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“Sir Knight, if you’ve lived in a Fey realm from youth, fey food should not effect you so. It affects mortals who have no tolerance for it, driving them mad with a crazed need for more. It’s impossible for that to be the cause for you…unless you ate one of those fruits.” Madelyn asserted with a perplexed expression. “Tell me Sir, have you eaten any odd fruit that shone like frosted silver?” She asked. She didn’t know why someone might feed him those cursed fruits, they were heavily guarded in her own realm, and they’re juice were used in potions to incite obedience. To feed the whole thing to someone, a mortal no less, would indeed induce the infliction he described.

She listened to him continue with a horror struck look for the most part, and a smitten look of admiration towards Balthazar as Lancelot described he dragon’s heroism, that made the said dragon feel distinctly uncomfortable. Being the object of fancy to any fey was not high on his list of priorities, much less a wee one that was still little more than a child.

“Well, I don’t wish to speak ill of the Lady of the Lake, but if she had a nefarious goal such as to lure and keep you in the lake, especially if you knew you’d be kept prisoner, using the sinister silver fruit would be the easiest way to achieve it.” Madelyn confided to the party. “The only way to cure that affliction, is to eat a treatment with those same fruits, but they can have some…unusual side effects depending on the person who takes it. We have a grove with such fruits in my realm, if you would find that more preferable.”

Balthazar took it all in with a sober look before turning to Lancelot. “ ‘Tis your call Lancelot. To the Lake or the Forest? I confess however, I’m not as confident about being able to escape Vivienne’s realm a second time. Her cure will come with a price, and if she’s expecting you to come, she’ll likely have made plans for chance you may have come with one of your former companions, such as Lady Mennah.” He reasoned, as Vivienne, to his knowledge, was not aware of the halfling’s condition.

“This time around my friend, I can not assure our safe exit from the Lake. There is little she can do, should I forcibly make my leave and possibly even entrance, but there are some magics even a dragon such as myself has no defences, especially if she’s made allowances for such company.”

The wizard's horse halted as Canaas tugged the reins. So it seemed the knight was not keen on visiting the Lake without magical reinforcement. He couldn't be blamed. Canaas had heard many a story about the strongest of knights being rendered helpless by the powers of a Fey. Canaas himself had never actually dealt with Fey before, but was obviously confident that he could handle any magical force he encountered. Tugging his rein to the left, Canaas' horse turned back around, so the wizard was now facing the others.

"If that is your wish, Sir Knight. Then Canaas of Weynon Monastery is at your service." he said, now solidifying his place in the traveling party. Somehow, Canaas had a feeling he was going to be riding with this knight for a long while. Since knights were always known to be magnets for trouble, Canaas would need to make sure his Arcane skills were kept top notch. This could prove to be a very beneficial venture, assuming Canaas survived. But then, that's why it's gambling, isn't it?

"Lake or Forest, eh?" said to Canaas in response to Balthazar, "Though the forest indeed sounds preferable, I get a funny feeling it won't be any... easier." assessed the wizard. According to Madelyn, the fruit was kept under close guard in the Forest realm. Canaas was fairly sure the Forest Fey wouldn't exactly let them waltz in and have a bite. But then, what Balthazar said was also a justified point. If the Lady of the Lake was indeed expecting Lancelot to show up, then they'd be walking into a trap, from the sounds of it.

"And so it sounds like a gamble either way..." Canaas then glanced at Lancelot, "...well, Sir Knight, as our draconic friend has put it, it's your call." after this, he simply remained quiet, awaiting Lancelot's decision, as they all were, to be sure.

Selena blanched, unsure of how to respond to that new bit of information. She knew that neither of her grandparents had quite approved of the union, but nothing after that. To hear her father's family was evil and deadly was something else entirely. "Forgive me for saying so, Aunt, but there must be some mistake? My grandfather could not be a...." She struggled to think of the term her culture had used for one who drank blood, since technically it was against the Path, although there were, of course, those that did not follow it. "My grandfather....did he know of his son and my mother?" She had so many questions to ask. Why would someone do that to someone else? Why had there been bloodshed? Who was this fae that told her of the vision?

The emotion she had felt earlier was back, but laced with something bitter, something even more new. It was....anger, with a bit of.....something she could not define. Humiliation? That she could be descended from a creature so horrid? Why had her parents not told her? "Aunt Vivienne? Why did my parents not share their heritage? I know next to nothing about either you or my grandfather or any other living extended family. Why is that?" Her voice shook at those last few sentences, unsure of what to think.

Selena followed her aunt over to the shield, reaching out tentatively to feel the dents. Such a strong horse to have made those marks. And what did that say of the man who guided such a beast? "Aunt Vivi, why did you put a curse on him? Would the gods and goddesses not be angry? And how was he delivered? Did my grandfather bring him to you personally? If so, why?"

She pressed the questions, one after another, so quickly that Vivienne could not answer - could not hope to answer. The emotions welling inside her were like the tide - powerful, inexorable, and terrifying. New and almost unwelcome, she stood face to face with this powerful matriarch, feeling almost equal, her sudden passion like a fire inside her. Her voice quivered as she spoke, "Aunt, I feel I must seek answers beyond what you can give to me - or even would give to me." She gritted her teeth. "You are recalcitrant, I understand that now - this has all been some kind of ploy of yours, has it not?" She shook her head. "I will leave this oppressive place, Vivienne," she dropped the respectful title of 'Aunt' at last, her rage overwhelming her common sense, "And you will not see me again until I have found the answers you have denied me."

With that, Selena turned swiftly and stormed from the room, leaving behind a stunned Vivienne. As she walked back to her room, her pace slowed. She began to regret her harsh words - had she lost Vivienne forever? Did she care? Shaking her head, she moved on - she would leave. Now. Until she found what she sought, she would not return. As she entered her small room, she threw open the stout wooden chest that held her belongings, drew a tough leather pack from it, and began packing her things - her own things, the things she had before she had come here. Every gift from Vivienne, she left - if there was one thing she would not be called, it was a petty thief. "My diary...should I bring it?" She bit her lip in contemplation, then shrugged and ran to get it from under her pillow - it couldn't hurt. Clutching the leather-bound book close to her chest, she paused, wondering where to put it. "And some charcoal. I need to be able to write in it." Reaching for a small charcoal stick, she tied it to her diary with a bit of rope, and wrapped the whole bundle in parchment. She slid the package into the bag, and wiped her charcoal-dusted hands off on her fine dress - she snorted in derision at the fancy trappings, and threw them off in favor of her old dress, which she had carefully preserved and hidden from the maids. As she slipped into the tattered garment, she felt as if she was truly herself once again - renewed, and energized.

