.

A Match is Made

Carabis stared into the wicked mirror, causing it to play out a scene far away on the Orkney Isles. Behind him was Mor'du, laying down and watching intently. Through the mirror they saw the image of a child in the company of a group of men who were all at sport, most either jousting and or sparring with on another. Whenever one took a pause from their games, they would come over to the child and speak to him or teach him their craft, then spar with him lightly too, to test his prowess and the lessons he was learning.

Mor'du growled. "Yes. It is Mordred," Carabis said. "And that boy will be our key to finding the cavern where the Knights of the Round Table were interred," Mor'du growled. "No… He will not lead us there if we ask directly, but manipulation can work wonders on children." Another growl. "Lot absolutely will not allow such a thing to happen. But then there are other ways of manipulating someone that do not involve the mind… You can manipulate their actions. Force them to make choices they might not otherwise have made that lead them down a path they never wanted to go down." A growl. "Impress you? I haven't already?" Carabis asked a little indignantly, frowning back at him. A growl. "Impress you further? Humph. I intend to."

He looked back at the image and waved a hand over it, bringing up a second scene. A carriage bound for a rendezvous point somewhere in Orkney. On top of it sat Jekyll, gazing listlessly out at the passing scenery. "Dr. Jekyll will be the key, but Dr. Jekyll will not help us for anything in the world. He would die first." Mor'du chuffed. "Yes. Hyde will be far more accommodating, but only if it means his life. He has made it clear many times that he has no intention of allying himself to us. I doubt he even intends to honour the little bargain he and I struck up, but as I said, actions can be manipulated. So can the decisions one makes, if a person is forced down a certain path." A growl. "Jekyll will indeed be useful for forcing Hyde down the path we want him to travel. Guilt's finally gotten the best of the codger. His counterpart's little spree of murders has only cemented that. Likely he still holds onto the hope that Hyde being a part of him again will buffer his evil second half, but I'm very good at dashing hopes." A growl. "I'm not sure how just yet, but I'll figure it out," Carabis admitted.

Mor'du chuffed a few times. "What caused Hyde to become so ill? Why, Ahtohallan of course. Jekyll wandered far into it to try and save Hans. The river of memory sensed Hyde, even from so far away, because Hyde is still a part of Jekyll. The mirror's intent is to purge the corrupted pieces of it that I formed into the mirror. Jekyll was tainted by that mirror when he drank that potion of his that would give Hyde another appearance, and after Hyde and Jekyll were separated completely, Hyde became its personified form. An entity that was almost purely the evil mirror, but not wholly because it still possessed a sense of self. Hyde was still conceptually Jekyll. When Jekyll entered Ahtohallan, he doomed Hyde. He perhaps doomed even himself, assuming Hyde's death would have led to his own. Before, with how abstract the relationship between the two of them was, it was hard to say. Now that I've made certain they've become one again, I'd be willing to bet my life that the death of Hyde will mean the death of Jekyll."

Mor'du growled. "Yes, now the mirror is within Jekyll once more," Carabis said. Mor'du snarled. "No, whether or not Ahtohallan is still cleansing the shard I don't know, though I suspect it is. I may have stretched the truth a little to Hyde when I claimed I could stop it." Mor'du chuffed. Carabis looked annoyed now, glaring at him. "No. I don't know whether or not Jekyll will survive that cleansing, but Hyde certainly won't and yes, that means we're on a time limit. If nothing else, though, at least I've bought us a little more time. Time we can use to put Hyde's talents to work for our purposes. Then, when his use is up, we will rip that shard from Dr. Jekyll's body whether he be cold and lifeless or alive and well."

Mor'du roared at him sharply. "The plan is not falling apart at the seams! I still have control! And if these next phases succeed, it's a control I'll never lose again," Carabis said. Darkly the jotun laughed.

Frozen

The time had come to put the suitor plan into action. Only recently they had received notice from the woman who was the cornerstone of their plot. She had invited her potential suitors to her manor in London. Immediately they had accepted, then wrote their mainland allies requesting a pickup from anyone who happened to have the time on their hands. Jekyll had been the first to volunteer, doubtless desperate to get away from London and the story that was spreading like wildfire about the massacre at the asylum. They had met with him at a mainland port in Orkney. They'd expected a husk of a man, given what Meleagant had described regarding that whole incident, but they hadn't expected a husk quite like this.

Jekyll was pale and gaut. It seemed he had hardly been caring for himself at all. Meleagant was first to approach him, clasping his shoulders firmly and giving him a look deeper and more understanding than any of the others could ever comprehend. Jekyll let out a shaking breath, swallowing and closing his eyes tightly. He nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't even try to speak. None of the knights pressed the matter or attempted to strike up a conversation. Soon enough they were on their way.

