Disclaimer: The characters of Gargoyles are owned by Disney Buena Vista Co. Chas (Charles) Quin Cassidy is owned by Javagoddess, and used with her permission. Marianne, Cameron, Bertram and Elaine MacLaren Ellis, as are Anne Pricefield Duane and the characters of Raveloe, are my own characters, and if you want to use her in fanfic, let me know first, thanks! This story is written to continue a great saga of unusual story lines, and means no harm to Gargoyles. This is rated PG for violence and some adult situations.

To Slay or Not to Slay the Dragon

Part three: Reconciliation and Retribution:

by Trynia Merin

"I implore you, let me go!" whispered a voice from within a crystal ball. From the faint curve of its surface one could see the blurred face of a beautiful woman. It pulsed with an inner light.

"But I cannot," said Morgan, not unkindly. "Not till my possession is returned. No, you will not return quickly to our dimension . . . "

She lowered her ear to the crystal ball, and seemed to hear a response. "No my dear. You should thank me for keeping your soul here, where there is a chance that you may be reunited with your beloved husband. Not drifting aimlessly through a limbo as you were before. Not to be united with him. But then when he was awakened, you could not help but try and follow, but you had forgotten there was no body for you to return to, did you?"

Arthur Pendragon had joined Lydia Duane and her sister Anne Duane Pricefield before returning to the small town inn. Somehow he did not feel tired, for the battle with the Sapphire dragon had left him strangely charged of energy. Old doubts and the promise of a turn in his quest had arisen with the discovery of that runic stone, which Arthur Morewood-Smythe had ferried to the archaeological dig field museum in safety just a few minutes ago.

Anne Duane Pricefield had offered them hot cocoa and the warm hospitality of her fire before Arthur consented to retire. Glancing out over the moonwashed grassy lawn Arthur could catch a glimpse of Sir Griff and Anne's two children playing in the moonlight.

"All-right little one! Way past your bedtime!" Griff announced, Lucy hanging onto his neck as he landed.

"Aww no!" she cried. "M' not tired!"

"You are too," Griff laughed, letting her slip to the ground. "And it's your brother's turn next for a midnight glide . . . "

"Super!" Tim chimed in. From the porch, Anne grinned as she went to collect her daughter. That gargoyle was quite a hit with the kids, she reflected. Her eyes glanced at the pair on her veranda, the ancient King and her own younger sister. The strains of his low hushed voice sent shivers down her own spine as Arthur Pendragon read something off a sheet of paper in the light of her open door:

Dare I pluck the flower, tear up it's roots

From verdant soil, taking it beyond the realities

To my timeless realm? It is enough to know

It bloomed for a day in my grasp . . . then to be

Eaten by time's teeth . . . Bloom my love,

Bloom and spread your sweet pollen into the Mists . . .

Lest you never know their gentle timeless kiss . . .

Once a farewell to thee, my beloved one

Forever separated but for a separate time

Till pride and pain have overpassed

Humility and humble revelation.

Two separate souls hoped to reunite

Across the misty shores of Avalon's banks

The world itself doth distantly creep

Within the mists the barrier forms

Eternity away, yet achingly within arm's reach

You were, ever close in aftergaze

The crystal shattered the words were lain

Again the mists parted, the words touched

Twain realities and experiences merged

Two lovers whose realities intertwined

One ancient, one fleeting, yet forever fused

As mist to tree, and root to soil

Never parted, yet uprooted for a time

Now lie close in verdant passion's bloom

Forever on the brink of life and death

The worlds will part, yet leave none alone

Magic forever enfolded in the mists

Hidden, yet known to the ancient's soul . . .

4th century Ballad attributed to Cassidae of Eire, Taliesin

Arthur Pendragon carefully folded the slick smooth modern paper. So unlike the rag vellum of his time it was, it seemed magical.

"Thank you," he whispered to the women at his left, handing it back to her.

"It was the most recent bit we've yet found," Lydia Duane announced. Beneath a star dappled sky the two figures sat, upon the porch of her sister's house. "Not at this site, but in the same cave as the Scrolls. Yet again refuting the ancient texts found in Ireland... at the same time..."

"To hear the words of the love song again," Arthur whispered. "I had never thought it had survived the centuries . . . "

"It is well one of the most passionate of ballads I have had the privilege to unearth," Lydia told him.

"Written by him who was Taliesin in my time," Arthur added reverently. "A Bard among bards, late of Avalon, a traveler . . . "

"Who wrote in a very odd and rare dialect of Gaelic," Lydia added atop his discourse. "Few can hope to translate it, and even fewer do it justice . . . "

"You truly are a rare woman of talent and tongue, Milady," Arthur Pendragon knelt on one knee. She stifled a giggle as his lips touched the top of her hand. "To think that you read the ancient texts as if they were written by the Taliesin himself . . . "

"I cannot take the claim for this one," Lydia said. "Rather it was through diligent work with my teacher . . . it was she that helped me piece together the translation for this ancient ballad. There are few that know the language of ancient Gael . . . or the strange writing glyph . . . attributed to the Tuatha . . . "

"I had not heard that name for centuries . . . for I had thought them long vanished from the face of Britain," Arthur murmured, climbing from his knee. Still, he absently kept a hand within Lydia's.

"Well, the whole existence of the Tuatha is something of a controversial debate," Lydia coughed. "Arthur and I share the minority view that the Tuatha didn't become extinct, but rather blended with the ancient cultures and traveled far and wide across Europe . . . "

"In my time milady I had heard of a few of the Tuatha, supposedly existing in hidden lands. My friend Merlin had oft hinted the Fair Ones had much benefitted from their knowing. Even though he had also hinted that the Tuatha had departed this realm ages before I came to my rule. He had once spoken of a few travelers that moved between Avalon and here . . . "

"And you say you have been in Avalon?"

"For many centuries I slept in the Hollow hill," Arthur said, realizing his hand was still clasped around hers. With a slight cough he retrieved it from her, and continued. "Twas the Lady Elisa Maza that awoke me early . . . and the Children of Oberon had but fled, only to return but a few of their days later . . . "

"Children of Oberon, existing. It seems so fantastic," Lydia glanced up into his clear blue eyes. Grey hairs encroached upon the brown within his stately beard. A well-preserved King in his forties he was, somewhere between the Arthur she had long imagined from legend, and those on the movie screens. But to stand in the presence of the King Arthur, of legend and ballad! It was almost too amazing to believe. Not for the first time she felt her feet drifting off the ground.

"Excuse me, I'll just put the kids down," Anne excused herself. Arthur inclined his head to her.

"My thanks for your hospitality this night," he spoke as she hustled her children inside. She winked at Lydia, totally unnoticed by Arthur.

Lydia shot her a "what does that mean" look before returning her gaze to Arthur Pendragon.

"The fantastic miracles of this time dazzle my eyes and ears verily as your own astonishment," he admitted, glancing at the warm lights twinkling from incandescent bulbs in the many cottages.

"You must surely miss your friends and family," Lydia suddenly said. "Your noble knights, your Queen . . . "

"Aye milady, that I do," Arthur inclined his head. "And even now I feel so close to finding the answer, it is abruptly torn away, as was the hope of ever finding my beloved Guenevere . . . "

At these words his face crumpled with sorrow, and he turned. "Do forgive me milady. It is not seemly for you to gaze upon a King in his sadness . . . "

"Please . . . tell me . . . " Lydia lay a hand on his shoulder. Still he wore his armor beneath the long trenchcoat, hints of anachronistic plate mail gleaming in the starlight.

"It is kind for your concern," he answered softly. "But I have no wish to mar your evening with my woes . . . "

"Sire . . . Arthur . . . in this time you have so few friends. Can't you consider me . . . a confident?" Lydia found herself stammering. Arthur turned his head slightly, glancing at the strange windows flashing in the moonlight before her eyes. Hair like soft short gold washed in the rising moon. He could almost believe it was the tone of his own beloved's. But that was folly. She was lost to him forever . . .

"Milady," Arthur began, taking her hand.

"Yes . . . sire . . . " came her breathed reply.

"Ahem," coughed a rude interruption to the promising moment of revelation. "Sire, do forgive me for intruding, but I have a question . . . "

"What is your news, Sir Griff?" Arthur asked, removing his hand once again from around the archaeologist's. "If you beg pardon Milady . . . "

"How are you, Prof. Duane?" Griff asked.

"Never mind me . . . " she hid a look of disappointment. "I'm only just retiring . . . good night . . . Sire . . . "

"I bid thee good rest milady, and give you my thanks for your gentle council . . . " King Arthur kissed her hand, dropping to his knee before her. She felt a hot flush in her cheeks as she slipped away into the cottage.

"What is your query, my noble knight?" Arthur asked his gargoyle companion.

"I was exploring the surrounding lands, and I couldn't help but wonder what our next move is Sire? Seeing as to that Dragon flew north . . . I wonder if we might go in pursuit of it. Seems to me that Dragon knows a fair bit about Merlin . . . "

"I would trust more the words of the Lady Lydia," Arthur said. "And those musings of Lord Cassidy and his lady Marianne. For them that know this time, and what has changed. We should wait here, and hear what tidings they will bring of their search . . . "

"All right, if you think it's best," Griff inclined his head. "But I can't help but feel like we're missing out of something obvious . . . "

"We must be patient. For I in my haste last time had lost much. I must add to my allies, for you have served me well, but I feel I shall need many in my quest . . . since my noble champions are nought to be found . . . "

"Speaking of the which, where are Chas and Marianne?" Griff asked, raising an eyebrow. "They did rather rush off in a hurry . . . "

"One should not ask the whereabouts and goings on of a Lord reunited with his lady. Save that they revel in tender moments . . . "

"Well, it has been a while for them. I only hope that they're making up their differences . . . " Griff muttered.

Ever so slowly she felt her eyes opening. Warmth cocooned her all around. She lay on her side, cheek still buried into the deep pillow. Licking her lips, she shifted her shoulder against a firm mattress. Someone's arm draped over her bare chest, pulling her back. For that moment she froze, forgetting where she was. Low rumbling vibrated against her spine. Gingerly, as not to shake the bed, she unstuck her back from the smooth firm chest that rose and fell against it. One of her legs slipped against two firmly muscled thighs.

As she settled onto her back, she glanced out of the corner of a half-opened eye. On the pillow next to her his dark featured face seemed so peaceful. The double bed was just large enough for her and its other occupant to lay comfortably side by side. Long soft hair, longer then hers spilled around the pillow in an ebony halo. She worked her fingers into its sleek silkiness, brushing it out of his face. Strange shyness overcame her, staring there up at a grim gray ceiling painted with the hues of early dawn. Weakly the morning sun peeked through the horizontal blinds.

Sleep still ached behind her temples. Dark exploded into orange before here eyes when she rubbed the sand from them. Glancing to the opposite side she squinted the red blur of her digital travel alarm clock. It was hard to tell if the first number was a six or an eight. Sighing, she turned back to his sleeping countenance. Far nicer to contemplate then her clock, she thought, leaning up on one elbow pressed into the firm mattress. She sat up halfway, her own curtain of hair spilling into his face. Its tips brushed ever so lightly against his nose, followed by her soft lips. Softly she kissed her way down to his mouth, where she gave a more sustained pressure. Hot exhalation wafted into her mouth as she worked an arm under his neck.

Two blue eyes blinked open, long lashes flickering. Strong arms drew her in close. A satisfied humming transferred between their merged mouths. When at last the kiss broke, he murmured,

"Good morn t' ye . . . "

"Morning yourself," she cooed, her own voice still a bit raspy. Always she felt unrefined in voice and body compared to him. Even though he insisted he loved her the way she was. Shivers raced over her body when she recognized the Irish accent to the tenor voice, not the softly accented English in her dreams. Blue eyes replaced the hypnotic green she had treasured so much before.

Without the hard chiseling of age, his high cheekbones merged beautifully beneath olive skin.

Yet wait, were those eyes suddenly a shade greener now? Or was it a trick of the light? Nevertheless, warm spread over her with the gentle caresses of fine smooth hands upon her breasts and shoulders. A sheer pleasure to look at and to touch he was, solid muscle without a lot of fat upon his slender frame. Not all hard lines and angles, but a few here and there with the curves of a well-trained body.

"Did y' sleep well, Mary," he asked her, fingering her cheek with the hands of an artist.

"Very much so," she sighed. "And I know just whom to thank for it . . . "

"Nau who would that be," he teased.

"Er, well . . . let me think . . . "

Chas shifted up upon his elbow, blankets falling away from his muscled chest. Olive skins stretched taught over his pecs, sweat glistening from the Dragon tattoo rampant on his left breast. She glimpsed the circle of horned lizards and dragons swirling around his upper left arm. Slowly she lifted her finger to trace the rampant sapphire blue there. Not a hair upon his chest, odd really, but she wasn't about to complain. Long hair fell around his shoulder, before his face making her laugh. He looked so silly peering from behind that black curtain with those blue eyes.

Lifting a finger, she brushed the strands from his face, playfully tossing them to one side. He slipped his hand around her, pulling her to his body once again in a firm hug. Up her leg slipped his to pin her own legs beneath in under warm bedclothes. She yielded against him once more. It was so hard to resist, and what limitation was there save a wake up time?

