[Lancelot]

The car rolled to a halt, and Gwaine peered forward through the growing gloom. By four-thirty in the afternoon the street lights had already come on; the winter solstice had not long passed and the long nights were slow in letting go. The orange glow of the lights bounced back off the fog, creeping slowly in off the moors. Recent heavy rain left the pavements slick and dark, and the road dotted with puddles.

"That one, I think." He pointed down the road a little way, to a gravel driveway and a small, two story house at the end of a long row. It was identical to all the others, nothing special about it at all. A pair of rose bushes grew under the front window, but no one had cared for them for a while and they were dead, little more than brittle twigs poking up through the wet soil.

I gazed at the house with a strange, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I thought of Camelot as I had last seen it, tall and proud and beautiful. I thought of the pennants snapping in the breeze above the battlements, tall castle walls stretching towards the sky, and a high throne of polished mahogany in a great hall. That was the home of kings, mighty and magnificent, not this tiny little dwelling in a miniscule, insignificant town.

How can the blood of Arthur Pendragon, the greatest king and the greatest man I've ever known, live here?

"Are you sure?" Percival asked from the back seat. He seemed to be having similar doubts as me. "It seems a little..."

Gwaine shrugged. "It's the address Merlin gave me." He squinted up at the house and then looked at me.

I opened my mouth to reply when a lone figure up the street caught my eye. She was bundled up against the cold, a scarf pulled up over her nose to protect against the biting air, the hood of a winter coat pulled low. A satchel bounced against her thigh as she turned up the gravel drive to the house we were watching.

I held up a hand for silence as Percival opened his mouth, never taking my eyes off the figure. Excitement bubbled inside me. Finally, my chance was here. An opportunity to make up for the wrongs I'd done, to redeem myself. I had failed Arthur once; I would not fail his heir.

Arthur's heir opened the door, pushing back the hood and scarf before stepping inside. For a moment, she hesitated, lingering under the porch light as she turned to close the door.

My heart stopped dead, leaping up into my throat and lodging there. I heard the strangled gasps of Gwaine and Percival, but I ignored them. I had no time for anything other than the girl standing in the doorway across the street.

A thousand times I'd dreamt of seeing her face again, but never here. Never in this new world. But there she was, as perfect and exquisite as I remembered her. Her dark, corkscrew curls were pulled back from her face, though a few delicate tendrils escaped and flowed freely, and her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy color from the cold. She was beautiful; high cheek-bones, soft, pouty nude lips, golden-brown skin, and mossy-green eyes I wanted to drown in.

How was it possible? How was she here? It had been more than a thousand years since I had last laid eyes on her. Since I had watched her ride out of my life with Merlin. She should be long dead. Then again, so should I.

She scanned the street and her eyes passed over the car, moving on down the road. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, she closed the door. Moments later the light clicked on in an upstairs room behind dark curtains.

For a long time, the car stayed silent. I could feel Gwaine's eyes on me, but neither he nor Percival spoke. Like me, I assumed they had no idea what to say.

Finally, Percival cleared his throat. "She reminds me of Guinevere."

Of course. I should have realized that my brothers in arms might not recognize her for who she was. They hadn't spent their lives dwelling on her face almost every second of every day. They had not been in love with her once, in a different life.

"Not Guinevere," Gwaine said slowly. He twisted in his seat to face me, and I finally looked at him. "Right, Lancelot?"

I sighed, raking my hands through my hair. "No. Not Guinevere."

Percival was confused, but I didn't blame him. Gwaine had always been more observant, more aware.

"The Lady Dyllan."

Her name, even on Gwaine's lips, made me shiver. I hadn't heard it spoken out loud for so long. She had come into my life in Camelot, a strange but incredible young girl, and turned my life upside down. I had loved her, with every last fiber of my being, but fate had not been kind to us, and she'd left me. I never guessed that, despite her strangeness and her sudden disappearance, she had been from another time entirely.

I nodded in response to Gwaine.

"How?"

I almost laughed. "Your guess is as good as mine. I can't—" There were no words.

"Merlin didn't tell you?"

"No. Merlin didn't say anything."

I thought back to our parting from Merlin at the Lake of Avalon. He had given us some basic instructions and I had asked how we would know Arthur's heir. He'd looked right at me very seriously, and all he said was, "You'll know." Now, of course, it made sense. But how had Arthur's descendant come to be over a thousand years in the past? How had she ended up in Arthur's court too many years ago to count?

And, suddenly, a million moments from those few short weeks I'd known her made sense. The way she had looked at me, as though she'd known me. Her strange accent and clothes, her way of thinking about the world. They had been so different because she came from a different time. A different world.

Has she been back yet?

...No.

Merlin said she knew nothing about our world, about magic and the Fair Folk. When we met in this time, it would be for the first time. She wouldn't know me. The thought hit me like a hammer blow. And every one of Merlin's instructions went out of the window.

He had made us swear to keep our distance, to watch and wait until the time was right. But I knew I couldn't. I had to meet her. I had to get to know her in this time—now.

The days trickled past, and we found ourselves settling into a kind of routine. We found an old abandoned farmhouse on the edge of town where we set up camp. It was dank and moldy, and graffiti adorned every wall, but it was dry and that was all we needed. We spent little time there. We watched Dyllan almost constantly, taking turns during the night. It probably wasn't necessary. We hadn't seen any sign of Morgana since we'd been here, but if I was honest it gave us something to do. The little time we did spend at the farmhouse was strained and uncomfortable.

Gwaine and I still hadn't properly spoken. Every time I tried he usually decided to go and train, or take the night shift watching the house. Or change the subject, as he did about a week after we had first discovered Dyllan.

"We ought to think about using other names."

I blinked and glanced over at Gwaine. "Not quite what I meant when I said we need to talk."