Frozen

The coach drew up to the grand manor. Outside of it, backed by servants, was the lady in question smiling cordially enough, but there was a look in her eyes given to mischief and plotting. Meleagant had seen such a glint in someone else's eyes, once upon a time in a land far, far away. Well, depending on what your concept of 'far, far away' was. "She's more Morgana than Morgause," he said simply to the others. They glanced at him curiously. "It's in her eyes," he said. They looked towards the woman again. "I swear to the gods, if that's actually her, someone's going to be hearing about it," Meleagant deadpanned. "Did anyone bother to check the cave of the Queen and her Dames?"

"It was down there?" Jekyll asked in surprise. It was the first meaningful sentence he'd said since the start of this trip.

"Behind our own somewhere," Meleagant confirmed.

"The odds of her being Morgan are slim to none," Galehaut said.

"Are you saying that because you genuinely believe it or just because you don't want to entertain the likelihood?" Meleagant challenged.

"Presently I genuinely believe it, but there's always a chance," Galehaut replied. "That said, she seemed more Morgause at the party than Morgan."

"Morgan could seem more like Anna than Anna, half the time," Meleagant replied.

"Well, if she's Morgan we're all I believe 'screwed' is the term?" Dinadan said.

"H-here's h-hoping it isn't, then," Hoel said a bit nervously, the stammer he'd once been beholden to slipping back into his voice.

"Two minutes of conversation with her and I'll know," Meleagant said.

"Not necessarily. Morgan was good at disguising herself," Lamiel pointed out.

"I'll know," Meleagant stated with certainty. The others relented. They would take his word for it.

Presently they drew up in a line before the house. The woman looked vastly intrigued by the number of suitors she was to be receiving. Together they approached the lady of the house, Galehaut in the lead. He bowed to her. The others followed the cue. "My Lady," Galehaut said. "We never did catch your name."

"Morrigan," the woman answered simply. "After the goddess in Celtic folklore known as the same. It translates from Irish to Great Queen or Phantom Queen. I'm quite fond of it." Galehaut stared at her blankly. Oh gods, it was Morgan, he inwardly thought. No. No thinking like that. He couldn't assume as much.

Galehaut turned and nodded to Meleagant to step forward. The young man did so. "Lady Morrigan, allow me to present to you Duke Melwas of Greece.

"My lady," he said, bowing courteously to her with a hand on his chest. She seemed intrigued.

"This is Duke Cardiff, of his name's sake," Galehaut said. Lamiel bowed to her with a flirtatious smile. "Duke Divdan," Galehaut said, gesturing to Dinadan who winked at her with a bow. "Duke Reginald," he continued, gesturing to Raynold, "Duke Menway." He gestured to Menw. "And finally, Duke Howel," he finished. "They, along with myself, would present to you as potential suitors to choose whichever one suits your fancy most."

Meleagant was partially annoyed and partially relieved that Galehaut had made them all equals off the bat instead of presenting him as the primary one, as they'd initially planned. Still, he had set his mind to this matter so he would carry it out. "And of them all, my lady, I was the one most favoured as a candidate," he spoke up. "I would be in agreement to a marriage, should you want me still after learning of my ailment."

"Ailment? So then Duke Gwyar offers me the sickliest of the group," she said in derision.

"The sickliest of them would be me," Menw stated, frowning at her. He was visibly annoyed at her putting down his friend. "Melwas's ailment is not a disease of his body so much as it is of the mind."

"Then he offered me a madman," she replied in an indignant tone.

"Back off lady, he has one of the finest pedigrees of all of us," Dinadan said, frowning warningly at her as he clenched his fists.

"And we won't stand idly by while you speak down so cruelly to him," Menw threw in.

"Brothers, let her talk. It amuses me," Meleagant said, smirking and clearly entertained. "I'm of two minds, my lady. One mind is the man presented to you, the finest of his father's stock. The other is a monster best not crossed. Should you like excitement and risk, I'm your choice. Should you prefer something more predictable and dull, then any of the others would do."

"Oh shove it up yours!" Raynold retorted in annoyance.

The woman's intrigue seemed to increase. "How dangerous is this monster?" she questioned Meleagant.

"Very. I lock him up, whenever I feel him coming," he answered. "But if danger is your pleasure, well, need I say more?"

