The Lost World
Fanfic Season Four (Ok, I'm a dope.)
Disclaimer: I am a member of the Society for the Proclamation of Episode
ownership Waivers, in other words, S.P.E.W. And it isn't spew. And if you
don't understand this disclaimer, oh honestly, don't you ever read? (If
you don't get the joke, just ignore it.)
AN: Okay, teaser trailers are supposed to make you guys WANT to read the
next episode, but apparently mine was a little TOO shocking because I think
I'll be lucky if anyone keeps reading this story! I don't blame you
either, I probably wouldn't. Just trust me. And thanks so much for all
your wonderful reviews, guys. I really appreciate it. This one's pretty
long, and again, sorry about the format. I should be able to fix all my
stories in May. When I do, I will label them by their original titles -
fixed format. Sorry about the wait. This one's been difficult. So without
further ado, here is my favorite season four episode. . .
**********************************************************
Episode 4: The Mist
The sun had set over Avalon. The seven were settling down to sleep
for the night. Marguerite was in that uncomfortable state where a person
is desperately tired, but for whatever reason, cannot seem to get to sleep.
That reason was Lord John Roxton. She honestly didn't want to be cruel to
him. And she understood that she was being extremely unfair. She couldn't
even explain why. She would try to open up to him, but every time she
started, she just ended up slamming a door in his face. Of course she had
been telling him the truth in that cave. Through their whole tumultuous
relationship, that was really the only time she had been open and honest
with him. It angered her that he didn't believe it now, even though she
was mostly angry with herself for making it seem so. . . unbelievable. She
was well aware that it was her own fault. But that didn't make it any
easer.
She sat up in bed, not wanting to just toss and turn any longer.
She took a piece of parchment from the dresser under the tapestry. There
was a quill there, and without really thinking about what she would say,
she began to write.
'Dear John,' she started, rolled her eyes. That sounded ominous.
'I'm so sorry about the way I've behaved. I don't know why I treat you
like I do. It's just that I'm afraid. But I don't want to be. I want'
She paused here, not knowing what she wanted. She crumbled it, it all made
her seem so weak. She couldn't give him this. In frustration, her had
slammed hard against the top of the dresser.
The side of the dresser sprang open.
***********************************
Next door, John Roxton wasn't sleeping any easier. He turned one
way, found that uncomfortable, then turned the other. The mattresses of
Avalon were far superior to those that they slept on at the treehouse, but
Marguerite's harsh words still stung his ear. He rolled over again, this
time facing the door, and nearly fell of the bed. Standing before him was
Marguerite, barely visible in the moonlight. He started to say something
but she extended a finger, put it to his lips. For what could have been an
hour (but naturally did not feel long enough), she kissed him forcefully,
but with infinite gentleness. When she withdrew, there were tears in her
eyes. She brushed a hand across his face, and her expression was of such
sadness that he had never seen in his life.
"Ya sacarei. Ti esaronom licial ansmique ap ye."
"Oh, come on, Marguerite, you know I can't understand that. Talk
to me. There's nobody else here."
"Yi esara basaral." Her face was stricken, and she broke down
completely, crying into her arms. Roxton understood.
This was not Marguerite. This was the Chosen One before her, the
one that came to her in visions. The Druid.
She did not open her mouth to speak, but her voice, Marguerite's
voice penetrated his mind. "I am sorry, but you look so like him."
"Your warrior?" She nodded.
"It was my fault," She insisted, the words echoing in his ears.
"And now Aieca walks down my shadowy path. If we do not stop her. . .we
must."
"What can we do?"
"Talking is useless. She will not listen to me. So I will show
her. I have not wanted to do this. She will feel the pain that I felt,
and she will know." She started to fade.
"Wait," Roxton called. "Show me, too."
The sadness returned to her face. "You have suffered enough in
this life and the last. Why do you want to live it again?"
Roxton swallowed hard. Was it really that bad? "I have to know."
******************************************
It was a drawer, a hidden one. There was a book inside, bound in
fine leather. She opened it carefully, hoping it wasn't going to fall
apart on her. The first page:
Aiec, ya saraei,
Taroholique ti nap ye lingtarim? Yi te novara wamunri febrali quep yi languara. Tarotradique formie yi novara cavera quep te yi sacarara? Sep tarotradique formie ti ye novarim tapera, satep yie dinoarae quep ti averim ei selvazoni comp yeal. Yi te sacarara, Aiec. Mep yi nap languara alesera idotique. Mep yi benruara. Yi alesaraa.