He ignored me. "I'm serious. Percival, Gwaine, Lancelot? Not exactly inconspicuous."

"I never was much of a fan of Percival," Percival grinned. "I always fancied being a Galahad."

"Not what I had in mind," Gwaine snorted. "But we probably ought to keep reasonably close to our own names. Make it easier to remember."

"Graham. And Percy," my voice was soft, but both of them glanced around at me.

"You've obviously already thought about this," Percival snorted.

I shook my head. "No. That's what she called you, once. She used them a couple of times. I was horribly jealous at the time, but now it makes sense."

For a moment, when I caught Gwaine's eye I saw something of my old friend, a shared remembrance of those days. But then the expression faded. "They'll do as well as any, I suppose." He glanced out of the window at the darkening sky. "We ought to go. She'll be on her way home from school soon."

I straightened the collar of my leather jacket, running a hand through my hair. It felt strange having it so short, but we'd tried to fit in with the current styles as much as possible. It seemed like young men didn't wear their hair long anymore. Of course, Gwaine resisted, insisting on still keeping his dark hair at chin-length. Percival, on the other hand, had always kept his hair close-cropped, even in a time when all men wore their hair long and often braided.

Somehow Percival was fitting in better than Gwaine or I. I chalked it up to where it was simply in his nature to adapt better to changes in circumstances. Nothing fazed him; not the uncomfortable clothes, or the strange vehicles, or the weird food. In fact, he had developed a very quick love of modern food. I had yet to acquire a taste for it. I still yearned for the days of simple roast venison and vegetables swimming in butter.

I peered down at the brown paper bag Percival deposited in my lap. A large, yellow letter 'M' was stamped to the front. Something to do with the cook who made it, perhaps? I didn't quite understand.

"It's a burger, Lancelot. It won't kill you."

I sighed. We sat in the car at the end of Dyllan's street. It felt a little strange to be watching her all of the time without her knowledge. It was the main excuse I was using to get closer to her. It wouldn't feel so invasive to be watching her if she knew I was doing it; if she could understand the reason. But Gwaine proved resistant to the idea. He wanted to follow Merlin's instructions to the letter. Follow, watch, keep her safe, but do not interfere.

I opened the food bag and gazed down at the limp, sad thing inside. Mushy, soft bread with a tiny, thin piece of ground up beef, and a single, solitary piece of tomato.

Percival inhaled his and eyed mine over his shoulder. "If you're not hungry, I'll eat it."

Gwaine balled up the paper wrapper of his food and threw it at Percival's head. "Honestly, Percival, I don't think you've stopped eating since we've arrived."

He shrugged. "I've always eaten a lot."

"Yes, but that was when our lives were a little...harder." I gestured at the car we were sitting in.

It was a strange new thing that I still hadn't quite gotten my head around. A craft that moved all on its own without benefit of horse or ox, and belched noxious fumes almost constantly. I couldn't deny that it was useful—faster than horseback for sure, and definitely better than walking. Yet, it all still felt unnatural to me. Despite the fact that Merlin had somehow given me the memories of how it worked, and even how to operate it, I didn't think I ever would.

Gwaine didn't seem to mind it, so I let him take control.

Percival shrugged, then thumped the back of my seat. "She's back."

I glanced up through the windshield just as Dyllan crossed the road in front of us, heading for the small house she shared with her father.

Her pace was slow and weary. She kept her eyes on the ground, and her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket. She looked like this every day she returned home. I still didn't fully understand the concept of a modern school, but it seemed like a genuinely terrible experience. More often than not her eyes were red and puffy, as though she'd been crying, and I wanted nothing more than to find out who, or what, was making her cry and put a stop to it. Permanently.

Gwaine gave a little snort beside me, and I glanced at him quizzically.

"She—well—she still doesn't look like much of a Pendragon."

We'd had this conversation before. Gwaine had expected something rather different. We all had. When Merlin had explained that out there in the world was King Arthur's heir, who would soon come into a mighty inheritance that would ultimately make or break the future of the world, I had expected another Arthur. A strong, brave warrior, inspiring and worthy of being a ruler. I'd admit; I hadn't expected a girl. But it wasn't just that she was a girl. She was a small girl, willowy and delicate, and not an ounce of muscle on her.

Gwaine and Percival had been disheartened by it, unable to picture the wisp of a girl wielding a sword. They were still bound by the expectations of our time, and our world, where women were soft and delicate and always in need of rescue. But I knew Dyllan better than either of them.

I knew a girl who was strong and brave. Who had inspired me to a lifetime of greatness, and who I would have followed to the ends of the earth if she'd let me. I knew the warrior she could be. After all, I'd taught her to fight—or would teach her to fight.

But I didn't see it in her right now as she walked down the street, scuffing the heel of her shoes against the pavement. She looked broken down, defeated already. Whatever life was throwing at her was wearing her down to the point where she looked as though she was ready to just give up.

And it scared me.

There was so much worse ahead for her; I was sure of it. If what Merlin had said was true, and Morgana was back, bringing with her all of the old magic, then Dyllan would be facing far worse things than she could possibly imagine.

It was just one more reason for me to get closer to her. She needed me, and I was not going to let anyone get in the way of me helping her.

A/N: Hello, all! I wanted to go ahead and get this next chapter out so that we can get this story rolling. Moving forward, I think I will try to update once a week (probably Fridays?). I'm really looking forward to this story so much (I have the first six chapters written, edited, and ready to go lol. Not to mention the whole story itself is outlined; I just have to go in and fill in the empty spaces).

I hope this chapter finds you well! And I sincerely hope that you enjoy this story as much as I have been writing it. I'm constantly reminded of why I fell in love with the legend of King Arthur as a little girl. :)

As always, please leave your feedback! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Until the next chapter,

Dev