It's my birthday which means it's RtA's birthday which means that I finally update it after a year and a half!

It may not be worth that degree of a wait but hopefully this is a sign that I'll be back to writing more like I used to.

Thank you all so much for your patience. It means a lot.

Character key:
-Geraint: Infinite the Jackal
-Gareth: Tikal the Echidna
-Tristan: Sally Acorn

Content warning for one section with a few consecutive paragraphs involving dysphoria.

This couldn't be happening. This simply, plainly, truly couldn't be happening.

Galahad forced his eyes shut, praying to Chaos, to Gaia, to Solaris and Borrum and Áine and any secret gods that no one knew about that this wasn't happening, that this couldn't be true, that when he reopened his eyes, he would be back at Castle Camelot's courtyard, with everyone else, blinking in the light and wondering why the spell had failed.

Anything but this.

"Why do you hide your eyes, child?" the loathsome voice asked, lilting like the most condescending of songs and making Galahad's spines prickle. "Are you so afraid of facing the truth?"

The boy grit his teeth together, reluctantly opening his eyes to glare at the owner of the odious voice.

Sir Geraint, master of illusions, refused to disappear as Galahad wished.

"There," the jackal said easily, as though mocking him, and despite himself, Galahad felt himself respond to his goading. "Now isn't that better?"

"Better?" the boy snapped, balling his hands into fists. "My father is missing, I cannot help find him, and I've been trapped in another land with the knight that hates my family the most! Anything in the world is better than this!"

Sir Geraint made a strange noise, as though he wished to raise an objection, but Galahad was not willing to hear it. The boy turned his back, fumbling with his paper as hot tears stung his eyes, and marked his status as 'problem' like so many others had.

What would I give to have anyone else's problem right now!

His breathing started to come in short, erratic bursts as reality began to choke him; he was, by all means, alone in another land, with his quest sitting squarely on his shoulders. He didn't trust Sir Geraint at all to help him; he was strange, cryptic, a formidable warrior but terrible socialite, and all Galahad could foresee was him getting on his nerves, on everyone's nerves, making the quest for the emerald all the more difficult, if not utterly impossible, oh Chaos why, everything was falling apart and Galahad was alone, alone, alone and only thirteen years of age.

Galahad sucked in a sudden deep breath, and got slammed with dizziness as the panic began to set in. How was he supposed to do his duty and get back to Arthur and Guinevere? How was he supposed to fulfill his promise so that he could join the search for his father? How was he supposed to survive in a new environment without someone he could trust and depend on?

Will I ever feel safe again? he wondered. Will I ever, in all my life, feel okay again?

The boy's heart hammered in his chest as his stomach tied itself into knots, and all he wanted to do was fall to his knees and scream and cry and wail until the world broke apart and rebuilt itself into something better. Instead, he felt himself start to heave, and he had to slam down his visor, covering his vision, hiding himself away from the world for just a moment while he tried to calm down.

He thought about his father, and what he would think upon seeing him freeze at this new challenge before him.

He thought of Arthur and Guin, and how they were counting on him to protect Avalon and the rest of the kingdoms.

He thought of Smithy, always calm in the face of danger, never fearing the fire in front of him.

He thought of Percival and her steadfast tranquility and focus.

He thought of his grandmother, unable to reach out or come to him, but undoubtedly believing in him as well.

Galahad was still terrified. He was still upset and furious and confused and lost. But he had to keep going… he couldn't let them all down.

"We're going," he said, forcing the quaver from his voice. If Geraint was who he was stuck with, then like it or not, he had to keep him around, despite his personal feelings on the matter. "We need to find out where we are and-"

"We're in Spiral," Geraint interrupted smoothly, gesturing toward a painted wooden sign which mirrored his words. Galahad felt his heart sink; he and Sir Gaheris had been assigned to go to Spiral, a kingdom still recovering from the siege from the Saxons, but now Galahad had lost his diplomat and gotten one of the most confusing and irritating people in the world to replace him.

Did I do something wrong to deserve this? he thought miserably as he approached the sign, heaving a sigh as he reached forth to trace the large 'S' with his fingers.

The sign dissolved into small red cubes the second his fingers made contact, and the boy whirled around, drawing his sword and pointing it at Geraint, who laughed in response. "You tricked me!"

"I did no such thing," Geraint replied, his tone remaining even as he pushed the tip of Galahad's sword away with one finger.

"You did!" Galahad insisted, taking another step forward until his sword was touching Geraint's breastplate, right against the red diamond that covered his certainly-empty chest, bereft of a heart. "You fed me lies already and we've hardly moved from this spot!"

"I think you'll find that we are in Spiral," Geraint continued calmly, as though Galahad hadn't drawn his weapon on him. "If you chose to believe what was before you, how is that any fault of mine?"

His words were maddening, his voice was infuriating, and Galahad didn't bother to hold back the scream of rage that escaped him, a culmination of all his fears and upset ripping from his heart and mind to his voice. All his thoughts of his friends and family had left him, replaced only by white-hot fury, driven to a peak by the horrid man before him.

How Arthur had knighted such a scoundrel, Galahad would never know.

