Hey guys! Sorry this is taking so long. As I said in the beginning, I had practically no direction for this, so I am making it up as I go and it sometimes goes in a direction that even I didn't expect. And of course, if I cant write then I wont force it.

Thank you for your patience and for sticking with this story!

Alistair was already tired of...of whatever this impending doom was. It was the not knowing. He wanted to know what the problem was so that he could fight it and move on. But none of his idiot brothers were any closer to finding the answers and the search party only turned up a raving lunatic; one that could not answer any question they'd asked. And while the madman was no doubt a victim of magic, without anyway to trace the source, there was little they could do. He could not erase the scowl upon his face as he stalked down the corridors, household staff dodging him as he made his way to the dining hall. For goodness sake, he wasn't the lunatic from the dungeons. He had a temper, but he was not a violent man. Alistair scowled harder and pushed his way through heavy doors.

"What a face, brother!" the Irishman's words stopped him short and only caused his irritation to flare. "What is it? Someone steal from your purse?"

"Shut it, troll." He grumbled.

"Even so," Rhys cut in, "Your face clearly shows something troubles you."

"Tha' so?"

"Aye. You have me concerned little brother." Rhys was most definitely in a chipper mood, as he reached to pat his slightly taller, younger brother atop his head. Alistair mumbled, head ducked, as his face pinked. He refused to let it show that it was a pleasing thing to receive affection from Rhys. He'd always admired his elder brother, enjoyed their mostly easy relationship. Rhys could counsel him anything, had protected and comforted him when they were small, and rarely infuriated him in the way his other siblings had. Reilly was obnoxious and Arthur simply a pain in the arse. An entitled, spoilt, snarky, arrogant little—!

"Come and eat, Alis." The Welshman tugged along with a comforting pat on his shoulder, smiling when he complied. He sighed and schooled his face when he gave a respectful bow to his niece who smiled widely at him, looking all the happier at seeing him. He would deny how that also helped to calm his irritation. He refused to even hint at a bow to Arthur whose eyebrow twitched as he took a place next between Anne and Rhys, who cleared his place so he could.

"How was your afternoon?" Anne asked, passing him a tray will bread. "The man you recovered..."

"Uncooperative." was all he said before taking a long drink of ale and Anne gave condolences while pouring more for his cup.

"We found some interesting tomes on time magic." Reilly supplied with a mouthful.

"And what did you find?" this time Arthur spoke.

"Mainly regarding the ether. Time portals are violent ones. They cannae be controlled; connection must come from both sides as well." Well, that complicates things, Arthur thought. They'd have to act with the hope that their futures selves were able to be ready to open the portal on their end to receive their family member back. Terribly complicated. And if this be the result of a curse, then it makes it all the more dangerous.

"Never fear, my brothers. We shall succeed." Rhys declared, trying to dispel the tension.

"Ach, we cannae be sure, Crymu. We've never cast that before." Alistair sighed.

"I'm sure it will all work out," Anne added, poking at the wine-soaked pears, "I trust all of you." She had no idea the stillness she had caused. When they had all stopped moving to take in what she just said. A second later, glancing at one another, they returned to the meal.

They were family yes, but it was a hard thing to swallow when mere few years before Morganna they'd all warred with each other constantly. They'd protect each other from outsiders and were all quite sure none of them would ever deal the other a deathly blow, but...trust...absolute trust was still an issue between them. Such a curious feeling. Their niece trusted them more than they trusted each other. And she trusted without question. Anne looked up, finally noticing the long silence, and smiled at them in question.

"Will you take a tour of the gardens with me?" Arthur finally spoke, "After you've finished your meal of course."