"What time is it?" she gasped. "We were supposed to meet with Lydia and Arthur about that artifact . . . "

"Easy nau Musha. Tis only eight o'clock . . . ye have plenty of time . . . " he assured her. "I already ordered breakfast to be brought up here . . . and I thought of what ye might want t' wear . . . "

"This mind reading is crazy . . . " she muttered.

"Tis your choice," he laughed, as she suddenly realized he was already dressed and showered, his hair pulled back into that slick long ponytail behind his neck again. He helped her to rise, as she automatically tried to cover herself with a blanket.

"Nothing t' hide from me," he laughed, jerking the sheet aside as he crushed her nude form close to his. And laid a sound kiss on her bare chest. She laughed for a moment as he then released her.

"Don't you ever give up?" she laughed, the tension and pressure to cover herself gone. After all they had shared why did she feel this shyness around him? Perhaps it was the clothing.

"If ye be wanting something t' wear, here is something that'd look fair lovely on yer already perfect form," he said, reaching into the suitcase.

"Chas . . . what are you up to?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she saw the glint of gold. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw an object in his hands that he carried in her direction. Cold metal slipped up her upper left arm midway.

"Chas, what is this . . . " Marianne asked, twisting her head so she could look at what he'd place there. A stunning dragon headed torque of gold, similar in design to his own twined around her arms, the dragon heads meeting in the middle. "Oh lord . . . you just gave me that ring last night . . . "

"That was t' seal ma pledge, but this is a far greater gift I give t' ye," he lay a hand over her lips. "Please, take it, wi my blessings and love, fer ye be part of ma clan nau . . . "

"Chas . . . you . . . this . . . is too much . . . " she felt tears in her eyes at the gift. Another work of his hands on proud display on her upper arm. Each more precious then diamonds, but the jewelry should have belonged in a museum showcase, not on her freckled splotchy skin.

"Looks fair lovely on ye nau," he said softly, caressing her hand. Marianne just stood there in shock, fingers slipping over the smooth gold.

"Ye aren't wanting me t' dress ye up more nau?" he asked, his hand reaching for a bathrobe. The twinkle in his eyes which had gone from blue to green was infectious.

"Don't you dare!" she hit his arm playfully as she took the robe from him. "You're doing far more toward spoiling me already. Honestly, cooking breakfast, making the coffee, washing my suits, showering me with jewelry . . . "

"But it's nowt me doin' the honors this morning," He lifted her in his arms, with a laugh. She lost her breath, gasping as she was swept up in strong arms, and carried bodily out of her bed.

A firm knocking shattered her illusion, and she felt rather foolish with him clutching her there.

"Yes?" Chas automatically responded. The door swung to, admitting an amused fellow holding tray somewhere behind the door.

"Breakfast, Mister Cassidy . . . ah . . . excuse me . . . "

Marianne turned an embarrassed shade of red as Chas continued to hold her off her feet. "Rather a nice honeymoon so far . . . I trust?" was the only thing the server could muster up to say.

"But we're not . . . " Marianne was about to say before a quick kiss from Chas cut her words off. The photographer blacksmith couldn't resist a sidelong glimpse at the man's look of envy when he witnessed the passion in Chas' kiss.

"Thank y' sir," he nodded. The man took one step inside the room.

"If I might ask another question sir . . . " came his next statement. Marianne felt all the muscles in Chas' arm tense. He froze, backing away with Marianne in his arms. One booted foot suddenly kicked the door shut in the man's face.

"Chas what on Earth . . . " Marianne gasped, as he gripped her in his arms, practically rushing toward the window.

There came a splintering crunch as the door smashed open. In one fluid movement Chas deposited Marianne behind the bed, and summoned dirk and bastard sword. *Get back! He shouted mentally to her.

A loud snarling sounded, Chas' twin blades flashing as they drew first blood. His blue shirt was spattered with steaming ichor. The next minute Marianne gaped in horror as whatever it was slammed into Chas' midriff, knocking him over. Crossed swords before his face blocked the next slashes, a booted foot pushed his opponent off him.

"What in the bloody blazes?" Marianne shot out as she leapt from behind the bed.

"I thought I told ya ta get back!" Chas hollered at her as he leapt to his feet.

Where was her shield pin . . . wait . . . no time. Instead she tossed the contents of her weaponry bag out, grabbing the long sword in her hand. This particular blade was a gift from her teacher Macbeth, a fine Scottish piece with no particular magic to it.

Chas followed through with another sharp cut, which sang through air occupied by the thing only seconds before. Marianne drew in her breath at the massed form crouching on the plush carpet, a gray stain with dripping fangs and two gleaming coals.

The blacksmith moved first, blades slashing at the lunging form. He didn't notice the second figure that shot in through the open window. Marianne whirled, her long sword arcing toward a black shape. Eyes squeezed shut at the last minute, she felt her blade's resistance as it passed through a solid target. There came a squealing as she backed away, anticipating the slashing claws she barely blocked with her own sword. Blood steamed over her bathrobe and splattered hotly upon her bare legs.

Ancient words tumbled out of Chas' mouth, "Gladriel Eluthian Olorin!" and an explosion of fire burst into the fanged one's face. A well-aimed blow bisected torso and hindquarters. Marianne could hear the thump as it fell, yet blocked out the sound to focus all her attentions on the opponent before her.

Another slash, and Marianne ducked. There came the whisper of cloth tearing under claws, Marianne thrusting her sword forwards into a matted mass of fur. She felt hot liquid spattering her hand and sword arm, strangely body temperature at the fur that brushed her fingers. Greasy and messy fur matted with a cold slime. Her foot contacted the same stuff as she pushed a solid body off her sword blade. A claw gripped her ankle. She threw herself up and back, sword driving home again.

Then came Chas' bloodcurdling scream, and the next few seconds were a blur of fire and scales. A solid arm threw her onto the bed. Shaking her head, she looked up to see a golden scaled creature slashing and tearing at the gray shadow. Chas' own blades bit deep, and she shuddered at the head rolling across the once clean floor.

The golden serpentine form landed on Chas' shoulders. Mary leapt to her feet, sword clenched in her hand at the ready at her love's side. Another eerie howl chilled her spine when the third creature leapt in through the window. What was that thing on Chas' arm? Vaguely it resembled a small dragon! Was it just her imagination, or did another suddenly appear on the shadow's shoulders, ripping and tearing with its snorts?

In unison Marianne and Chas swung their weapons, his blade Dragonavenger rending shoulder to flank, while Marianne's sliced shoulder to head. Her eyes squeezed shut in a series of blinks at the segmented pieces falling. And the agonizing howl that soon split her ears from a writhing mass upon blue carpet. A whoosh of flame and sparks from one of the golden fire lizards swallowed the blooded pieces all about the room. Still panting she felt her knees grow weak at the smell of burning hair.

"Oh . . . God . . . " she choked, leaning on her sword for support. Chas folded her into flannel sleeved arms. His fingers tickled against her bare skin, and she felt her flesh pressing against the smooth cloth of his shirt and blue jeans. It was then that she noticed the meager remains of what had once been a pink Victoria Secret bathrobe about her shoulders and hips. Tattered remnants left little to the imagination.

"Musha . . . ye were incredible!" Chas laughed, the movement of his chest right next to her own. By now both the miniature dragons had landed and began to sniff at the charred remains of their handiwork.

"What . . . how . . . " she shook her head. "How did you know . . . and what are those things?"

One landed upon Chas' shoulder, slipping its sleek flanks as it transferred itself to Marianne. She cringed at the sensation of scales against her bare skin and neck. A little tongue flicked at the blood spattering her shoulders and face.

"Nau behave yerselves!" he cautioned, grabbing the one as its tongue was beginning to flick lower. Marianne suppressed a scream in her throat that came out as an audible gulp. Her heart pounded with adrenaline that surged her systems.

"Jest a few friends o' mine coming to the rescue . . . in the nick a time . . . " he assured her. Having been scolded, the miniature dragon curled around Marianne's neck, a low rumbling in its throat as it seemed to settle down. It was rather like having a boa constrictor draped over her. Still, she shivered with fear.

"Chas . . . " she breathed again.

"He will nae hurt ye. I think it likes ye . . . and Goddess . . . " he stopped with a look of shock on his face. At first she thought it was her lack of clothing, and shamefacedly grabbed something to cover herself with. But apparently he wasn't looking in her direction, much to her secret disappointment, rather at the mess of the place.

"Best ya lads take care o' this . . . and double quick!" he said. The first shot tongues of fire across the charred remains, till they burned oddly without setting fire to the rest of the chamber.

"Chas . . . what were those things?" Marianne managed to get out in her shock. She stumbled over to him, his arm automatically wrapping about her waist.

"Someone's idea of letting me know they're watching me," Chas gritted.

"Werewolves?"

"Something far worse," Chas muttered. "More like what ya'd call Whights . . . if ya take the Monster Manual view . . . "

"While we're on the subject of AD&D," Marianne breathed, steadying herself against him. "That damned thing ripped one of my best robes. I feel like Red Sonya.. or one of those fool women with hardly anything on . . . "

"Hardly anything t' complain about," he joked, his fingers slipping up her bare side till she screeched with laughter.

She felt his hand upon her shoulder, and the awkwardness spread across from his touch. "This . . . is rather . . . an awkward moment . . . " was all she could babble out.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, drawing her shoulders to press her back against his chest. His chin lay into the hollow of shoulder and neck to lay a kiss. "Didn't mean t' cut y' off like that . . . I . . . "

"Got carried away . . . as I did?" she completed his sentence. Slowly she felt the empathic mirroring of his own embarrassment. This was something else in their relationship she had yet to become accustomed to, the sharing of feelings betwixt them. Especially intense emotions. Not to mention the odd wandering of thoughts into her mind that weren't quite her own. Even as they both tried to straighten up the mess in the room. Silence was not to be marred by words, which may seem awkward, but by the transmission of thoughts. She abandoned the idea of worrying about modesty around him, as her first task was to clean the sword Macbeth had entrusted her with.

*Not married, she thought.

*Of whose business is it save ours? We have pledged our troth to each other, marriage is but another step in the path we've chosen, is it not? Came his reply. Her own attempts at telepathy seemed crude in comparison with the radiant singing of his pathing into her mind.

*Blast it this is so awkward I don't know how to say this, she gazed at him. Blue eyes met her

brown ones, increasing the strength of her shyness.

*Always the distance, Marianne? He lifted an eyebrow.

*But we are not . . . and yet . . . we are so right together . . . but why can I not or you not say the words?

*As I said before your choice. And time must tell how we explore the feelings perhaps? He gazed at her cleaning her own sword with the remnants of her bathrobe. She watched in turn as he saw to his own weapons.

*I love ya, ye know? Came his musical answer. *Would ye say the same?

*I love . . . yes love you . . . she thought to him. And he nodded, gripping her hand as he kissed hers.

*And there is none I'd prefer to be with then ya? He continued. *Yet yer need for distance . . .

always pulling back from happiness . . . is something I'll never understand . . .

*I don't either, she shook her head. *Almost as much as I don't understand how I can communicate with you this way . . . when I never could hope to before . . . or is this more of that Recognition?

He nodded, a mischievous glow in his eyes appearing that would put Ashake herself to shame.

What was it about those two that seemed so blasted familiar? He admitted to being Tuatha de Dannon as she. That must mean blood relation. Even though thinned by human blood. She'd waited for him to reveal his own ancestry, as she had hers. Slowly she lifted her hand, glancing over the richly worked mythryl claddaugh ring he'd given her. Heart worn point down facing her arm.

Her hand traveled to the worked electrum bracelet clasped round her other wrist, in an intricate Celtic knot design. She hadn't the heart to take it off, when he had put it on her shortly after their first date. Nor the golden torque bracelet on her upper arm, matching, in the shape of a dragon. She decided it was far too lovely to take off, wrapped around her upper left arm as Menne's bracelet had once been. Each piece was lovingly crafted by him, his time preciously limited to pursue silver smithing. So each presented piece seemed far more precious than diamonds when he offered each to her, that she melted all over inside. He wore jewelry himself, the golden torque was never absent from his neck, even in the depths of passionate lovemaking. Nor the earrings in his left ear, double matched set. Or an ornately worked gold ring upon his right ringfinger, similar in pattern to her bracelet. As was her habit when fishing for words, she twisted the bracelet on her wrist. Regarding him, there was little doubt of his own sincerity. What she feared however, was her own.

"Do ya have second thoughts?" his voice came out. She slipped a shirt around her shoulders,

slowly buttoning it.

"I am ashamed to say so. Even after all we've shared, why can I not be content that things are

finally becoming normal . . . something awful turns up to make it all rot . . . and then . . . "

"Musha, every couple has their fights. As we will . . . wouldn't be normal otherwise . . . and ya had t' admit our relationship is bound t' attract attention . . . from the strangest of sources."