Hmm. 'Aiec,' a name, 'my love,' Why won't you talk to me? I've done everything that I can. How many times have I told you that I love you? And how many times have you turned me away, even though I know you have feelings for me. I love you, Aiec. But I can't wait forever. But I lie. I will.' The previous Chosen One had called Marguerite "Aieca." She knew from the language that -a was a suffix of future. The former Druid Priestess must have been Aiec. This letter must have been written by the former Warrior. Sounds familiar, she thought bitterly. Who was Aiec to be giving her these lectures about not telling Roxton the truth? She had done the exact same thing! Rat. She turned the page, trying not to think about the Warrior that she shared a timeline with. This was a letter to the Warrior from Aiec. "You know how I feel about you, but I can't." And they wrote letters back and forth this way for quite some time. There were quite a few, all the same way. She had fought him with every last nerve she had, it looked like. And he had persisted. It was all too familiar. She found herself wanting to read to the end, it played out like a novel, her own life, and she wanted to see the ending. Who could resist? The last page was written by Aiec. It was a poem, of all silly things. It both surprised and made sense to Marguerite, and she was surprised that she wasn't more surprised, as foolish as that seemed. Marguerite often wrote poems, but nobody knew that. She wouldn't admit it, it was so. . . weak. It hadn't sunk in yet that she truly was Aieca. It seemed like someone had just written these things imagining how she and Roxton would have written. But no one knew about her poetry. The reality of it began to sink in. This was her, there was no denying that.
Ti ye caverim dep ta sacari/
Inep tae blakie torale huernarel nap tapi/ Yi maicaraquep yi staglasa shambera/ Mep ti ye avarlarim, yi te spersara/ Yi staglasara maicera ta linti febral/ Menfap si poarel fanferal/ Mep ti ye staglasarim/ Ti blu-/ Sie esarele dinoi poju-/ Yi falara / Yi cacompara/ Yi te esara closri/ Mep inep ai selvazoni yi te staglasara/ Personara, sacarara/ Shambera avilique, sacerei ya/ Yi concomfara ei sevni/ Blak- ansmique yi eminara ya swahai/ Anscalique fefal yi nap dinoara lepai/ Yi dotara, ales-ye/ Ti dinorimi quep ya sacari esarel perp te/ Yi staglasara maicera ta linti febral/ Mepfap si poarel fanferal/ Mep ti ye staglasarim/ Ti blu- / Sie esarele dionoi poju-/ Yi falara/ Yi cacompara/ Yi te esara closri/ Mep inep ai selvazoni yi te staglasara/ Personara, sacrara/ Yi concomfara ei sevni/
The page was crumpled. It had been wadded up, then sewn into the book as the last page. She had never given him the poem. She read over the words. She loved him but was afraid to tell him, was what it said (more or less). And he had apparently never written more. A sense of panic overtook Marguerite. Had he given up? Had the Warrior decided that Aiec wasn't worth the effort? Roxton said that would never happen, but then again, so had this incarnation, the one that the poem was written for. He had left her. Would Roxton leave her? With that thought haunting her, she went down to bed. But her sleep was troubled. She woke from practically no sleep at all when Saael entered her room. She made no sound, but Marguerite was instantly aware of her. "You have a mission, Aieca, dear." Her eyes were filled with a kind of sorrow Marguerite did not quite understand. "You must claim the scroll and read from it the sacred words that can subdue the Chaos that has overtaken us. We do not know where the scroll is, only the Chosen One can seek it out." She paused, and continued. "The journey will be perilous. Chaos is a hunter, and will stalk you with every step. Do not be swayed from your mission. You will be in great danger. The Warrior must go with you. Your horses are ready." She gestured. "Wake him." She exited with such ease from the room that Marguerite could barely remember in the following moment seeing her leave. To be honest, the people here spooked Marguerite just a bit. What was she thinking, she reminded herself, this was the Plateau. She dressed herself, then headed for Lord Roxton's room. It was no less beautiful than the rest of Avalon. The dresser and bedside table were of the finest dark wood, and intricately carved with Lingdacaj'hal poetry, beautiful, sweeping letters. Over the dresser was a tapestry depicting a man who looked like Roxton slicing though the neck of a raptor with a sword. The bed was surrounded by blue silk, framing it majestically. The hunter slept peacefully inside. Marguerite stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching. "Yi concomfara ei sevni," she whispered, barely aware of what she was saying. I need time. Lord Roxton stirred. "You again. Why are you here?" "What do you mean again, you ninny? I haven't seen you since yesterday afternoon." John was fully awake now, and