"Sure. I like gardens." Not a lie, but Anne was a little uneasy of the silence that had descended and of being alone with her father. And then, put out in the open like that...how could she refuse? Uncle Rhys and Uncle Reilly were easy to be around. Uncle Al, if you didn't do things to irritate him, was also pretty easy to be around in that he generally was alright with adventuring and letting Anne fill the silence. And Anne knew which topics tended to hold his interest and which ones he hated. Her father had always been kind of like walking on eggshells. Anne remembered having to be careful of the topics she crossed. First from things considered unladylike and then to their shared history which always seemed to put him in a sour mood.

The gardens were nothing what she imagined. Anne had become accustomed to her father's traditional gardens, or rather modern, considering the time she is currently in. But they were lovely still. Whimsical and almost wild looking; the flowers were obviously favorites. The air is as it always was, though; wet and earthy with a bit of chill and she was glad her father sent for a shawl during dinner for her.

And her father seemed keen to fill the silence with his knowledge of the plants strewn about. Beautiful and medicinal, he said. Everything had purpose. He'd never seemed so interested in the botanical arts before; to her memory anyhow. At the very least, no more interested than how lands were utilized to feed its citizens. And even then, Anne knew her father was most certainly not a farmer like she'd been for decades upon decades. It had been a source of fascination, and even at times amusement, the differences in their callouses. His from swords and hers from ploughs. He'd graciously hear his small daughter's reports of the local farms and markets, but had no more working knowledge of their daily processes than the average person really. Or had he been simply hiding the knowledge for her sake, since she'd so much pride in her agriculture. Or was he simply not interested and listened out of indulgence to her. Still, she answered his questions, showing her deep knowledge of the various flowers and herbs about them. It seemed to please him anyway.

"I understand that there is not much you can tell me," he spoke after some quiet moments, "But I would like to inquire nonetheless. It is my wish to understand better, or as much as we are able to without destroying the stream of time."

"I shall do my best to answer." she had to finally concede after thinking on the rather formal way of asking to get to know her.

"Where to start then...your age, perhaps?"

"We think about four centuries." So, Arthur thought, she is only slightly older than I am now.

"There is no record?"

"Well...it is rather difficult to explain, I think. For all the...advancements of the time, records were not as reliable as one would hope. I suppose perhaps, the coming of my existence was not witnessed and so there was no one to report it."

"But you'd have just been born," his brow furrowed, "Surely there had to be someone there to give care."

"I wouldn't know. Or really remember. I only remember that at some point, people were there, and they did what they could for me. And then...it was me on my own for a while." Good lord, was he truly dead then? In the future. Surely, he'd have witnessed his child's birth into the world. Something must have happened. For his magic to influence her coming; he'd have to still be alive. So why wasn't he there? What kept him from her? Or had he been dying at the same time? Where were his brothers? Were they too—? He had so many questions he could not have answered. Or was it that he was afraid of the answer?

"That...must have been so difficult."

"It is what it is." she shrugged. "It wasn't always terrible though. Even in the woods, I had company with me. Animals and such, the occasional wanderer."

"I had rabbits with me whenever I traversed my forests."

"Oh yes, there were rabbits sometimes. Climbing the trees to see the eagles were one of my favorite things too, but, it was mostly the wolves I stuck with."

"Wolves?" his voice cracked, but Anne only nodded.

"Very misunderstood creatures. They're family-oriented and I suppose they saw me as some manner of hairless puppy, because they let me stay with them. And I won't complain about it; it saved me in winters when I could cuddle to them to stay warm. They protected me from other predators."

"And no one else?"

"Not at first. I think the wanderers may have offered to take me with them, but at the time I spoke no English. I was just this scrappy toddler milling about the woods. But eventually, I was brought to civilization."

"By whom?"

"By you. When you found me." Arthur's throat closed at the revelation. He'd been alive and apparently took much time to find her. On these lands, that shouldn't have...unless...She did not inherit his lands. His thoughts stopped short.

"Are you far away?" And Anne knew what he meant.

"Yes. Travel takes so long. Especially then." So...he would travel far and sire a nation. By all accounts then, Rhys' plan to somehow contact their future selves was indeed a viable option. Had Rhys known this already; that they were alive? The secretive bastard.

