, God or gods sent such a gift? Setsuna allowed herself a tiny smile of satisfaction at their confusion. One tavern of men would spread word, but she needed all of the army to be speaking of the strange Sword above the city. Slowly, she worked her way into several other taverns across Londinium, repeating her performance with similar dramatics and results. Rumors rippled that a woman with the eyes of no mortal spoke of such a Sword. A Sword in a Stone.

It was the man called Merlin to Arthur and his Companions who at last organized the search for the rumored Sword. It was found easily enough, high on a sloping hill of rock. The generals who traveled with Arthur for Uther's sake demanded that they too have a turn at the blade. Merlin intervened, advising a wait. Runners and messengers were summoned and sent out to gather men and spread word. The gods had sent a miracle to England, to settle any dispute over the next king. And so they waited, as men came from all over Britain. From Sulis and Anderida, Calleva, Deva, Avon, Dubris, Eburacum, Glevum, Dummonia, Lothian, Cornwall, Caerleon and Venta Belgarum. They amassed at Londinium's gates, camping with their escorts and entourages, hastily establishing their tents. Londinium became a circus of men, strutting to show off for those who would be king. Word of such things spread quickly, for it was considered a miracle. Spectators from the countryside came in to watch the parades of nobility in fine clothes and gallant armor. Merlin took a personal hand in keeping the Sword safe when found. Some of the more foolish had tried to bring axes and hammers and awls to pick or break the Sword free of the Stone. He put several trusted knights around it, of different lands, to show no favoritism to Arthur, who he served, or any other lord.

It was morning when they marched up the hill to the Sword. The first men had walked away defeated, to pitying applause from the crowds at their failure. Some men took longer than others, calculating with their eyes the angle and tilt of the Sword, thinking that they could pull it out by the right angle. They, too, failed. Knights and nobles tugged and pulled, and even peasants were given chance by Merlin to stand and touch the hilt of the blade. An enraged Lot of Lothian kicked at the rock when he was given his turn, failing as the others before him. He stormed off rudely, black hair storming around him.

It was dusk when Arthur took his place at the Stone. The sun was setting on the western horizon, staining the sky red and purple. The Moon, cloaked by the stars, was emerging in the heaven, its silky silver light glistening down on the heads of the tired watchers. Rosy fingers of sunlight still reached up, and it was under this light that Arthur placed his hand on the hilt of the Moon Sword. The light of the Sun and Moon intensified as he did so, and a vapor of mist rose from the stone as he pulled it from its sheath, humming softly. He held the Sword aloft, and the combined brightness of the dying Sun and reborn Moon wrapped around him, a thin circlet of gold settling on his brows, and a blood colored scabbard formed at his side.

Merlin was the first to bow to his knee, saying, "Long live Arthur, King of Britons."

Many still remained in shock, the nobles who had failed. Gawain and Beauhands, sons of Lothian and Companions of Arthur, dropped to their knees and repeated what Merlin had said, only louder. "Long live Arthur! King of Britons!" The peasants knelt, and at last the nobles. "Long live Arthur! King of Britons!" this was their pledge of fealty and the only coronation that Arthur would need. Later, men would say that he was ordained by the hands of the immortals, by God and heaven. And so the men and women on Londinium's slopes called out in accord the name of their new King. "Long live Arthur! King of Britons!"

Swif. Scratch.

Scribble, scritch scritch. Swif. Scribble scribble.

Dab dab. Blot.

Swif scratch.

Scribble.

Merlin did not hesitate in his writing when he heard the cloth flap of his tent stir in opening and closing. He dipped the quill into the inkwell and daubed it on a bit of cloth, then continued to press the quill to scroll, black ink marking evenly with stylistic calligraphy. Bent at his desk, a tiny table, with a candle burned low, he wrote, a stream of words pouring from pen. Occasionally, a drop would fall out of place, a blob on the parchment. The candle spluttered at the breeze that entered with the figure. Merlin continued to write, but spoke to who was there. "I write it all down, Lake Lady. Every word of it. Every action. Mayhap someday it will be of some use to someone."

