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Merlin listened to Alanna’s firm assertion that she was acting of her own will. He hadn’t doubted that such was the case, but he wanted to hear it from her—and test the temperament of a peasant girl who was to act as the Queen. She was blushing like a maid, but her tone was calm and respectful. And much to his approval, there was a flash of adamancy in her brown eyes.

He was about to speak when he was interrupted by the disembodied voice of Lancelot, projected from the orb Mennah was holding. Merlin smiled wryly at Maraud. “Well, he is certainly a passionate lad.” Then he watched Alanna’s eyes and cheeks grow bright. He shared a few more knowing looks with Maraud, and then turned back to the girl with a look of approval.

“You will do wondrously, my dear!” he praised, wanting to clap his hands on her shoulders, but fearing that she would not appreciate such a gesture while she was in her chemise and her skin freshly oiled. “Now, my dear lady fey, when is this young lady expected to make her appearance as the Queen?”

“Tomorrow… in the afternoon at the latest, but the morning would be preferable,” Maraud replied.

“Then we have a great amount of work to do in a short period of time,” Merlin said. “I will have to debrief Lady Alanna on the recent happenings of court, and we must do something about your accent, my dear… You see, I come from Caer Fyrddin, in the same mountainous country as High Queen Gwenhwyfar,” he said, emphasizing the Welsh pronunciation. “While your accent is lovely, and it may fool the Lake folk, I will not have a Guinevere who sounds like she came from a small farming village east of the Pennines. But before that, let’s see you in this lovely gown so I don’t have to avert my eyes every which way.”

“Yes, of course,” Maraud agreed, eager to answer any request of the great magician. She and the other two fey were quick to dress Alanna into the royal gown they had made for her. When they finished, they stepped back and admired her. Her mock-silk bliaut was of the most becoming style, with a snug bodice that flattered her figure, a flowing skirt and sleeves that draped nearly to the floor. They also had a fine-silk veil for her, and a patterned girdle that matched the patterning on her pointed shoes, but they kept those aside to adorn her later.

“And, of course, we will make her hair longer and plait it,” Maraud told Merlin, smoothing Alanna’s short crop.
Merlin didn’t care at all for fashion, but he found it uncanny that they made an ensemble that was nearly identical to one that the Queen owned.

“But there is one thing you are missing,” Merlin noted. “Tend to her hair, while I am away to fetch it for you.” Then he left the dwelling, and wandered off into the woods. Nimue stayed, and turned to Roryn and asked if he needed help preparing the venison he had hunted.

Maraud smiled curiously, but was quick to set Alanna down and pulled out the magic comb. She carefully brushed out Alanna’s hair until it was to the length of thighs. Then she divided it in two, and braided each section so that it would hang down over her shoulder.

In a little while, Merlin returned with a circlet he had woven out of brambles and twigs. “And this will be Guinevere’s crown,” he said, displaying the forest-fashioned circlet. He murmured an incantation, and the twigs turned to gold, and arranged themselves in a more ornamental fashion. “Ah, yes, this will be perfect,” his eyes crinkled merrily as he placed it atop Alanna’s head.

Lancelot calmed some when Mennah accepted his words, and the grief fled her face. And then she blushed when he mentioned her admitting her love for Armand. Again, he feared he had assumed too much, just like he had with Balthazar. “Of course, I mean, Vivienne would be convinced just the same if you say that you love him as the friend from your childhood…”

But Mennah seemed to accept what he said, and requested that Saturnus summon her to the Lake.

“Of course,” Saturnus agreed, and with the instructions she gave him, he summoned her to the chamber in which he and Lancelot were situated. Both men smiled at the girl. Lancelot rose from his seat in front of the orb, but Saturnus sat him back down.

“You will stay and clean my orb, du Lac,” Saturnus ordered grumpily, handing Lancelot a handkerchief. Then he turned towards Mennah and led her out of the room with his hand on her back. He took her down the halls, and didn’t say much. But he kept his hand on her shoulder and would give her encouraging pats. Soon they reached the guest wing, and then Armand’s cubiculum. Saturnus opened the door for Mennah, and let her in.

“You must refrain from healing him, Mennah,” Saturnus warned her. “To do so would be to disobey Vivienne, and risk banishment… just as what happened to Mabuz.” Saturnus had mixed feelings about what had been happening lately. He had had hopes that Mennah would fall in love with Mabuz, and help abate the misfit lad’s loneliness… but apparently it was not meant to be.

