Remembering Yesterday
By Felicity and KNS

Disclaimer: We don’t own the Buffy characters (though our Riley is not the Riley on the show) and we don’t really own the Arthur characters either, though I don’t think anyone actually does…but they’re certainly not ours! Anyway, Nimue is part of the original Arthurian legend, but we’ve put our own spin on her, and on all the characters, and the legend itself for that matter…

Author’s Notes: Felicity: First of all our Riley is NOT the Riley in the show! At all! We started this story before the fourth season started, so he’s based on rumors we’d heard. We then worked the Initiative in later on. Kate is based entirely on speculation too.

KNS: Other Author's Notes: Hi eveyone, it's KNS. I just wanted to let you guys know that this is the first time I've ever co-written a story with anyone, and if there are any errors, they are entirely my fault. Felicity has been wonderful to write with; it's been a real honor to create a story with her. Smiles :-) :-)

Timeline: 5th season Buffy…we started before 4th season, so while some things are there (the Intiative, Riley) they’re different in our world…the Initiative isn’t evil, no evil professors, none of the other things that happened in the 4th season, and Oz never left!

Spoilers: A little 4th season Buffy and 1st season Angel.

Prologue

You would not believe me if I told you how long I have waited. How long I have searched. Even I do not believe it at times. I never dreamed of my life, never even imagined it when I was young, and human. Well, I am still human, I have not been Changed, I have not grown beyond what I was born as. But I am not mortal either, nor have I lived, not for a very long time. I have only waited.

And now I have found them.

I did not believe, at first, that it was truly them, or my luck in finding them all together. I have searched for so long, I have seen so many come and go, so many wars, so much death, and so much life as well. I have watched a thousand lovers whisper softly in the darkness, I have heard the laughs of thousands of children and the cries of thousands more. But now I have found them.

I have found him, after so long. I pray that he will forgive me. I pray that he will know why I did it. Why I had to. Only with him imprisoned could they fall, as they must. It was the saddest story the world ever knew, but there were no choices in it. I did what I had to. And now it doesn’t matter. Now I have found them again.

I make no sense, I know. After living alone for half again a thousand years, you would not either. I suppose I have not lived alone exactly but…But I have lived without my soul, and that is the same thing. I ramble now, and I have not the time for that. Because though I have found them, all is not well here. I have not waited all this time to find the poor queen with the wrong man. She could not have happiness in my time, I will not let her knight take it away from her now, and from himself. I long to find my soul, to tell him how much I love him, how I have yearned for him all these years. But first, I must put things right.

I know of only one way to do so. I only hope it will not make him hate me again.

Thank the Lady, I have found them.

Part One

Buffy’s fist rammed into the side of the vampire’s head and she staked it before it could recover from the shock. She stepped back from the cloud of dust and glanced around the park. "Will?" she asked, frowning at the absence of her best friend. "Willow?" Nothing. Buffy’s brows drew together as she peeked around the side of a tree.

"That’s so sad!" a voice exclaimed. Buffy sighed and shook her head, tucking her stake away as she followed Willow’s voice to find her sitting on a park bench, absorbed in her book.

"What’s so sad?" Buffy asked curiously, climbing easily over the bench and perching on the back, so she could look down on Willow’s book.

"Nimue had to imprison Merlin even though she loved him, becau—" Willow stopped suddenly, glancing up and smiling. Buffy was watching her with arched eyebrows.

"You should be more careful young lady," the Slayer scolded. "I could be a vicious creature of the night." Willow dimpled.

"Or Gibson," she replied mischieviously. Buffy laughed, thinking of the fellow college sophomore who had been obsessed with Willow since the beginning of their freshman year. Anytime Willow said a word to him, he thought she felt the same way, and used it to "prove" to anyone who would listen that Willow was really in love with him. Oz was, well, not surprisingly okay with the whole thing—it wasn’t surprising because he was okay with pretty much everything. Willow, however, got rather annoyed.

"Who’s Nimuey, anyway?" Buffy inquired, stealing the book and examining it.

"Nimue," Willow corrected. "And she was Merlin’s lover."

"Merlin?" Buffy asked, then grinned. "Oh yeah, the guy with beard! And that owl! And he went to Bermuda!" Willow sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Uh…yeah. Kind of. Just keep telling yourself that," she laughed.

"So…anyway, I thought you were patrolling with me. What’s with the dissapearing act?" Buffy asked, hopping off the bench and handing the book back to Willow.

"Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I love this book! So, are we done?" Willow asked, standing up too.

"Well, I’m done. You can stay here and read if you want to…" Buffy teased. Willow wrinkled her nose.

"Very funny."

"Well, no, it wasn’t, but if you think so I won’t argue…"

"Just come on!" Willow exclaimed, laughing and grabbing Buffy’s jacket to pull her along. Buffy exclaimed and jerked the jacket away, inspecting it carfully to make sure Willow hadn’t injured it.

A few blocks from their apartment, Buffy stopped. "Can you make it home okay?" she asked. Willow rolled her eyes.

"No, I’m going to fall and I just won’t be able to get up," she replied, "Now go. Go! I release you." Buffy grinned and said good night before walking off in the opposite direction.

The night was cold and she shivered slightly, pulling her jacket shut. She glanced up as she walked, at the star strewn sky. A tiny sigh escaped her as she thought of other starry skies, other night walks. With him.

When was the last time she talked to Angel? Was it three weeks? Four? Or more than that? They used to talk every couple weeks, just to check in, see what was going on, swap demon stories. It had been painful sometimes, to talk to him, and know that no matter what he said, he didn’t want to be with her. Sometimes she could hardly speak to him at all. Just a few words and she would feel her heart die all over again. Other times she liked it, and could talk to him for hours, like there was nothing between them. Like they were friends.

And then she met Riley.

Buffy neared enough to see the light in his window. She smiled as he walked past and took a moment to pause and smile and look forward to seeing him. Then she kept walking, looking down again, at the sidewalk in front of her. She still missed Angel, and she still loved him. Which was why she couldn’t talk to him very much. Every time she did it reminded her of what it felt like to be with Angel. To love Angel. And every time it was harder to go back to Riley, to smile, to be happy with the warm glow she felt when she was with him.

Buffy crossed the street quickly and ran up the stairs of Riley’s apartment building. She pushed the button beside his name: Riley Finn. She’d laughed when she first heard it. What an odd name. Like Buffy Summers was normal.

"Buffy?" his voice asked after a second.

"Were you expecting someone else?" she asked mischieviously. She heard his easy laugh and could almost see his grin before the buzzer rang and she pushed the door open. They always laughed about the security measures. In a place like Sunnydale, who needed a buzzer system?

It kept vampires out though, for which Buffy was supremely glad. If something happened to Riley…

He met her at the door of his apartment, smiling softly, his golden hair rumpled. She smiled the moment she saw him and ran up the rest of the stairs, kissing him softly before pushing him gently back into his apartment. He drew her after him and she kicked the door closed behind her,

"Hi there," she whispered, twining her arms behind his head. Riley’s blue eyes glowed as he circled her waist with his arms.

"Hey." Buffy rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes, letting herself relax into the comfort of humanity, into the genuine warmth of being held by a man that loved her, that really truly loved her.

Maybe he wasn’t Angel. Maybe he didn’t make her heart race or the lights dim. But he was a good guy, smart and kind, and he made her smile, and he was the kind of person that one could make a life with. But most of all, he wanted to be with her.

For Buffy, that had to be enough.

"I miss you, you’re always so busy," Buffy murmured, pulling away a little. Riley smiled apologetically.

"Just a few more months," he promised.

"I know, but seniors are supposed to have time! You just had to take two majors, didn’t you?"

"Well…yes?" Buffy laughed and kissed him. She realized the radio was on, and a slow song came on. They began to dance, slowly, smiling, and Buffy let the world slip away.

