Disclaimer- King Arthur belongs to Antoine Fuqua, Jerry Bruckheimer Films, and Touchstone Pictures. I only own the story and all the original characters presented throughout the duration of this fic.

Pulse: The Future

Chapter Five

Sunday.

It was Sunday, Megan had told him. Three days since he had woken up to find himself in this strange new world. It had been three days, and still neither Megan nor Lancelot was any closer to coming up with an explanation as to why he was there or how it had occurred. It was frustrating, but Megan constantly reassured him that everything would be okay, that they would figure it out. He couldn't help but wonder when that would be, and slowly loosing patience. He could only wonder how he would be in a week's time if nothing were found, if already he was impatient and thoroughly frustrated after only three simple days.

He wasn't sure, but he was hoping they had figured something out by then or he was able to adjust, at least enough.

Megan already had told him she would consult her scholar friend, and ask his opinion on the matter. She had told him she had tried "calling" him while she had been at work Friday, but he hadn't been in. Thus, she had said she would try calling his home again over the weekend, knowing he liked to spend his times on the weekends with his Setters, or hunting dogs, Megan had informed him. Lancelot honestly wasn't sure how much use calling the old man would do. Like Felicia, Megan's sister, it was all too likely for the man to think Lancelot a madman, and Megan foolish for believing him. He had heard some of the conversations passed between the dark-haired woman and her sister, and knew that that was exactly what the fair-haired woman thought, warning Megan to just be cautious and weary.

It made him almost angry—if not fully angry—to think Felicia would honestly think he would hurt Megan—or even herself or the child, all harmless civilians, and more importantly women and a child. However, he also thought Felicia justified and wise, while Megan… kind and all too trustworthy, knowing Felicia's worries and fears could have been all too real if it had been anyone else but Lancelot in the situation. And that worried him as well, to think Megan's near naivety could some day be the reason for harm to befall her. While he didn't think she should become jaded or untrustworthy to all or ward off all people, he did think she needed to be more careful, and not automatically assume the best in others, because he knew—as well as Felicia—that not everyone was good, but would all too willingly exploit Megan's weakness.

A weakness that is the reason you are safe and sheltered and receiving help.

He would definitely have to talk to Megan, because perhaps if two people warned her of the dangers of trusty everyone, the concept would sink into her stubborn mind better. He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face with his hands, weary. Always weary it seemed, never rejuvenated. It was from everything that had happened, no doubt, though the nightmares weren't helping either. Nightmares full of beasts and war and blood—so much blood—and blurry faces he couldn't make out. The worst part, however, was the screams. Tortured and begging for help—his help—but he couldn't do anything, only stand back, watching the flames and the whips and the weapons rain down…

He never understood them, could never see anything clearly except his own bloodied face and body, but always woke up terrified and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He assumed though, they were just post-traumatic nightmares from everything… It wasn't unusual for him to have nightmares, though over the long years they had been seldom as he grew older, numb and war-weary, too used to battles and loss to truly be affected.

The last time he had truly had a terrifying nightmare was after his first real battle, after he had watched his brothers in arms, his friends that he had created a bond with through his and their training, slaughtered—after he had slaughtered, killing men and a boy younger than he had been. The boy was the one that stuck out in his mind, even now that still haunted him, the boy and his five-year-old sister that the boy had been protecting, crying over her brother's body before a Roman officer had seized her and dragged her away, kicking and screaming until one had silenced her… and he had done nothing but watch, a steady hate slowly growing in him. Even now he wondered what had happened to the child, what fate had befallen her. No doubt she had been enslaved by the Romans, a slave of some sort even now if she wasn't even still alive, and he wondered if she hated him. Did she curse his very existence, hate him more than even the Romans, for it was his fault that she had been forced into that life? It had been him to slew her brother when all he had been doing was protecting her, not apart of the war party that had attacked the knights and Roman caravan…. And Lancelot hadn't realized it until too late…

The girl's hate was nothing compared to his own…

"You're Lancelot." Lancelot jerked his head up swiftly, looking up at the child that had managed to sneak up on him with steely eyes, body tense and ready to spring. Realizing there was no threat, he relaxed, nodding. "Mommy doesn't believe you. She thinks you're lying, are you?"