"When I thought I had lost you it almost tore my heart out . . . and yet . . . "

"Are ya afraid because you managed to pick up your life and go on living . . . even when I wasn't around? If that's what ya fear, then you should have pride in your own strength. Not everyone could do so after that. To be able to have the strength to go on in the face of loss is nothing to be ashamed of . . . "

"Now I feel really foolish," she sighed.

"Don't," he urged. Those soft lips pressed against her hand again, sending a swooning rush

through her. A low moan escaped her throat at the sensation of hot fire searing warmth into her sensitive skin.

"Chas, one thought . . . " she suddenly said, allowing him to continue kissing a path up her arm.

"Mm," he muttered, continuing upwards.

"You've never properly met my family . . . and I cannot keep telling them about you without . . . actually having them see you in the flesh . . . er . . . in person . . . "

"Hmm . . . yes . . . " Chas muttered, then lifted his eyes to gaze fully into hers. "Your . . . parents . . . "

"I cannot imagine what they'd think of you . . . " she flushed again. "Cameron was a bit strange at first, but he seemed rather comfortable with you . . . but my Mum and Da . . . "

"Best sooner instead of later," he said. "Besides which, they've a right t' know the man their wee Mary is cavorting with . . . and speaking of thus . . . yer in need o' a good washing . . . "

He gripped her up in his arms once more, and kicked shut the door. Just how he was going to explain that to the management she wasn't sure. Nor did she care as he carried her into the bathroom, and proceeded to give her a very thorough scrubbing indeed . . .

"Any joy at all?" Lydia asked Arthur Morewood Smythe.

"I'm no closer to deciphering this then you are," he sighed, laying down his pencil and paper. From one side watched the man they had come to know as Arthur Pendragon. Patiently he watched both archaeologists hard at work with their dictionaries and strange scrolls.

"It is indeed a previously or little known Runic text," said Lydia, pushing up her glasses.

"I am only sorry I cannot be of much help," Arthur said. "For I do not know how to read these words that are here written. Save only a bit of Latin which Merlin had taught me. But I never learned the reading of the Runes. Only those precious bits that were given to me by Merlin . . . and the mystics . . . "

"Where's our mutual friend?" Arthur Morewood-Smythe asked, glancing at his watch. "It's half past eleven . . . and we'd asked him to be here by nine . . . "

"I do not think it polite to assume," Arthur reminded him. "For as you remember the Lady and her Lord were sore apart for a month . . . "

Lydia glanced out the trailer window, for she heard the sound of a motorcycle humming distantly on the road. Glancing at her own watch she realized it was indeed closer to noon then to morning! Strange how she and Arthur had known both Dr. Ellis and Mr. Cassidy for a number of years, and only recently had they come to know of his association. Two separate worlds joined in the association with these archaeologists of Celtic artifacts.

She rushed out to greet them as the leather jacketed figure pulled the Vincent cycle to a stop. He climbed down, boots touching the gravel road with a small dust cloud. He leaned over to help the other person out of the generous sidecar. Both pulled off their helmets as they approached. Lydia almost envied the strange glow that seemed to cover each of their faces. She could well guess what the cause was!

"Glad you're here! We're just looking it over now . . . " she announced.

"And a good morning t' ye too," Chas laughed.

"Sorry about the delay . . . " Marianne began to apologize before Lydia waved it aside.

"Oh it's no bother. Just glad you could spare the time . . . considering the events of the past week . . . "

"I can always make time . . . fr. ma friends," Chas nodded. "Now where is that artifact ye found in yon Dragon's cave?"

Arthur watched as Chas carefully glanced over the markings on the river smooth stone. A complex network of markings tangled into a massive Celtic knot design, bordering full spirals and intermingled scenes. The runic hieroglyphs on the back he traced with a careful finger. Silently his lips moved, as if he were reciting some long lost word.

"Well?" asked Arthur, a bit impatiently. "Does it speak of Merlin?"

"It's strange auld verse," Chas muttered, his blue eyes turning inward to peer into the centuries. At least that was what it seemed to those who knew his true age. "Some I've na seen fer . . . a long time. Very rare, and very auld."

"What does it say? Can you make any more sense of it then we?" Lydia eagerly asked him.

"What have you said it to mean?"

"Only mere words appear to match what is more contemporary runic writing. If taken one way its bits and pieces. If compared to glyphs found in about the same time period . . . "

"Radio carbon dating of artifacts in the cave . . . would imply it was close to a thousand years old . . . "Marianne muttered. For she had indeed helped with this aspect. "But the fact there was a dragon there . . . well . . . might have skewed the readings . . . "

"Carbon buildup on the rocks," Lydia nodded. Chas gave a small nervous laugh, which went unnoticed by the others, but not by Marianne. He was holding something back. She had come to know her lover well enough over the past year to know when he was withholding secrets that had to do with his long life. Long by human standards, but fairly young by those of the Tuatha.

"I can but see references to the name Merlin, by one translation. And hidden by the same. But when I use the glyptic wording it comes out to "way" and "divination".

"This is a marker," Chas said with a cough. "That points to something else. There are many subtleties in the language. It is a piece of an auld ballad . . . verra auld indeed . . . "

"A ballad?" Arthur asked.

"The legend of my own life?" asked Arthur.

"Here an there. For if ye look here, there is the name Nimue," Chas said. "And the grouping here is Merlin. But it does not say that this is the place he is imprisoned."

"Chas, could you translate, into English . . . "Marianne asked.

"Hmm . . . " he muttered, and closed his eyes. Then opened them, singing in a low hum that caught Lydia and Arthur in a strange spell. Several lines he went on, then stopping at one deliberate climax of melody.

"Chas . . . in English?" Marianne asked, nudging him.

"Sorry Musha. Comparing the twa here . . . t' what I kn remember . . . t' what's here . . . tis different . . . "

"What do you mean?" asked Lydia.

"The legend of Merlin as I remember it t's not what is here. But this is what is written hence: Within Mist, emerald hill and stone. Merlin's place is but to a few known. Cries and shouts from hollow hill, from whence the Dragons will. The way is known yet to be revealed, by Nimue's hand even now concealed. For she with cunning does disguise, that before one's own eyes . . . the Dragons not knowing but dwell nearby . . . only to scholar's secret knowing . . . can the path be hoped of showing . . . the way will drift from out the mists, when she of Lake and land doth speak . . . "

"Makes little sense to me," Lydia muttered.

"What do you make of it, Chas?" Marianne asked. "Sire?"

"I had known that Nimue had imprisoned my good friend," Arthur sighed. "Yet the piece regarding the Lady of the Lake? Nimue's arts were known to her, but this . . . would seem that she was somehow involved in Merlin's imprisonment?"

"The Lady is not involved, I'd hope," Chas muttered. Then fell silent.

"Can you make sense of it, Mr. Cassidy?" asked Lydia.

"The ballad I ken, and that which is written here are from the same source. But someone has written it in subtle differences . . . that point to hints that could mean the difference between finding Merlin himself . . . and ending up on another wild goose chase . . . "

"Perhaps the ballad has become rather changed over time . . . " said Arthur Morewood Smythe. "I mean, those Bards and all reciting the same tales . . . it's bound to get muddled over time . . . "

"I assure ye it does not get muddled, jest because it gets passed down by word o' mouth," Chas said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'll have ye know, that the Bards had t' remember every song to the last syllable. Their memory was phenomenal compared wi what ye people of nowadays seem t' be forgetting everything . . . "

"Chas . . . " Marianne said with a hint of warning.

"But that may well be," said Lydia. "For this might be an alternate version of the same ballad you seem to know. What exactly is your source? Doubtless it might not be . . . "

The blacksmith photographer fell into sullen silence. Arthur Pendragon shared a glance of sympathy. For he knew the secret of Chas' advanced lifespan, and the cost he must pay to keep the information from those who might use it to their advantage.

"I say Lydia, do you remember that professor we had at University? The Arthurian scholar? Professor MacLaren! What do you think Marianne."

She flushed rather pink. "Are you sure that's necessary, to ask her? I mean Chas is perfectly capable of . . . "

"Oh come now Mary," Lydia shook her head. "What's the harm in paying her a visit, after all she is . . . "

"Lydia please," Marianne sighed. "It's . . . complicated . . . "

"Marianne, what's this about?" Chas asked.

"Yes, certainly Professor MacLaren might well have good insight into . . . " Arthur Morewood Smythe laughed."

"Professor MacLaren is only one of the best Arthurian experts aside from Geoffrey Ashe," said Lydia with reverence. "And you know it, Marianne . . . "

"Marianne ye have t' tell her sooner or later," Chas said softly, rubbing her shoulder.

"Milady, you appear distressed. Is this Professor MacLaren known to you?"

"Yes," she said shyly. "She's my mother . . . "

"Your mother?" asked Arthur Pendragon. "Is a woman of great learning . . . with regard to my life?"

"I would advise you stay at the inn till we come collect you," Morewood Smythe said to Arthur Pendragon.

"Why, good sir?" Pendragon asked, over the sound of the Land Rover's engine. A small convoy of vehicles roared off for a trip out to where Marianne's parents lived, in Cambridge. It was a one hour drive, and Pendragon marveled at the similarities and differences in the landscape.

"Yes, I might ask why?" Lydia raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her colleague through the rear view mirror.

"Well, dash it all, do you think he'd resist the temptation to give his Arthur story in front of Professor MacLaren . . . "

"I assure you I will not speak till bidden," Arthur Pendragon glanced back. "You underestimate my ability to hold my tongue . . . "

"But it might not be a good idea. After all . . . " Morewood Smythe stammered out.

Lydia suddenly detected the twinge of jealousy Morewood Smythe exhibited. Or was it concern for her professional safety.

"Speak freely man," Arthur bade him.

"Ahem, well considering strange events have followed your arrival, I think it best that you . . . er . . . guard against possible . . . rear attacks," Morewood quickly stammered out.

Arthur considered this. "Good counsel sir. I will be most honored to keep watch upon the house of the learned ones, the family of Marianne Ellis . . . "

"Good man I'd knew you'd understand," Morewood Smythe nodded with satisfaction. "The best place to er . . . set up a watch may be the hotel at Cambridge . . . "

"This is a city of learning, is it not?" Arthur indicated the spires of Cambridge rising into view. "Most glorious indeed!"

"Well, it's only the best University in all of England . . . " Lydia laughed with pride.

"I beg to differ," Morewood put out. "I myself graduated from Oxford . . . "

Behind them roared the Vincent motorcycle belonging to a certain photographer. His girlfriend rode behind, the suitcases and bags stowed in the sidecar. The open air whistled past their faces, broken only by the two helmets. It was an invigorating way to travel, Marianne reflected. Nothing but open air around you, the road snaking beneath you.

"Pulling up now . . . " Chas spoke over the whistling wind. Marianne gritted down her fear while the bike ground to a halt before her parent's home.

Chas remembered spotting a photograph of them, Bertram and Elaine. Yet both were

professionally known as Prof. Bertram Ellis, Egyptologist at the British Museum and Prof. Elaine MacLaren, chair of Arthurian studies at Cambridge. The latter kept her name for professional reasons, many a book and paper to her credit. Her father's close cropped neatly mustache was nearly white, matching the silvery iron gray of his once blond hair. His wife's own iron locks were close cropped, short, around a face lined gracefully with cares. Dark brown eyes contrasted with the blue of her father's. Cameron and she were an odd blend of mother and father, the fairness in his hair going to cam whilst his eyes to both; Marianne's dark hair perhaps an echo of her mother's.

Yet to see them in person, as Prof. Ellis opened up the door, seemed far different then a two dimensional photograph. Cameron knocked on the door first, Marianne nervously behind him with her hand trembling in Chas'. He gave a gentle reassuring squeeze to her as the door clicked open. Five middle-aged persons assembled before the doors, among them Lydia Duane and Arthur Morewood-Smythe, two close friends of the Ellis twins from their University days.

Morewood-Smythe had known Cameron from their first dig, as Lydia had met Marianne on a stint in Ireland at a peat bog investigating old bodies that had come to light. Lydia and Arthur had both been students of Professor MacLaren specializing in Arthurian and ancient Celtic digs. By reputation they also knew Chas Cassidy, and were personal close friends of his. Small world, Chas reflected. How he'd known Lydia Duane and Morewood-Smythe long before he'd even met Marianne. Six degrees of separation indeed.

Lydia was well aware she and her colleague were a buffer zone for Marianne's introduction. However, as neither had seen their former professor for the past six months, it seemed a good excuse.

"I say this is a surprise!" Bertram said, shaking their hands as he invited his son. "Long time . . . I know the wife will certainly be just as thrilled . . . ah . . . and Mary . . . "

"Da," she said softly, coming forwards to lay a kiss on her father's cheek.

"Professor, allow us to introduce a mutual friend . . . this is Mr. Charles Cassidy, one of our colleagues . . . " Lydia began before Marianne nervously ushered Chas in amidst the bustle.