seemed less guarded. "Oh, Marguerite. It's you." Her face was quizzical. "Are you feeling all right?" John nodded. "What are you doing here?" Marguerite appeared annoyed. "Saael sent me. Something about a sacred mission we have to go on. So you better get ready, or Saael will kick your sacred behind. She's very adamant." John gave Marguerite a lift onto her horse, then mounted his. "Have strength, good Warrior," Saael said to Roxton. "I know I need not grant you courage, for you have an abundance. Saael's dark eye's pierced Marguerite's. One word, never leaving Saael's mouth, but arriving in Marguerite's mind just the same. Ardel-. Remember. "We need to go that way." Marguerite pointed. "Dare I ask how you know that?" "I just do," was her answer. The way before them, to the North, was shrouded in a tangible mist. It was beautiful to look at, but they both knew it would be hell to travel by. So heavy was the air, that even at the Plateau's altitude, it was like breathing liquid. Out of nowhere, Roxton said the most absurd thing possible. "I love you, Marguerite." "Trying to catch me off guard, Lord Roxton?" "Still waiting for your answer. You told me that you love me once, I want to know if it's true." "I don't want to talk about this, John." At least she called him by his first name this time. That was something. "You know I'll always be here." The two rode in silence for hours. Finally, Roxton spoke up. In the one-thousandth of a second when Marguerite could tell that he was going to talk, and the time that he actually did, she got her hopes up. They fell. "We'll need to set up camp. It's getting dark." ***************************************** "What are you looking at, Marguerite?" "The moon. It's full." Roxton smiled. "It's beautiful." But his eyes didn't stay on the moon, they wandered down into its reflection in the eyes of the Chosen One. She noticed his stare, felt uncomfortable. She had that annoying urge to look at him, to see if he really was looking at her, although she knew perfectly well from her intuition that he was. She lost the battle. She looked. Roxton leaned toward her, and she couldn't help herself. As much as she tried to convince herself and the others that it wasn't true, she did love him, and right now, she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. They did for just a moment. One moment that Marguerite was able to forget that she was supposed to be made of scales. Then she pulled back. "No." She went to her bed, which, naturally, Roxton had set up quite a distance from his own. She felt a twinge of ambiguity. For him to have put them closer together would have shown him to be unworthy of her company. But she wanted his company. Jerk. The words 'catch 22' came into Marguerite's mind unbidden, and she wondered what they meant, because that book hadn't been written yet. As she drifted off for the night, she heard a muffled thump, and what could have been a cry. Should go check. So tired. He was supposed to be the Warrior, let him take care of it. Serves him right. And she fell asleep. The fog engulfed them. She woke in the morning to find herself in a deeper mist than they had seen the day before. And alone. All around the camp were the tracks of apemen. And a trail of blood leading into the woods. ************************************* The previous night in Avalon, a man watched in a magical fog as the hunter was taken. "What news is this?" Saael was as upset as anyone had ever seen her. "The Warrior has been taken by apemen." This was the voice of Sarneera, a man who was considered one of the wisest in Avalon. "We must mount a rescue. For her to be lost would be tragedy for the Plateau." "She is not the one in danger." ` "But she cannot resist the apemen alone, and she will go after him. She is a fool." Saael's eyes flashed in anger. "It is true, but her folly wouldn't be going to save him. It was letting him be taken in the first place. If she weren't so stubborn, it would have been the both of them when the apemen came, and together, they could have resisted. Perhaps now, her intellect has caught up with her arrogance. In my five hundred forty seven years, I've never seen one so stubborn" Sarneera nodded, knowing that it would be impossible to talk reasonably to Saael right now. She was a level - headed person, for the most part, but if something really did upset her, she was a whirlwind. Now was one of those times. "We will head out at first light." "We head out now," Saael corrected. *************************************** The Chosen One armed herself with all the weapons they had carried. The apemen had only taken one knife with them, the one the Warrior had been holding. She hoped he had managed to hold on to it. She rode into the woods on her own black horse. She may be outnumbered, but she wasn't going to let them have him, especially since. . . she blinked tears from her eyes. Now was not the time for blame. The