A smirk played across her pretty lips, her teeth sliding out over the bottom one as she took him in with very interested eyes. "Melwas, you say?" she said. He smiled back easily, a cruelty all his own tinging that smile. "Hmm… Very well. This tainted beast may turn out to be of some pleasure to me after all." She looked to Galehaut. "You have upheld your end of the bargain, so I will uphold mine. I will sell Duke Gwyar my islands, and whichever one of you I choose will pledge himself to me."

"As you say," Galehaut confirmed.

"Very well. Come in. I will show you to your guest rooms. You'll remain with me, of course, for a few days while I decide, and then you may return to your islands if you so wish, with exception of the man I will marry. After all, he and I will have to begin the process of planning out a wedding." Her eyes were on Meleagant more than the rest of them as she spoke, and they knew, then, that her choice had already been made.

"We are agreed also in that," Galehaut answered.

"An archaic choice of term," she remarked.

"I am an archaic sort," Galehaut answered, playing it safe. He would need to watch those old forms of speech more carefully. They all would.

She smiled and turned, entering her estate with her entourage. Her allowance of their entry went unspoken. They watched her go. "Morgan?" Lamiel finally asked, looking at Meleagant.

"No," Meleagant answered. "But she's something close. So, so close… Close enough it can't be ignored."

"A descendant," Jekyll spoke up. They all turned to him quickly. "Morgan had children, didn't she? At least one of her own, if not more. Though I only know of one. One of your company, correct? Ywain? And he had children too, did he not? Or was that another?"

They were quiet. "You're correct," Galehaut finally confirmed.

"And that child, or children, probably had children, so who is to say the family line didn't continue on down to this day? Recall that I also suggested Prince Hans and his brothers were themselves almost certainly descended of Sir Kay. If this woman is so like Morgan but not Morgan, then it can be safely assumed she is likely a descendent of Uriens and Morgan."

"Her general jerkishness is reminiscent of Uriens for sure," Meleagant dryly said. "Sickly? Tainted beast? I'll show her just how sickly and tainted I am."

"Behave," Jekyll warned, frowning at him. Meleagant frowned but backed down nonetheless with a sigh. The group entered the mansion after the woman to get themselves situated for the few days they would be here.

Frozen

"Your home is lovely, Lady Morrigan," Galehaut said as he and the other would-be suitors sat with the woman in question at dinner. Jekyll had departed their company some time ago to return to his home and lock himself away. The sight of a newspaper article about the asylum incident had triggered a trauma response, during which he'd briefly become Henry Hyde, and upon coming back to himself, he'd left as swiftly as could be gotten away with. Though they had wanted to go after him, they had duties to attend to here now.

"Of course it is," Morrigan answered. "I would settle for nothing less." She turned to Meleagant, a sly smile crossing her lips. "And what is your opinion?" she cooed.

Meleagant frowned at her, unimpressed, and looked around. "It's quaint," he answered.

She started, looking a little offended. "As we've said, he's among those of us with the greatest pedigree," Dinadan said, quickly sweeping in to cover for his companion. "The man grew up in a castle, my lady. A mansion, in comparison, is nothing to write home about."

"But in Melwas' case that's a good thing!" Hoel quickly blurted, covering Dinadan's coverup. "He grew quite tired of castle living after a while."

"This is very much my preference," Meleagant 'confirmed', though the truth in those words was debatable. It was hard to tell with Mele. "Your home is… pleasant to be in. Truly."

"And where will we live when we are wed?" she questioned the suitors as a whole.

"Wherever you please, my lady," Lamiel replied. "I think all of us will say much the same. Your desires first and foremost." Her ego was stroked by his words and her attentions shifted slightly to him.

"Then here it will be. I vastly prefer it to palaces," she answered. Meleagant smirked a bit in amusement. He could see her growing on him, he supposed, but that was no guarantee she actually would. They'd just have to feel it out.

"What sort of a wedding would you like?" Galehaut asked.

"Small, short, sweet, private, and the sooner it's out of the way the better," she answered. "I can't be bothered with the details." Meleagant chuckled in approval, causing her to glance over at him again. Alright, he had to admit he liked the way she thought. A blend of both Uriens and Morgan. Morgan had liked details, Uriens hadn't. Uriens loved show, Morgan hated it.

"How long do you think you'll need to choose a suitor among us?" Lamiel asked.

"A day or two, perhaps," she replied. "During which I'll also be making wedding arrangements. A conductor of ceremonies and a venue is really all we need, and perhaps a small guest list. The equally small reception will take place here and my servants will supply the food."

"No advertising, please. Not in papers, not in taboids, not on notice boards, nothing of that sort," Menw said. The last thing they needed was any of their names in print. That would make it easy for someone searching for them to trace them, considering they made enemies here or lured in some of the ones the Arendellians and SI's already had.