"So angry," the Phantom Knight tutted, somehow making Galahad's blood boil even more. "I don't care much for being screamed at."

"And I don't care much for you at all!" Galahad snapped, forcing himself to tear his sword away. He looked down at his hands and saw his blade shaking; his nerves were already shot and he still had yet to move from his summoning spot!

"Confrontational, too," Geraint remarked, sending a violent tremor through Galahad's hands.

"Stop it! Please… stop talking, I cannot stand to hear you!"

For a few seconds, all was quiet, and Galahad wondered vaguely if Geraint was granting his request, but then the jackal spoke again.

"If you wish my silence so badly, why not make it an even trade?"

"Speak plainly," Galahad snapped, still on edge and fearing that he would never know peace again.

"Very well. In plain terms, I suggest a mutual vow of silence. Neither may talk until the other breaks the quiet." With that, Sir Geraint appeared directly in front of Galahad, prompting the boy to take an instinctive swing at his fellow knight, yet the jackal phased from existence as the sword came close, the blade sliding through him as though he were made of air, before rematerializing and holding out a single hand.

"Well, boy? My silence for yours. Do we have a deal?"

And Galahad, at his wits end, was desperate enough to take the hand offered to him.

"Deal!"

It was strange how, despite the fact that the world was ending and that his life was terrible and that nothing would ever be fine ever again, the days still passed by like drops of rain.

Wake up. Wander. Look for civilization. Find the next place to rest. Report in via the magic paper. Sleep.

Repeat.

Galahad had quickly learned the ins and outs of his agreement with Geraint; the instant he said even a word, the jackal would respond with one of his own, always in equal measure, and even just the sound of the elder knight's voice was enough to make the boy's spines raise.

Repeat.

If Galahad found some people to question, Geraint would speak in tandem, sometimes confusing or disturbing the townsfolk and putting them endless steps back.

"Why must you destroy every lead we find?" Galahad would snap.

"We already know all we need to know," Geraint would respond cryptically, as though Spiral Kingdom wasn't still recovering from an attempted siege and the people weren't rife with fear and distrust and unwilling to point out their stronghold to strangers and why, why was he stuck with the one worst knight possible for this job?

Repeat.

Galahad avoided talking the most he could, yet the reprieve from Geraint's voice would only lead to the thoughts in his head growing horrendously loud. His fears crept into the corners of his vision and choked him like a noose.

Some days the task before him felt impossible. Some days he thought of all he had yet to do and felt breathless. Some days he felt so panicked that he grew dizzy and disoriented.

He thought of his father and the pain was like an ax to the chest.

Repeat.

How were days passing? How many had already passed? Time no longer felt real, just a cycle of the worst thoughts and feelings Galahad had ever known. Every little thing felt magnified; tiredness soon became extreme exhaustion, restlessness became franticness, even the smallest ache turned into excruciating pain.

Repeat.

His fingers would tremble every morning as he fastened his armor around his body, and he would wince in discomfort as the metal shell pressed down on his chest, unpleasantly compressing the two protrusions that had only in the past year become yet another thing to join Galahad's turbulent thoughts.

Galahad knew that he still had it relatively easy; he was young, so people didn't think twice at his high voice, and his armor hid the parts of his body that were growing in wrong. It wasn't the same case as Percival, for instance, whose voice would crack mid-sentence until the cat clammed up from discomfort and embarrassment, her ears drooping at the dissonance between how she sounded and how she wanted to sound. By and large, Galahad still passed to anyone who saw him as a boy, and he was grateful for that… but all it took was an awkward shifting of his arms, and suddenly his chest would move beneath his armor and even though no one could see it, Galahad could feel it, the strange and unwanted swell in his chest that he had always been naively convinced would never happen.

It was happening to him now. It was happening to him now, and even though it wasn't the most awful part of his situation, it was still uncomfortable at best, and at worst, it was the icing on the cake for the worst time of his life.

Repeat.

Galahad would tap his status marker every evening, using the green check mark, signaling to his fellow knights that he was fine even though he most certainly was not, pretending that the wet drops that fell onto the paper were from an invisible raincloud pouring down above his head, instead of from his face.

The cycle continued.

They knew they had gotten somewhere when, weeks later, they stepped into a part of the forest with burn marks dappling the trees and swords pointed at them from all directions.

"Halt!" A large knight in full armor shoved his longsword forward, forcing Galahad to put his arms up. "State your business!"

Sweat began to bead beneath Galahad's fur; if he spoke a word, so would Geraint. If he spoke a sentence, so would Geraint. He didn't trust the jackal to speak at all; the elder knight could sabotage any chances they had at finishing their quest successfully.

The sword was at his chest, and time kept ticking forward. The threat was closing in, and Galahad didn't know what to do.

He was frozen, hating the idea of doing nothing, yet terrified at the idea of doing anything.

Trapped.

"Well?" the knight roared, poking the blade ever closer. "Are you incapable of speech?"

Galahad swallowed, trying to steel his nerves and think of anything at all that he could say to save his skin, and his mission. Avalon was still in danger! His king and queen were counting on him! His father was still missing! He couldn't do nothing! He had to think, had to think, had to come up with something quickly, had to-

"Aw, give the lad some space, ya brute!"