Outside, beneath the starry sky, a figure cloaked in night watched, sorrow reflected in her eyes.

Someone else stood beneath the stars that night, gazing up at the distant moon that looked so clear, so serene, and so lonely. But perhaps that was only his heart projecting what he himself felt.

He stood at the edge of the graveyard against an old oak tree. Overhead somewhere an owl cried out its endless question, and the cool night wind carried it away. He closed his eyes for a moment and her image appeared in the familiar darkness. The wind brought to him a sweet scent that reminded him of her hair, and a soft sound in the grass had him believing for a moment that she stood beside him, waiting for him to open his eyes and smile at her.

"Angel?" a woman's voice asked.

The image shattered, gone like the owl's cries with the wind of the night. The voice was sweet, pure, caring - and not a thing like the woman's he'd been thinking of.

"Here," he answered, pushing away from the tree.

Kate circled around the oak, smiled when she saw him standing there. "I wondered where you went. Trying to give me the slip?"

The breeze teased her brown hair away from her face; the bright moon set her blue eyes to shining. There was laughter and peace in her smile. Angel forced himself to smile at her, but he turned his eyes away. She reminded him of the one he loved enough that it caused him pain, even if she was like Buffy only as the echo is like the shout it mirrors.

Kate took his smile for an answer and stretched out her hand, reaching for his.

Angel hesitated, then took her hand. Kate's hand wasn't like Buffy's. Kate's hand was smooth, soft, fine boned; Buffy's had been different. Buffy's hand had been soft, yes, but tough, too, and calloused and full of strength. Like Buffy herself.

"You're brooding," Kate accused, stepping infront of him to look in his eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

He shrugged, brought the back of her hand to his lips. "You," he answered. But he lied, and even as his lips brushed her skin he was thinking of her, wondering if she was safe and happy and - every one in a while - thinking about him.

It was late when Buffy left Riley's place and headed back to her dorm. It was past the deepest part of the night and into the small hours of the morning. At some point a breeze had sprung up; Buffy pulled her jacket tighter around her and shivered, wishing she'd just stayed at Riley's. He had a couch - but knowing Riley, he probably would have given her the bed. He was the chivalrous kind - he wouldn't even have tried anything, by her guess.

Walking across the street, Buffy glanced up at the moon. It was full and bright; its brightness blotted out the surrounding stars' smaller lights, leaving it to hang solitary in the sky. Its eerie paleness filled the darkness with odd light.

On the breeze an owl's lonely question wandered through the night. It was a forlorn sound, comprised of confusion and loss and some other undefinable quality. Buffy shivered again, but not from the cold.

"Greetings, my friend."

Startled, Buffy immediately fell into a defensive stance, legs astraddle, fists balled and ready. Then she saw who stood before her, and she relaxed.

The woman was neither tall nor short but somewhere in between. Her hair was black, black as a moonless sky at midnight, and drawn back into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder almost down to her waist. Her eyes were like twin pools of icy water - clear, yet reflecting nothing but the silver light that shone down on them. She was dressed oddly in some flowing dress that was half concealed by the dark cloak thrown over her shoulders. In her left hand she held a staff that was taller that she by a good foot; its wood was smooth and shiny, as if polished by age.

"You really shouldn't sneak up on people in the middle of the night," Buffy told the woman, smiling to take the sting out of her words. The woman smiled back, a soft, sad smile, and for a moment Buffy felt a strong wave of deja vu pass over her.

"You should not be alone," the woman countered. She cocked her head to one side, gave Buffy an appraising glance. "It wasn't meant to be like this, my friend. In this life, things were to be different. Kings cannot always have a kingdom, and queens need not always be bound apart from their heart's equals."

Buffy gave the woman a weird look. "Uh, right. Whatever you say. You have a good night. Watch out for strangers." Carefully she stepped around the woman. The lady fit right in with the rest of Sunnydale's crazies. At least she wasn't hurting anything - not yet, anyway.

The woman turned to look after her. "Wait, my lady! Halt! He loves you. Do not let him do this once more."

Buffy stopped, looked back at the beautiful woman. "What are you talking about?" She paused, stepped towards the woman. "Who are you?"

An odd emotion passed over the woman's features, as if the question pained her. "I am your friend, lady. And you know of whom I speak. It broke his heart to leave you, but it is only pride that keeps him away. Soon - soon it will be too late. The pattern will be repeated, and not even I will be able to undo it." She stretched out her hand imploringly. "Please, lady, take my hand. I will take you to him. We will set things aright."

Buffy had the oddest urge to take the woman's hand. She shook her head, trying to break the words that surrounded her. There was something about this woman, something she couldn't quite understand. . .

"No," she said, stepping backwards. She realized all at once that the woman was talking about Angel. How did she know about Angel, and how things stood between them?

"Leave me alone," she told the woman, quickly backing up. After a moment she turned and ran, instinct telling her to put as much space between herself and the woman as possible.

The woman watched her go. A sigh escaped her lips and she shook her head. "This shall be more difficult than I anticipated," she muttered. "You never were one to be easily enchanted, Gwen."

He watched her bright hair vanish out of view and smiled without even knowing it, full of the joy she brought with her wherever she went. Full of her smile, her laugh, her bright eyes. Buoyed by her vivacity, her teasing and her sweet happy glow.

He’d never felt anywhere else the happiness that she brought.

Riley’s grin broadened. Pretty deep for a senior in college. His mother (well, foster mother; he was adopted) would be proud. But then, Riley had never been the goofy type.

He turned reluctantly from the window, pulling his shirt off as he did. It wasn’t until the shirt was over his head that he realized there was a woman standing just inside the door, watching him with strange silvery blue eyes. He yelped in surprise and pulled the shirt back on as quickly as he could. A corner of her serene mouth turned up.

"Uh…can I help you?" Riley asked, wondering how she had gotten in the door without him hearing. Her smile was warm and friendly, and yet he thought somehow it was sad as well.

"I wish you could, but I’m afraid it must be the other way around my lord," she said softly, a lilting accent in her voice.

"My lord? I think you may have the wrong apartment," Riley said carefully, frowning and wondering if maybe this was one of those odd people Buffy was constantly warning him about. For a generally happy, lively person she could be rather anxious sometimes.

"No, no, I’m sure ‘tis the right one. You have not changed at all, my lord, only grown young again." Her voice seemed to fade off and then catch at the end. "So very young," she breathed, so quietly he could barely hear her.

"Do you live in the building?" Riley asked uneasily. How else had she gotten up? Or maybe someone had rung her in and she came to his apartment by accident. The odd, sad look vanished from the woman’s eyes and she took a deep breath, facing Riley with purpose clear on her face. He frowned, wondering suddenly what she meant by calling him young. She couldn’t be more than thirty!

"I have things and things to tell you, and not much time," she said, her voice sounding far older than her face looked to be. "My lord, you are in danger, the world is in danger, while you continue to see her. You must let her go, or there will be no hope for any of us."

"Let who g—Buffy?" Riley asked confused, the only woman he could be said to posess in any way springing to mind. Now that anyone could really possess Buffy. She was like a force of nature, beautiful and alive—but he was getting distracted.

"Aye," the woman replied softly, sadness in her eyes. "For all of your sakes, and more, for the world, you must let her go my lord. I know you love her in thy soul, but you must let her go."

This was going too far. Riley frowned. He considered himself a nice person—certainly he was willing to listen to everyone’s say, but when they started telling him to "let go" of his long-time girlfriend, he lost a bit of his famous patience. "I’m sorry Ma’am, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not letting anyone go unless they wish it. Now, can I take you home?"

Her otherwordly eyes narrowed as she watched him. "You wouldn’t know what she wished if it was—" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. "Well, I have done my best. I thank ye for your courtesy, but I need no help on my way. The night is long and I have many tasks yet undone. I bid ye good night, and leave you with a warning."