There came a clacking noise as a spirited woman shifted in on arm braces. Marianne went to her side, slipping her arms around the gray-haired woman with a pleasant lined face. Mother and daughter embraced, a silvery white chin resting on Marianne's shoulder. Brown eyes took in the look of the visitors, as Chas' eyes traveled to hers. There was a sparkle there, of something present that made Chas' heart leap. Perhaps it wouldn't be all that difficult convincing the mother, but the father . . . hmm.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cassidy," Bertram Ellis nodded, shaking his hand heartily. "Mary's told me much about you . . . "

"The good or the bad?" Chas laughed. Professor MacLaren smiled. Her sharp eyes fell upon the pendant slipping from his shirt. The photographer slipped it aside for a moment, realizing while his eyes met the odd pendant around Marianne's mum's neck. It was a four-sided rectangular cube, with the images of a crown, a fish, a cross, and the alpha omega on each face respectively. Very odd cross indeed, Chas reflected. He could sense her eyes going to the crescent moon atop the pentacles on his own pendant.

A nail in the coffin? Perhaps . . . from the mother. The father settled them into comfortable chairs, all the while chattering about his latest discoveries.

"You add jewelry making to your resume, Mr. Cassidy?" MacLaren asked, an eyebrow raised as she noticed his torque. That same formality as in her daughter's reserve, overlaid with friendly questions.

"Right you are," he nodded. "Mrs. Ellis . . . "

Off to one side, the men gathered. Marianne watched as her mother and Lydia busied themselves with the references to Arthur. Morewood-Smythe chatted to Cameron about artifacts, as Marianne looked over in the direction of where her father and Chas now sat. She feared he was giving Chas the third degree, as he had often with her previous boyfriends. The whole Egyptian antiquity's affair would be first, followed by a hale of questions about the man's profession. Before he'd release him to Mrs. Ellis a.k.a. Professor MacLaren, who'd subtly perform the same routine.

With a pick Bertram ground the tobacco residue out of the bowl of his pipe. Small bits fell into the ashtray to one side. "So, how long precisely have you been a photographer for the Celtic Times magazine?"

"A guild long time, sir," Chas answered. He sat with both feet on the floor, somewhere between relaxed and alert with folded hands on his lap. Oddly formal for the casual down to earth photographer Marianne was used to seeing.

Fragrant tobacco wafted into Chas' nose as Dr. Ellis plunged his pipe bowl into the small canister. Tucking the pipe between his teeth he lit a match. His hands cupped around the bowl, fanning the slowly glowing embers with a few careful puffs. Chas caught sight of the ring glistening on Prof. Ellis' right hand. The small diamond at its center sparkled with radiant fire within its Freemason symbol.

"Yer a Mason, sir?" Chas mentioned.

"Yes, in fact I am," he nodded. "I would have thought Marianne might have mentioned it. Doubtless you here many a story . . . "

"Been a long time since I'd thought about it," Chas muttered, fumbling in his pocket. Surprise filled Dr. Ellis face when he saw Chas slip a similar ring onto his finger.

"You are one as well?" Prof. Ellis looked at him oddly. There was a sparkle in his eyes that reassured Marianne. At least Daddy wasn't so adverse to him now.

"Haven't been t' a meeting in a vera long time," Chas muttered.

Marianne was floored. Since when in blazes did Chas ever mention being a freemason? Here was one ally in the family already. For her father earnestly began whispering in excited tones to a patient Chas.

"Ah! Here it is! Mallory's version of the Old English!" her mother announced triumphantly. "The complete source book! I knew it was lying around here somewhere . . . "

"Good!" Lydia agreed. She turned back to her mother, and the two Celtic archaeologists.

"And only yesterday I was telling Cameron he'd been neglecting to come to the meetings lately . . . " Prof. Ellis said, his hand resting on Chas' shoulder.

"Let's face it, I think yer son is a wild one . . . " Chas quipped.

"I well know it . . . but don't let on," Prof. Ellis chuckled to the photographer. At least they seemed to be hitting it off, Marianne reflected. Her mother cast that odd judging glance upon Chas as she looked up. That same glance she'd given several past boyfriends Marianne had brought home. The glance traveled to Marianne's ring finger, where the claddaugh gleamed in the noon sunlight. Marianne could almost guess what her mother must be thinking at this minute. Half of her laughed in a stern triumph, while the other pulled her stomach into a slow dull ache within.

"So dear, have you figured that bit of verse out yet?" Ellis laughed to his wife. She settled into the easy chair behind a large oaken desk. Lydia busied herself putting a stack of books down to Elaine's right arm. Morewood Smythe stood at her mother's other side, spreading the etchings of the stone before their erstwhile professor.

"Hang about, it's not that easy Da," Marianne cut in. "This isn't Hieroglyphics . . . and that compared to this would be simple . . . "

"Right ye are Marianne," Chas nodded.

"I have determined that the runes are indeed an odd rare sort. Interlaced with double entendre . . . " Elaine announced. "If you read it one way, it sounds very anomalous . . . "

"Anomalous?" asked Lydia.

"Yes. But if you take the literal meaning of the words, by place names . . . and account for the fact geography in that region has shifted . . . many of these places are locally known . . . "

"Within Mist, emerald hill and stone. Merlin's place is but to a few known," Elaine read. "If you mean the literal translation, a region known for mists, green rolling hills, and local stone used for quarrying those stones for stone circles . . . "

"Hmm," Lydia muttered. "There were a few stone circles not far from Raveloe. One of the neighboring towns has a circle. The hollow hill I very well tried to find out to be a local Cairn. I've marked several on a map . . . but there are at least ten known scattered about the hillside . . . "

"Cries and shouts from hollow hill, from whence the Dragons will," Chas repeated. "Could well be . . . "

"But this bit is baffling," said Lydia. " The way is known yet to be revealed, by Nimue's hand even now concealed."

"So far we have two qualifiers," Chas said. "Rolling hills, mist, cairns. But what would narrow it down even more?"

"Well, Nimue's hand . . . " Elaine said. "When I was writing my last book, I took into account ancient sacred sites that had original Celtic names. One of them was a large chalk drawing previously undiscovered. The locals call it Nimue's hand. For it is shaped in a pattern much like a hand with five fingers extended . . . "

"Why have I never heard of it before?" asked Lydia.

"Well, it was in the middle of someone's pasture," said Elaine. "Satellite pictures showed the presence of an anomaly beneath the surface of the hills . . . near Cambridge . . . "

"And it would be right under someone's nose, in a thousand years time," Chas pointed out. "For she with cunning does disguise, that before one's own eyes . . . "

"Exactly," Elaine nodded.

"How far is that from here?" Lydia asked, rolling out her map of archaeological excavations. It included sites that she marked with a pencil indicating the existence of cairns.

"Forty miles," said Elaine. "Any cairns within that location . . . "

"Three," Lydia marked out in a circle where Elaine indicated.

"So we have three cairns, but which of the three," Elaine rubbed her chin with a pencil.

"Could just check them all out," Cameron put in from one side.

"That's hardly economical," Morewood Smythe laughed. "Some of us don't have unlimited funding you know . . . "

"Wait, we have another clue left," Marianne put in, now clustered around the desk with everyone else. "The Dragons not knowing but dwell nearby . . . only to scholar's secret knowing . . . can the path be hoped of showing . . . the way will drift from out the mists, when she of Lake and land doth speak . . . "

"The dragons not knowing . . . " Elaine looked a bit at a loss. "Hmm . . . "

"The scholar's secret knowing, could that refer to Druids?" asked Morewood Smythe. "I mean there is that bit about paths be hoped of showing . . . and ways from the mists . . . "

"If I might suggest something," Chas said. "If there be Dragons reported there at one time . . . they would have not disturbed the cairns. Often they were called upon . . . in er myth, to guard the tombs of the ancestors . . . "

"What are you getting at?" asked Morewood Smythe.

"Well, there were Dragon sightings reported lately," said Lydia. "The closest of the cairns toward Dragon's cave which we excavated lies right here . . . between Nimue's hand where you graciously provided, and a river, the Cam . . . and mists are often seen there . . . "

"Dragon sightings?" Cameron laughed,

"I'm not joking," Lydia lifted her glasses. "WE saw something very unusual in Raveloe . . . "

"That crackpot Sevarious was running some odd experiments," Marianne cut in. "He's known for genetic engineering. That's what the papers said..."

"Balderdash," Cameron laughed, folding his arms over his chest. "If you don't mind, I'll get a stiff brandy! Anyone else want anything while I'm up . . . "

"Well it was a hoax," Chas put in.

Elaine looked to Bertram, not sure if these youngsters were pulling their legs or not. They decided to humor them.

"All myths and legends aside, are we any closer to narrowing it down? Would it even be inside a cairn?" Morewood Smythe suggested.

"The secret ways ere showing . . . " Chas repeated. "To scholars know . . . mists . . . "

"Chas, what are you on about?" Mary asked. His eyes had a faraway look in them, as if tracking through hundreds of years of memory.

"Well, as I recall, the coven had their secret places. The ways, sometimes . . . referred . . . to ley lines of power. Sometimes visible through the mists, at certain times of the day. Only those of the magic would know their location. And to follow the ley lines requires much special training . . . only a few would be privileged to know . . . especially those in the school of the Lady of the Lake . . . "

"How does that help us?" Lydia asked.

"Hmm, he's onto something," said Elaine. "There was a site . . . which was rumored to be an ancient meeting place. There are a series of caves in the local hills . . . "

"Incredible!" Lydia burst out. "I know where to go! Just wait till I call Arthur!"

"Which Arthur," asked Marianne, then stopped as she realized she was talking out of turn when Morewood Smythe's face darkened a bit.

"Calm down a minute," Bertram laughed. "You're taking on as if you were under some sort of a time limit! Wherever it is, I'm sure it can wait till you get the proper clearance for digging anywhere . . . "

"That's just it, I've got to get cracking," Lydia laughed. "Thank you ever so much, Professor! If you'll excuse me, I've got a few phone calls to make."

"Don't you mean we have a few phone calls to make?" Arthur took her arm.

"Oops, sorry," Lydia laughed nervously. Elaine raised an eyebrow, noticing this little bit of tension as the two former students left the room.

Much later, Lydia and Arthur Morewood Smythe had long since left. Lunch was set out and cleared away, and evening Tea was set out. Everyone sat in the sitting room as before. Marianne nervously spooned three teaspoons of sugar instead of her normal one.

"Ugh," she grunted, making a face as the sweetness ached her teeth.

"They certainly went off in a huff," Cameron Ellis said, sipping a peg of whisky. "What's so ruddy important about finding that site tonight?"

"Let's just say, Lydia is a bit anxious," Marianne stirred her tea, the spoon clanging in the sudden silence.

"It's rather like her to be enthusiastic and all," Elaine commented, biting into a large eclair. "But there is something very odd about this whole affair?"

"Being," Bertram crossed his arms over his chest. Thoughtfully he puffed upon his pipe.

"You said something about dragon sightings," she laughed. "And Dr. Sevarious? Marianne, it's been years since you had seen your professor in Genetics, what was he up to?"

"He... was attempting to sway the council of the village... to gain use of the land... for his new branch of Nightstone Industries," Marianne explained.

"What's so bad about that?" Cameron asked, swirling his whisky before taking another chug.

"It would threaten a unique way of life," she answered quickly.

"How do you know?" Elaine peered over the top of her bifocals. "If I may ask a direct question . . . "

"There were certain things he wished t' disturb," Chas muttered. "And we couldna let him tamper with nature..."

"Was he developing some of that genetic altered grain?" Elaine asked.

"No, something far worse," Marianne said. "He wanted... to capture a certain wild animal, and experiment on it..."

"That happens all the time," Cameron said. "Don't tell me you've gone all animal rights..."

"There's laws against using wild animals for experimentation, and you know it, Cameron," Marianne snapped. "This was worse, for it was an endangered species! I had to stop him!"

"You stopped him?" Bertram raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. And the townspeople were so disgusted they threw him out of town..."

"But what does all this have to do about the dig that was going on there?" Bertram asked. "I assume this activity was a dispute having to do with land... if there was an endangered species there... then what gave Lydia and Arthur the right to dig..."

"Er, the indigenous species left," Marianne swigged her tea.

"Oh," Elaine muttered. "Marianne, what is precisely going on here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know when you're hiding something. And you sir, seem to know an awful lot more then you're letting on..."

"Elaine, he's a guest!"

"If you are going to be marrying my daughter, you'll have to be honest with us. Did you involve Marianne in a dangerous situation?"

"What?" Chas asked, looking dumbfounded.

"You specifically said the whole business of Sevarious was a hoax. The dragon sightings and all. And more then that, you were the one who unearthed that particular runestone..."

"How do you figure that?" Marianne cut in.

"Your recitation earlier of the verse. Was too perfect..."

"But I might have heard it from ye," Chas said, glancing up at Elaine.

"No. I had only just deciphered it, and said to none. How could you possibly know what I had not yet revealed, and better yet, why come to me when you could have well helped them yourself?"

"The truth is, Professor MacLaren, that I did know what that verse said. But it's no the original ballad. There is a difference..."

"And how would you know what the original was supposed to be, eh?"

"I know the language," Chas said, looking into his teacup.

"And I heard about the little break in at the hotel. Lydia said something about strange noises coming from the hotel room, and there was a police report of someone breaking and entering your room, Marianne..."

"It was two thieves..." Marianne started.