Such straightforwardness—something everything child possessed, Lancelot thought, thinking back to all of Bors' and Vanora's children fondly. This child, however… "No, I am not."

Aiden walked forward, stopping when there was only a few feet between them, a fuzzy toy bear clutched under his arm. "Megan doesn't think so either. She trusts you; Mommy doesn't think she should."

"Your mother… she doesn't trust easy, does she?" Aiden only looked at him, Lancelot's lips quirked slightly, not in a happy way, though. "No, and she's wise to do so. She only wishes to look out for you and her sister. But I assure you, child, my intentions are not to cause your aunt harm."

"I didn't think you would… Megan doesn't either…"

"Your aunt's a kind woman. I am grateful for her help."

Aiden looked at him for a second longer, before saying quietly, "You see things in your sleep, don't you? Bad things… I do, too… Mommy told me after we got away that they would stop, but they haven't… I still see him…"

Lancelot's bow furrowed, and looking at the pale child with wide, frightened eyes, he felt a chill, a sense that something wasn't right. The Stratfords had a secret, one that still affected the child, and whatever it was, it was not good and didn't set well with him. What was it, though?

"Who do you see?" Lancelot asked intently, bending forward.

Aiden's eyes, if possible, grew wider, more afraid, and he swallowed, shaking his head, pallor nearly translucent. "Mommy said not to talk about it—that it makes it real when it's mentioned."

"Aiden—"

"Aiden."

Both child and knight looked up when Megan and an unhappy looking Felicia walked in the room. It had been Felicia that had spoken, and it was Felicia that was near glaring at Lancelot now, while Megan stood back looking almost apprehensive. Yes, something definitely about the Stratfords was not right, and whatever Aiden had nearly told him about, was the root to the secret. And Lancelot intended to find out exactly what it was they didn't want anyone to know, despite how much they didn't want him to know.

"Aiden, why don't you go play," Felicia suggested, and Aiden went, a thick tension snapping around the periwinkle-colored living room like a whip.

Felicia, Lancelot was sure, was going to say something to him, but Megan touched her arm, shook her head, and Felicia gave one last "look" at the knight before turning and exiting the room. It left him alone with Megan, who stood back against the polished wooden frame of the living room and main hall entrance/exit. She still had that same near apprehension look on her face, and Lancelot wondered, again, what it was the Stratford sisters were hiding, and if Megan would give him some warning or reprimand-like speech.

"Something ails the child." Lancelot was the one to break the silence, causing Megan to look up at him; gray-blue eyes careful.

"Lancelot," Megan began, and Lancelot knew, as much as she was trusting him, she would not entrust in him their secret, whatever it may have been.

"Megan, there is something wrong with your nephew, something—"

"Aiden's sick, Lancelot," she interrupted him, her voice conveying everything and nothing, and breaking his focus on their secret.

His brow furrowed, and he asked, "What?"

Megan sighed, repeated, "Aiden's sick. The doctors, they don't know what's wrong with him. It's bad, though… Fel and I… any moment we're prepared for him to collapse."

Lancelot swallowed, looking at her with dark eyes. He was sick? But… It didn't make sense… Didn't coincide with what the child had told him… But perhaps it was just a symptom of whatever illness Aiden was inflicted with. Megan herself had said the healers knew not what ailed him, that it was a mystery. Maybe nightmares were a part of it, but still…

"I am sorry… It… it must be difficult."

She breathed in deeply, averting his gaze from his. He watched her as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and said softly, "Yeah… Especially on Felicia. I mean that's her kid, and… we don't know what's wrong with him, but… whatever it is, it's killing him, Lancelot. The doctors don't expect him to make it to his fifteenth birthday… hell, he'll be lucky if he makes it to his twelfth…"

Lancelot got up from his seat, walking over to the young woman. She only looked at him when he stood directly in front of her, wanting to touch her but not knowing if she would accept it. For where she was welcoming to friendship, he didn't know if she welcomed physical or emotional comfort and support. The look in her eyes, however, was neither welcoming nor unwelcoming, just… there… looking up at him, watching his next action carefully. He took the gamble though, reaching up, and, almost hesitantly, touched her cloth-clad bicep with his warm, large hand.