"Very well," she said, though the statement clearly didn't please her all too much. Nor did it displease her enough for her to argue, though. She wiped her mouth and rose. "Now I have arrangements to make to prepare not only for the wedding but for Duke Gwyar's arrival and our pending business transaction. You're welcome to roam the house as you see fit. It's open to all of you. Make yourselves at home while you're here."

"Thank you, Lady Morrigan. Dismiss your servants. We have no need of them," Galehaut replied. She nodded, made a gesture to her servants to leave, then left their company. Soon enough, only the knights were left in the dining room. They listened until they were sure she was gone. "While the house is opened to us, we should try and find information on the bride to be and anything else that might be worth knowing about," Galehaut said.

"We'll split up to avoid too much attention," Lamiel agreed.

"We'd better make it fast. Before she gets wary," Dinadan said. "I can't imagine she'd take too well to finding out we were snooping around."

"Let's do this then," Raynold said, standing up. "Half of us will start down here, the other half will go upstairs. Galehaut, Lamiel, and Menw take the top floor. Hoel, Din, Mele, and I will scout down here." The others nodded in agreement and finished eating quickly before going their separate ways.

Frozen

Meleagant peered into the room he had just found. It had been down an innocuous staircase somewhere in the back of the house, where almost nobody ever went. The room itself was a library. Libraries in basements, he wryly noted. Because that was always a good sign. He supposed he was being a bit judgemental though. It wasn't like the library had been down a hidden staircase or anything, just a rarely visited one. He stepped inside and shut the old, creaking door behind him. He went to the nearest shelves and began to explore the titles. About two seconds in, he stopped, feeling the hairs on his neck stand on end. He stared at the shelves in disbelief and a measure of horror. He looked around uneasily and began to quickly scan through the rest of the shelves, reading the titles of books and opening a scroll every so often as he went. His dread grew with every new title he read or scroll he picked up, and he whispered a curse under his breath. This library was filled with stories all too familiar to him. Their stories. Arthurian legends packed its walls! Everything from poetry to ancient Welsh and Scottish manuscripts to alleged histories to genealogies… Old scrolls that looked like they dated back hundreds of years even!

He looked about the library uneasily. The woman had to be an authority on them! It explained her interest in the Orkney Islands, her reluctance to sell, her sudden interest in doing so when Lot came into the picture… There was no way she couldn't have recognized the names Gwyar and Melwas, or any other of their lesser-known names, which meant that if she hadn't figured it out already, their guises were far flimsier than they wanted them to be. Those of them who used purely fake names would be about the only ones who might go undetected, but given their constant companionship with each other, he doubted it. She might not be able to consolidate names with specific knights, but she would know they were knights. This, of course, was considering she suspected at all, and he really, really hoped she didn't.

"You found my library," her chilling voice, now all too Morgan, said from behind.

He caught his breath and spun quickly around to see her standing in the doorway, a smirk of amusement on her lips that made her the spitting image of her possible ancestress. He willed himself to calm down. There was no guarantee she knew anything, he reminded himself. It would be too preposterous to even imagine! She probably found the similarities between them and the characters of legend intriguing. She had romanticized the concept of a man named Gwyar buying up and settling the Orkney Islands, so had been all too thrilled to offer him her lands in exchange for a husband. The prospect of seeing the legends be so closely mirrored in her reality and time would have been too much a thrill to pass up, if she was as obsessed with their stories as this library implied.

"My lady," he greeted, bowing to her. "I admit I find your selection most impressive."

"I'm sure you do," she all but purred, sashaying into the room with hips swaying. She walked up to the table just passed him, where he'd lain down a scroll he'd been about to start examining. "I've always been so fascinated with their stories, you know. Mother and father raised me on them. My grandmother used to hint at the stories not being stories at all… She even hinted at our family line perhaps descending from one of the knights and another very prominent character in their stories as well."

"Which one?" he asked, though he knew the answer already.

"Hmm… Morgan le Fay," she replied.

"Tantalizing," he answered, watching her but not turning fully around.

She hummed, drawing her hand over the papyrus gently before rolling it up again and returning it to its place. "She was quite lampooned in legends, you know."

"I'm aware. I too am something of an authority on the stories. I was named for the Welsh name of one of them. Meleagant. Why my parents thought to name me after a man known mostly as a villain, I never knew. Not until much later. They believed he was more nuanced than he was given credit for," he said.

"Was he?" she asked.

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," he said. "They're myths, my lady."