"Oh please! They found blood! What is going on, Mr. Cassidy, and the truth..."

"Someone tried to kill your daughter," Chas said. "And I found out in time. The one that broke in... was a creature specifically sent... to stop me and stop Marianne from deciphering the runestone..."

"What?" Elaine laughed. "Monsters?"

"And Dragons," Marianne said. "I met a Dragon in the village. And two wild animals that broke into my room. If it wasn't for Chas I'd be dead."

"And what pray tell does this have to do with my daughter?" asked Bertram. "Wild roll playing?"

"No. Magic. And old legends. They are all true, Professor Ellis and Professor MacLaren. There is a dark force that must be stopped. And Marianne and I have been chosen... to help stop it!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ancient legends are true. Especially concerning Elves and Dragons. I am part Fey myself," he announced. "Might as well be out wi it an all! That's how I knew the runic writing. Fer I speak it myself, the language written on that stone. Ancient Gael, passed down by word of mouth..."

"Unbelievable," Prof. Ellis drew in his breath.

"Precisely," Prof MacLaren sniffed. "I don't believe it . . . "

"It just happens to be true! The old legends, Grandma . . . all the stories of the wee folk!" Marianne blurted out. "I saw a Dragon with my own eyes! And St. George..."

"Preposterous . . . there may have been actual archaeological remains of early civilizations . . . but its all myth and legend! We have not proven the Fey ever existed. . . "

"Mother, he is!"

"A child of Oberon?" MacLaren raised an eyebrow.

"Hardly. I'd be Tuatha . . . Sidthe blooded. One half t' be precise . . . " Chas said, matter-of-factly. As if he was casually announcing the result of a race, Chas eyes seemed to take on a green hue.

A very queer look came over MacLaren's face. Her own eyes narrowed at the sight of the color change. It seemed very subtle, but noticeable enough to the perceptive Arthurian scholar.

"What exactly are you?" she whispered in a low voice.

"As I said, Mrs. Ellis . . . " Chas repeated, his eyes taking on a serious grey hue. "I am of Fey blood. Runs through ma veins. Seeing as Mary here and I have expressed our intentions. I did na think it proper that ye should not know the truth. Ye'd find out sooner or later . . . knowing how brilliant you are in your research. Nothing would escape your observation for long . . . "

"The truth . . . it's just . . . too much to take in," Marianne's mother shook her head. "I want to believe what you're telling me, but its just so . . . outrageous."

"Mother please. He is telling the truth . . . "

"And you didn't tell us, your own mother and father?" Dr. Ellis raised an eyebrow.

"With all due respect Da, there are secrets you hide from me, being a Freemason. Could you expect me to go back on a promise to keep a secret safe from those that might cause harm in its revealing?"

"You . . . have me there, Mary," he sighed deeply. "But still . . . it's the principle of the sort!"

"I love him Mum, Da," Marianne leveled her gaze to meet her parent's shocked expressions.

"Ye heard her clearly as day. I love your daughter, and I want her t' spend the rest o' her life wi me. No hiding that fact . . . " Chas gripped her hand tightly. "I only hope ye wuild give us yer blessing . . . fr ma ain parents have given the same . . . "

"Your . . . parents, and who might they be?" asked Marianne's mother.

"Elspeth Ashake Coulter," he answered. "And ma da . . . "

"This is a shock, Marianne," was all her mother could get out. "I do wish . . . you had told me sooner . . . I mean . . . only a year since you've known this man?"

"Well, this man is a fellow Freemason," Dr. Ellis coughed. "I suppose . . . that's it then. You plan to marry then?"

"Well, we er . . . have yet t' set a date," Marianne stammered out nervously, realizing that wasn't the best thing she'd said. That cold inquisitive stare from her mother dropped her body temperature precipitously. Her da however seemed a bit resigned to the idea.

"That's it then," Dr. Ellis rose to his feet. "If it's a question of timing or such . . . "

"Marianne, have you thought this through?" her mother asked. "Is this what you really want?"

"Mother, please I have . . . " Marianne felt her face flush hot.

"It is what I want, and what she does," Chas nodded. "And there is no one else I'd rather share my life with . . . "

"There's much more to a relationship then simply running away together," Mrs. Ellis shook her head. "Have you talked about career, home, family? The question of religion?"

Here she stared right at his pendant, question in her eyes.

"Mum . . . yes of course . . . " Marianne broke in.

"Marianne, I don't want you rushing into something you're not certain about . . . " her mother reached over with one hand. "Think of your life and how it may change. Are you, Mr. Cassidy prepared to take on the responsibilities of being a husband? Possibly a father? After all you do much traveling do you not? How could that fit in with Marianne's plans . . . "

"It has always been my experience to work together with her on those things," Chas answered evenly. "WE face each challenge together, even though we be individuals, together we are stronger. And together we face what life has to hurl our way . . . "

"That is well and good. But there is the question of religion. IN a relationship, two people must share similar values. And if you are what you say, how can that fit in . . . harmoniously with what my daughter believes?"

"Mom . . . " Marianne stammered out. "I'm thirty-one . . . I am capable of making an adult decision . . . can you not trust . . . "

"Marianne's spirituality is extremely important," her mother continued. "And I want it made clear that I believe . . . "

Here it comes, the judgment and talk, Marianne thought.

Chas blinked for a moment, choosing the words. Finally when he spoke, Marianne held her breath. "Everyone has their inherent goodness. In many religions, is not the message of love the most important, and the belief in a supreme Creator? A source of all being? I was raised by those called Druids. In a magical realm. Those things that surround the auld magic, are as meat and drink to me. I breathe magic, and it flows in my veins. But it is not contrary to the magic of stone and rain, fire and forge. The magic in a mother's song, or a weaver's tapestry."

"But is your magic compatible with what we believe?"

"And what is the singleness of your belief?" asked Chas. "What is it that you consider it important to hold onto in a marriage? That you hope Marianne will cleave to? I simply wish to know . . . "

Marianne's mother was taken a bit aback by this direct question. It was her turn to think. Finally she said, "The belief in inherent spirituality. That we are all on our own path under God's will. Yes perhaps you could say the belief in Christ. But the journey must be made with a united front. Two people who are companions must share the same beliefs, but the underlying philosophies must not conflict."

"I know much about Christianity," Chas cleared his throat. "The messages of love and tolerance are shared by those that raised me. Of respect for every living thing, and the dignity and sanctity of life. That magic which I breathe is no different and flows with goodness and truth as that which you have surrounding you, Mrs. Ellis. Is it traditions of your Church of England you'd have her share, or the truths beneath them that I must have?"

"I am not intolerant of mixed religious relationships, as long as the philosophy of the two people in question is united. One must not coerce the other into going against their inherent nature however . . . "

"Marianne will no be put upon a stone and sacrificed," Chas joked. "That's no what this be about . . . "

Her lips twitched positively at his joke. "I know the traditions well . . . "

"But what my wife is trying to say Charles, is that we want our daughter not to be involved in any witchcraft . . . if that is what you practice . . . "

"No. I wear this as you may wear a cross, or any other jewelry. Not in the service of those spells ye'd be familiar with Dr. Ellis. But in the culture of my people. It is part of what and who I am. My cultural heritage. And I would not deny her . . . our children that heritage any less then I would their Anglican roots . . . if I be presuming correctly that's what yer referring to . . . "

"Indeed. But a child must be brought up in either faith. One or the other. And Marianne has made it quite clear her intentions."

"I will honor them, if that is her wish," Chas nodded reverently.

"It is very important . . . "

"Indeed," Chas nodded. "But ye still seem uncomfortable with what I represent. That somehow when I wear this . . . ye think black magic. Tis not the religion always that is bad, but those that follow it that corrupt it. The Church o' England has its persecution of Catholics, and the native religions of many in Ireland and Africa. People fighting and dying for the sake of it . . . "

"A good point, Mr. Cassidy," Marianne's mother nodded. "But I simply wish that you both carefully consider this commitment you intend to make to each other . . . "

"And that is what I would hope ye would want fer yer daughter," Chas nodded. "I know ye love her, and take pride in what she's accomplished. And want the best for her. We have already faced many trials, and it is our love that has seen us through them. It's hard t' imagine what things wuild be like wi out her..."

"That may well be, but all of these things you claim! I don't know whether to believe you or call the police to lock you up in a lunatic asylum!" Elaine suddenly said.

"Mother, how could you?" Marianne suddenly burst out. "In front of company! You've known this man for years!"

"Mary . . . don't raise your voice at me . . . " Elaine answered sharply.

"If you don't trust my judgement . . . Mum, then . . . I cannot believe you don't trust me . . . "

"It's not that Annie, but we both . . . don't want you involved in something dangerous! He seems genuine enough, but your mother . . . "

"I'm sick and tired of trying to prove myself to both of you," she choked. "I try so hard to get my life together, and you cannot accept when I chose someone to love! First the job in San Francisco, and now this!"

"We don't want you throwing your life away . . . "

"I've done nothing but listen to you for thirty years!" Marianne wailed. "Whenever Cameron does something potty you just send him money! But me, if I take one wrong step its, Annie don't do this, Annie don't do that! Or your should this or that! I'm tired of it! Why is he so special that he can do what he pleases!"

"That's not true!" Cameron cut in. "I have my own responsibilities!"

"Mary, that's hardly the case and you know it!" Bertram snapped. "If you wish us to treat you like an adult, then act like one . . . "

"Just like you are . . . right now Da," she returned. "I treat you with the same respect you treat me."

"We're you're parents," Elaine's voice came. "We only want what's best . . . "

"I'm thirty-one, and I should know what's best," she snapped. Before her father could stop her, she pushed past him, and opened the door.

"Annie . . . " he called.

"I'm going to go get some air. Suddenly it's very stuffy!" Marianne retorted, grabbing the car keys for Cameron's Porsche.

"Hey, I was going to the pub tonight!"

"It can wait!" she snapped, shooting him a dark look as she stormed out of the house.

"Come back here this instant, young lady!" shouted Elaine.

"Sis . . . " Cameron made a weak attempt to stop her, as she pushed past him.

"Annie, please don't run off . . . " Bertram shouted as he rushed out the door. Chas and Cameron rushed to see her roaring off down the main street.

Marianne slammed her foot in the accelerator, not caring how fast she was going.

Elaine heard the shouts mingling with the car engine, and struggled up. Chas moved to help her, but she gave him a sharp stare as she shifted out into the main room. "Marianne . . . come back here young lady!" Bertram shouted.

"What . . . " Chas asked, moving out.

"She just bloody drove off! The nerve!" Bertram snapped.

"What?" Elaine cried. "You must be joking . . . "

"In my car!" Cameron wailed.

"Oh never mind your dratted car!" Bertram snapped back at his son.

They stared through the window, seeing the Land Rover had roared off. Elaine whirled on Chas, her brown eyes blazing, "See what you've put her up to!"

"She chooses to do what she chooses," he said.

"Fat lot of help you are!" Cameron snapped. "Sitting there like a bump on a log when you could have stopped her from going off half cocked . . . "

"But I'm going after her now . . . " Chas struggled into his leather jacket.

"How should I trust you, setting her against us like that?" Elaine cried, her arms quaking in her braces.

"Dear, do not take on so!" Bertram gripped her arm.

"My car, if she totals it, I'm going to kill her!" Cameron wrung his hands.

"Be quiet all of ye!" Chas raised his voice over theirs. "That's quite enau!"

Everyone glared at him, more shocked at the volume of his voice then in anger. It was the tone of authority in his voice that few dared question.

"Nau as I was saying before, I'm going after her, and I'll bring her right back, I promise!" he said, grabbing his helmet. "I'm sorry ye had t' see us like this . . . "

"Bring her back safe and sound, Mr. Cassidy," Bertram said, grabbing Elaine as she quivered in anger.

"I promise I'll no fail ye," he said, rushing out the door to his motorcycle.

"Tell her I want that car before nightfall!" Cameron shouted.

"Oh wrap up!" Bertram snapped, boxing Cameron's ears.

"I really don't see what was going on! Why leave home in such a state?" Lydia said over her cell phone. Cameron's sporty Porsche had all the latest gadgets, including a hands free digital phone.

"Do you really have to ask?" Marianne wiped away her tears. "They don't bloody believe me!"

"But you left Chas there, alone . . . "

"I just couldn't stand it a minute more," Marianne explained. "I'm so tired of them treating me like I cannot make my own decisions!"

"But to leave in anger . . . " Lydia said.

"Just tell me where you are," Marianne said. Already she quivered much like her mother must be, in anger and shock. What did she expect? Hi mum, here's my boyfriend, and oh, by the way he's half fairy! We're going to get married . . .

Bloody hell, she muttered to herself as angry tears dripped onto her hands. I've done it again! Ruined everything with my Scottish temper!

"A strip mine?" Marianne asked, pulling into the driveway Lydia indicated. She let out the clutch, pulling in.

"That was closest to the location given on the map . . . " said Lydia. Shrugging, Marianne set out after her friends. Anything to distract her from the memory of her parents' shouts.