She didn't shrug him off, didn't do anything. A good thing. "I am sorry," he said sincerely, dark, soulful eyes showing her it to be truth.

She smiled slightly, not really a happy thing. "I know."

"I shou—"

She touched his arm, the warmth from her small palm spreading heat up his arm. "It's okay, Lancelot. You didn't know; you couldn't have. We didn't tell you; it's not something we broadcast. Don't worry about it."

Then she extracted herself from him, and walked past him, sitting on the couch, making him feel cold from the sudden lack of warmth—her warmth. He turned, looked at her, and she patted the seat beside of her beckoningly. He complied, walking over and sitting next to her.

"So, I still haven't gotten in touch with Professor Brinkley, yet. I'll try tomorrow on my planning period," Megan told him.

Lancelot was watching her, brow knitted together in the faintest of ways. His thoughts were still on Aiden and the two sisters. Something still struck an ill cord within him; they were still hiding something, he knew it. And though it may very well have something to do with Aiden's regrettable illness, he knew there was more to it. There was something else that the sisters did not want him, or anyone else apparently, to know. The "what" still mystified him, and he barely realized he seemed to now be more focused on that than why or how he was in the twenty-first century. All the better, he supposed; he was more likely to find out the reason for the Stratford sisters' secrecy than his actual reason for being here, or his purpose, if he even had a purpose to begin with.

"Hell-o, Lancelot, anyone in there?" Megan snapped her fingers, and Lancelot blinked, looking at her. She was giving him a bemused look, eyebrow raised. "And what has captured your attention so completely, Sir Knight?" she jested.

It had the desired effect, a familiar smirk pulling at Lancelot's lips in amusement and… something else. "Nothing but you, beautiful maiden. I find myself enraptured by your exquisite beauty."

Eyes sparkling, Megan continued their game, replying, "You jest, Sir Knight."

Lancelot leaned toward her, the sudden lightheartedness in their current antics welcomed after all the frustration and seriousness of the past three days. "I speak only of truth. A beauty like none other, pure and majestic," he whispered. "Rare. A rare beauty I have never seen; like a rare gem I wish to obtain…"

And then Megan barked out a laugh, all of it too much for her. Her laughter calmed after a few minutes, but her eyes were still gleaming with her merriment. And Lancelot smiled, watching her with… an almost soft expression, the sudden change of mood taking full affect of him as he truly watched her, studied her…wanting to touch her. Megan snorted, shaking her head, the waved tresses falling over her shoulders.

"A rare beauty?" she teased. "And how many girls, Sir Lancelot, have fell for that one?"

"I have never told another such words… similar words, yes, I will not deny it; but none holding such truth." He picked up her hand, bestowing upon it the lightest of kisses, lingering for a second or two longer than necessary. "For you are such a beauty, my lady. Your kindness helps make you so."

The smile was gone, and she was watching Lancelot with wide eyes, not knowing what to say or do. She retracted her hand, and he let her, moving back so as not to crowd her or scare her away. The full weight of what he had said finally registered through whatever fog had clouded his mind, and he almost nearly wished he could take his words and actions back. Not because he had not meant them, but because he wished to not complicate all ready complicated matters further. And he was sure Felicia would only see such actions as untrustworthy and a means to selfish, dark seduction, nothing true.

However, luckily for him, Megan chose to take light of his words, saying teasingly, "Aren't you sweet. Keep saying things like that, and I'll start to think you're trying to woo me." She winked, gently slapped his knee, and stood up. "I'm going outside to play with the dogs a bit, walk them. Want to join me? It's really beautiful on the path, quiet too for thinking."

"I would hate to impose."

Megan rolled her eyes, standing up, and looking back at Lancelot. "You won't. You only impose if I don't ask you." She reached for his hand, clasping it in her smaller one, and dragging him up, pulling him out of the living room. "Come on."