"Still. You were found."

"Yes. You took care of me then, for quite a while." Anne noticed that seemed to dispel the storm brewing across his face. It was surreal to see how young her father's face was, and yet, she could still see his feelings so easily upon it. And there were so many different emotions that crossed it then.

"Are you on your own now then?"

"...I'm independent." she hesitated; carefully watching for a reaction.

"Young and independent; well done." he nodded, to Anne's shock, in approval and, dare she say it, pride. Anne was glad that he didn't ask how. How different! She had been sure they'd have lapsed into another argument. His pirate-self didn't take the news so kindly. And it is a sore subject in their present. Arthur picked up on it right away though. "You seemed surprised at my reaction."

"I-well...that is..." she fumbled.

"Independence is a hardship, to be sure. When mother, that is, your grandmother, passed from this world, I had been afraid of being on my own. I didn't feel ready to fend for myself. I had hoped, would always hope, that she had been with us much longer. She held so much wisdom and tried her best to impart it to her sons. So... I suppose it would sadden me to not be needed by you so soon in your life, but I would be remiss if I said that it didn't make me proud of your strength. If you are as far as you say, then you must have no choice but to be on your own much of the time. To be a nation is to tend one's land the most; foremost." He gestured to the far lands beyond the garden walls. "I hope you do not begrudge me for having to leave you." And Anne didn't; not anymore. When she had been tiny, she would cry for days when he left; would cling for days upon his return.

"Is my reaction so surprising?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"We...weren't able to part on the best terms?"

"I see."

"I'm...I'm sorry." Arthur shook his head and looked away. And now Anne felt horrible. Here she went again, making things worse. She felt her eyes sting.

"No need to be." he patted her hand in the crook of his arm, "Has the love been lost between us?" And Anne had actually thought about it. Sure, they argued constantly, but...No.

"I don't believe so."

"Then that is all that matters." and they walked in silence a few moments.

"May I ask what my grandmother was like?" she spoke, "If it isn't too painful..." She had always wanted to ask, but it always seemed to create such melancholy in her father and her uncles, that she shied away from ever asking.

"Grief is always painful, but it can be softened with joyful memory," he seemed to recite. "She was both kind and fierce. A wise woman. And she loved us. Very much."

"I wish I'd have had the chance to know her."

"She would've loved you."

"You think so?" Considering her history, she was sure others would more likely been ashamed of her.

"Of course. You are very much like her; I can tell." that startled a laugh out of Anne.

"Oh, I'm hardly wise."

"Nor am I, I would think." he actually chuckled, "Wisdom comes with age and experiences. And we are, as of now, both quite young."

"It's rather strange, really."

"Oh?"

"You're much older in my time; very wise indeed." she giggled, "So, this," she gestured, "Is surreal to me. Not that you have an old man's face! You just...possess the wisdom now."

"Rather glad I don't have an old man's face. Can you imagine?"

"With wrinkles and spots?!"

"Greying frayed hair?"

"And slouched over, hobbling along!"

"Frail and paper-thin skin. Truly the end of days for me, no doubt." The both seemed to burst into laughter. Anne pictured a crotchety old man of her father and laughed until it was no longer funny. Because old meant passing. Passing meant gone. And suddenly, it wasn't funny at all. And she gasped, head bowed, hand clutching the front of her dress as cried. Arthur, for his part, was startled to see her suddenly cry. He turned to stand before her, clutching her shoulders, trying to steady her.

"It's alright." Oh dear, what should I do?

"I'm...hiccup...I'm sorry." She accepted the embrace. The magic of the matching pendants they wore seemed to spark into something bright and warm. He held on as she softly cried into his shoulder while he awkwardly tried to soothe her. But as the seconds pasts, Anne thought his voice changed. It was deeper, the accent off from a moment ago, the hold more familiar.