"A warning?" Riley asked, wondering how he could get her out without being mean. She was making him nervous, but he hated being rude when there wasn’t really a reason. Though she had let herself in, which wasn’t exactly polite.

"Anyone can build a kingdom. Only the true king can have the strength to keep it," she told him softly. He frowned, and watched as she opened the door and walked out of his apartment, her cloak swirling about her. The door closed, and despite himself Riley sprang forward, opening the door to call out to her and ask what she meant.

The hall was empty.

The first rays of dawn were almost at hand when Angel slipped back into his apartment. Quickly he drew the blinds, then took a moment to check the answering machine and set aside his keys. It was only as he was removing his jacket that he saw her.

A woman sat on his black couch staring at him. He jumped, startled, then glared at her. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman laughed. The musical sound filled the room, somehow made the apartment feel warm and peaceful. "One day, my lord, you must find a new way to greet me," she said, greatly amused.

Angel's anger was replaced by confusion. Did he know this woman? She obviously knew him. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. . .

"What are you doing here?" he countered, pretending like he remembered her.

Her left eyebrow arched, showing him that she was not fooled. "I have come to keep you from the agony you so clearly deem to be your lot in every life."

He didn't know what to make of that. Slowly he circled around the couch to stand before her. "Let's cut the crap. Who are you and what do you want?"

She sighed, pressed her full lips together in a disapproving frown. "You never used to be so graceless. Truly told, I have come to spare you three, to keep the pledge I made so long ago. You are doing it once more, you idiot! In this life, you were meant to be with her. To guard her, flesh and spirit."

Angel's dark eyes locked with the woman's cool blue ones. "Buffy."

"Aye," the woman nodded. "You know the truth. Go, return to her, ere it is too late."

"I can't." He turned away from the woman. "She need someone else -"

"Spare me your arguments," the woman interrupted. "I have heard them before. They change naught. Listen to my council. If you love her, go."

Without looking at her he shook his head. "It's better this way."

A hiss of anger came from the woman. "The three of you! You always make things so much more difficult than they must be. On your heads, then. I will see my pledge filled."

At the determination in the woman's words Angel turned, but she was gone, and he stood alone in the apartment.

Part Two

Buffy stared at the phone, feeling oddly like a girl after a first date, waiting to see if he would call. Of course, she knew Angel wouldn’t call. Which was why she had to call him.

She’d been steeling herself since the night before. On the Hellmouth, you learned not to ignore craxy women giving you odd warnings. And it had involved Angel, so she figured she shoulod let him know. Now if only she could make herself pick up the phone.

"We’re g—what are you doing?" Willow inquired, stopping as she walked into the room. Buffy blushed.

"Nothing!" she exclaimed, seizing the phone just to prove she could. Willow eyed her and Buffy gave her a sweet smile. "You were saying?"

"Or right, we’re going to the Bronze to meet Xand. You in?"

"Nah. I’ll see ya later though," Buffy said. Willow gave her an odd look, but Oz came in, so Willow waved and left. Buffy watched them go, wondering why she wasn’t with them. After all, they were meeting Xander so it wasn’t a date. She was just busy. And she didn’t feel like it.

Since when didn’t she feel like going to the Bronze?

Buffy tore her thoughts away from her social life and turned her attention back to the phone. She’d been making excuses all day—he would be sleeping, he would be busy—but now it was completely dark.

She hit the "on" button and started to dial.

It wasn’t like she’d never called before. It was just…it had been so long, and she had a feeling this would be one of the bad times. One of the times where every word he said reminded her of how much Riley wasn’t him.

It was busy.

Buffy hung up the phone, stuck between showed and relieved. She glanced at her watch and decided she should see if Riley wanted to do something. Maybe they could go join the gang at the Bronze. No use sitting around moping anyway. And she could patrol a little on the way.

Moments later she was out the door, the busy signal still beeping in her mind.

Angel hung up.

It was busy.

Who was she talking to? he wondered. Riley? God, not Riley. Anyone but Riley.

They’d never discussed their respective significant others, but he’d heard plenty through Cordelia. Riley was human, and perfect. Everything he had wanted for Buffy . But by any gods that existed the thought of it hurt.

He’d been trying to make himself call since that morning. She deserved to know about that woman.

Angel stared at the phone morosely and then threw himself down at the couch, wondering if the darkness he felt was the demon or only himself.

Smile, Buffy told herself as she walked down the street. Smile, you're going Bronzing.

But she didn't feel like smiling. Some part of her didn't feel right at all. There was an odd stinging behind her eyes, and an awful ache in the center of her chest. And she was tired, deeply tired, as if she had been crying for a long time.

With a sigh she stopped. What was she doing? She didn't want to go to the Bronze. She didn't want to go anywhere, except maybe Riley's. At that idea she perked up a little. Yeah, she'd go see Riley, he'd make her feel better.

She glanced around, taking stock of her surroundings. She was in the park. It was deserted, of course; the full moon shone down eerily onto the various swings and slides, and a cool breeze half turned the merry-go-round, making it screech and groan. This was the Hansel and Gretel Demon park - not her favorite place.

Even though Riley never minded when she dropped in, Buffy thought that she should probably call before showing up on his doorstep. She moved towards the phone booth at the edge of the park, digging coins out of her pocket as she walked. She stepped into the booth, didn't bother to close the door, inserted the coins and dialed his number.

Ring, ring. She tapped her fingers on the glass while she waited. Beside the phone someone had scribbled a red heart pierced by a gold arrow. Buffy traced it with a fingertip, suddenly remembering a time she had drawn hearts and arrows on the back of all her notebooks. She hadn't done that for a long time. Ring, ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey you, it's me," Buffy said, turning her eyes away from the heart. "Feel up to some company?"

"You didn't even have to ask," Riley answered, a smile in his voice. "This is Sandra, isn't it?"

"Ha ha, very funny," Buffy returned. "I'll be over in a minute. I'm at the park -"

Suddenly the phone went dead.

Buffy muttered a curse, pounded up and down on the lever for a moment, then rolled her eyes and hung up the phone. Cheap thing.

She sighed and stepped out of the booth. Ugh, it was cold tonight. That little breeze that kept whizzing by was cool, cooler than it should have been on such a night. She crossed her arms, hugging herself, but found herself shivering nonetheless when an owl's lonely question lost itself to the wind.

"Riley," she said firmly, taking a step away from the booth. "Go to Riley's house, you'll be warm. Don't be an idiot and just stand here. . ."

Head down, shoulders hunched, she walked forward and nearly bumped smack into the woman before her.

Buffy jumped, startled. "Jeez, lady, you've got to stop doing that," she said, for it was the same strange woman that she had encountered the night before.

"My apologies," the woman said gravely, although there was a faint sparkle in her eyes. "I would not have thought you so easy to come upon unawares."

"You learn something new everyday," Buffy grumbled, easing past her. The woman made her feel - weird. Something about those piercing eyes - or maybe it was her calm, serene manner - or maybe it was the way she was toying with the long stemmed red rose in her hands. Whatever it was, it definitely made her uneasy.

But the woman was not ready to let her go. "Wait," she called after Buffy, and the Slayer reluctantly turned to face her.

Slowly the woman walked towards her until there was only a small space between them. Odd how her boots made no sound as she walked.

"I have a thing to tell you," the woman said. There was an earnestness and a softness in her voice that suddenly made her seem young, younger by far than the tired wisdom in her eyes claimed that she was. It was the odd clash of age and youth that tugged at Buffy's curiosity and kept her near the woman.

"I'm listening."

The woman glanced down at the rose in her hands. "Long ago I knew three people that were very dear to my heart - a woman and two men.
These three. . . they had every reason to be happy, and yet every reason to sorrow. Another time, another place - things would have been far different." The woman's eyes shifted up to meet Buffy's; they were clouded with memories. "I swore a vow that I would never allow them to fall victim to this sorrow again. I have searched - years, more years that you could ever imagine. Alone I have wondered from one corner of this world to another. And now, I can fulfill my vow, and at last be free."