"Legends," she corrected. "Myths are fantasy and falsity, of that there's no question. Legend, on the other hand, has basis in reality, albeit a good deal of fantasy is mixed in. Often to the point of them ending up more myth than legend, but still with a basis in something that actually was."

He was silent. "The prospect of a man named Gwyar seeking to purchase as much land in Orkney as he could manage must have vastly intrigued you," he finally breached.

"It did," she confessed somewhat wistfully. "I would see it in his hands, sooner than my own. If only to witness what he does with it." She turned to him. "Your company intrigues me," she said.

"I can imagine," he answered. "It's part of what drew us all together. A shared love for the legends and oftentimes similar names to the characters in them."

She read him silently as if trying to find a lie or some hint that he was more than what he claimed to be, but he expertly hid what he didn't want her to see. She couldn't know, he reminded himself again. Not for a certainty. She could suspect, she could entertain the fancy, but she couldn't know, and she couldn't prove any potential suspicion. Not if they were careful. He just had to watch his words. And warn Galehaut as soon as possible. Soon enough, she turned back to her bookshelves.

"Do you believe they existed?" she asked after a moment, sounding something between vulnerable and hopeful.

He watched her quietly then turned away with a sigh. "I believe they might have. If not them, then people who were a basis for them. In fact, I have a friend, a few actually, who claim to be of the lineage of Sir Kay. They believe it sincerely."

"Perhaps I should have married one of them," she said with a half laugh.

"One is married, and ever since losing his wife the other has sworn not to marry again," Meleagant said. "Most of the others as well are married or engaged." She sighed. He turned to her. "I am not so skeptical as I pretend to be," he confessed. She turned to him, watching him. A smile passed over his lips, and in response, a smile spread across her own as well. For a moment there was a sensation of domesticity and peace. He could enjoy a marriage to this woman, he decided. He could even love her, if he let himself. Uriens and Ywain balanced out the Morgan in her well and made for a combination he found… appealing. No, it wasn't as weird as it sounded.

"Perhaps this arrangement between us will be more enjoyable than I feared it might be," she said.

"It will be dangerous for you, so if you choose me and we make a go of this, whenever I lock myself away somewhere, don't come to me, don't send anyone to me, don't try to speak to me or draw me out. For your own sake, Morrigan," Meleagant warned.

She summed him up quietly, considering his statement. "Very well," she relented at last. He nodded. "I have been trying to trace my genealogy," she remarked.

"I saw. To prove to yourself if you really are her descendant?" Meleagant answered.

"Yes. Can you help me?" she asked.

"I'll try," he answered, moving to her side. She didn't know, he noted to himself. She hoped, but she didn't know and barely dared believe her hope was reality. That was good. It was safe. As long as they kept it that way, things would be just fine.

Frozen

Back on the Orkney Isles, Lot read through the letter Galehaut had sent to them informing them of their progress with the Lady of the hour. Alexander, Selices, Mabon, Tristan, and Bleoberis watched him quietly, waiting for him to share the information when he would. Mordred was napping in his room. "Her name is Morrigan," Lot said when he had finished reading the message for the second time. Silence met the remark. "Meleagant is certain it isn't her," Lot assured, knowing full well the reason for the unease. "Among those of us up here, aside from Sir Kay, he would know best whether she is or isn't. I'm willing to defer to Mele's judgement in this. Kay, when he meets her, will probably agree with him. I'd bet on it. They say she may be a descendant, but if that's the case, she's most likely a descendant of Uriens and Ywain as well. That still counts for something."

"So what now?" Alexander asked.

"Now I make arrangements to meet up with her and secure the rights to her lands," Lot answered. He rose. "Start setting up shop, boys," he added with a smirk. He looked at Bleoberis. "Particularly you. Dinadan and Hoel have jobs to do now as well. While on the mainland, they'll be setting about selling land to whoever shows interest. Then a portion of what was paid to us for that land will be returned to the buyers as an investment in their new businesses and lives here. We have our foothold men. Let's not screw it up."

"Easier said than done," Bleoberis dryly pointed out.

"But it can be done," Alexander said.

"Take your optimisms elsewhere," Bleoberis replied with a frown, standing up. "I'll gets to settin' up my smithy. I'll start with makin' buildin' tools."

"I will focus my attention on an alchemy shop. Though I think the word pharmacy would be more familiar to the people of this time," Selices said.

"I'll do the hunting. Set up a meat stall or something. Some place to buy food," Mabon said.

"It seems Alexander and I will have to figure trades out for ourselves when we can," Tristan wryly said. "Plus, all the others will need to find jobs to do."