"Annals of history are useful in any era, Merlin," Setsuna drew closer, the shadows cast by the candle dancing in the hollows of her face. At last he set the pen down in the inkwell, and leaned back in the chair, regarding the woman who stood before him.

"You have grown much, Lake Lady. But not so much as you should have." Setsuna smiled then, and folded her hands into a temple before her. "Ah, secrets, Lake Lady. Cannot tell an aging man the secrets of eternal youth?" Setsuna chuckled a moment, then sobered. It is true. He is aging. He is the Merlin now that is pictured in storybooks. Long white beard. Sharp, intelligent, yet still kindly eyes. The druid robes on his thin frame...yes. This is the Merlin of legend. At Setsuna's silent stare, Merlin leaned back and sighed. "I suppose not. Disruption to the cycle of life. They say already that I am the one who placed the Sword in the Stone. Arthur calls it Excalibur."

"That is its name, here."

"Here?"

"Yes. Here. Someday, I must return it to where it came. For another to use, for another to protect."

"Another king?"

"Queen."

"Ah. So England will someday be ruled by a Queen."

Setsuna laughed lightly. "Yes, England will be ruled by a Queen, but not the one who will use the Sword. England will have many Queens, and great ones. Women will be allowed to rule in Britain, someday."

Merlin lifted his eyebrows. "Truly? I imagine the nobles will not take kindly to that."

"Perhaps not at first. But they'll learn. That is not for some time, Merlin."

"Arthur first called me that on a lesson. A merlin alighted onto my hand, and since then, that is the only name he calls me. You called me that long before, if my memory serves me right."

Dryly, Setsuna responded, "Your memory always serves you right, if I remember correctly from my own lessons."

Merlin chuckled. "Sit, Lake Lady."

Setsuna waved off the offer. "I cannot stay. I cannot interfere."

"Interfere? Dear Lake Lady, you brought that Sword for Arthur to use. You ensured his existence. Interfere? It is far too late for that."

"I ensured only what must happen. From here, I must stand aside." Merlin stood and went to a table beside his cot. He poured spiced cider into a mug and offered one to Setsuna. Reluctantly, she accepted it. "Thank you."

"Ever polite. I know better now than to press you on your reasons, Lake Lady. But why must Arthur return the Sword? To where? And if killed in battle, how?"

Setsuna shrugged as she sipped her cool cider. It tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg. She wrinkled her nose slightly, but enjoyed it all the same. "If necessary, I will retrieve Excalibur myself. But see to it that Arthur knows the Sword must be returned."

"I will. For the...future?"

"Yes. The far future."

"You are still out of contact with Morgan."

Setsuna winced. "Yes."

"She has married. Urien, of Rheged."

"He's twice her age!"

"Still. She is married."

"Has she any children?" Still no word of any Mordred. And Arthur is crowned. Nineteen. Barely more than a boy, a stripling with the fancy title of dux bellorum. Now he is King, as should be. He still has growing to do. Ages. Mordred....

"You sound worried of any of Morgan's children."

"I worry for her welfare."

"Of course," Merlin's words were noncommittal, agreeing but skeptical at once. "She succeeded in her curse on Uther. She still blames you, but hates herself for it."

"Morgan has yet to understand why I did what I did that night. Telling you to send Uther to Igraine."

"As I am yet to see it. But I believe I know why. Arthur. King of Britons. There is a goodness in him, Lady of the Lake. This will be a glorious reign. I am surprised that Morgan has not Seen it with the Sight."

"She has rarely had full control over her vision. She sometimes sees only what she wishes."

"True. She's impatient. Demands answers immediately. If Arthur is the King I think, I know he will be, then I see why." Setsuna finished her drink, and set it on the table. "Arthur already worries about a queen," Merlin continued, watching Setsuna's reaction carefully. Her face was void of emotion.

"He will choose the queen he wishes. The one he has chosen, and the one he will. The one he must. Watch carefully, Merlin. The queen is a most dangerous player in the future."