Lancelot, in the meantime, was still sitting in front of Saturnus’s orb. “Ralcia,” he spoke to the glass, this time softer, and a hopeful smile creeping on to his face. He moved his head to see all he could from the vantage point of the orb… which was limited to Ralcia’s face taking up most of it, with the rough walls of Roryn's dwelling in back of her. But he heard the murmur of voices around her, and wondered if his dearest love was one of them.

“Is Alanna there?” he asked with a shy smile.

Alanna remained patient and submissive as she was dressed up in the fancy garments, allowing her hair to be lengthened and plaited and feeling in general like a large doll. She nodded obediently as Merlin demanded she learn the Queen's proper dialect, willing to do whatever the magician said in order to pull off the disguise. After all, he had met the queen before...and was very capable of putting a halt to all of this. Alanna marveled when he created a crown for her, but managed not to gape. From what she had seen, Guinevere never gaped. Or startled. Or exclaimed much. In fact, either Guinevere led a very dull life that required a great deal of self control...or she was a very dull person. Either way, Alanna's training of self-denial and calm as Alan would surely come to great use during the banquet.

Then she heard Lancelot asking for her, and she brightened, then stifled the expression. Guinevere usually displayed only a peaceful smile, respectful at best even when she was greeting her king. So Alanna calmly and quietly executed a curtsy to those who had dressed her and quickly but smoothly made her way over to the orb to speak with her beloved du Lac. When she saw his image, she grinned, and once more pulled back the expression and replaced it with an uneasy imitation of Guinevere's breezy smile.

"Hello, Sir du Lac. I hope you fair well?" She spoke this softly, uncomfortable with how much she had to push back her own feelings, but figuring that she would have had to anyway with so many people present.

Armand blinked as he heard a familiar pair of light footsteps enter the room. Mennah was here? How had she gotten there so fast? Perhaps whatever had kept her from the duel had not been very far away. But he wished it had taken her longer, so he could at least make himself more presentable. With Kantus' help, Armand had removed his blood stained gambeson and now rested in his less-bloodied tunic. The bandages were well made, but he had still lost quite a bit of blood, and such wounds did not simply cease bleeding by themselves. Still, he refused to meet the lady he had championed so poorly for while lying on his back like a withered vegetable, and attempted to push himself into a sitting position. After failing in this as well, he miserable accepted merely slumping against the head of the bed.

Now, seeing Mennah after carefully twisting himself, the shockingly pale man managed a smile. He didn't believe he had injuries outside of his arm and his throat, aside from those gained during the quest and a few hearty scars from previous ventures, but the loss of blood still made him annoyingly weak. He had decided previously not to alarm her with his inability to speak, and simply hoped that nods or shakes of the head would suffice for any conversation.

“A quick study,” Merlin murmured to Maraud as they watched Alanna already utilizing some of Guinevere’s mannerisms. “How did Lancelot ever meet her?”

“Well, you see, Alanna once called herself Alan…” And Maraud gave Merlin an abridged explanation of how Alanna had dressed as a squire.

“Amazing. She must have a talent for disguising herself,” Merlin speculated.

“I don’t believe she does it for amusement or malice… not like that foul Dame Brisen,” Maraud wrinkled her nose at the thought of the shape-shifting enchantress. “Alanna disguises herself out of necessity and benign ambition…”

Merlin nodded. While Alanna was occupied with Lancelot, Merlin left the hut and wandered into the forest once more, assuring that he would return shortly.

---

Lancelot didn’t have to wait long—for it seemed before Ralcia could even go off to fetch her, Alanna had appeared before him. And she was already disguised—her hair was long and braided, and there was even a genuine-looking crown on her head! And he couldn’t tell if it was the light from the crystal ball, or if in fact Alanna’s skin had grown more radiant. His mouth dropped and he stared at her in lovestruck awe.

“Ala—milady—Your Majesty!” Lancelot greeted exuberantly. Unlike Alanna, he was alone and not quite so concerned with restraining his emotions. He was smiling toothily, and holding the sides of the globes with his hands.

“I fair… magnificently, milady!” he blurted in response to her quiet greeting. He was so happy to see her that he hugged the warm orb in his arms and pressed his cheek against it. Then he went so far as to kiss the glass, which Saturnus would have surely boxed his ears for if he had been present.