Galahad sucked in a breath, eyes darting wildly around to find the source of the new voice, but that source found her way to him instead with one giant bound up to the front of the pack, swatting the knight's sword away with her large tail as she leaned forward to inspect him. "You've gotten him all nervous now!" she chided, and Galahad felt his face burn in shame.

"Stay in formation," the knight ordered, sounding irritated but making no effort to shove the soldier back into place. "We cannot afford to have you incapacitated again."

The soldier hummed, flicking her large, bushy tail in dismissal, and though the knight growled in frustration, he still made no attempt to restrain her.

Instead, Galahad stood by, silent as could be while this soldier 一 a pretty lemur who didn't seem to enjoy standing still for long 一 circled him and Geraint, eyeing them up and down before bouncing back to a spot in front of them with a grin.

"I like them," she announced, much to the large knight's chagrin. "I think they want to help us."

"Guivret, this is not the time to-"

"You there!" the lemur went on, ignoring all the murmurs of dissent around her with remarkable ease. She reached out both hands, taking Galahad's in hers while pushing him forward with her tail. "Wow, you're young for a knight!"

Galahad nodded his head in confirmation, and the lemur beamed at him. Her excitement reminded him a bit of King Arthur, whenever Galahad saw him during a holiday or on a special quest, or from the stories that his father had told him about their younger years, a pair of youths looking for their next adventure.

It was… comforting.

"What is your name, good sir?" the lemur asked, and in the spark of comfort, Galahad spoke.

"Sir Galahad du Lac of Avalon."

Whispers grew to mutters all around him, bringing Galahad back to the situation at hand. The lemur let go of him and bounded over to Geraint, and just like that, the comfort was gone, and Galahad was alone and cold and trapped all over again.

"And your name?"

"Sir Geraint Erbin of Avalon. Charmed."

Galahad felt his spines prickle. A word for every single word spoken…

"Oh! You're both from the Round Table!" the lemur exclaimed, the pieces having clicked into place, and with a flourish she turned back towards the captain knight with a gleam in her eyes. "If the knights of the Round Table are here, they must be here to help!"

"You don't know that for certain!" the captain snapped. "I keep telling you, Guivret, not everyone who comes by you has your best interests at heart! For all we know, Avalon is just as likely to be preparing an espionage attack-"

Guivret covered the spot on his helmet where his mouth would be with her tail. "Worry not, I've detected no hostility from them. They're here to help us, isn't that right?"

Galahad decided to try his luck one more time. "Yes!"

"Indeed."

"And there you have it," Guivret said, dusting her hands as though the matter was sorted. "Allies. Come now, let's take them to our camp!"

"Guivret! What if they are expecting something in return?" the captain warned, but the lemur had already grabbed on to Galahad and Geraint and was pushing her way through the swarm of soldiers.

"Pardon me, pardon, excuse me, coming through, right beside…"

Galahad allowed himself to be pulled along, but the captain's words added a new layer of complexity and fear to his situation. He was, in a way, expecting something in return for… his help, perhaps? Come to think of it, it was not clear what Guivret was expecting from him, and with Geraint in earshot, he was too nervous to ask.

"Sorry about all of them," Guivret said airily, bounding forward faster and faster towards her camp. "They've all been on high alert since the siege, but it's been months and we've seen nothing. They're all afraid, but I refuse to live in fear!" She laughed, tossing her head back and closing her eyes. Even then, she was able to nimbly dodge an incoming tree without bashing either of her charges into it.

The feeling of comfort began to return to Galahad.

"I know they only wish to keep us safe," Guivret continued, her eyes back on the path, "yet they cannot keep turning away help that finds us! It is not a show of weakness to accept the help of others. That is what I believe, and the queen as well."

Galahad's ears perked up. Did she say the queen!? Did she know the queen of the realm?

As he wondered how to ask her about it, Guivret bounded forward, picking up even more speed, and Galahad instinctively began to float to keep up.

"Whoa!"

Guivret skidded to a halt, looking at Galahad with stars in her eyes. "Are you floating?"

"Y…Yes?"

"Evidently."

Galahad wished that Geraint would never open his mouth again.

"That is incredible!" Guivret whooped, hopping from one foot to the other. "What else can you do?"

Her purple eyes were so wide they could have taken over her face. Galahad decided to show her, rather than tell, what he could do.

His free hand came up, glowing cyan as he forced himself to concentrate. The dead autumn leaves on the ground started to rustle, gradually becoming enveloped in Galahad's aura. His fingers flexed, and they rose from the ground in a line, weaving their way into letters until they spelled out his name.

One of his signature warm-ups for his psychokenisis, and the familiarity of it started to comfort him as well.

"Amazing!" Guivret shook his hand back and forth in her excitement before turning over to Geraint. "Do you also have an ability you may show me?"

Unease gripped at Galahad, and instinct told him to warn Guivret of what was about to come. Yet, before he could get a single word in, a second Guivret appeared in front of them, followed by a third, and a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, until they were surrounded on all sides by identical, grinning lemurs.