"He has had his eye on the daughter of Leodegrance, king of Cameliard. Guinevere. The alliance would be advantageous."

"Yes. Guinevere."

"You will stay for their ceremony, then?"

"I must not interfere."

"Then watch. Observe. Stay for awhile, Setsuna. As my guest. If you say no word, what harm may be done?"

Merlin was right. What harm can be done if I am here only for a short time? No word spoken of the future, no damage, no foreknowledge. Setsuna sat in her room in Camelot pinning up her hair before a polished silver mirror.

Camelot was unlike any other place Setsuna had seen, in any vision or image of the future, or the past. Camelot was to England what the Silver Millennium was to the Moon. What Elysion was to the Earth. The walls outside glistened when she had first arrived, white and shining. Buttresses arched skyward, and the high walls were dotted with observant archers. There were slits in the walls for archers as well, for a fight. A heavy portcullis was over the bridge, and the wide moat steamed around Camelot in a shroud. She had seen Camelot before, many times through hazy distance from Mona as a girl. But now she had crossed the moat on Kore's back, Merlin before her, and Arthur and Gawain, Beauhands, Kay, Bedwyr, and a new knight from Brittany named Lancelot. It was Lancelot that Arthur had sent to fetch his bride from her home, to collect her dower, a massive Round Table that took twenty oxen to haul the distance. Lancelot had become fast friends with Arthur, both equally matched in skill of sword and lance. Camelot had been in uproar since the King had announced his betrothal. Negotiations had gone relatively smoothly. Setsuna had hovered in the shadows, watching the proceedings. For awhile I am safe here. But I am hardly infallible. A word may slip. I may have need of the Timestaff, and someone may notice me henshin. Until after the wedding. Then I leave. Perhaps back to Tintagel. I haven't been there in so long.... I do want to see Guinevere. Is she as lovely as the legends rumor her to be? Arthur has grown into a fine man. He looks like Igraine. That is well for him. Keeps people guessing as to his parentage. I wonder if he himself knows. He must, surely. But nobility of character and mind is not in the blood, but in the soul. Igraine. He does look like her. Same amber eyes, same auburn hair, slightly wavy. He has Uther's shoulders, I think, but then from what I have heard of Gorlois, he too was not a small man, so that means little. Today Arthur weds Guinevere. And so his reign begins. The legends born from these people! Generations of tellings and retellings! Such power their tales have. The tales, the stories, that is what matters. A pity for the Silver Millennium. It will be so long before the legends of those days are rediscovered. For now....

She tucked her hair up into a single odango on top of her head. Several strands fell loosely around her shoulders. She dabbled her fingers in the water of the bowl at her side and curled the hair around them, releasing them after a moment so they would spiral slightly. With all the activity at Camelot, preparation for the wedding, jewelry and cloth had been simple enough to find. She was delighted to find a heart shaped hair pin, with a sparkling ruby in it. It had reminded her of the Garnet Orb, so she had managed to get it, as well as some other jewelry. A heavy ruby necklace with black pearls graced her neck, and a bracelet of silver set with obsidian flecks on her wrist. She had been overjoyed to find the cloth she did, haunting the tailor shops. Most colors for spring were bright, sprightly colors, inspired by the wedding. Setsuna had wanted to go counter, wildly counter. I must wear blue robes every day. I want to do something different. I like dark, so that is well. But medieval clothes...a period piece, yes, but not like anyone else's! Everyone will wear their best, to impress the King. As will I, but I will not look like everyone else!

The material she selected was of a dark garnet red, so deep it was nearly black. She bought the whole bolt of fabric, as well as some prettily colored small beads, which shimmered in shades of purple and green.