“You look most beauteous,” he admired dotingly after pulling away from the orb. “Your hair… that crown… I can’t wait till I can see you in person—“

He was interrupted when he felt two hands lay touch to his shoulders. He jumped out of his seat and spun around to see Vivienne standing behind him with an intensely inquiring look on her face.

“Who are you talking to—oh! Guinevere? How? Oh my word!” she gasped in shock when she beheld the Queen’s likeness in the orb.

Lancelot, in a fit of nerves, attempted to cover up the orb and ended up bumping it out of the cup that held it, and sending it rolling off the table. He dove to save it, but failed. The glass orb hit the tiled floor and smashed into pieces.

He flinched violently at the crashing sound and tinkling of the pieces. Then he froze in terror and turned his wide eyes to his mother. He had two things to be mortified about: breaking Saturnus’s prized crystal orb… and being caught speaking romantically to the Queen of Logres (or at least that’s what his mother thought). But Vivienne, amazingly, did not look angry. She was surprised and bemused—but he detected no anger at all in her puzzled blue eyes.

“By Jove!” she exhaled after the bout of madness she had just witnessed. “My dear… who showed you how to use the orb? And how in Hera’s name were you able to contact High Queen Guinevere with it?”

Lancelot stuttered, trying to formulate a viable excuse. “Well, erhm… Saturnus showed me how to use it… and eh… Gadzooks! Was that really High Queen Guinevere? I thought she was… erhm… one of the lesser ladies of court! Oh, Lord—I must apologize to her!”

Vivienne waved her hand and dismissed his attempt to lie. “Oh, don’t bother, love. Guinevere must have borrowed Queen Morgan’s orb, and Morgan had probably been talking to Maraud last, and so the orb was still directed to the Lake realm…”

Lancelot let her do her figuring, and now turned his eyes back to the broken orb. “Saturnus will be furious with me,” he dreaded lowly.

“Oh, he can get another one,” Vivienne said lightly. “Leave it for the servants to clean up. Come, my son—we must prepare for your banquet tomorrow! And then, the day after we can leave for Camelot, and you will soon meet Queen Guinevere in person, just as you wished.”

Lancelot gulped as Vivienne took his arm and lead him out of the seneschal’s chambers. He had not yet told her that he had other plans before going to Camelot… but he decided that it was not the most apt time to tell her. She had been so looking forward to accompanying him to Camelot… surely she would be infuriated if he told her that he wanted to go questing with Alanna instead.

Not long after Roryn had snapped back to reality, Nimue had asked if he needed assistance with the venison. Normally, he would have refused help. For all the combat skill he had, Roryn was actually very skilled at cooking meat. But, this time, he would let Nimue handle the meal.

"Yes. Forgive me, but I think I'd better find Mabuz before he wanders to his doom." he said, setting the meat down and donning his two shortswords. Without any other items, Roryn left the house to search for Mabuz.

"I doubt he went far..." he said, "Mabuz! Where are you?" he called out. He decided that calling Mabuz's name was a bad idea and could attract unwanted attention. Roryn closed his eyes, and let the forest whisper in his ears.

In his mind, he inquired about Mabuz's whereabouts and began walking, almost following the exact same path Mabuz had been on.

Kantus looked to Mennah as she walked into the room, then back to Armand, who was trying in a desperate, but meager attempt to better his appearance. Kantus then greeted Mennah, stepping away from the bed. He stood still rather dumbly for a moment, before he finally decided to give them a moments peace together. Armand was after all dueling in Mennah's name, and so he decided it would be best if the two could have a moment of privacy.

Kantus made his way slowly for the door, looking to Mennah on his way out, and saying "should you need anything, Ill be outside, take all haste to ask." With this, he have Mennah and Armand his temporary farewell, and creaked the door both open and closed, ending on the opposite side of the door he started on.

Taking a moment to look about the rather vacant hallway, Kantus walked to the other side of the hall, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall, prepared at any moment to jump to Mennah and Armand's aid should Armand's condition start to falter, and he felt much relieved to know that a healer was now with Armand in stead of a knight who is witless in the healing ways.

Mabuz had not gone far… but he was far enough to be unable to find his way back to his aunt. Sighing dejectedly, he sat down beneath a tree and wallowed in the tragic happenings that had occurred that morning.

Eventually Roryn found him. Mabuz was again cheered to see the woodsman. He stood and dusted himself off, and despite his depression, he managed a weak smile.