Picking up the pack, her diary safely inside, she padded to the door in her silent way, as she once had in the forest; she would be there again soon - but not soon enough. Slipping the pack over her shoulder, she pulled at the doors that had at one point felt like a prison, trapping her in the life of a noble woman, straining with all her might to get free. Taking one last look behind her at the life she had come to grudgingly accept, she braced herself and took those first few steps out the door, moving more and more quickly down the hall, down the stairs, and through the court, pausing to nod to the servants who had become...not friends, persay, as her aunt had never allowed that. However, she certainly had more in common with them then with the other noblewomen who swarmed the court, looking only to one-up each other. They would never know a richer life then the one she led back home, serving the Green Man, and following the Path of the Fallen Leaf. She smiled to the maidservants, taking great care to aviod the men and the various manservants, as she slipped out the portcullis, past the construction, and out into the forest, away from all that she had known for the past moon's pass in a great effort to find out more about her family. "Goddess and Consort protect me," she whispered.

Odd fruit that shone like frosted silver, Madelyn asked?

Sir Lancelot hated to seem a dullard, but he honestly could not remember eating such a thing. And yet he must have, if she insisted that it was a special sort of food that had caused his dependence. During his hungriest years of adolescence, he would consume whatever food was placed before him, sometimes without even looking carefully. And everything under the Lake seemed to sparkle with some unnatural sheen, that it would not alarm him to bite into something silvery… as long as it was edible. And he had never had anything inedible served to him. Or so he thought.

Lancelot hemmed and hawed to answer Madelyn’s question. “I suppose, mayhaps… it would not surprise me… if indeed I have, eaten something that looked like frosted silver…” he held his chin in his hand thoughtfully and reminisced about his Lake-time diet. “Once Vivienne made me eat blind-folded, and I did not understand what that was about,” he murmured aloud. “I only remember that it tasted good, whatever I ate.”

The choice given Lancelot seemed hardly difficult to make. As much as he missed the pleasantries of the Lake realm—and as much as his stomach longed for its cuisine—he was not going to voluntarily fall into Vivienne’s clutches again.

“The Forest,” he answered them all with confidence. It appealed to him to venture into an unknown realm. Canaas prophesised that it would not be easier, but that could hardly dissuade Lancelot. Madelyn cautioned that the fruit can have “unusual side effects” but that only served to goad his knightly spirit. It was the perfect opportunity to prove the strength of his inner being—his inner-most being, the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat to distract from his stomach’s loud grumble.

“I feel that to return to the Lake would be exactly what the Lady wants. It would not be a challenge; it would be surrender,” he explained, thinking of Balthazar’s spoken reservations about Vivienne’s power. “But to quest through a fey realm on dry land, with a guide at hand, seems of course, the more suitable choice.”

“I thank all of you for your interest in assisting me. Once I am well again I will grant favors to each one of you, to pay my debt,” he promised with a solemn bow of his head.

With his decision made, he turned to Madelyn and smiled. “My dear Lady, if you would be so kind to show us the way to your realm…”

He took a deep breath and mounted Clarric, making an effort to sit straight in his saddle. “Would you prefer to ride with me, milady? Lord Balthazar, how will you travel?”

---

After Selena left her chamber, Lady Vivienne felt absolutely… assaulted. Her young niece seemed to have exploded with newfound rage. Her string of questions hung in the air once she left. Vivienne’s pursed lips, again, looked like the lips of a floundering fish, as she had been frozen in the act of forming a rebuttal. Vivienne loathed to feel like the loser of an argument, she hated for someone else to have the last word. She hated to have someone walk away without her dismissal. She had almost screamed in fury when Selena turned her back to her—a most palpable insult to a lady of importance.

While Selena made her escape from the palace, Vivienne paced in her room and seethed. She wouldn’t give her niece the satisfaction of chasing after her, pleading for her to stay. Through her watery sight, she could sense her whereabouts as Selena hurriedly packed, changed her dress back to rags and ran out the new built castle. Vivienne lurched for the window and watched Selena, down below, just rushing out in the open air. Still in the Lake realm, though. Vivienne had her greater powers of sight and movement when she was in her own realm.

In one instant Vivienne was standing in her chamber. She so much as closed her eyes, and she was standing outside her palace, a few steps behind Selena. It was a magical maneuver that she could perform with ease within her own magical Lake. She could make movements as swift as water--swifter, in fact. But outside her realm, her transportation was more limited to the laws of physics.

“‘Goddess protect you,’” Vivienne scoffed after she heard Selena’s spoken prayer. “I am the Goddess of this realm. And you have dismissed yourself from my good graces, Selena.” She scowled, her blue eyes turning a shade darker.

“I disown you as my kin. I never completely accepted you, because of your vampiric ancestry,” Vivienne said, her lip curling unpleasantly at the word.

“My Lady?” Amiel spoke as he appeared, also instantaneously. Vivienne’s expression calmed with the presence of her servant.

“Yes, Amiel, show Selena to the surface. She is no longer welcome in my domain.”

“Lady Selena, follow me,” Amiel walked ahead, prepared to guide Selena across the small valley to the mound.

“Sir Bastian,” Vivienne called out to Selena before she left. “That is your grandfather’s name. Go seek him at his domain, Castle Decimus. Go to him and ask him your questions. Ask how I cursed him.” Vivienne smiled wickedly when she said this. Then she turned on her heel and disappeared, enjoying her last word.

Selena stood before her aunt, stunned at the vanity the older fae possessed. She had obviously never lived a worthy life in the service of a deity. She murmured to herself, coldly, ---"You are no goddess, Vivienne. The darkness that eats everything will one day find you as well, and when all of your followers have left you, and you have no one else to turn to, you will remember my defiance. It is the false deities that have the farthest to fall. May the true Goddess and Her Consort preserve and protect you."--- With that, she turned on her heels and followed Amiel out of the lake.

Amiel paused every once in a while to wait for Selena, an air of impatience oozing from every part of him. She had seen him eyeing her earlier, but had not been brave enough to say anything. Now, however, was a slightly different story, and she decided to start with something decidedly more neutral then what her thoughts had been dictating, "Where does this path take us?" Amiel stopped short, before turning around to face the young woman.

"Zis path, milady, takes us to ze edge of ze lake," the fae man answered. "Where is it you would like to go?" Selena paused for a minute, wondering how much she should share with the Merovingian fae and how much he already knew. "I would like to reach the land, to renew my link to the Green Man and His calling." There, just enough truth to keep him from asking more.

"The Green Man?" asked Amiel. "That is ze forest God the old people in Cymru speak of, I thought. But you are not of ze little dark people, are you? Perhaps we are speaking different languages." Amiel smiled in a friendly way, though a coyness played behind his eyes. At this, Selena smiled faintly, always willing to educate another about the Goddess and her Consort, and eager to practice boldness previously unknown with this man. 'He is a man, Selena. Remember your place,' she thought, silently chastising herself.

"The Green Man is not just the protector of the forest." she began. "In my language, He is Abu-arlaz, child of Avira and Terran. Avira is the sky, she that gives us breath. Terran is the earth, he that provides for us and paves the way for our lives. His grandmother and grandfather, the Goddess and Consort, are all that is life, the spokes of the wheel in which we came to be." At that, she broke off, wondering if she had seemed almost too eager. The Green Man had siblings as well, but it was a bit more complicated than what she had explained thus far. Lengthy stories were often told in the village square, about how the earth came to be, and why the Darkness That Consumed All Things was allowed to sit side by side with the Green Man and his Brethren.