She had stitched for hours, sewing it together, and was pleased with the result. It was deceptively simple. Sleeveless and with a scoop neck. Straps twined behind her neck. The bodice was tight, almost Victorian in style, and she had sewn the beads halfway up from the bottom of the bodice, then gathered tiny scraps of material and formed tiny flowers from them. The skirt had been where she had run into indecision, wanting the full eighteenth century French style that belled out, but such a extensive dress would be a bit more attention grabbing than even she wanted. She had trimmed it, still keeping a slight bell shape, but letting it fall relatively straight. It was the back, or lack thereof, that would catch most eyes, since it left her shoulders and most of her back bare, exposing her shoulder blades. That was highly irregular for the usual Arthurian dress, that and lack of sleeves. Trailing sleeves were high rage at the moment, as were Y shaped belts. She had forgone the Silver Millennium's fondness for fluffiness in bows, opting for the sleeker style.

Now she sat at her dresser, in the mirror, pinning up her hair into a soft bun. She had decided to forgo her usual odango, leaving most down, and put it all up in true Victorian style. Wouldn't it be funny if they thought it immoral? One of England's most straight laced and downright prudish eras considered obscene? It is just hair, but still funny to consider. The bodice is Victorian inspired as well, so we'll see. Who was that famous designer in the future? Chanel? Yes, Coco Chanel, eat your heart out!

Setsuna stood before the long mirror. Mirrors in those days were still not so clear, but well enough. She spun from side to side, observing her handiwork. The fashion house of Setsuna, Lady of the Lake. I'll be famous hundreds of years before anyone hears of haute coture. Setsuna, listen to yourself. You sound like an eleven year old again. Well, I might as well enjoy my dress in private. Why not? I wonder what Guinevere will wear. For that matter, Morgan. Morgan is here. Her brother is marrying today, and she is here with her husband Urien. Why Urien? What benefit does he bring her? Could she love him? Doubtful. Morgan never struck me as the marrying type, especially to someone so much older. I wonder what politicking happened there. Merlin may know. Morgawse is here as well, with the eternally unhappy Lot. At least Arthur has given him, as a kinsman, certain rights. Lot deserves none of them, but it will placate him for now. Mark is not here, thank the Wheel. One less to worry about. The knights of the Table are assembling. Merlin is my escort for the evening, technically, although he tells me he doubts that I will remain with him long. I wonder if any knight would dance with me, a child of the Dananns as far as they are concerned. Garnet eyes and now bizarre dress. Maybe I should have been a bit more tame. Or not....

Just as she began to turn from the mirror, she was surprised to see a small red gleam on her forehead. The Pluto Symbol! It has not shown itself for years! For the occasion, then? Well, then tonight, it appears I will be answering questions related to 'what is that?' instead of 'why don't you wear the mark of the Goddess?' The tailed P. Thank you for appearing.

The ceremony was to be performed in Camelot's gardens, in the center of the great castle. Guinevere had arrived several days prior, secreting herself with her maids in the castle. Few had seen her. Setsuna among them. The sun was dazzling that day, high overhead and yellow. Camelot's gardens were in full bloom, flowers of every kind bursting riotously in their beds. Ivy clung to the walls of the garden, draping between the entrances and exits. An altar was in the center, where the priest stood. Oak trees shaded the spot, stretching high above. People were mingling as they stood. Merlin smiled at Setsuna as he released her arm. A lord named Bors came and he and the Merlin spoke together, Setsuna following the conversation only distantly.

The crowd began to shift, and Setsuna and Merlin, with Bors, ambled to one side, taking their places. Merlin patted Setsuna's hand once, then went up to stand with Arthur, who was now at the altar. There was little sound as the ceremony began, but birds in the trees sung softly. Arthur wore full finery, his standard of the Pendragon emblazoned onto the red background of his clothing, hemmed in cloth of gold. Excalibur rested comfortably at his hip, the hilt polished to gleaming, as was the shining silver mail he wore. A cloak of midnight purple hung from his back, and the sun lit his amber hair in a wave of copper colored strands.