Galahad bristled again; what if the others came and thought this was an attack? What if Guivret found this off-putting, or it made her uneasy or made her rethink her decision or-

"Astounding!" she cheered, shaking Geraint's arm in a similar fashion, and with a simple wave of his hand, the jackal dismissed his illusions. Galahad felt a wave of relief.

At least she does not fear like I do…

All the same, Galahad knew that he had to get her alone to explain the situation at hand once they got to camp. He still did not trust Geraint to interject some nonsense that put their mission in jeopardy.

Fortune appeared to have changed for Galahad that day, for as soon as they arrived at the soldier's encampment, Geraint slinked off on his own, and though Galahad worried over what he was up to, he took his chance to speak with Guivret alone and tell her the whole truth.

"The Emerald of Chaos?" she said, swishing her tail from side to side. "Certainly, I know of it. It is in the possession of Queen Evrain. I have seen it a few times, myself."

"Oh?" This was the second time she had mentioned the queen so easily. "Are you close with the queen?"

"Of course!" Guivret puffed out her chest, glowing with pride. "My best friend for years!"

That certainly explained a few things.

"Could you ask her, then?" Galahad nearly shook from how excited he was. Could this be it? Could this be the end of his quest already? Could he start the return trip home by the next morning, and join the search for his father?

"I could," Guivret agreed, "but it will take a while."

"A while?" Galahad echoed. His adrenaline died down, and his hopes dashed away. "How long is a while?"

"Well…" Guivret pushed her tail against the ground, leaning against it. "From this camp to the stronghold… that's a good month on foot."

The word 'month' was like a solid punch to the gut. "A month?" he whispered.

Guivret hummed in reply, nodding her head. "Our castle is as far north as we can manage. It's why the Saxons couldn't get close to our sovereign. We keep politics far from the edge and our military at the borders. It takes a while for news to move back and forth, so it is not always efficient, but it worked out for us in this case!"

Galahad forced himself to take a deep breath. "I… I see…"

Guivret nodded, plucking a burr from her fur. "Yes and now with everyone on alert, all messages need to be sent by specific messengers, all contents must be examined for any ciphers… there are some additional things that I do not understand, but it takes a while for anything to arrive at the castle, or to get back, especially if they aren't of immediate priority."

Galahad's head swam and the weight of the world pressed down on him again. Up to two months, perhaps, for a response? For a yes or a no?

He had barely been able to handle however many weeks with Geraint, and now it was a matter of months?

But... what other choice did he have?

"I… accept. I will take your help."

Guivret beamed at him. "I like you. Many here could learn a thing or two from you. Now!" She clapped her hands together. "I hate this part of my job, but it needs to be done. I brought you both in as allies and, well, the warriors are not going to allow you to stay here without reimbursement of some kind. While your request is sent to the queen and we await her response, are you willing to help out our soldiers? I'm sure it is all things you know; training, patrols, combat if necessary, strategy, cleaning and maintaining the camp…"

Galahad looked at Guivret, seeing her list out the tasks while counting on her fingers, and he was struck again by how she reminded him of King Arthur whenever he was at his best. He looked at this young woman, hardly even ten years his senior if he had to guess, with her bright eyes and infectious excitement and friendly nature and…

"I will! I will help as much as I can, both as a representative of Avalon, and as a person who wishes to assist."

…and she grinned at him, bounding over and wrapping him in her tail in a sort of hug, and Galahad felt that warm comfort again.

"I knew I liked you! I shall get to writing up your request tonight and send it off as soon as I can!"

Galahad smiled back at her, feeling the calmest he had in a while. Yes, the fear was still there. Yes, he was upset at how long it would take. Yes, he was infuriated by Geraint and terrified at the prospect of being responsible for him.

Yet he would be helping out people in need in the meantime. Galahad was faced with the familiar, and even though it did not solve his problems nor free him from his anxiety, it made his quest seem loads more manageable.

Wrapped up in the friendly lemur's tail, Galahad allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, he would be okay in the future.

This was a tad strange.

Gareth, although surprised, was not upset to see that her companion in… wherever they were, was Tristan. Not upset at all, but… it felt odd, after they had just finished their goodbyes and had prepared to be separated for a long while.

It was akin to wishing someone farewell, only to begin walking in the same direction.

Tristan seemed to be feeling something similar; outwardly, her smile was happy, albeit confused, and when Gareth took a step closer, she could practically see the waves of uncertainty radiating off of the chipmunk.

The papers they had brought along with them started to glow; the others were checking in, and so they did as well, marking their status as 'problem' along with many others who, Gareth expected, were also in a different land or with a different partner than they were assigned. Not that she considered being Tristan's partner in this quest a problem at all; she simply worried a bit when she saw her brother Gaheris mark in as being a victim in this mix-up as well, alongside Geraint, whom she was supposed to be questing with. Gareth frowned; Geraint had a peculiar way of expressing himself, one that few people had the patience to examine or understand. She was one of the few who had befriended the jackal, able to understand and navigate his strange words and riddles and illusions, to see that he was truly a good knight despite his flaws, to break through to the truth at the center… but almost none of the others had.