And who was he to deny a beautiful, kind lady a request?

He let her pull him out of the house, through the gate and into the backyard where immediately she started romping around the yard with the Ruddy the "Tibbie" and Barney the Golden Retriever. He watched her from a distance as she played with her two dogs, the breeze blowing coolly and ruffling her hair. He watched her, noticing the look in her eyes when she looked at the larger, older dog. He was her favorite, the one she loved the most, and the one that held a special place in her heart. No doubt she loved the little dog as well, Ruddy, but the older dog came first—Lancelot could see it, and why he was taking the time to note this, he wasn't rightly sure, but he was. Though his contemplation was cut short when Megan yelled his name, grabbing his attention, and tilting her head in a "come on" fashion, eyes dancing, smile in place.

And he went, letting the dogs jump and lick over him, as he played with them and the young woman, until Megan grew tired and sprawled out on the cool grass. She was laughing, throwing a ball far so the dogs would chase it, and then he sat on the grass with her, watching the dogs engage playfully, yipping and barking, and the current woes of his life was forced to the back of his mind for later. Now was a time of relaxation and lightheartedness, and he would use it to its fullest.

"I'll be gone until three-thirty tomorrow, think you'll be okay until I get home?" Megan asked, and Lancelot looked at her.

"Aye," he replied. "I will be fine."

Megan nodded, closing her eyes. "Good. It'll be like that the rest of the week, too. Friday, the kids and students have off, so…" Megan trailed off, and Lancelot draped his arms around his knees. Far off the dogs were barking, and Megan raised herself up a little to look, frowning. She groaned, and looked at Lancelot. "Do me a favor and see what they're up to? I'm comfortable."

Lancelot smiled, rolled his eyes, and pushed her back as he got to his feet. She laughed, shouting a indignant "Hey!" but Lancelot only raised a mock condescending eyebrow at her, and continued down the yard to where the dogs were. He found them easily enough, barking and sniffing at something hanging from the links on the fence. They licked and whined at him when he approached; used to him already, but when Lancelot saw what it was that hung from the links a frown its way upon his face, creasing it. A skinned and mutilated rabbit hung tied from the wire, sliced from stomach to chin, its entrails and other bodily organs gathered below it and dangling out of its gutted body. What in hells name…?

He went to remove it, but a sudden scream stopped him, and his blood ran cold. Megan. He turned and sprinted back, seeing a man behind her, almost pushing himself on top of her on the ground, arm around her throat as she tried to lessen the man's grip. Rage seized him, and he charged, not caring that he was weaponless. Almost upon him, Megan's attacker looked up, expression startled and one of shock, obviously not expecting a dangerous and angry looking man to be at the Stratford residence. However, Lancelot didn't give him time to process his sudden appearance, pulling him away from Megan in his still startled stage, his hold on her having been slacked immensely, and throwing a punch at him—hard. And then he attacked, and the battle commenced, one thought flittering through Lancelot's mind…

Kill.

A/N—A little lighthearted Megan and Lancelot interaction to get away from all the seriousness—always a good thing. But the plot thickens… goodie… Also, I knew its short, but shorter chapters generally mean sooner chapters. Hope no one minds. Forgive for the typos, couldn't stay focused for some odd reason. Anyways, questions welcomed, as are suggestions and all that good stuff. You know the deal.

Lancelot's Lady: Yeah, Megan's POV is easier to write, only because for one, she's my characters and not someone else's; and two, from Lancelot's I have to try to capture his thoughts on a strange, new world with equally strange devices. It can be difficult because I'll write what it actually is until I realize someone from the Dark Ages wouldn't. And I'm with you with the history thing. I'll be majoring in history, so it's important to me. Granted, I don't get everything (or even nearly everything right, lol), but what I can, I wil, or at least I'll try. Else it will bug me. So if you see anything wrong, just drop me a line and let me know, and I'll try to fix it. Obviously not everything can be historically accurate, though, huh? Anyways, thank you immensely for the review. As always, I enjoy hearing from you.

SatiricalPhilosophy