He turned, as they all did, to see Guinevere approach through a curtain of ivy. That Guinevere was beautiful would do no justice to her. Bards would sing of her, compare her to Helen of Troy. Her golden hair was parted down her head, fastened in twined braids behind her ears, long loose tails falling in a waterfall down her back, trailing to the ground, waving only slightly. Pearls had been sewn through it, and moonstones. Milky white skin with small red lips, and enormous blue eyes that dominated her face, framed by exquisite black lashes. She wore white, a gown of gauzy precious silk, flowing around her like a white river. A belt of yellow gold wrapped her waist, trailing down. The neckline was low, decorated with pearls wrapped in spirals around her chestline. Long sleeves were opened lowly, trimmed in gold. She carried a bouquet of red roses, twined together in golden strands of thread. Roses had been placed behind the knots of braiding behind her ears. She wore only one piece of jewelry, a heavy Celtic suncross as a necklace, with a diamond in its center.

She makes a statement with this. She is Christian. A pagan ceremony, though with Christian elements to it. This will worry those on Mona. But...she is as lovely as they say. She does, somehow, look familiar....

Guinevere stepped forward, brushing over rose petals that young girls had strewn before her. Maidens held branches over her, of many kinds of trees. Two women flanked her, her handmaids. One was very tall, with fresh green eyes and sunstreaked brown hair, bound up in a single tail at the nape of her neck, full and thick. A dress the color of emeralds hung from her shoulders. The other was not so tall, her hair the same golden color of Guinevere, but let down and not so long. Blue eyes and a small, proud smile graced her face as she swept along beside her queen in a dress the color of burnished bronze. Guinevere extended a hand gracefully to Arthur, who took it, beaming at her, bringing her to his side. Somberly, Guinevere took her place beside him.

The rites were completed, and a banquet laid out for a reception. The Great Hall of Camelot could rival anything the Silver Millennium had produced, and what amazed Setsuna was that they did it with far less technology, less resources, and no Imperium Crystal. Setsuna only left Merlin after being introduced to Guinevere. Arthur she had met, but he seemed completely enraptured by his new queen. Guinevere had smiled kindly at Setsuna, warily taking her hand. Guinevere seemed afraid of her new surroundings, but eager to speak to people. Guinevere had instantly asked Setsuna about her dress, and she had happily responded that she had made it herself. "It is lovely," Guinevere had said. "The color is beautiful on you. It so brings out your eyes. You must show me how you made those tiny flowers on it. They are so lovely, lady Setsuna."

"Thank you, your majesty," Setsuna had thanked her. She had been politely swept away by one of Guinevere's handmaidens, the taller one. There were many who wished to meet the new queen and the High King, and so Setsuna set herself aside.

But sadly, nothing in the world lasts forever. Not even this. Not the Silver Millennium. Someday, many, many millennia in the future, even Sol, our lightbringer, will nova, and nothing but a black star will remain when it is through the throes of its death. It will take such time. I wonder at this. Birth and death. Time devouring everything, for it is the one thing that must exist, or nothing else will. But for now, let me enjoy this reception. I have seen Morgan. She stands with Urien. She saw me, but said nothing. I fear to approach her. Arthur is king, yes, but she may not understand, not yet. Perhaps, farther into the future, there may be some reconciliation. But until she herself may come to see me, let it be. I have seen others from Mona here. Gliten and Thitis! Still hanging on each other after so many years?

Gliten turned her head first to see Setsuna approaching. Her face lit, and she practically pulled Thitis around. Thitis promptly broke into a huge grin, and nearly broke Setsuna in half in a hug. "You haven't changed a bit!" Thitis shouted, nearly lifting her off her feet.

"Glad to see your not so shy anymore, Thitis," Setsuna gasped from the crushing embrace.

"Oh, Thitis just didn't like people, that's all," Gliten beamed. "Still doesn't." Thitis rolled her eyes and released Setsuna. "I love your dress, Setsuna! It's so...ah, different. But it's wonderful on you!"

Dryly, Setsuna said, "Thanks. But I hardly think my dress compares to Thitis' hair."

"What, is this talk about Thitis day?" Thitis folded her arms. "I am standing right here."