"Ah," the man said with his brows raised a hair... "Land, you say? This way." He led her towards the hill, and started up to the top with her. It wasn't until she was halfway to the summit of the hill that Selena realized Amiel had turned back and left her, back to the castle to mull over what had been said. There was definitely more to this slip of a girl then met the eye.

Soon after, Selena stepped up onto the top of the hill, to the spot Amiel had motioned to. There, she swayed briefly as if she were immersed in water, waves bushing her gently to and fro. The feeling disappeared as she raised her gaze, and she wondered if she had imagined it. The surface of the lake sat just above her head, the sky beyond it a deep blue. In front of her was a wavery sort of wall, slightly larger than a hogshead or a boch'tsy, large enough for a person to fit through. "How...odd," she murmured, unsure whether she remembered this when she first came to the Lake. Then again, she had been with a large group of people, so it might have been missed in the bustling crowd.

Looking once more behind her, she sighed and stepped forward and through the wavering gateway. At once, Selena started to sink, the walls of the lake closing in around her. The atmosphere that had supported her had disappeared, and she had to close her mouth to keep from inhaling the cold water. Forcing herself not to thrash about, she kicked her dainty feet, pushing with her arms and legs against the water in order to make it to the surface and take a much needed breath of air. Her brown and green curls plastered to her head and back, she glanced around her, treading water in order to stay afloat, shivering. What looked to be land did not seem that far off, and the sun was still above her. "Thank you Goddess, for staying the darkness and preserving the light." With a deep breath, she reached forward and began to swim towards the shore.

Alanna felt her own face grow somewhat hot in response to Brilane's words. She flashed a sheepish smile, one which caught the attention and curiosity of the princess and her friends.

"It is Dame Alanna, if you please," She answered as courteously as she could. Years of travel as a strange (but definite) woman had helped Alanna shed the awkwardness of having not only traveled before as a lad, but of having deceived her own future husband in the process. If anyone were to ask how it had been for Lancelot, confessing his love to fellow squire, Alanna still had no idea how she would answer them. She merely hoped no one would find out. But now, with Brilane...

"And indeed, I apologize for our inability to bid proper farewells to one another," Alanna reached out to take one of Brilane's hands, and patted it in an awkwardly friendly manner. "I have duties here in Camelot, and with my commitment fulfilled to Sir Edric, I felt the need to make haste in my return. I am most pleased to you in good health! Have you-"

But Alanna stopped herself, something occurring to her about Brilane's words. She frowned. "What do you mean, the monastery wasn't-"

"Dame Alanna?" Keridwen appeared at her side, like an inquisitive puppy ready to sniff at a new flower. Her young lady friends followed behind with equal interest. "Who is this?"

"Ah, forgive me, your majesty. Brilane, this is Her Highness, Princess Keridwen of Camelot. Majesty, this is Lady Brilane. We...traveled together, on my most recent quest."

This was all Keridwen needed, and she clasped her hands together in a show of excitement that would have given her mother a migrane. "Oh! Indeed, how lucky you are, Lady Brilane! Tell me, was it very exciting? Is not Dame Alanna remarkable with a sword? She played part in rescuing me from brigands, you know! And she advanced ever so far in the tournament for mother's new Champion, I still dare say she may have won, had she not come up against her husband!"

Alanna flushed to her ears. "'Tis nothing, Your Highness."

"Are you staying in the castle, Brilane? We are so terribly overrun with warriors at the moment, but I am quite certain I might find a spot for you at the table for supper. Surely Father would love to hear the stories of a woman who has seen his war up close!"

“I’ll be right you in a bit, lads!” Finnian called to the two men who had carried Sir Edric’s chests of tribute. They, and the giant Dylan were heading towards the pub that their host had favoured.

“Where you off to, Finn?” asked one of the Britons.

“Off to ram ‘is bally lass up ‘er cuppa, ent’cha Finnian!” called the second crudely. “Aye, at’cha are, eh?”

The young man from Eire winced at the mans harsh accent, hoping nobody important recognised Sir Edric’s blazon on Finnian’s tabard as he talked with the crude soldier. “Is folamh fuar e teach gan bean you poor sir!” he replied, dauntlessly cheery. He was met with cat calls and lewd gestures. “Go hifreann leat!” laughed Finnian.

He made his way through the city then towards the hospice where he and Brilane were staying. The majority of Sir Edric’s men were camped outside the city, along the river for convenience. Finnian, however, made a better salary then most due to his position as Sir Edric’s bodyguard and page and had wanted to give Brilane and himself some precious privacy. On his way, he passed through the market, bustling with the days activity as shopsters hawked their wares.

By chance, he happened to spy the Dame Alanna, whom Sir Edric had told him about. After a moment, with a shift in the crowd, he realised the Dame was speaking with his Brilane. How fortunate! he thought, and was about to call out to them when another woman squealed in delight, clasping Brilane’s hands. She had the look about her of nobility, and it would be inappropriate for Finnian to interrupt without any official business. So, he elected to watch and follow until the opportunity arose to approach properly.

Friedhold stepped from the small shop, its windows advertising religious relics, and passed into the busy market surge. Behind him, knee's still shaking and urine drying on his legs, was the shops owner. He crossed himself as the armoured figure disappeared. Never before in his life had he met such a man, so devoid of emotion , so, so, unhuman... He crossed himself again as the spiked helmet faded from view, hurried to his door, closed and locked it then hurriedly poured himself a drink of something strong. It had been a rough morning.

As he made his way through the crowded market, Friedhold was scanning the stalls, the shops, the people. More then once he stepped up to a stall selling crosses or figures of the strange crucified god and with a polite but forceful "excuse me" he would interrupt the vendor and demand to know what the poor soul knew of the Cup of Christ. Time and time again he heard the names Lancelot and Bors. It seemed to be unlikely either man actually knew of the cups location but both were rather avid questers so there was a good chance that they might know more. Strangely enough, no one seemed to have the slightest idea where they were to be found.

But then, at a vendor selling small gems on chains, he hit pay dirt. The small woman eyed him carefully, taking in his imposing height, brilliant armour and complete disregard for the hulking bodyguards on either side of her. Not a man to toy with she decided.

"Lancelot may be hard to find but his wife certainly is not. She was here with the Princess Keridwen not long ago, babysitting the annoying brats shopping trip." There was no reaction from the silent figure, the strange eyes boring into her as if they could see into her soul. She shifted uncomfortably. "You can't miss the Princess. " She gave the man a short description of the princess and her party, especially Lady Alanna, then pointed the way the royal party had gone. Sighing with relief as he finally stopped staring at her and glanced in the direction she had indicated.

"My thanks." He nodded stiffly to her, dropped a gold coin worth more then she would make this entire week into her hand and headed after the Princess. The vendor sighed, happy to see him go but somehow, despite the warm sun, she felt a shiver run down her spine.