first attack came from the left. A large male with fearsome teeth leaped so gracefully, that had she not been in danger, the Chosen One would have admired the beast. It was approaching fast, she stabbed it. Another ran to her, she reared up on her horse and kicked him down. Her blade slashed into another. That was all for now. She rode ahead into a clearing. No apemen here. But there, sprawled on the ground and clutching a scroll, was the Warrior, his handsome features distorted by death. She knew immediately that she was too late, though how she did not understand. She flew off her horse, and managed, rather quickly, to get hum up on it. She mounted behind him and sped to Avalon as quickly as her mare could go. She met the others half way. "Help!" she cried out to them. "Please! There must be something you can do!" She turned to the Gatekeeper of life and death. He put a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. He has passed. I cannot bring him back." She sat there on her horse and cried, going nowhere, doing nothing but weeping, the most piteous sound any of them had ever heard. Saael spoke softly to her. "Come, we must return." She took the scroll, rode her horse forward, back to Avalon. Sarneera took the Warrior's body, and followed quickly after her. The six left living rode slowly on. Some crying, all greiving, none knowing what to say to the chosen one, so they said nothing. They were back in Avalon by nightfall. She stood at the gates of Avalon that night and recited the words from the scroll. Her voice was tired and weak, but quelled the chaos none the less. As the last word left her lips, her energy was so drained that she fell to the ground in a heap, and did not rouse untill morning. ******************************************** Saael's eyes, the only part of her that betrayed her true years, all five hundred twenty seven of them, were glazed over with tears. It was indeed a dark day in the history of Avalon. She swallowed her sorrow and began to speak. "We come to bid farewell to one of the seven, who meant so much to all of us. This tragedy has touched us all. His goodness will not go unmarked." A coffin was lowered into the ground." You will always be in our thoughts, dear Warrior. Now let us away, and allow the Chosen One her proper time to grieve." The others backed off from the grave. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I should never have left you there alone. I should have stayed with you. I was too proud. But I always loved you." The tears overwhelmed her now. "I'm so sorry." She tossed a red rose down into the hole in the earth, and dirt after it." Her sleep was even more troubled that night. Memories from a thousand lives, one hundred thousand mistakes, so many the same, so many like the one that had caused his death. She woke in the morning, but did not rise. No one came to get her. She would need time, they knew. "Have some stew," the Protector coaxed, it was noon now. She had brought the bowl right to the bed. She refused. "You must eat," the younger woman urged. "We're worried about you." She laid there, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. The blonde rose, walked to Saeel, who had stepped in to check on them. "She will not take food or drink. She's said nothing since she read the scroll." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "If she carries on this way, she will not survive." Saeel nodded. "That is her intention. Every incarnation of the Chosen One has been willful. If there is something she desires, she will have it, including death." The young Protector was outraged. "She is my friend. I will not give up on her! She will eat, whether she wants to or not!" There was a choking, gasping sound from the corner of the room, the bed. Both women rushed to her. The light was fading from the woman's eyes. She clutched the had of her friend. "I'm sorry, Abigail." She fell to the bed eyes empty. The protector broke down and cried. ******************************************** The fog was gone, and the night was clear. The moon shone brightly overhead. Marguerite drew breath as if for the first time, as if her soul were returning to her body from some strange journey. She heard growling. Ape men. She grabbed her rifle and rose. One of them was on John. She shot. Perfect. He was down. But as she congratulated herself, and wondered what was going on (the last thing she remembered was dying), an ape came at her from her left. She had not anticipated the attack, and she found herself defenseless, her weapon flung metres away from her. The ape was between Roxton and his rifle and Marguerite. His life flashed before his eyes. William. He could not be responsible for the death of someone else that he loved. He would die of heartache if he hurt her. He fired. The ape went down. Marguerite stood. A wave of relief flooded over them, Roxton because his love was alive and well, save a scratch