Buffy listened sympathetically to the woman, but she really couldn't understand what her point was. "What has this got to do with me? Do you need help? I'll help you if I can," she added because her words sounded uncaring even to her own ears.

But the woman smiled and held out the rose to her. "You would never do what I ask of you," she said. "‘Twould be beyond what your mind would decree, even if your heart commanded it."

"I still don't understand," Buffy said, reaching out to take the flower. "If you could be a little more specific - ow." She looked down at her hand. A small trickle of blood ran down her thumb from where one of the rose's thorns had pricked it.

"You will understand soon," the woman said calmly.

Buffy was seized by a wave of dizziness. She felt hot, then suddenly cold, colder than she'd felt in a long time. She looked at the strange woman with knowledge in her eyes. "You tricked me," she accused, her tongue thick in her mouth.

The woman had the gall to offer a smile and shrug. "Alas, ‘tis an old trick, but it works each time."

As Buffy's eyes slid shut, her body crumpled and slipped towards the ground, the woman caught her by the shoulders and gently laid her on the earth, half sprawled on her side, her head resting just to the side of a large rock. In a half muted voice the woman muttered the words of an ancient spell in a long forgotten tongue.

"Angel," Buffy half whispered as the woman stood up from her.

The woman sighed. "Aye, he is in this as well. Sleep, lady, sleep. I will let no harm come to you."

"What the hell are you doing?"

The angry cry sent the woman spinning to face the accuser as he came running through the park, flushed and out of breath.

Riley came to a stop barely a few feet away from the woman. He looked down at Buffy and then up at the strange woman, and when his gaze met hers she saw the barely controlled rage in his eyes.

"I have done her no ill," she said in her own defense. "She will be well in the end." And without another word she turned, her cloak swirling around her ankles, and was gone.

Riley sent a snarl after her and then dropped to his knees beside Buffy, who was neither moving nor making a sound.

"Where is she?" Giles demanded the moment he saw Riley.

"In there," he replied emptily, waving a hand toward the bustling emergency room. Giles’ mouth firmed into a line of concern, Willow bit her lip and tightened her grip on Oz’s hand.

"What happened?" Xander demanded. Riley looked up and met Giles’ eyes, wondering again what precisely this man was to Buffy. He knew Giles had been the librarian at their old school, and that Buffy thought of him almost as a father, but he didn’t know why. Not that he minded—he had always liked Giles, and he was glad to have him here. Glad to have them all. He turned to look at Xander as he answered his question.

"I don’t know. She called me and said she was coming over, and that she was at the park, but then the phone went dead. I figured it had accidentally been disconnected and that I would walk there to meet her. When I got to the park—last night, after Buffy went home, this strange woman showed up in my apartment babbling something about leaving Buffy. Well, she was there when I got to the park, and Buffy was on the ground, unconscious. She said that Buffy would be all right, and then she…dissapeared." Riley frowned. "Do any of you know who she was?"

Giles’ face had gone hard. He shook his head. "Not yet, but we will find her. Have the doctors said how Buffy is doing?"

"Not yet," Riley replied. "There weren’t any injuries or anything…not that I could see. She was just so still…" He just stopped a shudder and Xander put a hand on his shoulder, looking more serious than the college senior had ever seen him.

"What did the woman look like?" Willow asked, her eyes wide with worry. Riley frowned, trying to remember. He knew what she looked like, but somehow, it was beyond description. The words slipped away before he could find them. He didn’t have to, because a woman in scrubs and a doctor’s coat came out and walked over to them.

"Mr. Finn?" she asked. Riley nodded. "Are these all Buffy’s family?"

"Friends," Willow replied. "Is she all right?" The doctor gave them all a reassuring smile before answering.

"The good news is she’s alive and as far as we can tell, not in any way hurt. There’s no sign of any injuries. There doesn’t seem to be any internal injuries either, though we’re still doing tests. Her heartbeat was fainter and slower than normal, but steady and definitely there."

"So what’s wrong with her?" Xander asked, obviously hoping the answer was "nothing". The doctor pursed her lips.

"She’s in a coma. What put her there, we can’t really say, but we’ve been trying to revive her, and nothing is working. She’s not dead, or even in bad health. She just won’t wake up. We’re going to move her up to the Intensive Care Units and hope that this is just temporary."

"So that’s all you can do? Hope?" Xander asked, his voice rising. Riley put a hand on his arm.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Can we see her?" The doctor nodded.

"We have to wait until we get the test results back to move her, so why don’t you come see her now. In the ICU, you can come any time during visitor hours." Riley nodded and followed her, without checking to see what the others were doing. Which was holding a hurried conference.

"First of all, we must find who this mysterious woman is," Giles said.

"And what’s wrong with Buffy," Willow put in.

"Maybe she’s just tired," Xander joked. They all gave him looks and he shut up.

"As soon as we can without making Riley suspicious, we must go and research," Giles said firmly. They nodded, understanding. Riley knew about what Buffy was, and he’d worked with them…but he wasn’t one of them, and they didn’t want him to get the Initiative involved before they knew what was going on.

"Okay, I’m good for the whole night, I don’t have any classes until two tomorrow," Willow replied.

"Me too," Oz put in.

"Well, I have no classes ever, so I’m in," Xander whispered. Giles nodded and they followed Riley.

The room was pretty small, but the other bed was empty, so they fit in all right. Riley waited for them to go in, wondering vaguely what they were doing. Mostly though, he was frightened, and angry at that woman. She had done something to Buffy, he knew she had.

She lay in the bed totally still, only the incessant beeping of the heart monitor showing that she was alive at all.

But the worst thing, by far, was the helplessness on her face.

"Look, just because I said you have the fashion sense of a monkey doesn't mean I want to take you clothes shopping. Jeez, get a life," Cordelia threw over her shoulder as she went to answer the phone.

"Well excuse me for readin' some *meanin'* into your words at all," Doyle returned. "And another thing -"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Do you mind? I'm answering the phone!" She automatically smiled as she lifted the receiver and said, "Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless."

Doyle watched as her answer-the-phone smile disappeared, was replaced by a look of annoyance much like the one she had been wearing only a minute before. "Oh, hi, Willow. You're not calling because the world's ending, are you?" Doyle started to make a smart remark, then halted when Cordelia's eyes widened and her face paled. "What? Oh God. Yeah, he's here. Hang on, I'll get him."

"What's wrong?" Doyle asked as the secretary cum actress woodenly laid down the receiver. She ignored him, moving instead towards the closed door of Angel's office. "What's goin' on?"

Cordelia swung open the door to the office without even her usual call of "Angel -". Standing behind her, Doyle watched as both Angel's and - what was her name? oh yeah - Kate's face turned to look at her. The vampire and detective stood beside each other, a map of some kind laid on the desk before them.

"Not now, Cordelia," Angel said, returning his gaze to the map.

"Angel, this is important," Cordelia began, her voice filled with some emotion Doyle had never heard from her before - genuine concern, perhaps?

After one dismissive look at Cordelia, Kate too had returned her attention to the map. Now she laid a finger on it, traced a path along some black line. "He could be traveling along this route. It matches all -"

"Angel, this is really important," Cordelia interrupted, an edge in her voice.

"Just five minutes and I'll be with you," Angel said, flashing her a ‘that's final' look. "He'd have to do an awful lot of fast walking for that," he told Kate as he crossed his arms.

Kate shook her head, sending her hair over a shoulder. "Not if he caught the bus or a cab from here to here -"

"Angel, Willow's on the phone and she wants to talk to you about Buffy," Cordelia announced over the detective's words.

That got Angel's attention. He glanced at Cordelia blankly for a moment, as if every coherent thought had abruptly fled his mind. Suddenly he snatched at the phone, pulled it to his ear and spoke all in one motion.

"Willow, what's happened to Buffy?"