"Dinadan can sell general goods and fine merchandise. The things we receive in trade from the Arabias, Arendelle, and the Southern Isles," Lot answered. "We'll fill in whatever else is needed as it becomes known to us. Now I have to prepare for a trip to the mainland. I'll leave the island in your capable hands. How about you not destroy the place?"

"Have a little faith," Alexander said, rolling his eyes.

"Earn it," Lot answered, leaving. Here was hoping everything worked out on Galehaut and co's end, because right now he need to focus on his own and couldn't afford to offer the man much in the way of backup regardless.

One Week Later

The days they remained at Morrigan's estate passed by mostly uneventfully. As expected, within a few days she'd made her intentions to marry Meleagant clear, which both relieved and concerned the others. Meleagant was just glad that none of them would be the ones who needed to navigate her. Morgan had always been a case to navigate. There had been a handful of them who could do so without ending up maimed or cursed. That handful included her husband, her siblings, Kay, her son, him, Accolon, and a couple more of her would-be-lovers. Once her chosen suitor had been established, all of them plunged into wedding arrangements. By the time Lot was due to arrive to conclude his business with Morrigan, about all that was left to do was buy the wedding apparel and invite the guests. The knights would go with Morrigan to Orkney, where they would meet up with the once-king. He and the Lady would make their transaction, after which the rejected suitors would accompany him back to the island he resided on. Meleagant had matters to attend to regarding Jekyll, so the city was where he would go after seeing Morrigan safely back to her own estate in the countryside.

"I intend to do some shopping for the wedding, while in Orkney," Morrigan remarked to Meleagant as the group rode in the carriage bound for the destination.

"Am I expected to be very fancy?" Meleagant asked in a measure of amusement.

"Of course you are," she replied, frowning at him. "I will choose a dress you'll barely be able to take your eyes off." Preferably one he wouldn't be able to wait to get off her, too.

"I'll give you my measurements and you can have at it," he said, shrugging. "I'm not a shopper."

"Spoilsport. But very well," she relented. Meleagant began to write down his measurements. The valet she'd granted him while he'd stayed at her home had been insistent on getting them just so. At this point, he knew them by heart. He finished the notation quickly and handed it to her. She took it, tucking it into her bag. "Now where will our honeymoon be?" she questioned.

"I'm not sure yet. I'll think about it and give you my suggestions closer to the date of the wedding, or shortly after it," he answered. She settled for the answer with a nod, then closed her eyes to nap until they reached their destination. None of the men in the coach spoke as she slept. There was too much risk she would wake up and overhear things they wanted to keep secret. Playing it safe resorted them to silence or small talk most of the trip until they as well drifted off, taking turns keeping watch for any trouble or danger that might accost them on their way.

Frozen

Presently they reached their destination and disembarked from the carriage. Lot was there waiting for them, Mordred at his side. Galehaut and Lamiel exchanged subtle, worried frowns. They couldn't say they thought Mordred being here was a good idea, but the boy had probably been going stir-crazy. As long as interactions between him and Morrigan were kept to a minimum, things shouldn't be too risky. "Duke Gwyar," Lady Morrigan greeted.

"My lady," he replied, bowing to her. He looked at Mordred. "This is my son, Medrod."

"His ward," Mordred sternly corrected. Galehaut gave Lot a concerned look, but didn't comment. Another regression, it seemed. It would need to be addressed, but Lot probably wouldn't put that on Jekyll for a long time to come, if it could be helped. Especially not after everything that had happened regarding the asylum. They would see, though.

"Hello Medrod," Morrigan greeted, hands on her knees as she bent over, smiling at him in amusement. "My name is Morrigan."

Mordred stiffened, straightening up a bit with eyes widening, his whole demeanour becoming wary. Immediately the child took to summing her up intensely. She frowned, a bit surprised at the reaction. Mordred soon met her eyes again. "Hi," he said in a mumble.

Morrigan straightened up, giving Meleagant a curious look. Meleagant waved it off. "Don't worry about it. He's a strange one," he said.

"My lady, shall we conduct our business?" Lot said.

"Let's," she answered.

Lot turned to the others. "Keep an eye on the boy for a while."

"Yes sir," Hoel answered, smiling pleasantly at Mordred who tried to ignore him. Lot sighed and followed Morrigan into a nearby law firm to finalize their agreement.

Frozen

An hour or so later, Lot emerged from the building with Morrigan at his side. "I'm pleased our business could be so swiftly conducted, Lady Morrigan," he said, taking the deed to the lands that were now his.

"As am I. You'll do them more justice than I would have," she said in response. "Now if you would pardon me, good Duke, I have some shopping to do for my upcoming wedding."