on her temple, and her because she had been given a second chance. But she was not yet sure how. The other five, Saeel, and Sarneera, rode on seven horses to where the two stood. Roxton's black horse and Marguerite's white steed stood on the side patiently awaiting their masters' call to return to Avalon. But there was something else to be done. Marguerite broke. "John!" She reached out to him, kissing him several times. "Thank God you're all right!" She looked at him soberly. "I love you." John glanced to the others who, though relieved, seemed somewhat uncomfortable. "They'll hear you." He indicated their friends on horseback. Marguerite shook her head. "I don't care. I love you." She straightened. "The prophesy is written. You are to be at the right hand of the High Priestess. That's me," she reminded everyone. "We are to be married. The prophesy requires it, and nothing you can say can unmake it." She paused for dramatic effect. "As the High Priestess and Chosen One of Avalon, I command that you be my husband. Nothing you protest can change my mind." John tried hard to keep a smile off his face, a difficult task, and replied, "I cannot disobey your orders, Milady." "Then it is sealed," Marguerite replied. "I have your hand in marrige." They rode to the gates of Avalon. "I must say," Roxton said as they rode back. "Being dead is a rather unpleasant experience." Marguerite was dumbstruck. "You were. . ." "The whole time. Aiec put me into the life of the previous Warrior. I asked her to. I wanted to know what the mistake was that she wouldn't tell me about. She told me she was going to show you." He paused. "I'm assuming from your drastic change of heart that she did." Her voice wavered. "It was so real. I thought I'd lost you. Because I was so stupid and selfish." He nodded. "The mistake Aiec told me about." He pried. "Poor woman must have felt awful." Marguerite answered, strangely detatched. "She literally laid down and died." She swallowed. "I felt her die. I WAS her." She thought for a moment, touched his cheek. "I never want to make the mistake she. . .I did before. I'm afraid to be in love, but love is stronger than fear." ******************************************************* Fooled you, fooled you, nanny nanny boo boo! I said the Warrior died: not Roxton. ;P Next week: "But if we fix the timeline and make it so that no outsiders never come to the Plateau. . ." They all looked at Finn, none saying anything. She smiled weakly. "The entire world, or my life." Her eyes filled with tears as it sunk in. "Come on, Challenger, give me a hard one." She looked at each of the others in turn. "Whatever I have to do." "Finn," Challenger spoke up. "Do you know what you're doing, what you're saying. You would cease to exist." A tear rolled down her cheek. "It is my destiny."
Aiec, ya saraei,
Taroholique ti nap ye lingtarim? Yi te novara wamunri febrali quep yi languara. Tarotradique formie yi novara cavera quep te yi sacarara? Sep tarotradique formie ti ye novarim tapera, satep yie dinoarae quep ti averim ei selvazoni comp yeal. Yi te sacarara, Aiec. Mep yi nap languara alesera idotique. Mep yi benruara. Yi alesaraa.
Hmm. 'Aiec,' a name, 'my love,' Why won't you talk to me? I've done everything that I can. How many times have I told you that I love you? And how many times have you turned me away, even though I know you have feelings for me. I love you, Aiec. But I can't wait forever. But I lie. I will.' The previous Chosen One had called Marguerite "Aieca." She knew from the language that -a was a suffix of future. The former Druid Priestess must have been Aiec. This letter must have been written by the former Warrior. Sounds familiar, she thought bitterly. Who was Aiec to be giving her these lectures about not telling Roxton the truth? She had done the exact same thing! Rat. She turned the page, trying not to think about the Warrior that she shared a timeline with. This was a letter to the Warrior from Aiec. "You know how I feel about you, but I can't." And they wrote letters back and forth this way for quite some time. There were quite a few, all the same way. She had fought him with every last nerve she had, it looked like. And he had persisted. It was all too familiar. She found herself wanting to read to the end, it played out like a novel, her own life, and she wanted to see the ending. Who could resist? The last page was written by Aiec. It was a poem, of all silly things. It both surprised and made sense to Marguerite, and she was surprised that she wasn't more surprised, as foolish as that seemed. Marguerite often wrote poems, but nobody knew that. She wouldn't admit it, it was so. . . weak. It hadn't sunk in yet that she truly was Aieca. It seemed like someone had just written these things imagining how she and Roxton would have written. But no one knew about her poetry. The reality of it began to sink in. This was her, there was no denying that.