In a hospital over two hours away, Willow turned her face away from Giles pacing up and down the hallway, Riley demanding information from a duty nurse, and Oz and Xander sitting side by side staring at the wall. She put a finger to her ear, blocking out all the noises that filled the waiting area, and spoke softly into the receiver.

"Angel, I don't know how to say this," she began, taking a deep breath. "There's been an accident. . ."

Part Three

The first thing Buffy noticed was that her bed was awfully uncomfortable. There were all these things sticking into her back—it felt like laying on a pile of straw! Then she thought very clearly that she didn’t want to wake up, but that everyone was waiting and she really ought to. She could hear them, above her, talking in worried voices. Riley, Giles…was that Willow?

She opened her eyes slowly and waited for them to adjust to the light. The first face she saw was Riley, and she smiled involuntarily at the love and relief in his blue eyes.

"Hi," she whispered and his smile broadened. One of his fingers brushed her face—it felt much more calloused than she remembered. She turned her head to see who else was there, and all of a sudden, sleepiness vanished, as her head snapped back to Riley.

Or whoever he was.

Because Riley—and he was Riley, she was certain—was old, with a beard, and gray lacing his light hair.

Buffy tried to sit up, but hands stopped her and she glanced over at Giles, who also looked older, and had the oddest robes on…She frowned and tried to push them off and sit up again, but somehow it didn’t work. She sank back into the pillows and frowned harder.

"What’s going on?" she demanded, looking from Giles to Riley and back, trying to make sense of what was happening. What was the last thing she remembered? That strange woman in the park, and a rose and…and nothing…

"You fell Gwen," the-Riley-lookalike said softly, smoothing her hair. "Don’t you remember? We were hunting with Lance and Morgaine, and your horse startled. Merlin says you hit your head." He gestured to the-Giles-lookalike with the last name and Buffy’s frown deepened yet again as she turned to look at the other man. Merlin? As in the wizard? She looked back to the first man and wondered why he was calling her Gwen.

"Let me talk to her," Willow’s voice said, and Buffy looked over, noticing her for the first time. She stood a ways away from the bed, but she walked over quickly and sat on the edge, giving Buffy a small smile. Buffy blinked, even more shocked this time. It was definitely Willow, but her hair was so dark a red that it almost looked black, and her eyes were different—much older, and wiser and Willow but yet not Willow at all. "People often lose memories with head injuries. Do you know who I am?" she asked Buffy.

And the strange thing was, she did. She saw Willow, but suddenly, she also knew who this woman was.

"Morgaine," she said, and glanced at the Riley-lookalike. He smiled at her and nodded.

"And who am I?" he asked. She wanted to say Riley, but it wasn’t. She thought for a moment.

"A-Arthur?" He smiled.

"See, she knows who she is."

Except that was the problem. Because while she could think of who they were, she was a little lost on who she was supposed to be. Besides herself.

<Think girl,> she told herself. <Arthur. Merlin. Morgaine. Who’s missing? Isn’t Willow reading a book about this?>

"Guinevere!" she exclaimed under her breath, remembering. Then she frowned. How was that possible? Guinevere, not to mention King Arthur and Merlin and all the rest were legends. There was nothing real about them. And she certainly was not inhabiting someone else’s body.

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. Why else would they all look like her friends?

"I’m all right," she said to Riley, sitting up a little. "I was just a little fuzzy at first, but I feel fine now."

The problem was, it didn’t feel like a dream at all. It all seemed very real. She could feel the straw of the bed beneath her, and the sword callouses on Riley’s—Arthur’s—hands. She reached out and brushed her hand across the velvet of the hangings over the bed. Definitely real.

"See, Lance, I told you she’d be all right," Arthur called over his shoulder. Buffy frowned. She really should have paid more attention when Willow was trying to explain her book. Or less. It was probably Willow’s book that had prompted this dream in the first place.

Lance? Lancelot.

Angel.

Buffy froze as he walked into view, his eyes dark with worry and love and—and something else. Pain. Guilt. "You were, as always right," he said softly and Buffy was startled to realize he was speaking to Arthur, because his eyes were only for her, as hers were for him.

"There is something…" Merlin murmured, and Buffy tore her attention away from Angel—Lancelot—and to her Watcher—that is, the wizard. Morgaine was frowning.

"What?" Arthur demanded, worry in his voice. Buffy met Merlin’s dark eyes, the familiar gaze of an almost-father, and shivered at the unexpected depths in them. She looked away, and Merlin shook his head.

"Nothing. The queen seems to be fine."

"Tell the servants to tell me at once does she show any signs of dizziness of fatigue," Morgaine instructed Arthur.

"I shall." He turned his attention to Buffy and smiled warmly. She took a deep breath, wondering what this was, if it wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t reality. And then she glanced at Angel—no, not Angel—and at the dark eyes that she had missed so much, that were still the same here, wherever here was, and for a moment, she didn’t care.

She laid in the uncomfortable bed for hours. Every time she tried to get up, some young girl wearing way too many clothes would glide to her side, protesting that she must not rise, she had taken a terrible fall.

"God, it's not like I've never fallen before," Buffy grumbled after the third time this had happened.

The serving woman - nothing more than a girl, really, with her brown hair and wide brown eyes - looked at Buffy with genuine shock on her face. "But, m'lady, m'lord the king expressly forbid that you should stir about today."

That made Buffy pause. If this wasn't a dream - or even if it was - how much did she really know about this Arthur fellow? So he looked like Riley, and her heart said he was Riley, and when he touched her, he felt like Riley - so what? She scoured her memory, searching for every scrap of information that she could remember about him; it turned out to be next to nothing. Dammit, why couldn't she have paid more attention to Willow (or had she already paid the story too much attention?)

Arthur was king of the round table - she could remember that much. And he had a son by his half sister - eew. And he ruled Camelot.

And he'd burned his beloved wife at the stake. Too bad she couldn't quite recall why. Something about sex.

Whatever the reason, it was enough to keep her in bed - or what passed for a bed, anyway. She laid back and thought wildly about how she was going to get back to her own time, or how she could wake herself up. Her biggest fear was that she'd be stuck in this whatever-it-was long enough that she'd have to visit the bathroom, which she knew was absolutely nothing like a bathroom in her own time. Ugh.

She must have dozed, because she closed her eyes for a moment and when she reopened them darkness was falling and Riley/Arthur was at her side.

It was startling to see him, so much like the one she knew and yet so unlike him. Looking down at her he smiled, but his eyes were tired, so tired, and they lacked a little of the fire that she usually saw in her Riley's.

"I didn't think I'd find you still here," he said, his voice teasing.

Buffy smiled, gestured at the few young women making themselves scarce in a corner of the chamber. "You gave an order. They had a fit every time I made a move."

That made him laugh. "Aye, but when was the last time you heeded any order I gave? You're the queen, accountable to no one - certainly not the servants, noble or no," he added, his voice changing a little as if reminding her of these things.

Buffy nodded quickly, wondering if he saw that she wasn't really Guinevere - wasn't really his wife.

"I do despise leaving you after this fall you've had," Riley/Arthur sighed. "You know if it could be avoided, I would not go. But the trouble in the east . . ." he trailed off, sighing again.

"Of course. The trouble in the east," she said, hoping that was the right answer. "I know you'll come back as soon as you can."

"Of course," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her.

It was weird to kiss him. He was Riley - but he wasn't. Some things were the same - some were different. His beard tickled.

"I will return soon," he promises as he leaned back. "Until then, I leave Lancelot here in my stead. Wish me Godspead."

When Riley/Arthur was gone, Buffy pushed back the thick, heavy blankets and set her feet on the floor - which was stone and hard and covered with elaborate rugs woven with vivid colors of scarlet, gold, and black. Buffy glanced down at the clothes she wore. God, they had sent her to bed with so many clothes on that she could be warm in an Alaskan winter - floor length white dress, white tights and little grey house-shoes. Talk about overdressed.