"Sorry," Gliten hugged her quickly. "She cut it a few years ago. We've been traveling on the continent, only came back a few weeks before Badon. She refused to keep it long. You had such lovely hair, Thitis! I still think you should-"

"I am not growing it out! It's long enough," she brushed a strawberry blonde strand behind an ear. The hair was straight, coming a inch below her chin. Both Thitis and Gliten were dressed in long gowns, Gliten in sky blue velvet, Thitis in lavender saffron. Gliten had bound her hair up, several curly blueblack spirals spinning down her neck.

"Excuse me," a male voice asked from behind them. The three women turned to see a smiling Bedwyr standing behind them. Teasingly, his eyes twinkled. "But, as the king as ordered the harpers to play, that means people must dance, and I would like to extend an invitation to the lovely lady with the shorn hair," he reached out with his hand, bowing from the waist. Setsuna and Gliten stared, while Thitis flushed scarlet. She tried to sidle closer to Gliten, who suddenly found the ceiling very interesting, and pushed her forward. "Come, lovely lady of the skies, I would like to dance," Thitis, tall for a woman, was dwarfed by Bedwyr, and ended up getting dragged onto the floor, throwing helpless glances back at Gliten and Setsuna.

"Sorry about Bedwyr," another man said, coming up beside them. "He's a bit hasty. We were supposed to come and ask both of you at once." Now it was Gliten's turn to flush, even darker when the man introduced himself, kissing her hand delicately. "I am Kay, son of Ector. I would love to dance with you, lady Gliten," Gliten allowed herself to be escorted to the floor. Setsuna smiled and shook her head, stepping away from the gathering couples on the floor, who began a twirling dance, exchanging partners as they circled the floor.

"Ah, Setsuna," an unwelcome voice drawled. Setsuna forced herself not to wince as she recognized the tone.

They get to dance, and I get.... "Morgawse. Its been so long."

"Oh, Setsuna, it has. My, what an...interesting...ensemble you've made." Morgawse deliberately smoothed her own wine colored dress out, trailing her fingers over the golden brocade on the bodice.

"Yours is equally lovely, Morgawse," Setsuna responded smoothly. Morgawse cleared her throat uncomfortably and straightened her her yellow hair.

"Yes, well. Good to see your friends are out with men for once. Ban-draoi, from Mona, I presume? Judging by the crescents on their head. What is that on yours, Setsuna?"

"It is my symbol," Setsuna said simply, not embellishing.

"Yours? I thought druidesses wore the crescent. Well, I suppose that isn't nearly so bad as what Guinevere wears! A cross! Christians. Did Arthur know of it? I heard she was raised by one of those priests of theirs. People come in with all kinds of bizarre-"

"Morgawse," Setsuna interrupted her tirade. "How are your children?" Better to hear of Gawain and Beauhands than her rants about religion.

"Hmph. Them? Gawain and Gareth have all but abandoned Lot and Lothian. Ungrateful. Lot and I raise them, care for them, give them everything, asking them to only promote the welfare of Lothian, and they go running off to protect Arthur." Morgawse suddenly realized where she was, and stuttered, "Not...not that there's anything wrong with that! They're heroes, my sons. But leaving Lothian...lets a mother to worry. Both have renounced Lothian in favor of joining some Round Table idea of Arthur's," grudgingly, Morgawse admitted, "equal men on equal terms? The King only the first among the circle? I must admit, that sounds very...just. Well, I suppose the rule of Lothian goes to the next in line."

Next? Next! Who is after Gawain and Beauhands? How many children do you have? Do you speak of relatives? "Morgawse, who would the next in line be? I'm afraid I've been away for some time."

"Why, my baby, Mordred. You haven't met Mordred, have you, Setsuna?" She began to look around her. "He's here somewhere. Ah. There," she waved at him, and after a moment, he looked up, then stood and weaved his way through the sea of people.

Mordred. Mordred. Mordred is the son of Morgawse. Not Morgan. Not Morgan! He is already born, and looks to be five, no, six years old. Sweet Lady, it is not Morgan! He's so...small. Short brown hair, clipped short. His eyes...they're so...cold.