She could only hope that whomever had been paired with Geraint was able to keep their patience with him.

And Gaheris… she hoped beyond hope that he was with someone who could support him on days when his leg failed him, that he was in a place where his skills would shine, rather than an environment where he could only watch as things around him were beyond the help of his kindness and thoughtful words. She wished that his quest would proceed smoothly and easily, with little pain or frustration to slow him down.

There were a few silver linings, however; it seemed as though her other brother Gawain had landed in the correct place, and Lamorak had reported no issues on his end. Tristan seemed to be checking in on their hawk friend as well, her aura calming down as her eyes roved over the green checkmark next to his coat of arms.

"Well," Tristan said, breaking the silence as she put her paper away. "Shall we find out where we are?"

Gareth smiled softly, doing the same. "Let's."

They fell into step together, their eyes roaming their surroundings as they tried to find a sign of where they might be. The sky was a hazy pink, close to sunrise, so Gareth guessed they were somewhere in the west. There was a lot of wildlife where they landed; endless grassy fields dotted with vibrant wildflowers and overgrown shrubs stretched out as far as the eye could see. Beyond the horizon Gareth could see a clustering of dark gray storm clouds, and a dense forest sprung up to their right in the distance. The smell of saltwater carried on the breeze, though there was no sea or ocean to be seen.

It was beautiful. It was peaceful. It held a sense of calm that Gareth couldn't apply to anywhere else she had ever been before.

Was that why the land's aura felt so strange?

She heard Tristan begin to mumble thoughtfully from her left, the noises falling uselessly on her ear and only partially making it over to her right one. "Other side," Gareth reminded her companion, and Tristan scurried to Gareth's right.

"Sorry," her friend apologized, and Gareth nodded in response. Her long, thick spines did wonders for covering up her scarred temple and shredded ear, though it did mean that people often forgot that she could no longer hear from that ear. "I was just saying that I do not recognize these flowers. I did some research on the flora in Caerleon Kingdom, and I can pretty safely say that we are not there."

Not Caerleon, then. The only other kingdoms so far west would be…

"Do you think we are in Spiral, or Celliwig, then?"

Tristan squinted far in front of them at the dark clouds in the distance. "Storms aren't too common in Spiral. Meanwhile, Celliwig is surrounded on three sides by water and has an oddly warm climate. Of course, this is assuming we didn't end up being sent somewhere else entirely, like Soleanna or, gods forbid, Saxony." The chipmunk shuddered at the thought, looking around her as though a cluster of Saxon soldiers would spring up out of the ground, demanding their heads for their loathsome emperor.

"I think we're too far west to be in Saxony," Gareth reasoned as the sun lifted itself above the horizon, brightening up the sky like the ignition of Percival's flames. "I was going to be tasked with finding the emerald in Celliwig Kingdom… so far, I believe it's a safe bet to assume that is where we are, until we can find some people or a sign to tell us otherwise."

Tristan hummed, looking from side to side. "Somehow I doubt we shall find either in these grasslands."

The knights stopped walking, taking a better look at their surroundings. It was true, there did not appear to be any sort of civilization close by. Gareth closed her eyes and concentrated on the land, feeling out for a spark of emotion that she could follow to its source. She knew the feelings of cities, towns and villages; the unbridled joy and the crushing despair and the dizzying excitement and the bone-chilling fear. They were ubiquitous, everpresent no matter how far she strayed from her home, the building blocks of life among others, in all breathing creatures…

…but nothing came to her.

Gareth's eyes reopened, blinking wide. She refocused, concentrating all her energies into reaching out as far as she possibly could, but again, only a calm emptiness returned to her.

But how was that possible? Even with a town out of her reach, surely there were wild animals running around, small creatures who felt and experienced just as often as sentient beings did.

Yet there was nothing. There was… nothing at all?

"If I were to settle here," Tristan said, staring out into the distance, focused on her own observations and assessments, "I would do so closer to the forest, for shelter and food and resources. Surely that would make the most sense?"

"Ah, erm. Right."

Tristan cocked her head, turning back around to face the echidna. "Are you feeling well?" she asked, concern coloring her tone. "You seem preoccupied."

That is one word for it. "I… I fear we will find nothing of note for a while," Gareth replied honestly. "I sense no people around."

"None at all?" Tristan sounded surprised. "Well then… we may have quite the journey ahead of us, in that case. Come, let's not waste any more time."

As they set off towards the forest, with tall grasses and bright flowers brushing tenderly against their ankles, Gareth looked all around, noticing more and more the distinct lack of fauna. There were no animals running through the grass, not a single insect climbing along a blade of grass, not even a bird in the sky.

Never before had the sensation of calmness felt so disturbing.

There was indeed no town by the forest, nor any signs of life aside from the untamed, beautiful nature. The trees were absurdly tall, their branches reaching wide and proud, tangling together in a magnificent mess. The sun was well overhead, and as the hours ticked past, Gareth began to feel drowsy, her armor heating up like a furnace.

This must have been Celliwig Kingdom… it was so warm she felt as though she might faint!