"Of course," he answered, bowing to her. "Keep us updated. I'll go off to find my associates, wherever they might be with the child, and leave you to your business. Would you like company, my lady? I can't imagine it's very safe for you, or anyone, to wander alone."

"I'll be fine. Trust me to take care of myself," she answered.

"Oh I do," Lot wryly replied. Especially if she was a descendent of Morgan, Ywain, and Uriens. Which really made her something of a descendent of Morgause's as well, and many other strong figures in their legends he supposed. It just got better and better, he dryly noted. "I pity anyone who would attempt to cause you harm, if you're as equipped as I suspect you may be."

"How equipped do you expect I am?" she asked.

"Equipped enough," he replied, turning and leaving her behind with a wave. She watched after him with a curious frown. She shook her head, mystified, then checked her things and her purse and headed off to do her shopping. She had noted some boutiques on their way here that she had every intention of exploring. Off she went to find herself a wedding dress and her husband-to-be a suit. It might take some time before she found suitable clothes, plus complete all the other arrangements she had yet to make, but they would see how it went.

Frozen

Lot met up with the others at a park where they were letting Mordred play. Galehaut and Lamiel stood back as observers. The others were fooling around with the child and or keeping him otherwise entertained. "It's done," Lot said to them. "The Orkney Islands that were once hers are now ours."

"Yours, Majesty," Lamiel corrected with a smirk. "Don't drag us into ownership of it. It's a glorified pile of uninhabited rocks after all. Hardly anything to write home about."

"Oh shut up," Lot answered, frowning at him in annoyance. He knew full well the other was trying to get under his skin. He looked towards Mordred and his mouth turned down in a concerned frown. "I'm worried about him," he said with a sigh.

"We all are," Galehaut assured, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently.

"I want to bring him to Jekyll, but right now that's out of the question. The doctor can barely manage himself at this point, let alone another. Dammit. He was so good at it too. Navigating Mordred, that is. He could reach that boy where I never could," Lot said.

"You navigate Mordred just fine. Don't start thinking you don't," Lamiel firmly said, frowning at him. "You're just frustrated, is all. It's alright. It happens."

"I feel like it shouldn't," Lot replied.

"Watching how you deal with your emotions might help Mordred learn to regulate better for himself," Galehaut offered.

"Gala, I've never been able to properly self-regulate," Lot flatly answered.

"Yes you have. Don't sell yourself short in that," Galehaut answered.

"I'm not good at it. Not as good as he needs," Lot said.

"It'll be good enough," Lamiel promised.

"Gods above I hope you're right," Lot replied, looking anxiously back at Mordred.

Frozen

Morrigan stood in the third boutique she had arrived at, holding up a beautiful dress in the sunlight. This one was her favourite by far. She smiled at it and measured it against herself. She turned to a mirror, looking up, and gasped, jumping a bit. Behind her stood a man she hadn't even noticed had been near! She turned quickly with a frown. "Can I help you?" she demanded icily, warily watching in case he should prove a threat.

"I work here. I was wondering if you had found something to your taste," the strange man answered. He didn't necessarily look strange, but there was certainly something off about him that she couldn't quite place.

"I believe I have," she answered, still cautious. She turned to the mirror again, holding up the dress.

"A very medieval style," he remarked.

She frowned a bit, glaring warningly at him in the reflection. "It is," she answered coldly.

"Who is the lucky man?" he asked.

"That's none of your business," she answered.

"I think he will very, very much appreciate your tastes," the man said, and there was something distinctly different in his voice that caused her to pause. She frowned, slowly lowering the dress, then turned quickly to face him. She started. He was gone!

She looked around uneasily. What on earth…? She turned back to the mirror, looking at the dress again. Yes. She believed she would go with this one. She gathered it up and went to purchase it. Then she would find something for her husband to be. She gasped, stopping short when she saw who the man behind the counter was. The same one who had just spoken to her. She stared at him in a measure of unease before pushing it aside and laying the gown on the counter. He took her money dutifully, a smile on his lips.

"Your husband will desire a medieval garment of his own. He cares little for these modern-day suits and clothes. They are not of his time," the man said. She was quiet, staring at him. What was that even supposed to mean? Did this stranger know her betrothed? The man met her eyes. His smile grew unsettlingly wide, and she shifted. She took her purchase and walked out without speaking to him. She pushed aside the strange remarks and made for a tailor. At first she was just going to purchase a suit, but she had to confess that despite how odd the man in the boutique was, his suggestion she commission for her fiancé a medieval-styled garment to match her own appealed to her.