All around her rose the sloping heaps of slag, a whole area of desolation. Someone had torn the side of a hill out, revealing the stratified layers of soil upon soil. Here and there mists rose off strange crystalline pools. Underfoot the stones crackled and slipped, and Marianne had difficulty trying to keep her step.

"Lydia, can you still here me? Where precisely are you?" Marianne asked.

"Over by the old blockhouse . . . used for blasting. I see a cave, near the mists. Arthur here says that his sword Excalibur just went mad . . . "

"Excalibur?" Marianne questioned, losing her footing for a moment. She gripped the phone with a shriek.

"We're going in. Look for the cave in the main side . . . by the hill in the far end . . . "

"Cave in the main side, far end," Marianne repeated, stumbling with her shoes striking up small gravel. One false step, and she would plummet into the gravel pools. Somehow that didn't' seem too appealing.

Over her cell phone Lydia's voice rose excitedly in pitch, "Arthur's halfway in. Oh . . . he says he sees strange markings. Much like those of the . . . oh wait . . . yes . . . I'm picking one up now . . . "

There came a crackling. "Lydia, you're breaking up . . . "

"I've got to sign off for now . . . going in . . . "

"Be careful," Marianne spoke, before her cell phone went dead. An eerie silence filled the air. There was no sound, except that of the road nearby. Already the sun was sinking lower and lower, toward evening. Why did Lydia insist on dragging this into night?

Come to think of it, didn't Arthur Morewood-Smythe come here with her? He had said something about leaving King Arthur behind.

Excalibur. King Arthur was with Lydia now! But she said nothing about Morewood Smythe.

What had happened to him? Did it really matter?

Her head flashed to the side as she heard footsteps, of someone shifting through gravel. Who could that be? She stopped, dead. The footsteps stopped. Perhaps some strange echo.

As she approached the far wall of the quarry, she felt a strange buzzing on her upper arm. Odd. Slipping up her sleeve, she felt the gold of her Celtic bracelet Chas had given her the other day. A jolt shot through her like a bolt of electricity. Strange, she didn't think she was creating that much static electricity.

Chas made it though. Who knows what magic it was enchanted with . . .

Again she heard footsteps, the scrape of something through gravel. Not moving her head, she glanced from side to side, seeing no one.

"Chas . . . if that's you, you're being an idiot!" Marianne gritted. "Come out, and stop playing about!"

No answer. She had crossed the main path, and saw a small series of mine openings in the distance. Like an overturned anthill, she saw the exposed caverns in the hillside. There came a feeling of intense heat around her arm, and she stopped cold.

Whirling about, she brought her arm smack into the figure moving behind her. Arthur Morewood Smythe gurgled as her hand shot around his neck.

"Hurgh!" he grunted as the flat of her hand struck him on the forehead.

"Oh god! I'm so sorry!" she gasped, catching him as he fell.

"Gasp... Dr. Ellis . . . sorry to disturb you..." he said.

"What on Earth are you doing sneaking up on a person like that! I almost bloody knocked you flat!"

"You shouldn't be here . . . " he said, taking her arm. "It's not safe."

"I beg your pardon, but Lydia called me. Why aren't you with her?"

"I tried to tell her, stop her. But she refused. She's gone off with that Arthur fellow . . . "

"What is going on here," Marianne asked him.

"We've got to go in, and get them out of here before it's too late," Arthur Morewood Smythe said.

"If you're so keen on that, then why don't you go in yourself and get them? Why sneak up on me?"

"You're the only one that fool Pendragon will listen too," said Morewood Smythe. "He's got her under his control! This mine . . . isn't abandoned . . . "

"What? She told me she got clearance . . . none of this makes bloody sense!"

"Please Dr. Ellis, we must get them before it's too late . . . "

"Let go of my arm, you're hurting me!" Marianne growled. He whirled her to face him, eyes unusually bright.

Marianne's bracelet burned her arm like white-hot fire. She gasped at the intensity. A chill crept over her like a tidal wave. "Wait . . . you're not Smythe, are you?" she ripped her arm out of his grasp.

"What are you talking about of course I am . . . "

"No . . . you're acting very strange . . . " she backed away, hands held before her. "I don't know who or what the hell you are, but if you don't tell me what's going on . . . "

"And how do you propose to threaten me?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

Suddenly he exploded into a hairy creature before her eyes, fangs dripping with saliva as he hunched over. "If you won't cooperate, you will join them in their folly!" came a voice like a rasping shriek.

"Oh damn," Marianne got out before the claws descended upon her. It was identical to those two creatures which attacked her and Chas at the hotel!

"Don worry Mary I'm coming," he thought to himself. Fear surged up in his belly, washing over his whole body. The next few minutes were the most excruciating as he finally reached the entrance to the quarry. He practically ripped his helmet off as he leapt from his cycle.

Only for a moment he stopped, sniffing the air. An odd acrid whiff of something made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. The same stench as from the hotel!

Long legs carried him across the entrance to the quarry, in the direction of the adrenaline surge. Marianne had come this way, he could sense her fear, her anxiety moment by moment.

*Marianne, he called in his mind. Hoping she'd hear him and be reassured.

His toe caught something and he almost tripped. A small black object, the green light flashing on it urgently. He scooped up the small portable digital phone, beeping anxiously like something alive.

"Hello?" he answered it.

"Chas . . . where what? Where's Marianne?"

"That's precisely what I want t' know!" he called back.

"I had gone into the cavern, and was telling her where to go . . . " Lydia's voice came.

Suddenly Chas pulled the phone from his ear, wincing in pain as Lydia's scream pierced his eardrums.

"Lydia!" he shouted. Dead silence.

A loud low rumbling shot across the quarry, much like thunder. All the ley lines strained and flashed momentarily with a mighty power. He rushed toward the source, reaching under his jacket. Twin blades crackled to life in his nimble hands.

"So much for that bright idea," she laughed, glancing at the twisted hairy shape. It was quite dead, she realized when prodding it with her armored boot.

It was then that she heard the low rumble, crackling as thunder on the ground. It wasn't continuous, but a rhythmic sort of pounding. Coming in the direction of the cave. She was almost there, then stopped dead in her tracks.

For Arthur Pendragon raced out, Lydia at his back. Excalibur exploded with a blaze of light before him. What was behind him made her blood run cold. A huge shadow fell across Marianne, eclipsing the sun.

"Good Lord!" she gasped. Almost thirty feet high a head and shoulders thrust vertically, massive shoulders and gnashing fangs. The only word that came to mind was giant. Ogre . . .

Dressed in skins, larger then life. Like something out of a fairytale book, climbing out of the cave. It had to bend over doubt to have gotten out of there! No matter how it did, because now it reached for Lydia Duane.

Arthur threw her to one side, blocking her body with his own. Excalibur struck the Giant's hand, a stinging cut biting deep.

While the Giant roared in pain, Arthur grabbed Lydia in his arms, backing away. He whirled, swinging Excalibur in a glistening arc. A fire flash exploded right into the Ogre's face, giving him precious time. Still, the giant advanced.

Screaming, Marianne raced forwards, "Hey, ugly! Over here!"

It turned it head, rapidly. Marianne raced forwards, swinging with blazing energy from Wavedancer. How could she hope to fight something that big? Her arcs of light tossed from Wavedancer flew, only to be battered aside by a huge club. He brushed aside her next volley with an annoyed grunt. It only seemed to make him more angry. How on Earth could she fight something that size, who seemed resistant to light?

Just then she remembered when she was fighting the Dragon. That lance... it might well give her the reach. If she hit it in the foot.

She concentrated, pulling all her strength. The ogre had turned to the fallen King Arthur, who was slowly managing to shake off his blow. Lydia climbed off him, getting well out of his way. Arthur again placed himself between her and the giant, Excalibur raised before him. The club swung dangerously close.

Suddenly Wavedancer vanished to her hip. She placed both hands together, and a long lance appeared in place. The same lance that George had handed her. On her wrist appeared his shield. "Give me strength," she prayed quickly. Taking a deep breath, she charged. The giant had its back to her fortunately. She'd only have one chance.

From afar, Chas Cassidy saw the horrible scene. He rushed forth, swords held before him. Still, he was too far away. He saw Marianne rushing in, a ten-foot lance in her hand, shield upraised.

"Gladrel Olorin Eluthain!" Chas shouted, loosing a fireball towards the ogre. The meteor arched upwards, crashing right into the creature's face. Angrily he clawed at the flames singing his hair.

His foot slammed into King Arthur, who rolled over and over till he lay quite still. Marianne charged, thrusting her lance deep into the one leg still connected to the ground. A loud roar came as she pulled it free, and stabbed deep again.

She failed to notice its huge spiked club arching down. It slammed against her shield, knocking her backwards. Chas hurled another fire blast, knowing if he made a false move, Marianne could be crushed if the Giant could fall. He hurled yet another fireball, barely grazing the ogre's shoulder. Using the distraction, he reached Arthur and Lydia.

Marianne hurled her lance, the thing skewering the Giant's midriff. Another angry swing slammed bodily into her, sending her flying. Chas's eyes widened in horror as the ogre scooped up her battered form, all set to crush it to death in his large fist.

"Mary!" he screamed, a guttural cry ringing in their ears. His eyes blazed orange red with their own fire. Lydia and Arthur drew in their breaths sharply. For Chas seemed to undergo a very odd transformation.

His long neck rippled with energy, electricity shooting over his form. The body lengthened, merged and stretched into sapphire light, expanding to gargantuan proportions. Within its hand the giant clasped the prostrate form of Marianne Ellis.

Two monstrosities faced off. For in the place of Chas Cassidy stood a forty five-foot sapphire Drake, his fangs bared at the ready. Huge wings unfolded on either side of the scales. Ultramarine with beryl glints rippled over powerful muscle and sinew. A low roar sounded in the Dragon's throat, crescendoing to a loud trumpeting challenge. Fire slammed into the Giant's body, searing over his form. A cry of fear erupted from its throat as it dropped Marianne.

The Dragon moved like lightening, its wing blocking Marianne's fall, pulling her to safety as its claw gently closed round her.

Arthur Pendragon rubbed his head. Lydia Duane shoved her shoulder under his armpit and lifted with a grunt. He let her push him to his feet, his sword arm useless at his side. She grabbed Excalibur and used it as a counterbalance to push up.

Chas struck first, his tail sweeping the hill giant off its feet with the force of a whiplash. Downwards arched the massive spiked club onto the Dragon's sapphire flank. Fire exploded in lashing tongues toward the barrel shaped chest. Still dazed, Arthur shook his head, and let Lydia pull him to the shade of large boulders in the abandoned quarry.

Claws ripped and tore at the Giant's tough hide. Snorts and roars sounded with sickening cracks. The Dragon's long neck snaked around, the fangs plunging into the Giant's neck. There came a snap, punctuated by shuddering muscles as the Giant's nervous systems overloaded. Blue lightening cascaded all up and down, sizzling flesh and the odor of charred hair stinging Lydia and Arthur's nostrils with its acrid stench.

Over its fallen prey the Dragon raised its head with an exultant angry roar. Long wings spanned, fluttering. Then an anguished cry choked in its throat when the blue eyes looked at her form in its claw. She sagged in his grasp, broken like a cheap doll. Her armor fizzled out of existence long ago. Gently, with the greatest care the Dragon slipped its muzzle near the fallen warrior, sniffing her. A long forked tongue licked over her form, at her cheek.

"Good Lord," Lydia managed to get out at the scene. Arthur slowly came to his senses, blinking rapidly at the fallen giant's bulk which blocked his view of Marianne. All he could make out was a massive neck dipping, then rising with an anguished piercing tenor shriek. Such a sound wrenched their ears with its discord.

By the time they limped over to her the Dragon's muzzle brushed tenderly over Marianne's body. The strangest sound, a cross between a clarinet and a cello resonated from the Sapphire's throat. Soothing vibrations reached them, almost healing it its caress.

"Mary . . . " Lydia mouthed. That strange angle her leg bent at seemed far unnatural.

"Milady . . . "

The Dragon turned its head, snarling low in its throat. Arthur raised a hand toward it, "Hold now . . . we are allies . . . "

A shimmering crept along the Dragon's form. All at once it collapsed like a deflated parade balloon into the shape of the graceful photojournalist. Chas leaned over Marianne, voice choked in his throat as he lowered her to the ground in his arms.

"Mary please, stay wi me!"

"Aha," came a sharp cry from the side. Arthur Pendragon and Lydia Duane turned to see the shape of Morgan Le Fay materializing. "You stupid fools! You should have run in fear when you had the chance!"

"Sister, are you responsible? God help me . . . " Pendragon growled.

"You should do well to ask that brother dear," she cooed. "Yes, I summoned the shadow beings, and the Ogre. But it was only to stop you from entering the cave!"

"Why . . . " Lydia stammered out.

"You would have surely met a worse fate opening it, and could have well sealed all our dooms! We have mutual enemies in this. But even now your fool quest has endangered one to whom you have placed your trust . . . "

"But the maiden?"

"Will surely die if you do not surrender this quest. For it is not a place you must enter . . . "

"Curse you . . . " Chas gritted under his breath. "If she dies so help me . . . "

"I am not without compassion, Taliesin," she said, glancing at him with a bit of sorrow. "I have respect for she who is your chosen mate. She will not die. For even now I have the power to alter probability . . . "

"Save your magic," Lydia stammered out.

