Title: Sarmatian Ladies
Author: Jmaria
Rating: PG-13 - R
Disclaimers/Spoilers: Joss owns the Buffy crew, Bruckheimer, Franzoni, & Fuqua own this incarnation of Arthur & his knights
Summary: Accepting what we have been chosen for.
A/N: The quote that appears in the beginning of this chapters isn't from the book, but the miniseries, mainly because I sent all of my Arthurian books home and forgot that I didn't have a quote. Oops.

12. Cold Turkey

No man or woman can live another's fate.
- The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley

Summers Cottage, 2005

Dawn wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to convince both Arthur and Vanora - Dawn shook her head Vanora's name was Jenna this time around - to come with her and Boris back to the Cottage. They'd spent most of the morning trying to make the adjustment easy for them, but they weren't taking it very well, which was completely understandable. If she thought that telling little girls that they would have to fight demons for the rest of their short lives was hard, telling a man that he was the Once and Future King of England was even worse.

Not to mention the fact that she was impregnated by one of his knights, who had died over fifteen hundred years ago. Telling Jenna that Boris had been her lover had sent a red tinge to her cheeks. Dawn still wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign. Boris was a good-looking guy. But it was Jenna herself who brought up the most interesting point of all.

"So you found Gawain first?" The older woman asked curiously.
"He actually found me," Dawn smiled over at him.
"And then the Gwen girl?" Jenna frowned. "And Galahad?"
"Yeah."
"So you found them all in the reverse order that they died," she murmured. "With only myself, Arthur and Lancelot out of order."
"What?" Dawn asked behind closed eyes.

Rome

The Immortal held the golden necklace in his hand, waiting for Europa to return with better information than she had brought to him last time. Long ago it had been a promise, a hint of what was to be her reward. Her vengeance against those whom had stinted her growth, and a double-edged gift it had been. It was meant to lure her to him, not throw her into the arms of his greatest enemy.

Europa only stared mutely at the trinket from the shadows. It had been ripped from her own daughter's throat hundreds of years ago, and thrust back into her own hands when he'd banished her from his home the first time for her act of revenge.

"What news of my assassins, Europa?" the Immortal said quietly.
"They've made their way across the sea. They will be in London by nightfall," Europa says quietly, her thoughts elsewhere.
"They will ensure the Fox and Wolf do not make it to the Wall?" The Immortal's tone is harsher, as if he is speaking to an errant dog that must be kept in line. Europa cannot help but to bristle at his tone.
"I thought you had ordered them to kill the knight, my lord. What do the Wolf and Fox have to do with your plans?"
"They are part of HIS prophecy!" Europa doesn't flinch at his angry shriek, which surprises both of them, for his next words are well chosen. "They would stand in my way, pull her away from me."
"She is already at odds with them over the pregnancy. She will hesitate, as she always does for you. You've caught her in time, this time," It still stung, his preference for the blonde waif. He would never have gone to such lengths to keep Europa at his side.
"I will have to give her the necklace to ensure that I have." The Immortal tossed the necklace at her. She stared at it blankly. "Renew the spells, Europa. They are old."
"Yes, my lord," but she knows she won't.

The Higher Planes

Ismene, forgotten daughter of Oedipus stared blankly at the infamous daughter of Merlin, whose own lineage had been blurred by mythos and time. Her corner of the High Planes is not often traveled, and no mortals pray to the daughter who took the more traveled path in life.

"What is it you want of me now, child?" Ismene sighed, her hands busily at work. "I'm old, and tired of meddling in the affairs of mortals."

"It is the same thread, Ismene. The latest strand in the eons old tapestry," Morgana sighed.
"Enough of your flowery speech, what do you want, Morgana?" Ismene let her fingers pause.
"He had her in Sparta, in Rome, and even in England. He cannot have her again, Ismene. Calm Europa's anger, give her the divine influence you once doled out to an impatient Sarmatian warrior," Morgana pleaded. "Do this one favor, even if it must be done in Pelagius' name.
"This is your request of me? You bring up a love long lost to me, and beg off favors?"
"Mordred plays by rules that we can not answer fairly. So, our divine backs must stoop some."

Ismene stared blankly at her. All these years, and yet she had still learned that no one really ever played by the rules.