"There, there now. Oh, come, my little darling. All will be well." she felt the same brush of feathers, causing her to look up. The face was still as young as ever, but somehow wholly more familiar; the face she had known all her life.

"Dad?" he smiled that same warm smile.

"Needn't fear, little bean. I am still here." Hiccupping, Anne pulled into the embrace again. Clutching tightly as her father lightly pet her hair. But sadly, a few moments later...

"What's this?" she heard Alistair's angry growl. The moment was gone as if never there. "You made her cry?!"

"I did no such—It was...It was a poorly made jest!"

"Oh, it was, was it?"

"Uncle Alistair, please. I'm alright. I started the terrible joke. It's not his fault. I'm just...tired. All of this...it has been a trial on me. Really. I was bound to break down eventually." Alistair gave a small grunt, but still glared at Arthur who glared back, still keeping Anne steady as she used her sleeves to dry her eyes. Anne sniffed and cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry about that."

"Quite alright," her father quickly answered, "Do you feel better?"

"A little, yes. Thank you."

"Let us head back, shall we? Some water and a rest to calm one's nerves."

"Yes. I'd love that." her hand found the pendant and fiddled with it all the way back. Was that vision real or was she losing her mind? Was it magic? It was strange; as if her father was somehow...there...

Arthur sat heavily in his chair at the round table after taking Anne to her room. His elder brother still glared at him suspiciously, but Arthur paid him no mind. He replayed what had transpired in his mind trying to understand what had happened. It was strange, truly, but it did not feel dangerous. What was that? His magic had flared for a moment. And his voice, but not, had spoken to his daughter. It was his magic that reacted and nothing else. So curious. Arthur glanced up when Rhys had wandered into the vast room.

"I sensed I missed something."

"Oh, not much; just our idiot brother making his child cry." Alistair sneered and Arthur scoffed. Lord, his brother was such as ass.

"Oh dear. What did you do?" Oh, for the love of—!

"I did not!" he huffed, exasperated, "We were, in truth, enjoying an amusing conversation before she suddenly began to cry."

"And what was the conversation, if I may?"

"We-we spoke of mother, her grandmother, I mean. About mother's wisdom and how it comes with age and experience. I told her that her grandmother would have loved her and how she reminded me of her." Arthur reported, "She said being around me...like this...was strange, as I was much older in her time. It became a joke of myself appearing old and frail." Arthur ignored his Scottish brother's amused snort, "And then..."

"And then?"

"Well, I comment on my being old and frail; at the end of my days. We both had laughed until she began to cry. And that was when..." his brows furrowed, ignored Alistair's comment of the 'Of course she would cry after a terribly morbid joke as that! What were you thinking?'

"What happened, Arthur?"

"My magic reacted. It was odd. It was only my magic, but it had come unbidden and strong, as if to take its own shape. And spoke to her." His brothers stared hard, enraptured.

"What did it say? A divination? A prophecy?"

"Not in the least. Rather, it offered her comfort. I had taken the form when I faced that witch Morganna at the height of my power, but I did not summon it myself."

"Fascinating." was all Rhys had said, while Alistair scoffed at his supposed most powerful form. Angel, indeed. His youngest sibling has such an ego! "I have a theory, perhaps, but first I need to meditate on it. Alis, would you be so kind as to use your cards so we may gleam some knowledge? Just a short reading, if you please." Alistair pulled out his tarot cards and shuffled them.

"Yeh know what to do. Focus on your question." He waited until Rhys nodded and placed the cards into their order on the table. He flipped them carefully, mouth pressed into a hardened, grim line at what they had shown them. This was bad. And he read them carefully over and over. Hand hovering over 'The Tower'.

There was danger coming. Soon. And it it's wake: great transformation. Death.

And great sorrow. The Tower would fall.

He hadn't seen a reading this bad since...since they predicted mother's death.

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