"Why don't we take a rest to eat?" Tristan suggested, clearly noticing her struggles, and Gareth agreed, happily taking a seat on the grass.

They ate in silence, their rations doing the trick for their hunger and energy, though the taste left something to be desired. All the while, Gareth kept feeling out for any signs of emotions in the area, even a small whisper of something aside from plantlife, but the result was always the same.

Nothing.

"Gareth?" Tristan's voice broke through her concentration. "You are wearing yourself out with this."

Gareth forced herself to calm down. Tristan was right; this was taking up too much of her energy, and if she kept this up she might… she might…

A wave of drowsiness inundated her senses, and Gareth yawned loudly, feeling her head spin.

There it is. I've overdone it already…

"Do you need a rest?" Tristan asked, digging through her bag for some cloth and a bedroll. "You may go ahead if you want. I would be happy to get some journaling done in the meantime."

And though Gareth was disappointed in herself for pushing herself too hard, she knew better than to keep going in her current state. With a sleepy nod and a mumbled "Thank you" to Tristan, Gareth set up a place for herself to sleep for a while.

The bedroll lay flat atop the grass, the cloth bundle providing a makeshift pillow, and the warm calm of the kingdom overtook Gareth's senses as she laid down her head, pulling her instantly into a deep slumber.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound bounced off the walls of the cave, echoing and reverberating like nature's symphony. Green light shimmered, refracting on the dark, damp stone like verdant rainbows condensed into clusters. The air was still, the only movement being the tiny water drops that clung to the stalactites with all their might, swelling with more and more liquid until they grew too large to keep their hold, and they fell down, drip-drip-dripping into the pool at her feet.

She wasn't breathing. She didn't need to. Somehow, there was no need.

The green light had no source. The cave itself held the glow, but the light itself was hidden from her. She took a step forward; no ripples formed at her feet. She looked down; her reflection was fuzzy, hard to discern, especially when the bottom of the pool was so detailed, every pebble and grain of sand visible in stunning clarity.

The pool had to be at least five feet deep. She was standing on the water's surface.

Another step. No ripples. No breathing. No light source.

Drip drop, drip drop, drip drop.

Her hand reached out, but the cave walls were too far away for her to touch. She lifted her gaze upward; the cavern ceiling was higher than it seemed just a moment ago.

She could hear the drips in both ears.

It was right ahead. Right ahead. She knew it for certain.

She had no idea what it was.

The glow grew brighter.

Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.

She had all the time in the world. All the time, all the time, all the time in the world and then some.

No need to hurry.

Drip drip drop.

Warm, like an embrace.

She lowered her head.

Two green eyes were looking right into hers, bright like emeralds.

Who are you?

Who-

"Gareth! Gareth! Come on, come back to me!"

The echidna groaned, blearily opening her eyes to see Tristan hovering in front of her, looking stricken. "Tris?" she mumbled, lifting a hand to her head. Her mind felt as scrambled as the eggs she had for breakfast that morning. "What is the matter?"

"Gareth! You…"

Tristan took a deep breath, and Gareth hardly needed a clear head nor her gift of empathy to see that the chipmunk was terrified out of her wits.

"I could not wake you up," Tristan said, her voice hoarse, and that was when Gareth noticed that the sun was long gone from the sky. Her blood turned to ice as Tristan continued. "You were sleeping so well, I figured you might as well have a long rest while I kept watch, but you just kept sleeping and sleeping… Eight hours must have passed before I tried to wake you, but you would not open your eyes or make any sign that you could hear me, and… and…"

Tristan let in a shaky inhale, her aura in shambles, and Gareth's head spun from the information she had just received after waking. She took her friend into her arms, puzzling over what she had just heard. How late in the night was it? It was midday when she fell asleep, yet she felt as though she had hardly napped an hour.

Tristan clutched at her like a vice, and once again, the calmness of the land they were in had Gareth's heart pound in unease.

"How long was I asleep?" Gareth asked. "How long did you try to wake me?"

Tristan swallowed, steeling herself. "Around eight hours before I tried to wake you up, and then… maybe an hour or two before you finally opened your eyes?"

Nine to ten hours?!

Gareth took a deep breath, adrenaline forcing her to wake up and clear the fog from her mind. "And what finally woke me up?"

"I…I don't believe it was anything in particular? I kept shaking you and calling for you… I could not think of anything else I could do."

Gareth digested this information, feeling Tristan's terror and relief come off of her in waves as she held her close. They sat, huddled together on the bedroll as the chipmunk slowly calmed down, and Gareth thought about the lack of life she could sense, about the calm of this piece of the world, about the sleep that dragged her under and might have claimed her…

A glow from Tristan's journal had them separate; her communications paper lay amongst her entries and notes, showing that a few groups had completed their check-ins. The knights glanced at each other, nodding as they checked in as well.

Two fingers pressed against two green checkmarks, highlighting them for their fellow knights to know that they were okay. Not exactly true, but there were some things that could not be fully expressed with the limited symbols at their disposal.

"You must be exhausted," Gareth remarked, and Tristan stiffened. Gareth didn't have to ask why. "Do not worry," she soothed. "You need the rest, too. I will know to keep trying to wake you if you do not awaken right away."