“I’m sorry I left so abruptly… it was just… I heard Mennah crying, and I knew she wouldn’t want to see me,” Mabuz explained. “I would like to tell her that Armand is not dead, though. Has she calmed enough that she would allow me to speak with her?”

Merlin was also in the proximity, and he came rustling out of the shrubs to meet with them. By a bit of rope, he was leading a caravan of six full-grown deer… five does and one buck.

“Ah, the woodsman,” he greeted cheerily. He did not recognize Roryn from seeing him once before when he was a squire. Then he looked at Mabuz. “Why, you must be Nimue’s nephew.”

“And you must be Merlin,” Mabuz assumed tersely. Then he noticed the deer, and he lifted his brows at the strange sight. “You will not slaughter of all those beasts, will you?”

“No, not at all!” Merlin shook his head. But he didn’t tell Mabuz his purpose for them. “I assume you two will be returning to the little dwelling? Come, let’s walk together.” He started along the path, and the orderly train of deer followed him with obedience granted by magic. Mabuz followed, expecting Roryn to do the same.

“Now you must inform me the name of the lovely fey I was speaking to—the pregnant one,” Merlin said to Roryn and Mabuz. “It’s such an embarrassment—I always forget to ask a person’s name until after I’ve spoken to them…”

“Pregnant?” Mabuz cocked his head with uncertainty. He knew of no pregnant fey living in the Lake. And even if Maraud had been pregnant for less than a day, and didn’t even know it herself, Merlin had the unique talent of sensing it.

As they walked down the halls, Vivienne questioned Lancelot about the fire that had raged in the dining hall—which she had only just heard about that morning. “I’m amazed—as soon as I leave the Lake, the villa goes up in flames! How did it start?”

Lancelot was stuttering again. “Uh… it was a flaming arrow…”

“What! Did you shoot the arrow?”

“No! But I will not give any names. It was an accident!” Lancelot claimed. Vivienne was dissatisfied with his answer, and continued to pester him about it until they reached the large reception room of the west wing. Waiting there was a fey named Seraide, with two greyhounds at her feet.

“Seraide!” Lancelot greeted, for he had not seen the fey in a month while she had been journeying in another kingdom. He hugged her warmly, then his eyes turned to the greyhounds. She told him that they were early gifts—for his birthday. Lancelot lowered himself to his knees and happily pet his new hounds. They didn’t seem to like his attention, though, and certainly did not lick his face as most dogs did.

At that time, Mennah had entered the hall in her search for Vivienne.

“Why, hello, Mennah,” Vivienne greeted pleasantly. “Whatever is the trouble?” For she could see clear on Mennah’s face that the girl was distressed about something.

“Speak in private? Of course, Lady Mennah,” Vivienne granted oblidgingly. Before she left, she turned to Lancelot, where he was crouching by the dogs.

“Son, why don’t you go bathe yourself while I speak with Mennah?” she suggested. She could tell that he hadn’t taken a bath since he had left on his quest—and he had been exerting himself greatly on the journey, and had the stench to prove it. “And have those unsightly scratches on your face tended to.” Although he didn’t plan on carrying out her second request, Lancelot did make his way to the bathhouse.

“Come this way,” Vivienne beckoned to Mennah, leading her to the library, which was also in that wing. It was empty inside, and Vivienne shut the door after they entered.

“Now, what do you wish to speak to me about?” she asked, settling herself into a chair.

Despite her attempts to hold back her glee, Alanna had giggled--her, giggling!--at Lancelot's reaction to seeing her. In all truth, she felt a bit foolish in all of the finery and lacings and powder. She hadn't spent her life wearing them, and she felt awkward going so quickly from disguising her bosom with padding and wraps to emphasizing it with the beautiful dress the fey had made! But Lancelot seemed to approve, so she assumed that she didn't look entirely silly. And just seeing his wonderful face so full of love and awe caused her heart to flutter like never before, and while she managed to prevent herself from grabbing up the orb and kissing it as he did, she did reach out and gingerly touch it with a few adoring fingers. But the thrill of the moment vanished as Vivienne suddenly appeared.

Alanna's face grew pale and her mouth opened as Vivienne questioned Lancelot and exclaimed upon who he was speaking with. But before she could attempt to explain the situation, Lancelot sent the ball he was speaking into crashing to the ground. Alanna remained staring in horror at the now vacant crystal, her hands pressed to her mouth. "Oh God! Lady Vivienne saw me!"