His feet carried him further into the market now, eyes darting about but it was only when he heard a delighted shriek from somewhere off to his left that he found his quarry. Ordinarily he would have ignored such a sound but at that moment the crowd parted slightly and he found himself gazing at a group that matched the gem vendors description perfectly.

He immediately began moving towards them, pushing past people, ignoring the dogs and cats that gave vent to their feelings for him as they slunk from his path. His strange armour and appearance caused more then a few people to give him funny looks. The British isles had its fair share of strangers but odds are they had never seen someone quite as exotic, leastwise since the Romans had been here. The chink of his armour was lost in the sounds of the crowd as he pushed past a smaller man who was avidly watching the interaction between the Princess and another young woman, a young lad in his early teens with auburn hair. Friedhold idly wondered if he was a page boy but decided it didn't matter.

When he halted it was directly next to the Lady Alanna. "Ma'am." He said, gaining her attention before offering a short bow. "I shall waste little of your time. I was referred to you by a merchant of religious artifacts. I am seeking your husband, Lancelot. Where might I find him?

Brilane was still having trouble believing that a woman could have successfully paraded as a knight. But the surprises continued to occur. With each new realization, her eyes grew wider and her face redder.

Alanna was a dame. Brilane nodded politely at this, while disbelief riddled her brain. Alanna was so endearing in her modesty, that Brilane wished not to offend her with a surprised exclamation. She felt like an embarrassed little girl as Alanna patted her hand. Her eyes flitted uneasily, glancing at the dame’s face and then away. Her gaze held fast, though, once Alanna brought up the monastery.

Then, interruption, and a new revelation. Alanna’s charge was the Princess Keridwen. It was no wonder she looked like a miniature Guinevere! Brilane bowed swiftly and deeply, concealing her jaw-dropped expression. When she straightened, she was quivering with giddiness. “Your Royal Highness! It is such an honor--”

But her groveling was cut short when Keridwen excitedly blurted questions and then listed Alanna’s accomplishments. Brilane was speechless as the surprises slowly registered.

The Princess was aware that Alanna wielded a sword.

Alanna had rescued the Princess from brigands.

She participated in a tournament. She may have won.

And the most shocking of all, that Brilane audibly gasped at:

Alanna is married…to a knight… who fought against her. Who, apparently, had won and become the Queen’s champion.

Brilane noticed Alanna’s blush, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Alanna’s life was so far beyond her imagination. She tried to picture the knight that would marry a woman of knightly ambition. Would the other knights not cast them out of the city, thinking them both mad? Would he not be embarrassed by her oddity? Would he not be upset by the muscles that were undoubtedly to be found beneath her gown? Would he be afraid that she would overpower him and eclipse his accomplishments? Would he feel rivalry towards her? But all those issues seemed small when she wondered what he felt about jousting with his own Lady. Obviously he was not concerned about her safety. What if he had slain her, by accident? And why did he allow her to wander alone and risk her life, chasing after brigands and warring with Pagans?

These questions overwhelmed Brilane. But after learning about this husband, her opinion of Alanna changed. Alanna was not so odd, not near as odd as this alleged husband. In fact, Brilane’s awe and admiration grew for Alanna. She stared at the rosy-faced Dame. It was like looking at an immortal, a goddess. This woman had survived man’s sport and man’s battle. Surely she was made of stronger fiber than any other woman. Maybe this was why her husband would joust with her, because he recognized that she was so near his match in strength.

“Dame Alanna, I…” Brilane began, awestruck. She halted when Keridwen addressed her. It amazed her how the Princess would change the subject so breezily, when Brilane was still struggling to grasp everything that she had learned. And the Princess’s last remark was such a surprise, that Brilane forgot to answer her question about where she would lodge.

“Oh, nay, your Highness! You think I have seen the war up close? Has the King not heard the stories of your Dame Alanna? She made war; I only watched from a covered wagon. Really, I cannot believe…” She shook her head, smiling and laughing nervously. For a third time, her voice was cut short.

It was for good reason that she hushed, though, for an imposing man had joined the group of young women. In the moments before he spoke, Brilane assumed him to be this knight that was Alanna’s husband. It was Alanna that he approached, ever clear in his deliberate stride. Brilane gawked at the knight’s plated armor, a kind which was completely foreign to her. But once her eyes ventured up to the man’s face, she went stiff with fear. Little could be seen of his face, but his black eyes were enough to haunt her. Could Alanna possibly love such a man…?

She soon found out she was mistaken. His lifeless voice inquired after Alanna’s true husband, a man named Lancelot. Brilane was afraid for Alanna. As accomplished as she was, the ladyknight looked small and unprotected compared to the tall and heavily armored knight. Brilane took an uneasy step back and looked nervously to Alanna and the Princess. Then, she turned her head and looked to the other people in the market.

As if an answer to her prayer, her eyes found a handsome lad with reddish hair. “Oh, Finn! Come here,” she mouthed. She took a step towards him, but not too far from the circle of Alanna and the Princess. She wondered how long he had been watching her. But she was relieved to see him, and held out her hands to beckon him closer, still casting wary looks at the stranger standing near Alanna.

---

Vivienne’s ears rang with the memory of Selena’s words.

"You are no goddess, Vivienne. The darkness that eats everything will one day find you as well, and when all of your followers have left you, and you have no one else to turn to, you will remember my defiance. It is the false deities that have the farthest to fall. May the true Goddess and Her Consort preserve and protect you."

Her instinct had been to stomp right back to Selena and retort. But she had already disappeared when Selena muttered these harsh words. Vivienne still heard—she heard everything that was said within her waters. She designed her realm so that she would be virtually omniscient.

But Selena’s words were powerful. Vivienne would not admit it, but they had a debilitating effect on her. When she was insulted, she usually burned with rage. But when she heard Selena’s words, she felt pain instead of rage. She felt misery. She leaned against the nearest wall, emitting a soft cry. And then the tears flowed.

She would never have anyone believe that her little niece’s critique had reduced her to tears. Before any of her subjects could see, Vivienne whisked herself away to her most private chamber. Her magic wielded the door shut and the windows tight. She knelt in the middle of the room and wept, her green shoulders shaking with grief. There was a large pool of water in this room. The water began to flow, rushing over the basin and gradually flooding her floor.

Time passed, and eventually the Lady was floating in the water that submerged her chamber, all of her furnishings. She could breathe like a fish, and was not at all alarmed. Her long black hair was a weightless cloud, her sleek gown flowed with the grace of a water lily. It brought her a small bit of peace to float listlessly in the water. But the pain still made her grieve.

Lancelot… Pelleas… the knight she would not name… they all left her with the same sentiments as Selena. They all wanted air; they found her too oppressive. Her underwater paradise could never keep a human for too long. Her subjects would understand what she was doing now. She had a ritual of flooding herself when one of her humans left her.