She glanced at the women looking at her with a great deal of concern. Pushing herself to her feet, she announced, "Come on, guys, let's go for a little walk." She figured she might as well get a good look around this dream while she was here.

She was half way towards the door she had watched Riley/Arthur leave through before she realized that no one was following her. Turning, she saw the shock on their faces. "What's wrong now?"

A brown haired woman moved forward and did some weird bowing/bending thing before explaining, "My lady queen, surely you do not mean to go about in your underclothes."

"Underclothes?' Buffy echoed, glancing down at herself. Realization slowly dawned. "Oh no, more clothes?"

The woman nodded to her fellow attendants. "A gown for the queen," she commanded.

Buffy watched as the young women brought forth yards and yards of a deep blue material laced through with silver threads. The thing was massive, and took two women to carry it.

"Will this do, m'lady?" the brown haired woman asked.

Buffy turned a disbelieving look on her. "I'm not wearing that! I'm not even sure I could *carry* it!"

The attendant blinked. "What would you have then, m'lady?"

About one fourth of what I'm already wearing, Buffy was tempted to say, but thought better of it. The women were already looking at her as if she'd grown an extra head. Instead she racked her brain for something that she *could* ask for that wouldn't further shock the ladies. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. "I know. Get me a set of pants and shirt from one of those boys in the hallway. I'll blend right in."

Silence, absolute silence. Now the woman weren't even looking at her, but rather at the floor or each other.

After a moment the brown haired woman turned her head towards the other attendants. "Return the gown and then retire for the night. The queen's accident has tired her and is muddling her thoughts. I shall wait upon her myself."

The four young women did that odd bobbing thing again before scurrying away. Within a few moments Buffy and the attendant were alone in the room.

The woman looked Buffy full in the face for the first time. "That was very stupid, Gwen. You may believe them absolutely loyal to you, but they are still young chits and their tongues wag in the breeze. You must watch what you say."

Okay, so this woman was obviously more then just a servant. Buffy searched her mind, praying some name would appear as it had for the others. But in her conscience no title presented itself, and she was left scrambling for something to say.

"Of course, you're right," she stumbled. "Why-why are you here?'

"Merlin and I thought it would be wise if you weren't left unguarded for a time," the woman answered. She stretched out her hands to Buffy; in them she held shirt and pants such as the young boys in the hallway wore. "We have little doubt that your accident was due to Mordred's influence."

"Mordred," Buffy echoed. Oh God, who was Mordred? Who was this woman? She took the clothes. "I can't remember your name," she admitted quietly.

The woman's brows drew together in a frown. "That fall - you must have hit your head harder than I thought. This is how I occasionally came to you when the need arises. Do you know me in my true form?"

Before Buffy's eyes the woman shifted and flowed until a far different person stood in her place, a woman with midnight black hair and icy blue eyes.

The woman from the park.

"Nimue," Buffy breathed softly, bits of understanding flooding her mind.

The woman smiled. "Aye, so you do remember."

"Oh yes," Buffy said slowly. "Oh yes."

The hospital lighting was horribly florescent. There was no one but a few cleaners and the couple of doctors coerced somehow into taking the late shift to see Angel violate visitor hours and walk straight through the nearly abandoned halls to the ICU unit, to where his soul slept, unwaking.

Willow had given him the room number, so he walked straight there, not stopping to ask anyone for directions, and no one bothered him, seeing something in his eyes that would not be stopped. He walked to her room and stopped outside the door, seeing the one thing in the world that could stop him.

The man she loved.

Riley Finn.

He was sitting beside the bed, his eyes closed—no wonder, it was almost two in the morning—one hand curled around Buffy’s limp one.

Buffy.

Oh God.

Angel closed his eyes, unable to take the scene presented to him. Buffy, barely breathing, attached to an IV and a heart monitor, her hand held by the man that was everything to her Angel wasn’t. He thought about leaving in that moment, considered how little they needed him here, how litle he belonged. He was no longer part of her life–he had walked out of it, and that had been his choice and his choice alone. And he had lost his place in her world, even though she was still everything in his.

But she was hurt, and he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t. He stepped into the room.

Riley moved, and opened his blue eyes to regard Angel with surprise. He glanced at his watch and blinked again, rubbing his eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"I…Willow called me," Angel replied quietly. "I’m an old friend." Riley’s glance turned slightly appraising, obviously trying to figure out just how good of a friend Angel had been.

You have no idea, Angel thought, watching the young man.

"Oh. I’m Riley Finn, Buffy’s boyfriend," he said, standing up and introducing himself. He held out his hand and Angel looked at it for a moment, as if unsure what to do, and then took it, shaking slowly.

"Angel." Riley frowned. "That’s my name. Angel." Comprehension dawned and Riley grinned wryly.

"I’m a little tired, sorry," he said. Angel shrugged.

"How is she?" His eyes went back to Buffy, looking almost like she was asleep and yet…so much farther away. How many times had he watched her sleeping, from her window, or with her in his arms, knowing that she there would be a moment when she would open her eyes, and smile, and be his again?

What if she never opened her eyes?

Angel felt a pain hit his gut at the very thought. What would he do? How would he live knowing she wasn’t on the earth anymore, wasn’t making every moment bearable with her very existence?

"There’s no injuries," Riley was saying. "They can’t tell what happened. I think she was attacked though."

"Attacked?" Angel asked, frowning, and looking to the young man. Willow hadn’t said anything…but he hadn’t given her much time to explain.

"Yeah, she was in the park and this woman—well I didn’t see much, just Buffy falling down, unconscious."

"A woman?" Angel asked, feeling a cold chill, as if he could really feel heat or cold. A picture flashed through his mind of a dark haired woman in his office, making cryptic comments about Buffy. If she hurt her…

"Yeah, she was—" Riley stopped as the door opened again and Willow stepped inside. Angel turned and her tired eyes met his, brightening a bit. She smiled.

"Angel, you came!" she exclaimed.

"Of course. I came as fast as I could. Cordelia too, but she’s at the hotel getting some sleep."

"Which you don’t need," Willow said cheerfully, then glance at Riley, her eyes widening, "Cause you’re a night person. And you like to be awake…at night."

"Right. A night person." So Riley didn’t know anything. Angel hadn’t been sure. He knew Riley knew about Buffy’s Slayer status, but whether she’d shared about her ex-boyfriend was an entirely different story.

"Anyway, thanks for coming," the red-head said warmly. "I just wanted to check up on you Riley. A doctor stopped me on the way in and said we had to clear out though." She glanced at Buffy and lost the cheerfulness. "I wish we could stay. I hate to leave her alone like this."

"We’ll come back in the morning," Angel said, stepping closer to Willow. She nodded and Riley watched with a puzzled frown. Angel? Where had he heard the name before? One of the must have mentioned it in some conversation. Was he an old boyfriend of Buffy’s? He must be in his mid twenties at least…

"Come on Will, let’s go get some sleep," Riley said, taking Willow’s arm. She nodded and followed, then stopped and glanced back at Angel.

"I’ll be out in a minute," he said. She glanced at Buffy’s still form and nodded, pulling Riley out the door with her. Angel glanced at them leaving, and then turned back to the bed, his whole being riveted on her. It had been so long since he’d seen her…and it had to be like this. He sat down in the chair beside her and took her hand, closing his senses against’s it’s limpness. He kissed her hand, and then her palm, and then her forehead, begging her to wake up, to look at him, to tell him that it would be all right and he was silly for worrying. He needed her to wake up and tell him that he was still a part of her life, even though he knew it would be a lie.

"I love you," Angel said softly, "With all my heart, with all my soul. I love you. Don’t leave me Buffy. Oh God, don’t leave me. I can’t survive without you." The heart monitor continued it’s steady beeping, and there was no sign that she had heard anything. He closed his eyes and kissed her hand again, and then laid it gently down and stood, walking out of the small, spare hospital room.