At least now she knew the disguise, still not yet complete, was effective. But surely Lancelot would be in trouble for being caught speaking in such a manner to the queen!

"I must go!" Alanna yelped, struggling to her feet and trying not to strain the beautiful gown. She intended on rushing back down to the lake and explaining to Vivienne what had happened, what had been planned, and that darling Lancelot was not to blame. Vivienne had already banished one of her sons that day, supposedly, who was to say she wouldn't be rid of the other one just to have an even number again?

-----

Armand blinked several times. Like a whirlwind, Mennah had appeared, cried out in tearful apology, then fled the room with an oath...to heal him? It took a few uneasy glances towards Kantus for Armand to be sure he hadn't just imagined it. He had shaken his head sternly at her apology in an attempt to convince her that it was unnecessary, and his stomach lurched at the thought of her rushing off to petition Vivienne for permission to go against the Lady's wishes. Vivienne would surely be wroth, and apparently Mennah had been suffering quite enough already. And what if she did go through with the insane idea of whisking him away and healing him anyhow? This lake was where her mother had hailed from, and she was here to learn magic just as her mother had wished...so she had told him. He simply couldn't allow her to throw away a heritage that she did not yet know. And yet, he was far too weak to rise up and chase after her, which only added to his frustration with the situation. But enough was enough...drained or not, Armand could only take so much lounging about.

Wiping one hand quickly over his pallid face, Armand grimaced and forced his stomach muscles to contract and pull himself upright. He looked to Kantus, making a quickly motion with his hand as though weaving a threaded needle through fabric. If he could stitch up the gashes on his person, then the bleeding might be stifled a bit more and he could be allowed to move around more freely. The bandages did a fine job of keeping a still wound from pouring, but Armand had no intention of remaining still (though truthfully he doubted, with as much blood as he had already lost, that he would have much time to move about anyway). Perhaps with some proper stitching and the bandages, and a brimming flaggon of mead, he would be able to boast of this whole affair....but this thought, too, caused him to grimace. As Vivienne had said...there would be no more boasting from Sir Armand the Bold.

Vivienne listened in silence to Mennah’s explanation. So the duel had been over Mennah… The Lady of the Lake was not so angry about Mennah pleading to have her friend healed (although it did irk her to have her decisions challenged)—she was angrier that Mennah had rejected the advances of her son. She would have chosen no better mate for her son than this fellow halfling, who she had bright hopes for, as a great healer and enchantress. In fact, she had so much hope for Mennah, that she would have adopted her as her heir of the Lake, and began training Mennah as her protégé. Not only was she a prodigy in magic, but she also had a military sense… and surely that would aid her in defending the Lake and training more warriors just as Vivienne had done. And even though she was a half-fey... she showed even more promise than the full-bloods of her age!

She stooped and clasped Mennah’s shoulders, while lifting her head up to look at her. “I had such hopes for you, my dear,” she said with disappointment rising in her face and voice. “You remind me so much of myself when I was your age… I had always been fascinated by knights and the combat they engaged in, and I was even an accomplished archer like yourself. And I was just as stubborn and ambitious, and I still am. But you have made a decision that has sabotaged your future. If you were to have married my son, I would have given you all my blessings… I would have given you the Lake, Mennah...to maintain and rule when I am resting in the Isles. For I am old, Mennah, and I must find an heir within the next century. And cursed am I, for I have been gifted with no daughters.” She stepped back and emphasized what Mennah had lost. “You could have had it all, Mennah.” She gestured to her surroundings.

“I will not appease you, Mennah, no matter how much you beg. Sir Armand is an admirable knight… but he has stolen you away from my son… and now stolen you away from me. Because he was so eager to challenge my son, even though my son is not a knight and Armand should have known better than to duel with a man so below his skills… but because of Sir Armand, I was forced to banish my own son, and lose all of my hopes for having a daughter-in-law!”

That was the extent of the wrath Vivienne showed Mennah. She then turned for the door. “That is all I will hear of the matter. If I have to, I will lock Armand away so that you cannot get to him. If you will excuse me, Mennah, I have many other matters to attend to. I am not withholding your invitation to the banquet… but if you further challenge me, I will deny you your seat at the banquet—as well as your education here in the Lake.”

She let that last threat linger with Mennah, as she opened the door and continued down the halls.