Medb
The Druid made her way back to her camp on the edge of the wood, tucked inside a small clearing within a copse of tightly packed birch. It was a simple affair, with a small tent of canvas beside a ring of stones which she had used to light a fire earlier and cook herself dinner. She wrapped what mistletoe she had gathered tightly in a cloth, then brought it into the tent with her. Sleep did not take her quickly. Instead, she lied in her small bed of loose branches and remembered the rider in the dark, and the uneasiness she had felt. It was probably nothing, she thought. A messenger, only. The Druid pushed those thoughts aside, clearing her mind with the ease of practice. Eventually, she slept, and as she did, Medb dreamed.

Heat beat against her, and all the world was smoke and flame. Her mouth was parched, her nose dry and her lips cracking as the fire sucked the moisture out of the air. Medb realized she was in a circle of trees; mighty oaks like the one that had been covered in mistletoe, but so much more ancient. Their crowns were engulfed in flames so high, they obscure whether or not it was night or day. A great rage passed over her, but then she realized it wasn't her feeling, but someone else's.

There was a man in the middle of the grove, old and worn. From his knees, he looked around him in horror, body shaking as he was wracked by sobs and twitches of anger. She could feel his pain as surely as the heat of the fire, and soon the massive power of those emotions began to focus. There were other men their now, seven of them standing in a semi circle around the first. The old man stood, and directed all that hate and sorrow towards the seven men and a wordless howl filled Medb's ears. The fires died and the trees disapeared, and the world was black.

Remaining, were the seven men and that wailing shout. When the sound finally faded to nothing, all seven men - featureless, in that way people sometimes are in dreams - began to writhe and twist in pain. They beat at their chests, and fell to their knees. One of them was tossed to the side as if it had been kicked by a massively strong horse, disapearing from her dreamsight.

The others slowly stood, but different. Where there had been full people before her, she could now only see their silouhettes, with light coming from behind them. The six remaining entities were slumped before her, one or two shuffling where they stood. Each of them were silouhetted by a different light, either bright or dimmer then their fellows, some moving slightly behind them or more active and flickering. One moved towards her...

...but before anything else could happen, Medb awoke.

It was still dark, but the hint of dawn was lightening the sky. She rose quickly, even more disturbed by her dream then by the rider earlier. Medb packed up her small camp with quick effeciently, then set out east to mull over what she had seen. The Druid always did her best thinking when she was on the move.

The sun was just brushing the tops of the trees, beginning to set, as Selena lay on the shore. It had been a long swim from the center of the Lake. She lay gasping, thankful to have made it. A wave came up the shore, brushing against her now soaking brown and green curls. Opening her ocean colored eyes, she raised her head, weary. "Praise the Goddess and Her Consort, I have made it safely." Dirt coated her body and dress. Shivering suddenly, she placed her olive green hands in front of her and pushed herself to the sitting position, taking note of her surroundings.

Dirt and rocks surrounded her, tall trees expanding off into the horizon. Tracks from various animals dotted the coast near her, little flying beings buzzing around. Rising to her feet, Selena noticed that her bag was wet as well, and dripping lake water. "My diary; I hope it isn't wet and torn," she said, worrying to herself. Trudging up a bit from the shoreline, she slid the bag from her shoulders, the bottom making a nice plop onto the damp earth. Tugging open the bag, she sifted through it, finally finding the parchment that held her diary and charcoal stick. The stick had, unfortunately become wet, coating the entire parchment and journal in black soot. "Oh no!" she cried, resisting the urge to tear up. Taking a deep breath to remain calm, she placed the journal back in her bag, and heaved the whole thing up on to her shoulder, making a mental note to attempt to dry it out in order to not lose all she had written. "The Green Man makes all like grass; some grow and others wilt, given and taken. Such is the wheel," said Selena, using the mantra to steel herself and find a place to set up camp.

Further from the shoreline, the trees grew dense, underbrush providing shelter against the coming night. Selena searched around the thicker part of the forest until she found a suitable location. She smiled and hummed to herself, trying to keep her spirits high.. Reaching the spot she had been eyeing, she laid her bag down next to her, conscious of where she stepped,, as the Green Man would be very displeased were she to carelessly harm anything. Making a list of to-dos in her head, she picked up a stick laying under a nearby tree and set to digging a firepit, making sure to not disturb very much, and giving thanks as she went for all the leaves and wood giving their lives to her. A bush of blackberries grew near her encampment, and she smiled as she reached forward, grabbing no more then a handful, making sure to give thanks to the bush before popping one berry into her mouth. "The Green Man's children have been most gracious in this time, and I thank them; all of them, past, present, and future, and I continue to thank them." Reaching for one more handful of berries, she walked back to her campsite, a bit more alert now that she had eaten something. "Food: gathered. Now for wood." She returned to humming, enchanted with the forest she was exploring, and happy to once more be on land and in the realm of the Green Man.

“Oh…oh yes! I’d be happy to accept your chivalry Sir…” Madelyn attempted, grasping for the etiquette though finding it was not coming quite as naturally as she had hoped. “Lancelot.” Balthazar supplied helpfully, and the young fey shot a look of gratitude.

“Sir Lancelot, yes of course. I’m sorry I fear I’m quite horrible with names, everyone says so.” She admitted red checked and rather embarrassed. “You’ll not regret coming to the forest, I assure you!” She promised. “And it’s not but a short ride past this thicket to the edge of our realm. We’ll have a feast ready before dark with all you ought require. I’m sure my brother will be quite generous towards those who rescued me.” She jabbered on politely as she was helped onto the kindly knight’s steed by Balthazar.

“Lancelot my friend, I am my own means of transportation.” Balthazar replied with a quietly amused smile playing across his lips. Madelyn stared a moment, captivated by the curve of his lips, before blushing profusely and looking away toward the forest. “It will be fastest in this direction!” She announced, and as soon as the party was all ready, they made their way to the Fey realm of the Forest.

Upon their swift arrival to the edge of the forest realm, anyone with a pair of seeing eyes were immediately made aware of their arrival. The trees of the realm were more vivid and striking than naturally possible, and though it was summer, the trees all appeared as if in perpetual autumn with rich colors of reds, yellows, and oranges shining in the sunny canopy. As the company drew closer, cheerful music could be heard playing, and laughter was in the heady summer air. They passed though gardens filled with exotic flowers, and strange trees, before coming upon the heart of the realm. In front of them, was a large, open, stone courtyard, in the corner, fey some fey were playing pipes and lyres with expert skill, playing a lively ballade that it appeared half the realm, and a group of visiting knights, were dancing to. The very trees seemed to hum along with the magical tune, and the people in the courtyard seemed almost drunk on the gay time they were having. Past the courtyard, was a large wooden villa with detailed carvings that had a habit of moving in their wooden confines when the fancy took them. The villa was three stories high that connected with a network of wooden staircases to small homes that were held up high above the ground by the vary trees that surrounded the villa. This was a realm of immense wealth, and prospered as one of the most magical places in Britain.