Tristan still looked unconvinced, but her blinking was heavy and her head was nodding forward. Gareth's heart broke to see her dear friend run so ragged over fear for her wellbeing. Still, the chipmunk looked uncertain as she lied down on the bedroll, fear only masked out of habit 一 Gareth could easily tell just how scared she was of closing her eyes.

"It's okay," Gareth soothed, brushing her friend's hair away from her face. "I am here. I will make sure you wake up."

And though Tristan looked far from reassured, her emotional exhaustion had taken its toll, and before long the pull of sleep proved too strong for her to fight away. Tristan fell asleep, and Gareth was alone in the darkness to mull everything over.

This land was a mystery, one that she was sure they had only scratched the surface of. She still couldn't make any sense of the lack of animal life, and her deep sleep earlier on, though more restful now that she was alert enough to notice it, unnerved her. If she was not with Tristan, would she have stayed asleep for days? A week? Would she have slept so soundly that she would have died of hunger or thirst in her slumber, unable to tell that there was something wrong?

An hour passed. No answers came to her.

And her dream… Gareth frowned, trying to remember it. It had been so clear, so vivid in her sleep, but now it was near impossible to remember.

"Green," she murmured. The color green played a part in it. "And water. And…"

She drew a blank. She kept drawing blanks as the hours ticked by and Tristan slept soundly.

Gareth decided to dance to pass the time. Her village's traditional dances stayed sharp in her mind and fluid in her steps, and Gareth hummed a tune to keep herself company.

Eyes. There were eyes.

Hum, step step. Hum, step step.

A small rest, sitting down and turning her sword over in her hands, singing under her breath. Back on her feet, filling the dark, silent hours with her own music and movement.

Repeat repeat repeat.

Repeat until the sun rises again.

Pink hues warmed the sky again, and Gareth went to wake Tristan, hoping that her own slumber had been an anomaly and that, with just one shake, Tristan would jolt awake as she did.

Gareth shook Tristan.

Tristan did not wake up.

Dread pooled in Gareth's gut as she realized what this meant. Her hands gripped Tristan's arm and shoulder, and she shook her over and over, calling out her name again and again. A new, terror-filled dance. A new, desperate song.

The pink sky had turned orange by the time Tristan finally opened her eyes, drowsily sitting up with a yawn, but as her dazed blue eyes took in the distressed look in Gareth's aqua eyes, she seemed to draw the same conclusion that Gareth had come to.

We cannot sleep at the same time.

Questing took an awfully long time when two thirds of every day was spent sleeping or keeping watch.

Gareth would wake up at midnight, Tristan would wake up in the late morning. By the early afternoon, Gareth would need to sleep again, succumbing to the drowsiness that seemed to come hand-in-hand with the peace of this land with no people.

The lack of civilization was another hurdle; without any people, any landmarks, they had no way of figuring out if they were indeed in a land with an emerald, nor could they find a way home. They had discussed signaling for help via their communications papers, but ultimately decided against it.

"They do not know about the powerful sleep in this land," Tristan had pointed out. "We may be leading them into danger, they may fall asleep forever, and then we may never be found."

All they could do was to keep walking when they could, never pushing themselves too far, for fear of falling asleep during their watch.

Gareth's dreams continued to be vivid, yet fleeting once her eyes opened and Tristan took her place on the bedroll. Nights were dark and lonely with no one to keep her company.

Gareth sang. Gareth danced. Gareth took care of her sword and squinted in the darkness, seeking out the coats of arms of her brothers, her friends, her sovereigns and her fellows in arms.

She wondered if any of them were close to finding what they needed.

She wondered if she and Tristan would be able to escape this enchanted place.

"Do you think we have been enchanted by the fae?" she asked one day as they kept walking along, looking for plants to eat as their rations dwindled.

Tristan strummed a few chords on her tiny harp, brow furrowed in thought. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps this whole kingdom is enchanted."

Gareth considered it, tentatively reaching out to touch the aura of the land, once again feeling nothing. "I think you are right. The plants here are so unruly and overgrown, it's as though we are the only ones who have been here in years."

Neither of them were ready to accept that this very well could have been the case.

"Gareth! Gareth, look!"

The echidna turned her head; Tristan was pointing to the side, her eyes wide with disbelief. Gareth followed her finger, and felt her heart stop in her chest.

A house. No, houses! There was a village within sight!

Elation rose within her chest as they ran towards the buildings, relief spurring her forward as finally, finally the answers to so many questions were within her grasp!

Yet once they drew closer, Gareth started to notice the problems. Tristan, too, appeared to slow down, going from a run to a jog to a slow walk as they took in the sight before them.

Nature had consumed this village; ivy had dug its way through the plaster and stone on the walls of the houses… trees had grown too close to homes, their branches jabbing through windows and doorways… everything seemed to be covered with layers of dirt and moss, from the streets to the water well in the middle of the town square.

Gareth peeked into the well; lilypads were growing in the water, and the sides were covered in lichens and fungi.