"I do not have to. She is out of my hands," Ismene smiled sadly. "Fate has finally offered her a fair way out."

The road to Delphi, 463

Morgana felt the dull ache in her stomach as the day grew into night. Ismene slowed the cart, her eyes peering farther up along the road. The older woman sighed heavily before leading the horses off to a small clearing. Morgana frowned. It would be far easier to find safer passage in the night than at day. Ismene must have sensed her question.

"It is safer to travel unseen at night, but he will be counting on that," Ismene smiled when Morgana's frown simply deepened. "You are worse than my sister. You've no patience. Besides, if your stomach keeps making all of that racket, we'll easily be prey to Roman soldiers."

Ismene reached for a small bag as she instructed Morgana to pull the lantern inside the cloth enclosure. The bag contained a small loaf of fresh bread, a metal jar and flagon. Ismene handed her the flagon as she took out two wooden cups.

"Mixed wine, bread and honey. It isn't much, but I'm sure it is a far better meal than you would be enjoying in Mordred's Villa?" Ismene asked, the touch of a smirk on her lips.
"Yes. The Lady Europa did not feel I was deserving of such a fine meal as this," Morgana sighed, wetting her lips with the cool wine. It was far better than the stale bread and murky water Europa had forced down her throat.
"Ach, that wounded bird!" Ismene grimaced. "She has been tricked at every turn. From Zeus's bed to Mordred's. The Fates are not on that one's side."
"He took her children," Morgana whispered sadly, her thoughts flicking back to the poor children of Europa.
"Just as Zeus offered her first offspring up. He claimed then that she -" But Ismene cut herself off.

Morgana frowned at the older woman's sudden burst of silence. Her eyes clouded over sadly, and Morgana felt as if her stomach were to drop suddenly. Ismene only smiled sadly, her dark eyes clearing.

"He will lose his life, Mordred will see to it," Morgana whispered quietly. "For aiding my escape, he will die."
"Pelagius was already doomed to an early grave, child. His beliefs of his God were enough to see to that. This act of kindness will not be the act that brings his end about," Ismene still looked away as she bundled up the remaining food. "They wait for you, to the North and West of here. First we must stop at the Oracle, give you the knowledge you will surely need. We must rush to Delphi."

ICU, Harrington Hospice, 2005

Lanyon hated hospitals. He always had. Give him a clean, quick death. None of this hanging about. He shuddered as he made his way to the nurse's station. A plump, older woman with graying hair looked up at him tiredly.

"Yes?"
"Hullo, I'm Lanyon Fairview. I spoke to Head Nurse Joyce this morning about seeing the John Doe who was discovered at the lake."
"Hang on a moment," she sighed. She dug out a clipboard from beneath the desk and flipped through the papers on it. Rolling her eyes as she found the right one, she handed the clipboard to him. "Sign the release form. You're not to touch any of the equipment. Young Doctor King's orders."
"Young Doctor King?" Lanyon smiled.
"Yes, young, as in the second doctor King," she huffed.
"Where is John Doe's room located?" Lanyon asked.
"Room 107, second door to the left."

The road to the Summer Cottage
The Car Ride

Willow smoothed her hair. It was nerve-wracking. Poor Dawnie. Her cell phone vibrated and she fumbled for it. Gwen tried to hide her amusement at this. Willow tried to give her best Resolve face look, but she was distracted by the call.

"Whoa, calm down Eva. Start again." Gwen frowned. Willow only gave her the one-second finger as she pulled out her PDA. "Yep, it's up. Transfer the file to me. Thanks, Eva."
"What was that about?"
"Once we got Lanyon's info, we set up a program to scan for all of his credit cards, license and passport."
"Without a federal grant? Isn't that a tad illegal?"
"It's majorly illegal in most places, but we've got magic and fifteen hundred year old prophecies on our side," but Willow couldn't help blushing from the guilt. "Anyway, it didn't work for the last month or so. Which is weird. Today, Eva got a hit. He's about five miles from the wall. They swiped his id for verification at a Hospice care unit."

Gwen paled. Hospice care? That sounded very ominous. He was a reporter. Lancelot could have been sent on a dangerous mission in a war-torn area. The knights needed to be together - could they already be torn apart?