"Not that," Chas whispered. "Her body could not take it. I will not place myself in your debt, nor her!"

"Regardless you are a fool to refuse me. But as you have done so," Morgan muttered a sharp sound in her throat. "And so be her death on your hands . . . "

"Why . . . " Arthur stammered out. "Who has lead us here? If you have to kill us . . . I shall fight you I swear."

"Nay. This is a gateway to another realm. One which for the sake of Britain must remain closed . . . "

"Is this not the imprisoned place of Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

"Nay, brother," she said. "It is a false marker that you followed. One that which pointed to the accesses of the Drau, the Dark ones. Those whose kingdom must be shut at all costs. No, you would do well not to open it..."

"So you would take their power?" Arthur spat. "How do we know you don't intend to open the way if we leave?"

"The stench of their magic is upon ye," Chas growled. "If only I had known . . . "

"No. They would not let me rule as I wish," said she calmly. "Power such as this must stay as it is. My methods do not have the seed of this, only the shade. You would have unwittingly destroyed us all with this release . . . "

"And where is Merlin?"

"Not far, but farther still. For there are several meanings to that riddle . . . and you will be wise to listen well. Even now the Unseelie rival my power. Yet soon not even they would be able to stop me...."

Chas blue eyes grew cold at the sound of the word, Arthur's eyes narrowed in anger.

"But out of sake for what we once had, Taliesin I warn you beware of them. For you have made many enemies among them, as I have."

"Leave me," he choked. She vanished, a look of regret on that face perhaps?

"The Unseelie," Arthur choked. "Dark elves did this?"

Morgan turned to Chas. "Farewell my erstwhile love. May you be happy with the woman you have chosen . . . for she is not long for this world. I could have saved her . . . "

"Never will she owe you her life," Chas gritted, at the fading figure of Morgan.

It was then that Lydia's cell phone crackled into life. The ethereal mists vanished, taking the giant with it. They simply stood in the gravelly pits of the abandoned strip mine. "Hello . . . get me General three two," Lydia stammered out. "Emergency!"

"Mary!" cried the tenor voice of her lover. "Mary! Stay wi me!"

The sights and sounds of breaking bones and the ground fast roaring up under her suddenly stopped. Overhead rose the anguished wail of Olorin, that dragon of which she had once known. Spectral scales glistened in the dying sunlight. Yet Olorin yet not, for the next moment she could hear the anguished cries of Chas leaning over her. Could it be he was connected with the dragon in an intimate way she had not before realized?

Her next thoughts vanished into the black mist that seeped over her consciousness. Darkness fell, the light fast vanishing. Marianne felt nothing and everything passing away. Then through the dark, shapes took form. Waste and void formed a small flickering radiance that sputtered into a spark.

It was terrifying yet free of pain to her. How nice it would be to go asleep for eternity in the dark, for it was not a void but a nighttime rich with embracing presence. Now that the darkness had a form, she could begin to hear voices, a flood of many pouring in around in a cacophony she struggled to drown out. Then a pure clear tone split through, drawing her closer and closer. Only her will seemed to exist as she hurled herself to the single note drowning out all others the more she moved.

There was a pinprick of light ahead, and she screamed in fear and sudden joy at the odd blurring passageway. A sensation of moving so fast yet painfully slow, for the light ahead beckoned, a universe away. She could not approach fast enough, till she reached its threshold. When it seemed she was ten feet away she found her feet again, and a shrouded huddle of figures, faceless holding their hands out to her.

It was terrifying . . . yet free of pain. Her heart pounded, and seemed to fill with light. As if in response to her fear, the figure before her suddenly became recognizable. "Gramma?" she asked.

Hands grasped hers, pulling her forwards. A lined face merged into youth. At her elbow stood another person, with hair that was as dark as hers, a mirror image.

"Mary MacLaren," she mouthed.

Two women, smiling at her with nothing but love and sadness in their eyes. Past them an infinity of light and sound. She glanced down, seeing the strange clothing of silver light swathing her body.

Marianne heard another song, sad and sonorous from behind. She turned to glance into the darkness to see another light faintly traversing. A faint sapphire light tinged with warm fire that slowly expanded to the figure of a fellow in Bardic robes. The Taliesin.

"I am sorry," she said to the two, turning. "I... there . . . is so much yet to do . . . but I hurt so badly . . . "

"It is your choice," said her Gramma. "You have born so much. Come home . . . stay with those who love you . . . "

"I love you, Mary me girl," came the plea of the Taliesin, his dark hair blowing softly over his face, the Aegean eyes moist with tears. "Please . . . stay with me . . . "

"Rhynth..." she found herself stammering, as his hand gripped hers tightly. "I'm so sorry . . . it's all so sudden . . . "

"Branwynn... please . . . come back to me," he whispered faintly. Already he became spectral, as a ghost. Her hand passed through his, the emerald sleeve blowing in silent wind.

"Gran . . . what do I do?" she asked, turning to her. Another figure had replaced her, a robed man, slightly bearded.

"Are you . . . " she asked.

"Not He, but a servant," said the figure softly, touching her shoulder.

"Andrew," she cleared her throat. "Do I have . . . to go back? I... love him . . . "

"Go . . . there is so much yet to be done . . . and he loves you," said Andrew, slowly receding as he planted a kiss upon her forehead.

"Branwynn . . . stay with me!" he cried. "Don't let me face the centuries alone . . . "

"What happened?" Bertram asked frantically as he rushed down the emergency room corridor. Before him he pushed a frantic Elaine in her wheelchair, Cameron rushing to keep up with both of them.

"An automobile accident, hit and run," said Lydia Duane. "We didn't see it coming . . . "

"Chas somehow knew she was in danger, and reached her before we did. When we came out of the quarry, they were both there . . . he was beside her . . . worrying . . . "

"Chas . . . he went to help her . . . and when we found him . . . " Cameron stammered. "She was by the side of the road, and he knew exactly where she was!"

Bertram burst into the er, even though the nurses and orderlies tried to hold him back. Marianne lay there in a mess of bandages, tubes thrust into her mouth, and her arm. At the side of her bed was a bundle of leather and denim. Upon second glance Bertram realized it was the reporter, hunched over his daughter, clutching her hand.

"Mary . . . I know ye can hear me love," came the gentle soft voice. "Ye may not be able t' respond. But I'm here . . . "

Elaine shot her husband a warning glance not to interfere. They stopped at the doorway, listening to the low plea unfolding, "I . . . could na' heal ye wi my powers. Fer the injuries were too great . . . but I am no going t' leave yer side . . . I swear upon that. And ye know. When ye get out of here . . . I promise I'll take ya t' Ireland. T' see one of the villages I called home. You always wanted t' know more about me . . . "

Bertram silently pushed Elaine to the side. Cameron clutched the bouquet of flowers in his hand absently, seeming to forget they were there. None made a sound to disturb Chas' soft talking to their daughter. She lay so still under a sheet pulled up to her chest. Like a martyr on some damnable Westminster tomb she had her hands folded over her breast, chin and bandaged head pointed straight up. Her right leg was encased in a cast, newly minted in a traction pull. Chas' olive hand lightly stroked over her bandaged brow as he spoke, "Mary . . . we've only jest met, curse it! Don't ye leave me nau. There's so much . . . I want t' share with you. I've waited centuries for ye, don't let me face them alone . . . "

His face crumpled as he buried his head on her chest. The long black ponytail quivered with low sobs. Elaine pushed herself up to his side, her hand slowly quaking toward his leather jacketed shoulder.

"Mr. Cassidy . . . " she started. Then cleared her throat, "Chas . . . "

Swollen blue eyes looked at them, a shade of the deepest blue grey. "Professor MacLaren . . . Ellis . . . Cameron . . . I'm sorry I didn't see ya there . . . "

"No lad, stay there," Bertram said, helping Chas to sit in a chair Cameron pulled up. "We know all about what happened. You quite possibly saved our daughter's life . . . "

"If only I had gotten there sooner," Chas buried his head in his hands.

"You got there when it counted," Cameron said. "Look sport, the doctors said that if she had lay there ten more minutes she would have bled to death. I don't know how you did it but you kept her going . . . "

"Your healing powers?" Elaine asked. The look in those brown eyes was not one of sarcasm, but genuine belief.

"I'm no where near powerful enough t' save her," Chas rubbed his face. "Only t' keep body and soul together . . . till they came. And fer all my arts tis up to her nau . . . "

Lydia kept distant from the Ellis clan. Somehow she felt she was intruding. The strangest images flowed just beyond her mind's eye reach. Had it been an illusion? The Morgan le fay, the giant? Chas had called it a psychic battle, sent to distract them. He'd wakened with a cry, screaming Mary's name as his eyes blazed yellow.

"There is one other thing we can do," Mrs. Ellis said softly.

"And what be that?" Chas asked, looking for all the world as if he'd let them all down. "I came too late . . . if only . . . if only . . . "

"Shh," she whispered, taking his hand in hers. "What I mean is, we all can pray. Pray for her. You're here... and I think she knows it."

"Pray," scoffed Cameron. "I pray those bastard what copped her will . . . "

"Cam, enough," Bertram barked. Cameron lapsed into sullen silence.

Elaine bowed her head, and began to pray a simple prayer. Chas had heard it many a time before over the centuries, when he'd had the occasion to set foot inside a church. From a book of common prayer no less, he'd heard in Latin, Common English, and other variations it had not lost its potency. He felt the influx of Elaine's spirit moving into him, buying up his own strength. Cameron reluctantly inclined his own head with his father, all lips moving silently. It was not the habit of Anglicans to mutter in prayer. Just silent contemplation that seemed detached from all other.

Chas slipped his hands into Elaine's marshaling his strength. It would take all of them to see Mary through . . .

Elaine's voice droned on, as she read from that small book:

FATHER of mercies, and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need: We fly unto thee for succor in behalf of this thy servant, here lying under thy hand in great weakness of body. Look graciously upon her, 0 Lord; and the more the outward man decayeth, strengthen him, we beseech thee, so much the more continually with thy grace and Holy Spirit in the inner man. Give her unfeigned repentance for all the errors of her life past, and steadfast faith in thy Son Jesus; that her sins may be done away by thy mercy, and her pardon sealed in heaven, before she go hence, and be no more seen. We know, 0 Lord, that there is no word impossible with thee; and that, if thou wilt, thou canst even yet raise her up, and grant him a longer continuance amongst us: Yet, forasmuch as in all appearance the time of her dissolution draweth near, so fit and prepare her, we beseech thee, against the hour of death, that after her departure hence in peace, and in thy favour, her soul may be received into thine everlasting kingdom, through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, thine only Son, our Lord and Savior. Amen.

(Source 1662 Book of Common Prayer)

Together they huddled about in silent supplication, counting the hours that were loathe to pass.

"Dare I pluck a flower . . . " Chas sang softly in a rich tenor voice by her bedside. For nearly a week he had sat there, only stopping to take food or water when offered. A black leather case lay at the side of his chair, open to a gleaming varnished violin.

Lydia Duane slowly entered, carrying a vase of flowers. At her elbow strode the regal figure of Arthur Pendragon, his armor concealed beneath the long duster coat Anne had given him. He'd removed the golden crown, his long brown hair swept back into a loose ponytail.

"You have been here ere long," Arthur said softly, noticing the rough whiskers bedecking Chas' normally clean shaven face.

At first Chas didn't look up to acknowledge their presence. The blue eyes were shot with grey, fixed into another dimension almost, of song and trance. He looked drawn, peaked. How long had he gone without food or water?

"Sorry," he turned his head toward them. "I... er . . . was . . . "

Arthur raised his hand, and smiled slightly. "You have stayed by her side, let no more be said . . . "

Lydia noticed the futon on the floor next to Mary's bed. A quilt draped over Marianne, a lovely patchwork thing. Pinned to the pillow next to her cheek was a medallion of St. George. Just who had left that there, Lydia wondered. Small pieces of home and familiarity decked the hospital room here and there, transforming sterility to an ambience of comfort.

"I'm so sorry," Lydia blurted out before she could help herself. "If only I had not found that stone . . . "

"No, twas my fault alone," Arthur bowed his head. "I enlisted the aid of you, and thus endangered the Lady . . . "

"Please, stop this," Chas interrupted with a low quiet voice. "Blame is something we all share. No a guid thing t' be taking onto one person. Tis enau..."

"What... if..." Lydia stammered out.

"I will worry when and if that happens," Chas muttered dully. "Cannot see past then..."

"You have my prayers," Arthur said, laying a hand upon his arm. "And my gratitude for helping me to see the error of rushing into things. I pray there be an easier way... for if the Dark ones..."

"Have had it in fer me for a long time," Chas looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Faith, trust them t' leave a thousand of those stones scattered across the countryside... there be no telling how many false trails yer quest lie upon..."

"I must renew the search," Arthur shook his head. "But I cannot bear to trouble you further. Even if it means losing your knowledge and experience, you and your love have suffered enough..."