Ti ye caverim dep ta sacari/
Inep tae blakie torale huernarel nap tapi/ Yi maicaraquep yi staglasa shambera/ Mep ti ye avarlarim, yi te spersara/ Yi staglasara maicera ta linti febral/ Menfap si poarel fanferal/ Mep ti ye staglasarim/ Ti blu-/ Sie esarele dinoi poju-/ Yi falara / Yi cacompara/ Yi te esara closri/ Mep inep ai selvazoni yi te staglasara/ Personara, sacarara/ Shambera avilique, sacerei ya/ Yi concomfara ei sevni/ Blak- ansmique yi eminara ya swahai/ Anscalique fefal yi nap dinoara lepai/ Yi dotara, ales-ye/ Ti dinorimi quep ya sacari esarel perp te/ Yi staglasara maicera ta linti febral/ Mepfap si poarel fanferal/ Mep ti ye staglasarim/ Ti blu- / Sie esarele dionoi poju-/ Yi falara/ Yi cacompara/ Yi te esara closri/ Mep inep ai selvazoni yi te staglasara/ Personara, sacrara/ Yi concomfara ei sevni/
The page was crumpled. It had been wadded up, then sewn into the book as the last page. She had never given him the poem. She read over the words. She loved him but was afraid to tell him, was what it said (more or less). And he had apparently never written more. A sense of panic overtook Marguerite. Had he given up? Had the Warrior decided that Aiec wasn't worth the effort? Roxton said that would never happen, but then again, so had this incarnation, the one that the poem was written for. He had left her. Would Roxton leave her? With that thought haunting her, she went down to bed. But her sleep was troubled. She woke from practically no sleep at all when Saael entered her room. She made no sound, but Marguerite was instantly aware of her. "You have a mission, Aieca, dear." Her eyes were filled with a kind of sorrow Marguerite did not quite understand. "You must claim the scroll and read from it the sacred words that can subdue the Chaos that has overtaken us. We do not know where the scroll is, only the Chosen One can seek it out." She paused, and continued. "The journey will be perilous. Chaos is a hunter, and will stalk you with every step. Do not be swayed from your mission. You will be in great danger. The Warrior must go with you. Your horses are ready." She gestured. "Wake him." She exited with such ease from the room that Marguerite could barely remember in the following moment seeing her leave. To be honest, the people here spooked Marguerite just a bit. What was she thinking, she reminded herself, this was the Plateau. She dressed herself, then headed for Lord Roxton's room. It was no less beautiful than the rest of Avalon. The dresser and bedside table were of the finest dark wood, and intricately carved with Lingdacaj'hal poetry, beautiful, sweeping letters. Over the dresser was a tapestry depicting a man who looked like Roxton slicing though the neck of a raptor with a sword. The bed was surrounded by blue silk, framing it majestically. The hunter slept peacefully inside. Marguerite stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching. "Yi concomfara ei sevni," she whispered, barely aware of what she was saying. I need time. Lord Roxton stirred. "You again. Why are you here?" "What do you mean again, you ninny? I haven't seen you since yesterday afternoon." John was fully awake now, and seemed less guarded. "Oh, Marguerite. It's you." Her face was quizzical. "Are you feeling all right?" John nodded. "What are you doing here?" Marguerite appeared annoyed. "Saael sent me. Something about a sacred mission we have to go on. So you better get ready, or Saael will kick your sacred behind. She's very adamant." John gave Marguerite a lift onto her horse, then mounted his. "Have strength, good Warrior," Saael said to Roxton. "I know I need not grant you courage, for you have an abundance. Saael's dark eye's pierced Marguerite's. One word, never leaving Saael's mouth, but arriving in Marguerite's mind just the same. Ardel-. Remember. "We need to go that way." Marguerite pointed. "Dare I ask how you know that?" "I just do," was her answer. The way before them, to the North, was shrouded in a tangible mist. It was beautiful to look at, but they both knew it would be hell to travel by. So heavy was the air, that even at the Plateau's altitude, it was like breathing liquid. Out of nowhere, Roxton said the most absurd thing possible. "I love you, Marguerite." "Trying to catch me off guard, Lord Roxton?" "Still waiting for your answer. You told me that you love me once, I want to know if it's true." "I don't want to talk about this, John." At least she called him by his first name this time. That was something. "You know I'll always be here." The two rode in silence for hours. Finally, Roxton spoke up. In the one-thousandth of a second when Marguerite could tell that he was going to talk, and the time that he actually did, she got her hopes up. They fell. "We'll need to set up camp. It's getting dark." ***************************************** "What are you looking at, Marguerite?" "The moon. It's full." Roxton smiled. "It's beautiful." But his eyes didn't stay on the moon, they wandered down into its reflection in the eyes of the Chosen One. She noticed his stare, felt uncomfortable. She had that annoying urge to look at him, to see if he really was looking at her, although she knew perfectly well from her intuition that he was. She lost the battle. She looked. Roxton leaned toward