"Gwen, he's not a patient," Willow said loudly. Gwen blinked. She must have had to say it more than once.
"He's not?"
"No, he checked in as a visitor. He's not hurt, as far as I can tell."
"Thank goodness."
"But we should get to the Cottage as quickly as possible. Dawn should know and try to make contact. Lancelot may be the key to finding Arthur." Willow couldn't help noticing Gwen's fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

Summers Cottage

Dawn had to sit down. This was too surreal. Trevor put an arm around her. Jenna remembered dying - and even worse, she remembered the order they'd died in. The guys hadn't, but Jenna did. The room was eerily quiet. Dawn couldn't sit, she had to do something - even if it meant just for the sake of pacing. She heard the familiar crunch of tires on gravel, heard the door open.

"Guys, we've got good news - and company?" Willow's voice dropped a bit as Gwen gasped. "I take it you know them, then?"
"Arthur?" Gwen's voice trembled a bit as she started forward.
"Gwen -"
"We found Lancelot, Dawn. He's a couple of miles from here at a hospice," Willow said, making her way towards the younger woman.

"What?" Dawn shot her the same panicked look that Gwen had earlier.
"He's a visitor, not a patient."
"Well, I would hope not. I'd like to think we would have recognized Lancelot," Arthur said suddenly, startling both Dawn and Willow.
"What?" Dawn felt stupid for saying the same thing again, but shrugged it off.
"I'm a doctor - I'm often at the Hospice," Arthur frowned. "What could be so special that Lancelot would be there?"
"Lanyon," Dawn's eyes brightened. "He's a journalist, right, Will?"
"Yeah. He used his id and press pass to get in."
"But what could be so special about the Hospice?" Jenna shook her head. "Nothing that earth shattering is going on there, is it?"
"No, just the -" Arthur broke off, his eyes glistening a bit. He stared at Dawn wordlessly.
"Arthur?" Dawn asked. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"I've been so bloody thick-headed."

"Huh?"

Room 107, ICU

Lanyon pushed the curtain aside so he could see the poor soul that he was supposed to be writing a story on. He expected to find a frail, withered looking man. Some poor soul with little life left in him. He was wrong.

The man in the bed was huge. The bed seemed wrong, far too small for him. He looked healthy, coma aside and all. He seemed to be breathing on his own. There was a healthy growth of stubble on his face, and his fingers twitched in his sleep. From what information he'd been given, Lanyon knew that this man had literally washed up on shore with no identification. John Doe sure was loved by someone, if the dozen or so crayon-made cards had any say in the matter.

"Looks almost peaceful, doesn't he?" a dark haired woman said from the doorway, startling him. A young, blonde haired boy stood shyly behind her.
"Yes. Not at all what I was expecting," Lanyon admitted. "Do you know him?"
"Yes and no. My son Lucas found him," the woman said softly. "We - either his father or myself bring him to visit about once a day. Luke had a funny feeling and wanted to see him again tonight."

"And you are?"
"Felicia Hol-"
"I call him Dag!" Lucas blurted, cutting his mother off.
"Really?" Lanyon smiled as Felicia rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"He's not a John."
"No, he doesn't really look like a John, does he?" Lanyon found himself looking at the comatose man. Dag really did suit the big man.
"But it's not his full name, a nickname," Lucas said seriously. His young, hopeful look caught Lanyon's eyes. "It meant something, his real name. Some lady called him it, and he felt love."

"Some Lady?" Lanyon frowned. "His wife, maybe?"

The boy shook his head. He glanced up at his mother once before he spoke again.

"They weren't like Mum and Da. He was quiet, she was louder. They were nice to me."

Lucas broke away from his mother, taking another card over to the table that was crowded with cards. Felicia had tears in her eyes, and Lanyon offered her a tissue from the box on the table.

"Lucas has a very active imagination. He's been telling these stories since he found Dag," Felicia said softly.
"You call him that as well?" Lanyon probed. "To humor him?"
"No. It's funny, but as soon as my husband and I set eyes on him, we've called him the same thing. He looks like a Dag."
"And the woman Lucas spoke of - she's not real?"

Tears shone brightly in Felicia's eyes as they lingered on Dag in the bed. Her voice shook a bit as spoke.

"If she were, then Doctor Kingston wouldn't be taking him off life-support in a few days."