"Wait... Arthur..." Lydia took in a deep breath.

"Yes milady..."

"You say you need someone familiar with the customs of this time... on your... quest. And someone who knows something of the old languages... well..."

"What say you, lady?" he rose an eyebrow.

"If you would not mind... there is another who could help you on your quest. Let Chas... and Marianne find their own way."

"Who else would be a better helpmate to me?" he asked.

"Myself... for one," Lydia blurted out. "I... am an archaeologist. Granted I don't know as much about Arthurian legends and Celtic lore as Chas... but I am rather well versed in the myths and legends... and I do like to travel..."

"What of yer life and career?" Chas looked up.

"This... is a far greater cause," she looked down at her feet. "I've seen so many things in the past year. And Arthur, you must not be alone on your quest. If you'll have me... I'd love... to join your quest.."

"I... would be honored," Arthur inclined his head. "But to put you into further danger..."

"Well, you do have Griff," she gave a nervous giggle.

"And your sister, and your colleagues?" Arthur asked.

"I... er... well, could check in from time to time. Please..."

"Ye have the answer before ye," Chas looked to Arthur Pendragon. "I suggest ye take what friends ye find, where ye find. Fer yer Quest is something that fate has put ye on. And I take my own fate. If it be without or with Marianne.... I'll ne'er leave her side..."

"Let us... talk more on this, milady," Arthur said, offering his arm. "Milord, may I take my leave, and offer my sincerest hopes for you and your lady, that she returns to your side? If it be God's will."

Chas gripped his hand, and that of Lydia Duane. Both slipped out of the room quietly, leaving the Bard in silent pleas.

"WE shall not be far away," Arthur bowed, respectfully as they passed through the door.

Forever separated but for a separate time

Till pride and pain have overpassed

Humility and humble revelation.

Marianne felt herself returning to the consciousness of existence. What had been blackness suddenly became a blurring of light and sound. She could follow the trail of the Taliesin, a shimmering sapphire light back to familiarity. Just how long she had been on this road she could not tell. Had it been centuries, or only a few seconds? She was at a loss to mark time in this mix of dark and light. Save the sounds that kept creeping past her still body:

Two separate souls hoped to reunite

Across the misty shores of Avalon's banks

That song. She had not heard it before. Yet she remembered something, a snatch of something on Lydia's desk that day she'd first come to Raveloe. How long ago was that? Time had no meaning. How good it would be to lay there in the dark, sleeping timeless dreams like King Arthur...

King Arthur. Dragons. Morgana. The dark ones. All thoughts passed through with rapid fire behind her sightless eyes. Each though was carried on the sonorous cry of a violin strain, hauntingly familiar and full of desire. Within it carried the song's words:

Two lovers whose realities intertwined

One ancient, one fleeting, yet forever fused

As mist to tree, and root to soil

Never parted, yet uprooted for a time

Now lie close in verdant passion's bloom

Forever on the brink of life and death...

The brink of life and death. Was that where I am now, she wondered. I want to come back... god I want to come back. Just show me the way to move my arms, and my leg that stings with such pain!

Pain, in her heart and soul, washed away. Pain that seemed to have a home in her battered body. If the Dragon had not appeared she would have been surely crushed. Or was she?

Marianne opened her eyes. Gone was the light, the dark, only a dull grey. She could hear a faint tone pulsing, like a rhythm. A cadence of a heartbeat. Her heartbeat. Dull heavy limbs that refused to shake off sleep, she could hardly move her hand. When she at last shifted she saw white wrappings.

"Oh god, I'm a mummy," she stammered out. Frantic eyes glanced down, seeing the tip of a white blur where he foot would be, strung to an odd rope that snaked to an overhanging pole, with a triangle dangling a foot above her face. Strange tubes snaking into her arm, and wires here and there. Too contemporary.

"Did you see that! She blinked," came a voice, smooth and much like her own.

"No, it's a trick of the light..." came another. Cameron.

"Keep playing, I think she heard you," came her father's voice.

Bloom my love, Bloom and spread your sweet pollen into the Mists...

Lest you never know their gentle timeless kiss...

One by one the lights went on in her mind. Why was it so hard to move, to speak? She had to say something, to communicate! But her tongue seemed made of lead! She moved her lips, only to hear her own breath rushing out.

"D... dare... I..." she stammered out.

"She said something!" came a voice.

"No... stop playing!" came a frenzy of voices all at once.

"Shh!" hissed someone.

At last, someone had heard her! Marianne couldn't think of the words, so many she wanted to say at once. All that came out was a tune that somehow cycled around and around in her brain, and her numb tongue could easily wrap around it. In a low tone, which sounded very loud in her heavy, gauze ridden head, she sang, "Dare I pluck a flower... tear up it's root...From verdant soil, taking it beyond the realities to my timeless realm? It is enough to know it bloomed for a day in my grasp..."

"M' song," came a gasp. "She's.... singing ma song..."

"Mary, can you hear me!"

"Doctor! She's awake!" came an ecstatic scream that must be Cameron. The cries echoed into the distance.

"Marianne... are you..."

It became easier to open her eyes now, and she looked at each and every blur, a slight smile on her lips. They were all there, her father, brother, mother, and lover. Clustered around. Chas must be the blur on the far right, with the brown blur under his chin. His fiddle! He'd brought it in and was playing it all along?

Cameron was limping in, ecstatic look on his face. "She's alive!" he screamed, till his father shushed him.

"Oh sweetheart, you came back," Elaine gripped her other hand. "Marianne... my baby you came back to us..."

"Musha, ma Musha," Chas gripped her other hand, still clutching his fiddle in the other. "Ye returned t' me! T us!"

"You fought bravely, my dear," her father nodded. "Bravely indeed..."

How could they have known? The fight with the ogre, who had all but smashed her body to broken bits on the moor side? Or the Dragon that had...

Later the Doctor came in, and all was a blur of questions and body readings. A time of healing, and pain pills. Laying in a bed in her home, carted home in a wheelchair till her leg mended...

"Please, consider this your second home, Arthur," Anne said, as he gathered his possessions.

"Thanks milady, and my sincerest gratitude. But I must return."

"Are you quite sure that you want to go with him, sis?" Anne asked Lydia.

"I had been hoping to take a sabbatical," Lydia said.

"But what will I tell Arthur?" she asked.

"Just that. I am taking a sabbatical. I hope you can continue the work here... together..."

"I'm sure, we can keep the dig going," Anne said with a slight wink. "But Arthur will be ever so disappointed."

"He'll get over it, with the right persuasion," Lydia smiled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "After all, my niece and nephew think he's the tops!"

"Just... be sure to come back home every few months for dinner... and a bit of tea. My door's always open..."

Anne and Lydia embraced, a silent understanding passing between them. Lydia passed her a note carefully tucked into an envelope. "Make sure Arthur gets this, will you..."

"All right," Anne breathed deeply. "I do hope for your sake you find what you're looking for. Good luck..."

"You're doing what?" Marianne's mother spoke into the phone. Marianne lay on the couch in the sitting room, bending her leg under Chas' firm hand.

"Jest a bit more... mind ye..." he urged, his face softening at the pain in her face.

"It hurts... like hell..." she grunted. Fortunately it had been a clean break, in the femur, just above the knee joint. It meant three weeks in a bloody cast, where she couldn't move her leg and felt like Long John Silver on those crutches! Much like her own mother.

"I know Musha, but be glad ye had it off in half the time! Guid thing ye were in such good shape or it'd be on for eight," Chas urged. "Nau, put yer foot against ma chest... and lean in..."

She sighed, doing as she was told, bracing her slippered foot into his shoulder. Chas leaned in, giving the resistance of his body as he supported beneath her leg with his hands. She gritted, straining against him with all her strength.

"Physical therapy," she snorted. "Feels... like bloody physical torture!"

"You're going on Sabbatical, in the middle of a dig?" Elaine repeated. Marianne and Chas glanced over in her direction, Mary's foot still braced on Chas' chest. She didn't look happy at all.

Bertram Ellis walked in, carrying a tray in his hands. "How goes the exercise, Mary?" he asked.

"She's behaving herself well enau," Chas nodded. "If I can just get her t' pay attention..."

"Don't start with me," Marianne gritted, continuing the stretching exercise. Elaine held up her hand for silence, and everyone complied. Still she appeared to be listening, the frown on her face deepening with each passing moment.

Finally she clapped down the receiver, shaking her head. "Idiot," she muttered. "After all I've done for her..."

"What's wrong, luv?" her husband asked, going to her side with a cup of tea.

"Lydia Duane, possibly one of my best students, suddenly announcing she was going on sabbatical! When she was close to one of the archaeological finds of the century! She says she's taking off to Scotland to study ruins there! If the Red paint people existed!"

"Mum, what's going on?" Marianne asked.

"I cannot believe it," Elaine shook her head, picking up her cup of tea and gulping down a few angry sips.

"Why is that so bad?" Chas asked. "T' ask a stupid question..."

"No young man it's not a stupid question, and there is no such thing," Elaine snapped. Chas raised an eyebrow about being called a 'young man'. "What I am angry about is that one of my former students, who was quiet well on her way to becoming a leading authority on 4th century Celtic archaeology, is chucking it all in on a whim... to run off with some man she met named Arthur..."

"Arthur Morewood Smythe?" Bertram hoped.

"No," she shook her head. "Mr. Morewood Smythe called me last week and told me. So did Anne. They're continuing the dig themselves. Already they've found rather intriguing evidence that it wasn't Merlin's cave. But a proto Celt settlement... with Roman influence..."

"Is it enough for a museum there?" Marianne asked.

"Yes," Elaine shook her head. "But that's not the point! Lydia believed in that site! It wasn't like her to go running off without a bye or leave..."

"Sometimes you have to go out on a limb, don't you Da?" Marianne said. "What if she makes some important find... that could make her career even more stellar? You're always telling me to take risks..."

"There's risks, and foolhardiness," Elaine sighed again.

"Yer' goin' t miss her aren't ye," Chas guessed. "She's like a daughter to ye, and yer afraid she'll fall?"

"I suppose, young man," she shook her head. "I'm just... disappointed..."

"Can ye no give her a chance t' fall fer herself?" Chas asked. "She has t' make her ain career, and that's what ye wanted, right?"

"He has a point, dear," Bertram said, sitting on the arm of his wife's office chair.

"Oh very well," Elaine waved her hand. "But if she falls... I don't know if her career can recover a blow such as this..."

"Mum, please, I know Lydia. She has a reason for it. It may not make sense to us, but who are we to question her dreams?" Marianne suddenly offered.

Elaine didn't' have an answer to this save, "Did she tell either of you this?"

"She seemed quite taken with Arthur," said Marianne. "People do foolish things... for love..."

That remark raised both her parent's eyebrows. "And didn't you and Da, take a risk when you ran away to Egypt together, when Gran wanted you to stay behind and finish your doctorate?" Mary continued. "And boom, you're married here, thirty years later..."

"She's got a point," Chas put in, not unlike Bertram.

Bertram took his wife's hand, and patted it. "I've not regretted it, have you, dear?"

"All right, all right," Elaine rolled her eyes. "You win. This is out of my hands. Just don't say I didn't warn her..."

Marianne looked to Chas, her father, then her mother. It seemed like such a domestic tranquil eye in the storm. To think she was deathly afraid of what they'd think of her new lover. But here he was, sitting in their room and bantering like one of the family! If only some other things were so easy.

"Oh, forgot to tell you dear. Postcard from Cam. He's met with Zahi Hawass, and sends his regards..." Bertram handed Elaine a small picture card.

"Hmm," Elaine muttered, taking it and giving it a glance. "I hope he behaves himself..."

The card made it around to Marianne and Chas. The postcard bore the Sphinx and pyramids on it. Zahi Hawass sends his regards, and the dig goes well. She couldn't help but choke when she thought of another Sphinx, which seemed so distant in the past as this.

"Hope he gets back in one piece," Chas joked, glancing at the postcard with her. "Why did ye not go, sir?"

Bertram realized Chas was referring to him. "Oh well, it's like you said. Got to give the children a chance to make their own career. But I do hope he remembers to send me the latest findings when I join him in September at Thebes. Besides, I can hardly run out when my little girl's on the mend, can't I, Annie?"

"Da," she groaned at the nickname. She could hardly stand it as a child. But she was hardly a child. Only perhaps a child in the face of the life she'd been thrust into this past year. To the ends of time and back, and now to the brink of death and back. Where would her journeys next take her, she wondered. Should prove an interesting trip no doubt. As long as she did not have to walk the path alone, it seemed to matter little where she did next arrive.

They continued their tea in quiet conversation. Talking of this and that as the evening wore on by itself in the Ellis household. Such moments of peace were rare, and she had paid a great price this time to savor them. It was a long painful road ahead indeed, but as she looked into Chas' eyes, and the laughing face of her father and mother, she felt it was somehow worth it. For what was joy without sorrow, or health without sickness?

Hope you enjoyed this second installment of Dragon Stories. There are more in the works as we speak. I want to extend a warm thank you to Javagoddess for her help in developing the ideas for this story, and her knowlege of Celtic myths. I certainly couldn't have done it without you!