“Welcome, to the Realm of the Forest.” Madelyn said with ashy grin, awaiting the reactions of those traveling with her.

Lancelot, like any mortal knight, was smitten with the fey-inhabited Forest. He had been to an enchanted wood before: the perilous realm of Queen Mab. But this autumnal, light-filled place was far different. Camelot’s gardens paled in comparison. Even the Lake’s foliage was not as stunning. Such divine trees and flowers seemed fitting enough for Eden. The oddest part was that nothing was really green—every leaf and frond and tendril seemed golden and warm. Every nectar-pooled petal shimmered with an iridescent quality. Yes, perhaps it would be green one moment—but then it would quickly change to another lustrous shade, showing all colors like an opal or the wings of a dragonfly. Glittering flecks wafted in the air—pollen-like, but entirely pleasant.

He sighed with contentment, soothed by the combined effect of the tawny sunlit beauty, the sweet air and the notes of buoyant music. He forgot the dull hunger in his middle. The building heat under his surcoat and armor did not make him uncomfortable. Clarric’s coat was frothy with sweat, his aquatic nature preferring a moister environment. But the enveloping warmth, to Lancelot, was calming and quite pleasurable.

“My Lady,” he smiled at Madelyn as she sat with him on his steed. “Your realm is heavenly. Lady Vivienne would so spite me for saying this, but I do believe it is lovelier than the Lake. I have never felt so free in a place. How blessed you are to rule it! Or, so you will one day…”

They reached the courtyard, and Lancelot dismounted with his eyes looking above. The wooden villa and homes were marvelous, harmonizing with the trees so ingenuously. He turned his attention to Madelyn to help her dismount. Once her feet were on the ground, he was craning his neck to see the expanse of the stairs and tree abodes. He was aware of the fey people and knights dancing, but he did not look much at them until…

“Lady!”

He only had moments to notice the speeding projectile coming towards them. Instinctively, he grabbed Madelyn and pulled her down to duck with him. Clarric, already in a foul temper, whinnied loudly and stomped his hooves. The danger had passed a moment later, and Lancelot’s straightened into a defensive crouch. His head snapped back and forth as he discovered the path of the missile. Near directly behind them, there was a ringed target with an arrow quivering in the bulls-eye. And standing some yards in front of them, there was the guilty archer. Lancelot lurched for his shield attached to Clarric’s saddle.

“Peace, Sir Knight! I was only practicing.” The archer ran towards him. Lancelot had his shield on arm, and watched the young archer with wariness. The boy was wearing deer hide and antlers affixed to his head—clearly he was keen on hunting. But his voice, when he spoke, was very shrill and high.

“Idiot!” Lancelot burst, as he snatched the bow out of the lad’s hands. “Who gave you permission to shoot your arrows in a crowded courtyard? You nearly shot us, are you aware? You put Lady Madelyn’s life in danger! Brainless knave—argh!” In an angry growl, Lancelot snapped the bowstring and threw the broken thing at the lad’s feet.

“But it was a blunt arrow, sir!” the boy squeaked. He pulled out another arrow from his quiver and presented its dull practice head.

“Blunt or not, what if it struck my lady’s eyes? It can still inflict a wound you know, it can bruise! It can spook my mount! What am I to assume when there is an arrow coming towards me? I believed I was under attack! You halfwit fool, don’t you think of such things?” Lancelot harangued, still vehement. He was on the verge of snatching the boy’s arrow and snapping that as well.

“Please, sir, I didn’t mean any harm,” the boy uttered meekly, starring down at his useless bow. A tear, made glistening by the sunlight, slid out from under his long eyelashes. Once he saw this, Lancelot took a breath and halted his angry words. He was suddenly shocked when looking upon the lad’s soft features and remembering the high tenor of his voice. It all of the sudden became very clear, the true nature of this boy, and Lancelot felt deep remorse for unleashing his rage upon such a creature.

He swiftly set his shield down and took the boy by the shoulder. “Step aside and have a word with me,” Lancelot said, sounding remarkably compassionate compared to his last speech. He took the boy away from the others so that he could speak to him more privately. The youth was confused as he looked up at Lancelot with large watery eyes.

“I see what you are,” Lancelot said, his voice and face full of acceptance. “You must forgive me for speaking so harshly before. I thought you were a boy, being careless with your weapon. Surely you understand why that enraged me?”

“Sir?” The boy looked more confused. His voice grew higher the more his confusion built. “But I was being reckless, you were right…”

“Yes,” Lancelot agreed, a flicker of sternness entering his eyes again. “But you are not a boy, that is what I mean. You have an excuse for not knowing the rules of martial training.”

“Sir?” The lad took the cap and antlers off his head and cocked his head in question. He had a shiny shock of cropped brown-gold hair.

Lancelot sighed, and smiled patiently. “You don’t need to hide yourself, and you don’t need to pretend you know how to be a squire. I understand. You see, it is not a disguise to me. I have known brave maidens like you.”

“What are you saying, Sir?” The youth seemed to grow more frantic.

“Be calm, I will not expose you. But believe me, it is possible for a lady to bear arms without disguising herself. There is a lady who does it, and she can mentor you. She can tell you if you’re fit for it. She can tell you the rules, and she won’t judge you. Trust me, I know this lady. She happens to be my--”

“But Sir, I am no maiden!” the boy interrupted.

“Well, we have all committed sins. This lady will not judge you based on impurity--”

“I am not a girl!” the boy near shouted, blinking with shock at Sir Lancelot. In desperation, his hands flew to his doublet and he began to undo the laces. “Do I have to prove it to you, Sir Knight? Do you really not believe me?”

Lancelot’s mouth hung open as he realized that he had made a horrible mistake. Indeed, the lad really was a lad. “Oh—no, there is no need, Lad. No, I believe you…” Lancelot murmured as the lad exposed his flat chest. The lad, huffing, gave Lancelot the most disturbed of looks. Then he turned on his heels and ran away with his shirt still hanging open.

Lancelot didn’t even care to look where the boy went. He stared at the ground, dazed, with his hand on his head. What kind of knight was he becoming, that he suspected common squires of being damsels in disguise? But he had honestly believed that the effeminate boy was really female. After meeting Alanna in his home the Lake, it seemed natural for there to be more ladies like her to disguise themselves and hang around fairie realms.

“Oh, Alanna, I wish you were here,” Lancelot groaned aloud. The strength of his longing for her pained him like a battle wound. Not only did he want to show her this place of sublime beauty, but at that moment he really needed a person who would understand the embarrassing scene that he had just caused.

Madelyn awkwardly straightened her hair that had become a little windswept from Lancelot’s quick rescue. She watched Lancelot scold the squire who had shot off the blunt arrow silently, though she longed to bid him stop. The squire hadn’t meant any harm. Granted it was not the most intelligent course of action, but was there really a need to break his bow? She’d been on the receiving end of such harsh words many a time from bother brother and her tutor, when magic lessons did not always display the most…desirous results. She had no real talent for elemental magic, she couldn’t make a tree bare fruit with the flick of her hand, couldn’t persuade the sky to rain when she bid it, and couldn’t much more fire than required to light a candle.