her, and she couldn't help herself. As much as she tried to convince herself and the others that it wasn't true, she did love him, and right now, she wanted nothing more than to kiss him. They did for just a moment. One moment that Marguerite was able to forget that she was supposed to be made of scales. Then she pulled back. "No." She went to her bed, which, naturally, Roxton had set up quite a distance from his own. She felt a twinge of ambiguity. For him to have put them closer together would have shown him to be unworthy of her company. But she wanted his company. Jerk. The words 'catch 22' came into Marguerite's mind unbidden, and she wondered what they meant, because that book hadn't been written yet. As she drifted off for the night, she heard a muffled thump, and what could have been a cry. Should go check. So tired. He was supposed to be the Warrior, let him take care of it. Serves him right. And she fell asleep. The fog engulfed them. She woke in the morning to find herself in a deeper mist than they had seen the day before. And alone. All around the camp were the tracks of apemen. And a trail of blood leading into the woods. ************************************* The previous night in Avalon, a man watched in a magical fog as the hunter was taken. "What news is this?" Saael was as upset as anyone had ever seen her. "The Warrior has been taken by apemen." This was the voice of Sarneera, a man who was considered one of the wisest in Avalon. "We must mount a rescue. For her to be lost would be tragedy for the Plateau." "She is not the one in danger." ` "But she cannot resist the apemen alone, and she will go after him. She is a fool." Saael's eyes flashed in anger. "It is true, but her folly wouldn't be going to save him. It was letting him be taken in the first place. If she weren't so stubborn, it would have been the both of them when the apemen came, and together, they could have resisted. Perhaps now, her intellect has caught up with her arrogance. In my five hundred forty seven years, I've never seen one so stubborn" Sarneera nodded, knowing that it would be impossible to talk reasonably to Saael right now. She was a level - headed person, for the most part, but if something really did upset her, she was a whirlwind. Now was one of those times. "We will head out at first light." "We head out now," Saael corrected. *************************************** The Chosen One armed herself with all the weapons they had carried. The apemen had only taken one knife with them, the one the Warrior had been holding. She hoped he had managed to hold on to it. She rode into the woods on her own black horse. She may be outnumbered, but she wasn't going to let them have him, especially since. . . she blinked tears from her eyes. Now was not the time for blame. The first attack came from the left. A large male with fearsome teeth leaped so gracefully, that had she not been in danger, the Chosen One would have admired the beast. It was approaching fast, she stabbed it. Another ran to her, she reared up on her horse and kicked him down. Her blade slashed into another. That was all for now. She rode ahead into a clearing. No apemen here. But there, sprawled on the ground and clutching a scroll, was the Warrior, his handsome features distorted by death. She knew immediately that she was too late, though how she did not understand. She flew off her horse, and managed, rather quickly, to get hum up on it. She mounted behind him and sped to Avalon as quickly as her mare could go. She met the others half way. "Help!" she cried out to them. "Please! There must be something you can do!" She turned to the Gatekeeper of life and death. He put a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. He has passed. I cannot bring him back." She sat there on her horse and cried, going nowhere, doing nothing but weeping, the most piteous sound any of them had ever heard. Saael spoke softly to her. "Come, we must return." She took the scroll, rode her horse forward, back to Avalon. Sarneera took the Warrior's body, and followed quickly after her. The six left living rode slowly on. Some crying, all greiving, none knowing what to say to the chosen one, so they said nothing. They were back in Avalon by nightfall. She stood at the gates of Avalon that night and recited the words from the scroll. Her voice was tired and weak, but quelled the chaos none the less. As the last word left her lips, her energy was so drained that she fell to the ground in a heap, and did not rouse untill morning. ******************************************** Saael's eyes, the only part of her that betrayed her true years, all five hundred twenty seven of them, were glazed over with tears. It was indeed a dark day in the history of Avalon. She swallowed her sorrow and began to speak. "We come to bid farewell to one of the seven, who meant so much to all of us. This tragedy has touched us all. His goodness will not go unmarked." A coffin was lowered into the ground." You will always be in our thoughts, dear Warrior. Now let us away, and allow the Chosen One her proper time to grieve." The others backed off from the grave. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I should never have left you there alone. I should have stayed with you. I was too proud. But I always loved you." The tears overwhelmed her now. "I'm so sorry." She tossed a red rose down into the hole in the earth, and dirt after it." Her sleep was even more troubled that night. Memories from a thousand lives, one hundred thousand mistakes, so many the same, so many like the one that had caused his death. She woke in the morning, but did not rise. No one came to get her. She would need time, they knew. "Have some stew," the Protector coaxed, it was noon now. She had brought the bowl right to the bed. She refused. "You must eat," the younger woman urged. "We're worried about you." She laid there, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing. The blonde rose, walked to Saeel, who had stepped in to check on them. "She will not take food or drink. She's said nothing since she read the scroll." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "If she carries on this way, she will not survive." Saeel nodded. "That is her intention. Every incarnation of the Chosen One has been willful. If there is something she desires, she will have it, including death." The young Protector was outraged. "She is my friend. I will not give up on her! She will eat, whether she wants to or not!" There was a choking, gasping sound from the corner of the room, the bed. Both women rushed to her. The light was fading from the woman's eyes. She clutched the had of her friend. "I'm sorry, Abigail." She fell to the bed eyes empty. The protector broke down and cried. ******************************************** The fog was gone, and the night was clear. The moon shone brightly overhead. Marguerite drew breath as if for the first time, as if her soul were returning to her body from some strange journey. She heard growling. Ape men. She grabbed her rifle and rose. One of them was on John. She shot. Perfect. He was down. But as she congratulated herself, and wondered what was going on (the last thing she remembered was dying), an ape came at her from her left. She had not anticipated the attack, and she found herself defenseless, her weapon flung metres away from her. The ape was between Roxton and his rifle and Marguerite. His life flashed before his eyes. William. He could not be responsible for the death of someone else that he loved. He would die of heartache if he hurt her. He fired. The ape went down. Marguerite stood. A wave of relief flooded over them, Roxton because his love was alive and well, save a scratch on her temple, and her because she had been given a second chance. But she was not yet sure how. The other five, Saeel, and Sarneera, rode on seven horses to where the two stood. Roxton's black horse and Marguerite's white steed stood on the side patiently awaiting their masters' call to return to Avalon. But there was something else to be done. Marguerite broke. "John!" She reached out to him, kissing him several times. "Thank God you're all right!" She looked at him soberly. "I love you." John glanced to the others who, though relieved, seemed somewhat uncomfortable. "They'll hear you." He indicated their friends on horseback. Marguerite shook her head. "I don't care. I love you." She straightened. "The prophesy is written. You are to be at the right hand of the High Priestess. That's me," she reminded everyone. "We are to be married. The prophesy requires it, and nothing you can say can unmake it." She paused for dramatic effect. "As the High Priestess and Chosen One of Avalon, I command that you be my husband. Nothing you protest can change my mind." John tried hard to keep a smile off his face, a difficult task, and replied, "I cannot disobey your orders, Milady." "Then it is sealed," Marguerite replied. "I have your hand in marrige." They rode to the gates of Avalon. "I must say," Roxton said as they rode back. "Being dead is a rather unpleasant experience." Marguerite was dumbstruck. "You were. . ." "The whole time. Aiec put me into the life of the previous Warrior. I asked her to. I wanted to know what the mistake was that she wouldn't tell me about. She told me she was going to show you." He paused. "I'm assuming from your drastic change of heart that she did." Her voice wavered. "It was so real. I thought I'd lost you. Because I was so stupid and selfish." He nodded. "The mistake Aiec told me about." He pried. "Poor woman must have felt awful." Marguerite answered, strangely detatched. "She literally laid down and died." She swallowed. "I felt her die. I WAS her." She thought for a moment, touched his cheek. "I never want to make the mistake she. . .I did before. I'm afraid to be in love, but love is stronger than fear." ******************************************************* Fooled you, fooled you, nanny nanny boo boo! I said the Warrior died: not Roxton. ;P Next week: "But if we fix the timeline and make it so that no outsiders never come to the Plateau. . ." They all looked at Finn, none saying anything. She smiled weakly. "The entire world, or my life." Her eyes filled with tears as it sunk in. "Come on, Challenger, give me a hard one." She looked at each of the others in turn. "Whatever I have to do." "Finn," Challenger spoke up. "Do you know what you're doing, what you're saying. You would cease to exist." A tear rolled down her cheek. "It is my destiny."