"Setsuna, this is Mordred. Mordred, this is your Aunt Morgan's old friend Setsuna."

Mordred watched carefully from below her, tilting his head up to see her face. "Lady Setsuna," he greeted politely, then stood closer to his mother.

"Mordred will inherit Lothian with his brothers gone. The Seers foresaw a great deal of importance in his future. He will be a great man, known by all history!" Morgawse beamed in motherly pride. "Greater than any king to rule England. Wait until-"

"Oh!" Setsuna exclaimed as an arm suddenly wrapped around her waist.

"Excuse me, lady Lothian. The lady promised me a dance awhile ago, and I was called away before I could receive it. I hope you don't mind," Setsuna was suddenly whisked away in the arms of the knight, leaving Morgawse staring after her, spluttering. "You looked like a fair damsel in need of rescue," the knight said as he spun her around. "Forgive me for taking so long. The hall is wide and I was with Arthur on the pavilion."

"Thank you," Setsuna stuttered. "Have we met?"

He chuckled and plucked a rose from his shirt, which had been stitched there. "Lancelot. Of Brittany. For you, milady," he offered it to her, and Setsuna placed it in her hair. "I've met Morgawse. What was she ranting about this time?"

Setsuna rolled her eyes. "It's Morgawse."

"Ah! Everything, then, I see," their laughter mingled as he spun her another turn around the floor.

He grew quieter as they danced, and Setsuna watched him. He smells sweet, like roses. Handsome. Black hair, just to chin length. Oceanic blue eyes. Narrow face...I cannot help but think I've seen him though. Familiar, yet not. Odd. Well, he's light on his feet. And this is Lancelot. Has the love between him and Guinevere begun yet? If he only knew what awaited him.

"You look sad, lady. Perhaps if I could have your name?"

"I'm sorry. Lady Setsuna Meioh."

"Tintagel? Arthur spoke of you. You lived there when he was a baby."

"Yes." He's so handsome...Setsuna! Control yourself! This is Sir Lancelot! Don't be ridiculous! "I left to Mona when he was very small. I'm surprised he remembers me." That smile...no wonder Guinevere will love him so...I was told I may interfere...Lancelot. So much would be happier if Lancelot and Guinevere never loved each other. Mordred is born, yes, but without the leverage of discovering them together, regardless of whether they were betraying the King or not...Lancelot. It would be easy to love him, perhaps. I could do it. Spirit him away. I am here to protect Arthur, am I not? That is what I have been doing. Won't the betrayal of his loyalist friend and his wife harm him?

"I've never been to Tintagel," he stated, and they drew into a tighter knot of dancers, pressing them closer. Setsuna breathed more heavily, constricted by the tightness of the bodice. The spinning and tightness, closeness to the handsome Lancelot made her utterly breathless. They twirled again, spinning from the knot, and Setsuna found herself reluctant to release him. The song ended, the strings fading into silence. "My lady," he bowed, then kissed her hand. "Now that you have been safely rescued from the wicked dragon, I must return to Arthur. Forgive me my lady."

"Forgiven."

He turned and left her there. She took the flower from her hair. The red rose he had given her. The petals spread open before her. That face. I know him...what does it matter? Lancelot. I could win him, couldn't I? From Guinevere? Beauty cannot be everything. Unusual I may be...he didn't seem to mind. Still...there is something.... She turned the rose in her fingers, and a tiny hidden thorn pricked her finger. A face blurred in her vision. Sight? What is this? No.... Her head snapped to the pavilion where Guinevere stood, now accompanied by Lancelot to her left side, Arthur on her right.

They look familiar...no. I must allow this to proceed in order. I...Lancelot...we are reborn, not once, but many times. What if...no! I will not think it! But if it were to be true, that their love is far older than merely this lifetime, I must stay out. The same eyes, on both of them. Windows to the soul, it is said. When did that idiom come into existence? But...if they are...did Queen Serenity send them directly to the future? Or only to Earth, to reborn at the same time? Over and over again until the time is right for their awakening? This is another legend. I cannot take the risk. He is not for me to have.