No, there was no reason for such anger, especially when the arrow had been coming her way. Madelyn was, as her brother said, ‘accident prone’. Bad, embarrassing, and just plain unlucky things happened to her all the time. Like the incident not a week past, where a tankard of wine had just suddenly tipped over, spilling the contents in her lap. Or that time a fortnight ago, when the tapestry she’d been so diligently working on, had mistakenly ended up with the dirty linens, and been unraveled completely in the wash. What was one to do with such luck as her’s? Certainly not take it out on poor squires. As Lancelot asked the boy to come with him for a moment, Madelyn picked up the broken bow, and slid her fingers down the bow string, mending the snap and making it whole again. Mending magic was the only thing she was truly adequate at in her magic studies.

Balthazar saw the impending disaster too late to stop it. Lancelot seemed to have Alanna on his mind, and he smiled gravely. They were indeed a couple for the ages, and likely a more interesting romantic pair would not arise for some time. With Balthazar’s luck, he’d get to see them too. As the boy bolted off, Balthazar walked over to Lancelot’s side, Madelyn following behind at a discrete pace behind. He clasped an encouraging hand onto Lancelot’s shoulder. “Your Alanna had a more convincing disguise and prowess than that lad could hope to possess by natural means. An easily enough made mistake.” Balthazar reassured the frazzled knight.

Madelyn watched the lad run off with mild disappointment, as she was unable to present him back his bow. For a moment, she’d visualized perhaps even become friends with the lad. Foolish perhaps, but verily, Madelyn was starved for friendship. She had no real friends here, only books, and it was quite lonely. Ever the quiet observer, Madelyn had seen friendship in many types, but always been denied it herself. She watched Lancelot and Balthazar’s friendly display with a pang of jealous longing. How wonderful it must be to have someone care for your feelings like that.

“Oh, Alanna, I wish you were here,” Lancelot groaned aloud.

Madelyn looked over at Lancelot; he looked utterly miserable. Was he longing for his lady, his Alanna? Oh how she wished she could help him! He had been so unfailingly kind to her, if only she could return some kind of favour. Well…maybe she could. Summoning was still something very knew to her, as she’d only just begun the rudimentary basics. Her own tutor had refused to teach it to her, say it was “still yet much too far past your capability”, with the snide seemingly permanent smile etched on her pale face. So she’d had to learn it on her own through books. She didn’t think she could do it, but she owed it to Sir Lancelot to at least try. And so she focus her magic, concentrating on one phrase: bring forth Sir Lancelot’s Alanna.

Alanna's interest in her royal ward, her slightly confused lady friend, and the youth who said lady friend seemed interested in waving over was cut off by the arrival of a most interesting man. He approached, and asked after Alanna's noble husband, and as Alanna turned to face the man she found the words robbed from her mouth. As a matter of boldness and propriety, Alanna always tried to meet the eyes of those to whom she spoke. But staring into this strange man's orbs gave her the same sensation as she had felt when, years ago, she had suddenly found herself swept up, up, and ever up into the air, clenched in the claw of a dragon.

Alanna found herself staring, puzzled and somehow feeling small and lost, and tried fruitlessly to blink her eyes and free herself of the unusual trance.

"I...my husband..." Alanna gave her head the smallest of shakes, a feeling of foolishness passing over her as she had to dig for her own usually available courage. This was just a man, asking after Lancelot. "My husband, sir, is out riding. I am afraid I do not know where, he left in rather a hurry."

Not so great a hurry that he couldn't have told her where he was going, and taking enough time to curtly decline her offer to accompany him, Alanna thought irritably.

"But perhaps I may assist you. What is it you need?"

But Alanna was not to hear the man's reply. At that moment, her ears filled with a strange bubbling sound; as if she had been tossed into the midst of a stew that was nearly ready to be served. She glanced around, confused and alarmed. She opened her mouth to make a startled exclamation, only to suddenly find herself no longer in the market square!

Ian had looked over from the jewelry stall in front of Ralcia’s stall and spied Lady Alanna (and a certain blond princess he had no business looking at, but guiltily did for a moment too long anyway) a few moments ago, and after the appearance of the strange and suspicious looking knight, he’d been watching closely ever sense. There was just something about that man that made him uneasy, and he was standing far too close to the princess, even with Lady Alanna between them, for Ian’s piece of mind.

Ralcia noticed the mysterious man as well as Ian’s tense reaction. She knew why as well, due to her empathic talents, and she was not pleased. Her ability to gaze into the future, was fairly adept, but with Ian it was very difficult. His future, like those of many destined to be great warriors, was not yet set, and had always had a misty murky quality that made things very hard to read. The two clearest paths that lay before him though, was a fate of little consequence, though peaceful and at least some kind of happiness, if not contentment. The second was far less clear, but it held violence and loss, things she wished to keep at a minimum for the rest of the young squire who was much like her little brother’s life. The three clear people in that conflicted future path, was a fey girl with silver hair she did not know, Ian’s squire friend Bran, and Princess Keridwen. Though she knew nothing about what roles these people would play in that future, Ralcia reasoned if she could keep Ian as far away from these people as possible, this future would not be the one that came to pass.

Ian’s obvious (to her as an empathy at least) feeling towards the blond haired princess was concerning to her, but she was greatly reassured by the knowledge Ian would never act upon them. Though he was destined to become one of the mightiest knights of his generation, he was still low born, and therefore in his mind could never offer her anything. Not to mention the girl didn’t even know he existed, of that she was quite smug about. She liked the girl just fine, and it would perhaps be the proverbial pot calling the kettle black, but Ralcia found the girl just a tad self centered. And that was quite alright with Ralcia. If things continued down that path, the chances of that foggy future were slim.

Then something happened that catch the alarmed attention of both Ian and Ralcia. Lady Alanna was fading, as if by magic. Ralcia instantly recognized it for what it was, but Ian had bolted off before she could stop him. The young squire was indeed quite quick on his feet, and in a matter of moments, he stood blade drawn, where Lady Alanna had been standing moments ago; in between the princess and the suddenly even more suspicious stranger. Ian held a defensive stance, intending to shield Keridwen if need be.

“What have you done with Lady Alanna?!” He demanded of the stranger, narrowed eyes swering retribution should he try anything against the Ladies behind him.

Lancelot appreciated Balthazar’s consolation. His eyes were still pining, but his mouth curved into a slight smile as he nodded to his friend’s comforting remark. It brought him back to his last days living in the Lake, when he had met Alanna… and Mennah! It suddenly occurred to him why the effeminate squire shooting an arrow into a crowded area would remind him of something a real girl would do. Mennah, bless her heart, once shot a flaming arrow into Vivienne’s grand banquet hall. He could think about her affectionately now—but at the time he and everyone else had thought her the daftest of tomboys. She had only been trying to warn them of an impending take-over by a vengeful fey, he later found out.