Buffy tensed at the soft opening of the door. How anyone could open a door that heavy without any apparent effort was beyond her—her strength was obviously not what it had been, and she’d struggled with the damn thing for ten minutes. She’d almost missed the knights riding away, that last sight of Riley (Arthur!) on his great white stallion. Gorgeous animal, and he rode it wonderfully. And there was just something about a man with a sword…of course, there was also something about watching Lancelot (that she had finally accepted, having seen him standing full in the sunlight. He at least, was certainly not who she knew him to be) bid them goodbye, holding Arthur’s stirrup for him, as if he were a lowly groom to the High King, rather than his most celebrated of knights (and how did she know that anyway? These things just kept popping into her head…what exactly was a groom?)

Once she’d changed, she’d professed a desire to the once-again disguised Nimue to see Arthur and the knights ride away. Since her attire wasn’t exactly suitable for a formal goodbye, the sorceress (for Buffy was sure she was one of some kind) had suggested this tower, and given her directions. She’d found it without too much trouble, and watched them go in their shining armor, mounted on their great war-steeds. She’d actually recognized quite a few of them (thought it was harder with those big helmets on).

A few minutes ago they had disappeared and the gates had swung slowly shut. Lancelot had stared after them for a long moment, with such an odd expression of mixed longing and sharply contained joy (nobody but Buffy would probably have been able to read the expression at all) that she wasn’t sure whether he wished vehemently that he had gone, or was ecstatic to stay in Camelot with her. She’d stayed at the window when he slowly walked back inside, and life in the courtyard began again, servants hurrying to and fro, pages and scullery maids and grooms (what were grooms?)

And then the door opened.

There was a moment of silence as Buffy’s mind searched frantically for a weapon. There was a chair, but she doubted she could break it in her current state.

And then he spoke.

"Gwen, I didn’t expect to find you here. Arthur said you were in bed." His voice was the same, exactly the same and it still sent shivers down her spine and made her knees weak. She took a deep breath and summoned an answer and turned to face him—and words slid away like rain off an umbrella. Not that they had umbrellas here. She stared, grasping for words and he closed the door behind him with the scraping of stone.

"I, uh, I…was restless. I wanted to see…" she stopped, gesturing towards the window behind her with one hand.

"Of course, I should have remembered. You never miss u—him leaving," Lancelot said softly. Buffy considered telling him that no, she never missed them, and then realized that she really didn’t know what she usually did. She’d just had this feeling, as if she should see them going. Just in case they didn’t come back.

She couldn’t even imagine never seeing Riley, or Arthur again.

Of course, she had never imagined living without Angel either.

"How are you?" he asked softly, taking a step forward and then stopping abruptly. Buffy managed a smile.

"I’m fine. Really. My sense of direction seems a little off. This really is quite a big castle, isn’t it?" she asked lightly. He smiled, then looked away like he should feel guilty. She frowned. He glanced back, at her tightly clothed legs and the snug shirt. She was used to wearing skimpier clothing, but for some reason when he raised his eyes to her face and raised an eyebrow, she blushed.

"I didn’t feel like wearing something bulky," she muttered. He smiled again and they stepped towards each other again. She could almost feel his body heat, even though they were still over three feet apart. She wasn’t used to him having body heat. It was amazingly distracting.

"Tell me…about the campaign. What is Arthur’s plan?" she asked, trying to keep her mind off the fact that he was human, and here, and by the look in his eyes just as in love with her as his vampire counterpart in her time or universe or whatever it was in relation with where she was now.

"It’s relatively simple," Lancelot said, looking glad for the distraction. He leaned against the stone wall and Buffy sat down in the chair. He started explaining battle strategies, and she understood most of it, since it was pretty similar to the strategies Giles tried to drill into her, just on a much larger scale.

He finished and their eyes met. "Are you worried about him?" he asked softly.

"It sounds like a sound strategy," she replied evasively. She was worried, but it still didn’t seem real. She couldn’t imagine anyone that much like Riley in a battle, killing people. Of course, she’d seen Riley give a mean speech, and he regularly kicked ass in debates. In her world, those were kinds of battles. She glanced up at him, realizing something suddenly. "Don’t worry Lance. He’ll be all right without you. Though I still don’t think I need protection!"

When had she first not thought she needed protection? Yeesh, she didn’t even know what she was saying anymore!

"You know he would never forgive himself if anything happened to you," Lancelot said softly, standing away from the wall and walking towards her. Her eyes followed his until he stood right above her and she found herself pulling him down to kneel before her.

"And you? What would you do?" Buffy asked softly, having already heard the answer in his voice, and a thousand times in another life. His eyes were so dark, the tortured beauty she knew so well clear in them. His voice was husky when he replied, and her heart eclipsed itself.

"I would hunt down those who hurt you, and I would kill them all. But it wouldn’t matter, because I would be dead. My soul would be gone forever."

And despite everything, despite all the promises she had made to Riley (and Arthur) and to herself, she bent her head and found his lips, drinking in the sweetness of his mouth, the first oasis she had found in two years of living in the desert.

It would have been so easy to let go. For a moment, she did just that - she let go. Let go of the confusion, the fear, and the reality that this wasn't her Angel. It was a relief just to be held and comforted (it had been so long since he'd kissed her. . .) For a moment she was safe, and loved, and that was enough. . . for a moment. . .

And than the moment was gone, and it wasn't enough anymore. This man, this human man with her beloved's eyes and smile and touch - this was not the one she loved. The one she loved was cold beneath her hands, and never stood in the light of the sun, and never laid hands on her anymore.

This was not the man she loved.

Or was it? Her mind said no, but her heart said yes. And he'd always told her that he would love her in whatever time and place he found her—She pulled away, but not out Lancelot's arms. He would not let her go.

"I'm sorry, Gwen, truly I am," he said softly, his voice low and quick. "I didn't mean to-"

She shook her head. She was so confused. What was happening to her? "I love you, Lance," she heard herself whispering. And it was true - she was a married woman in love with her husband's friend. . .

"No," she protested, pulling away from the confused knight who knelt on the floor, watching her. Hands to her head, she again cried a denial. She was *not* a married woman, she was a college sophomore, and she was not married because the one she wanted would not have her.

Lance was suddenly beside her, cradling her. "Hush, Gwen, ‘tis alright. The fall has hurt you worse than I suspected. We must get you back to bed. Curse it, I am a fool."

"I am the fool," Buffy said, and felt a stab of fear go through her, because she was starting to talk like *them* -

"Don't weep, Gwen," Lancelot comforted. "Come, come on, Nimue will heal you." His arms around her, he encouraged her to move. She let him lead her blindly because she couldn't remember the way back to her room and because she could remember it all to well. She was so confused. . .

Nimue was at the door of her rooms. "You fools! Get you inside. Lancelot, lay her on the bed and then for the love of whatever you hold dear get out. The king not even a day gone and you two are already at odds! Aye, there will never be any peace while you all yet live. Go, I say!"

"I'll check on you later," Lancelot whispered as he helped her settle on the bed.

"I love you," Buffy said softly before he released her hands. Whether she spoke to Lancelot or the man he mirrored she wasn't certain. Perhaps it didn't matter.

"And I you," she heard him answer before pulling away and slipping from the chamber. Whoever she had addressed, it was Lancelot who had answered. Angel had not told her he loved her for a long time now.

Nimue dropped her disguise and turned to face her squarely when Lancelot was gone. "What do you think-"

Buffy was across the room in a flash, even before the final words were out of Nimue's mouth; although her strength was not the same, her speed certainly was. So were her hands - she had slipped the short dagger Lancelot carried at his belt out of its sheath as he helped her onto the bed. Now the sharp edge was against Nimue's throat and the sorceresses' back was against the door.