She entered the tailor's, the mysterious man's words still rolling around in her head. Her thoughts kept returning to the 'not of his time' remark. It didn't make sense. What could he have possibly meant? Her thoughts drifted back to her library and she paused mid-walk, frown deepening a little. "Can I help you?" a woman asked. She gasped, startled, and turned quickly. She relaxed on seeing who had addressed her.

"I'm looking to commission an outfit for my husband-to-be," she answered. "Our wedding has something of a medieval theme to it. If you have anything that could suit that style, or if you know anyone who could make something like what they might have worn back then, I'm interested in making a purchase."

The woman perked up a bit. "Of course, ma'am. Come. I will show you images of such garments and you can select from those," the woman said. She led the way to the counter and pulled out a bound book before opening it up to some pictures within. "Oh," the woman said, sounding startled. Morrigan looked curiously at her. "I don't remember this one," the woman said, picking up a loose portrait of a young man who looked uncannily like Melwas. Morrigan stared in surprise and blinked. Her eyes travelled to the garment worn in the picture. It suited him. It really suited him. Black Satin. She approved. A wicked smirk spread across her lips, a glint in her eye.

"We need look no further," she said. "I think that's the one."

"Really? Oh, well, very well," the woman said. "Strange, it-it has no price attached. I will have to try and find it." The lady left to ruffle around in some papers. Morrigan's eyes fixed on the outfit, fingers playing across the picture. She frowned. It looked so natural on this man who looked so unsettlingly like her betrothed. She squinted. Was it him? Hmm… She sighed, closing her eyes.

"I bequeath you, Morgana, my chainmail glove. I know it'll fit."

She gasped at the voice that had filled her mind, and the brief image of a young man in black satin who was the spitting image of her fiancé, showily bowing to and smirking at a woman whose eyes she was seeing out of.

"Meleagant? Meleagant, get the hell out of there right now young man!" The young man turned quickly, a satisfied smirk still on his lips and a victorious glint in his eyes.

A flush raced to her cheeks as her eyes flew open. The setting of that… whatever it had been. It was like she was peering into history. She looked at the picture again.

"Meleagant?" she murmured to herself. Why had that name come to mind? Of course, the character was the one who her fiancé was named after, albeit the name of her betrothed was a different variation of it, but still.

"What was that?" the woman who had been helping her curiously asked, returning.

"Nothing," she answered, tearing her eyes away from the picture and smiling at the woman.

"I can't find a cost for that garment. It must not have been determined yet. A similar one is on our records though, so I'll charge you about the same. I must warn you, it's no cheap price," the woman said.

"Money is no object," Morrigan answered. "How long before it's finished?'

"It should be done in a week maybe. Possibly earlier depending," the woman replied.

"Fine," Morrigan curtly answered, putting a down payment on the table. "Here's my address to send it to when it's finished. You'll get the rest of what's due to you upon its arrival."

"Yes, my lady," the woman answered. Morrigan nodded, then turned and left quickly.

"I would not let him see it until the wedding," a voice said the moment she stepped out the door. She screamed a bit, turning sharply with eyes wide. The same man from before!

"Get away from me you freak! Stop stalking me, or I'll get the police!" she shouted.

He laughed. "You don't know who he is, do you? The man you're to marry. You haven't even begun to suspect," he jeered.

"He is a Duke of Greece, his name is Melwas, he…" she began before trailing off. She really didn't know much about him, actually, except the two minds situation.

The mysterious man smirked. "He is no Duke, Lady. He is much more than that, though goodness knows that means precious little in this day and age," he said. "His time is long passed."

"What do you mean?" she cautiously asked.

He smiled. "The Dark Prince will have the answers you seek. Draw him out and learn the truth of who and what your husband is. He is lying to you, Morrigan. Do not let him continue to. The Dark Prince tends to often spring out as a protector, in moments when Melwas is caught off guard or threatened unexpectedly, so on the marriage night take a knife to bed with you and after he has fallen asleep, draw it, put it to his throat, and wake him up. Or, if you wish to avoid the risk of isolating him so much…" He withdrew a vial. "Administer this either via ingestion through a glass of wine or poisoned kiss, or injection through a treacherous ring. Be certain he takes it if you want answers. It will not kill him, I promise you that, but it will give you the truth your husband will never speak. As I have said, do not present him his wedding raiment until the day of the marriage. When you do so, see how he reacts." The man turned, walking away from her. As he went, she watched with a chill as his form began to change before he disappeared. She looked at the vial pressed in her hand, shifted uncomfortably, glanced around, then tucked it into her pocket. She didn't know right now what she would do, but by the day of the wedding she was certain she'd have figured it out…