The memory of the fire also brought him back to Alanna, of course. After he wished for her aloud, he thought back to Balthazar’s comment on her convincing disguise.

“I tell you, Balthazar, the believability of Alanna’s disguise still intrigues me,” Lancelot turned and spoke confidingly to the red-eyed man-dragon. “I was so gulled. And yet I was prepared to pronounce my love to a fellow squire!” Lancelot grinned a little nervously, as he imagined what might have happened if his friend Alan had not really been in disguise.

He had not realized that Alanna had appeared in his vicinity, perhaps in time enough to catch his last exclamation. It was only seconds later that he felt the presence of another person close by, and he turned around and espied a lady with long blond hair and a fashionable light green dress. He had been thinking of her in her masculine disguise, that he had to do a double-take before he recognized her as his dear Alanna.

“You followed me!” he immediately assumed. His tone was not accusatory as much as shocked. But a moment later, he rushed to her with an ecstatic smile befitting the fulfillment of his wish.

“Oh, no, of course you did not,” he quickly corrected himself. He was certain because he knew that Alanna would never go out riding in such a gown. Clearly she was dressed in finery that befitted her accompaniment of the princess. Besides, she looked so disoriented that there was only one possible explanation.

“Balthazar, what a good friend you are!” Lancelot looped his arm around Alanna’s waist and turned to flash Balthazar a thankful smile. Lancelot believed Balthazar to be capable of any sort of magic. After all, he could turn himself into a gargantuan red dragon. Surely he could pluck Alanna out of Camelot and transport her to Lancelot’s side in the time span of a second.

“You see, my love,” Lancelot turned to Alanna to explain. “I wished for you to be here, and Balthazar heard me. Being such a friend, he gave you and me both a surprise by the wonders of his magic.”

While looking at Balthazar, he also spotted Madelyn standing a short distance away.

“Oh, Lady Madelyn! Would you like to meet my wife?” he invited her, oblivious to the fact that she was really responsible for the miracle.

As an aside, he told Alanna, “Lady Madelyn is a young fey lady, and she will someday rule this realm. Take a look about you, my dear. They call it the Forest—is it not exquisite?”

There was, of course, a great deal that Lancelot wanted to say to Alanna. His hand caressed the small of her back and his eyes bespoke something of an apology. But he held his tongue for the moment, so she would get a change to adjust to her sudden change of scene.

Canaas decided to remain silent as they entered the Woods. It was indeed a very beautiful place, like a living work of art. Canaas would make sure to commit this wonderous place to memory, for he would have liked to return here in the future on his own.

Canaas hopped down from his horse whilst Lancelot argued with a fey lad. The boy had been reckless, the knight had claimed, and Canaas could only take his word for it (not knowing much about archery himself). Canaas couldn't help but snicker a little at Lancelot's little gender folly. Canaas simply found it amusing, and nothing more. As the wizard looked for a place to tie his horse, the Lady Fey did something Canaas wished he could have stopped.

Summoning creatures (especially human beings) was a very tricky and delicate process. Even Canaas hadn't mastered it yet, but the young wizard had seen his fair share of botched summonings, where the subject in question (usually animals of some sort) would appear horribly mutated, with body parts having been rearranged by the teleportation. Although the summoned lady did not appear harmed on the outside, her insides could have still been damaged. Canaas nearly gasped when he realized the lady was pregnant.

"My lady, what on earth were you thinking?" Canaas suddenly turned to Madelyn. He could sense it was her magic that summoned the lady, "Have you any idea how much harm you could have done to this woman and her unborn babe? Summonings are very complex and the slightest error could have horrendous effect on the creature you bring forth!" such reckless use of magic was harshly punished at the Momastery. The lady was lucky she was not one of it's students or she would have been punished.

Canaas quickly went to Alanna, holding out his hand over her chest (but not phyiscally touching it) and closing his eyes, "Hmm... I don't sense anything wrong with the lady. Good." his hand then moved down to hover over Alanna's belly. Canaas could only pray that the baby was unharmed by the magic, "...Thank goodness." Canaas opened his eyes and stepped back, "I apologise for that. Summoning a person is very dangerous, and I was only interested in making sure you and your child were unharmed." he said, then shooting a look at Madelyn meant to say 'Don't ever do that again'.

"Forgive my rudeness." said Canaas, before bowing a bit, "I am Canaas, Wizard of Weynon Monastery. If I may, I would be honored to know your name as well, Mi'Lady."

Balthazar was just as surprised to see Alanna appear as Lancelot was, having had absolutely nothing to do with her summoning. A welcoming grin spread across his face as the two lovers reunited, and waited for Lancelot to stop speaking before he interjected. “As much as I wish it truly was I who brought about this happy little reunion, I do believe it was a thank you gift from a certain young fey girl.” Balthazar said indicating Madelyn with his eyes. And then Canaas came barring down upon her, and Balthazar’s eyes hardened considerably. He was truly beginning to dislike this fellow.


Madelyn in modern terms, looked shell shocked. The book had mentioned nothing about which he spoke to her now, only that the upmost concentration was needed, else nothing would come forth. “I…I didn’t know…” She responded weakly, feeling utterly miserable. When she’d actually managed to summon the Lady for Lancelot, for a few short moments, she’d felt elated, as if perhaps she were not a completely worthless failure. But now, if as Canaas said, she’d almost potentially harmed his lady (and unborn child?!) surely now and kindness towards her from her protectors would turn to distaste. It had taken less for similar effects from the people of the forest. Madelyn looked practically numb on the outside, but at that moment she would have liked nothing better but to run to her little room, crawl into her bed, and disappear.

Balthazar interjected before any such eager could be taken. “I’m afraid you are little educated on the mannerisms of fey magic then master Canaas.” Balthazar stated, just a tad on the frosty side. “Fey magic is far more refined than it’s cruder human imitation, and only those of fey lineage can perform it, and in most cases comprehend it. To put it in elementary terms, it’s a far more ‘all or nothing’ type of magic. There are not in between disasters in fey summoning my good man. I’ll ask you not to pester the young Lady about magic that is beyond yourself.” Fey magic, and the magic humans had attained for themselves through crude imitation like wizardry, alchemy, and sorcery, were very different thing. To compare the two magiks would be like to compare and acorn to a walnut, and like fey magic, a human could look at and admire an acorn all day if they pleased, but they still wouldn’t be able to eat it.

Balthazar extended his arm out to Madelyn, a gesture she could scant believe he offered, but took the offered arm, and didn’t protest as he pulled her to his other side, keeping himself clearly between Canass and Madelyn. Canass, while annoying to Balthazar, was the least of his worries at the moment. While beautiful, something wrong was afoot in this realm. If Madelyn was their future Lady, (and he believed her, as he didn’t perceive lying in her character) why was no one here welcoming her back with open armed concern. Better yet, why had she even been outside their realm, alone? Madelyn was a young, unarmed fey woman, and any number of dangers besides the hag could have assailed her. Something was defiantly a foot here, and he didn’t like it one bit.