"Is this place abandoned?" Tristan asked, her disbelief practically tangible as she made her way to one of the houses. The wooden door had been eaten away with time and mold, and a nearby tree's branch had grown in such a way that it had broken its way inside. Tristan deftly slid her way in through the largest gap, and Gareth followed her, slowly and carefully avoiding any splintered wood.

The inside of the home was covered in dust from the floor to the ceiling. Every piece of furniture, from the chairs to the candlesticks, looked old and decrepit, with moss and mildew growing wherever it could, devouring the home as though the world was trying its best to return everything back to the earth. The women looked at each other, nodding in tandem before splitting up to check different rooms, with Gareth heading to the large room to the right and Tristan to the door at the end of the hall.

The wooden door was swelled shut, but broke with only a few tugs and pushes. Gareth coughed as a layer of dust rose into the air, and she tried to fan it away with her hands as she stumbled into the room. Her eyes watered; Gareth reached up to rub them dry, blinking hard to rid herself of the sting.

Her vision returned. Her heart stopped in her chest.

She had made her way into a bedroom, it seemed. To one side there was a dresser and a bookshelf, and there was a desk right below the window, which was framed by lovely green curtains.

And in the middle of the room was a large bed, with two people sleeping soundly, dead to the world.

Gareth's jaw went slack as shock strangled her. She stared at the sleeping bodies, not entirely believing they were real. She searched for their aura, but it was as fast asleep as they were, with not an emotion to be found. Just the same empty peace as the rest of the land.

She didn't realize that she had approached the bed until she was right beside it. The couple appeared to be a man and a woman, a yellow rooster and a black sheep, dressed in their nightclothes and embraced in their mutual slumber. Their chests rose and fell, nearly too slow to perceive, but they were clearly still alive. They looked fairly young, hardly any older than Gareth herself, and when she reached out a hand for tactile proof that they were real, she felt the warmth of the living.

Is this… Is this what might have become of Tristan and myself if we had ever fallen asleep at the same time?

Fear seized her heart, and Gareth ran out of the room, ran through the hall, to the room where she would find Tristan. This place was dangerous, far more dangerous than they were prepared for.

"Tristan!"

She charged through the door, ready to grab her friend and go, but the shell-shocked look on Tristan's face made her pause. Tristan was staring into the corner of the room, her eyes wide and her muzzle pale, and though Gareth was terrified at what she might find, she turned around to look.

Her hands flew to her mouth.

Tristan was staring at a crib, caked with dust and mildew as everything else was, and inside the crib, swaddled with linens stained with dirt and time, was an infant, breathing peacefully in sleep.

"That's not possible," Gareth whispered as her legs threatened to go weak. "That's not possible, this place has to have been unlived in for decades to be this run-down, how could there be a newborn!?"

It was a sheep like its mother, with its father's yellow coloring. It wasn't a far stretch of the imagination to assume that this was the child of the couple in the other room. But how?

How could there be a baby when…?

"I…"

Tristan took a shaky step forward so that she was beside Gareth. Both women stared at the baby, unable to look away as Tristan struggled to form the words she needed to say.

"I think… they're frozen in time."

Gareth couldn't breathe.

"Do you…" Tristan cleared her throat. "Do you remember, a year or two ago? When… when those knights from the Underworld showed up, and King Arthur discovered Merlina's plot?"

Gareth's eyes widened.

"The plot to turn our kingdom into something… eternal and unchanging?"

The baby kept sleeping, undisturbed by Tristan's words, and Gareth felt dizzy as she sank to the floor.

Eternal and unchanging… It was like looking through a window into a world that could have been, but the results were so much worse than anything she ever could have imagined.

What happened? Gareth looked around the room, at the crib, at the baby as though the answer lay hidden underneath the dust. What happened to this place that such a fate was put upon it?

And, as always, she got nothing in response.

Fun fact, I call these groups "Team LGBT" because there's at least one of each in these four (at least, that's how I'm writing them, whether it's explicit or not).

This is the part where I explain a lot of things but it's also late and I am exhausted so I will do my best.

Parts of Galahad and Geraint's story are based off of Geraint and Enid/Erec and Enide, such as the vow of silence and the name Guivret. And yes, that's Tangle the Lemur! Galahad's one source of comfort! (He's also a very biased narrator, but we love and care for him very much).

Spiral Kingdom is named after Spiral Hill Village from IDW. Queen Evrain won't be making an appearance, but I do imagine that she's Jewel the Beetle.

Gareth and Tristan's adventures aren't based off of anything in particular, but yes, I wanted to make a new, light-horror kind of look at Merlina's goals in SatBK. Of course, she wouldn't intend for everyone to sleep in stasis forever (like Shadow for fifty years, eyyyyy) but that's where the horror element comes in I suppose.

Celliwig is, in Arthurian legend, a location for the court of King Arthur, and roughly translates to "forest grove".

I also gave Gareth aura-reading/empath powers. Suits her, methinks.

Next chapter: Lamorak, despite every urge to do otherwise, holds his tongue in the presence of the man who wishes to see one of his best friends hunted down ; Gawain starts his quest in the expansive Hautdesert, facing challenges such as ghosts and the unusual weight of his solitude.