"You listen up, witch. I don't know what your game is, but you're giving me a ticket back to Sunnydale right now, understand. Right *now* - or I'm going to give you a new way to speak with the spirits - first hand experience." Buffy locked eyes with her to show that she was not kidding.

The tip of the knife pricked Nimue’s throat.

Part Four

Their eyes battled furiously—green (they were still green, weren’t they? She needed a mirror) and pale blue. And then Nimue made a tiny motion with one hand and Buffy found herself frozen, everything except her head. She used the most inventive curse word she had ever heard from Spike and struggled to move, but she was completely locked where she was. Nimue slipped out and away from the door, eyeing Buffy with a delicately arched black brow.

"Let me go!" Buffy shouted, as close to tears as she was to ripping the woman apart. Everything was so strange, and she just wanted to go home, and this woman who had brought her here in the first place had frozen her!

"Do you swear on the Lady you will not attack me again?" Nimue asked, her voice stuck somewhere between icy anger and curiosity.

"I swear," Buffy said through grated teeth. Nimue made the hand motion again and said a word and Buffy could move again. She slumped slightly and began feeling her arms to make sure she was all right. She glanced at the sorceress and reluctantly tucked the dagger into her belt.

"Now what in the Lady’s name was that all about?" Nimue demanded. "And what is…Sunnydale?"

"My home!" Buffy shrieked, furious. "You brought me here and everyone’s different, and I’m different and I just want to go home!" Yet even as she said the words, she felt Lancelot’s arms around her again, his lips on hers and knew that it was not that easy.

"What do you mean? I brought you here? Guinevere, I think you are not well," Nimue said carefully. Buffy shook her head vehemently and backed away from the sorceress.

"No, I am perfectly fine thank you! My name is Buffy Summers and I live in Sunnydale California and it’s the year 2001 and I want to go home! You tricked me! You put me to sleep with a rose and then you…you did something to me! You sent me here!"

Nimue was watching her with something akin to awe, and a touch of wariness. "I have no knowledge of such a place, or such a time. The year is 513 by the Roman calendar milady, and you are the High Queen Guinevere, wife of King Arthur Pendragon, the High King of all Britain. You do not remember this?"

Buffy watched her with horror. If Nimue couldn’t help her, if she didn’t know…then no one could. "How can I remember it? I didn’t live it. I’m not Guinevere, and Riley isn’t Arthur and Angel isn’t Lancelot. And you…you’re the same. I thought…" She sat down heavily on the bed and fought very hard against tears.

"Who is this Riley?" Nimue asked softly.

"My boyfriend," Buffy replied. She met Nimue’s confused stare. "My lover."

"And Angel?"

"He was my lover."

"And why should they be like or unlike to Arthur and Lancelot?" Nimue asked gently, sitting down hesitantly beside Buffy. The Slayer was too busy holding back tears to care.

"Because they look like them, and they act like them, and they feel like them, but they aren’t, I know they aren’t. Lancelot is human, and Angel…wasn’t, exactly. And Arthur has a beard, and he’s a king, and warrior, but…How can they exist in two times? How can I?" Buffy stared down at her hands…they were her hands, but they weren’t. They were much smoother, much whiter. She wore a plain gold band on one finger, but that was it on the rings.

"I think perhaps I understand, but I’m afraid I know of no way to send you home, if indeed you are right, and you aren’t really the queen. I must admit…you look like the queen and sound as she does. It is hard to believe that you are someone else, in truth. And I do not think others will be able to believe so."

"So you don’t think I should tell anyone?" Buffy asked softly, glancing at the other young woman. Nimue should her head, her coiled black braids shaking.

"No, I do not. Perhaps…perhaps we shall find a way to send you home. Or perhaps we shall not. You must learn to live here, as Guinevere. I shall help you, have you any need of it. You seemed to know people." The statement was as much a question as to how she knew them.

"I just do…I don’t know how. I look at people and their name kind of comes to me…like if I think hard enough about where I want to go, I know how to get there. It’s kind of freaksome." She noticed Nimue giving her a look and shrugged. "Weird. It’s kind of weird. Sorry."

"You must try not to speak so," the sorceress said. Buffy nodded. She looked back down at her hands, then then back to Nimue.

"In my time, all of you are people of legends. I mean, there’s like millions of books and movies about King Arthur and his round table. My best friend Willow is reading a book about it now…she’s a witch. She’s…Morgaine looks a lot like her."

"A legend…" Nimue breathed, then made a sound close to a laugh. "What do they say of us?" Buffy looked over and tried to remember where she’d heard the name. Nimue…in the park, the night before she’d been sent back her, Willow had been talking about her.

"You…you are in love with Merlin." The young woman looked decidedly startled at that.

"Either you speak the truth, or you have learned how to scry Gwen," she said after a moment, still looking rather startled.

"I am telling the truth!" Buffy exclaimed indignantly, then stopped. "What’s…scree?" Nimue laughed.

"Scry. It’s when you look for things, or people in water, or in glass," she explained. "If you know that I love Merlin, what else do you know?" Buffy’s mouth firmed, and she wondered if she should tell the young woman that someday she would be the death—or near-death anyway—of the man she loved.

"Nothing really," she lied. "I didn’t read the book myself, just heard my friend talking about it."

"So you do not know what becomes of us all?" Nimue asked. Buffy looked away.

"Everyone knows that," she said quietly.

"What is it then?" Buffy looked back to the beautiful young woman beside her, who 1500 years later had looked at her with such tragic, old eyes.

"You don’t want to know," Buffy promised quietly. Nimue held her gaze, searching for something, and then nodded.

"I don’t suppose I do." There was a long moment of silence as Buffy wondered how she’d managed to be stuck here, of all places. She didn’t remember details, but she did remember that Nimue imprisoned her own lover, Guinevere was either burned alive or banished, and Arthur and Lancelot were both dead by the end of the story.

"I couldn’t be sent back to Cinderella," Buffy muttered under her breath. Nimue looked at her, confused and Buffy smiled. "It doesn’t matter. So, since I seem to be stuck here, do you want to show me around? And tell me how to walk in those dresses?"

"You're sure the doctor said there's nothing wrong with her?" Xander asked for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Obviously there's something wrong with her, Xander, she's out cold in a hospital bed," Cordelia snapped, tired of listening to him, tired of being worried over the one person that was supposed to be able to take care of herself. . .

The group sat scattered around Giles' living room, perched on the arms of chairs, reclining on the floor, straddling bar stools. A few lamps drove away the darkness, but nothing could stem off the tension that thickened the air. They were all stressed and it was definitely starting to show. Cordelia kept going to the bathroom to check her makeup. Xander was running out of his endless supply of dumb jokes. Willow was staring out the window, her eyes unfocused, gazing at something no one else could see; Oz sat beside her holding her hand, a deep frown on his normally calm face. Giles was slipping alcohol into his tea; he thought no one had noticed. Even Angel was cracking, though perhaps only Buffy would have seen the shadows passing through his eyes or the way his fists were clenched so tightly that they were white.

This was awful, absolutely awful. Buffy laying unconscious in a cold room, the doctors unable to help her, her friends powerless - This was Faith all over again. The waiting, the not knowing, the helplessness. But there were people who cared about Buffy, people who would give their lives in an instant to protect her. No one had cared when Faith died.

Except Buffy. Buffy had cared. It was Buffy who had made the funeral arrangements, Buffy who had seen that flowers were planted over her grave, Buffy who had refused to let her name be slandered, although it was perhaps she who help the greatest right to slander it. Only Buffy had cared.

Perhaps that in itself was significant.

The knock on the door startled them all. They stared at the door for a moment, no one making a move, until the knock came again, louder, and Giles went to answer it.

Riley stood in the doorway looking grim and determined, his shoulders stiff, his hands held straight at his sides. His eyes quickly scanned the room, briefly meeting the gazes of the people within. "I knew you'd be here," he said quietly, a note of accusation in his voice.

"C-come in," Giles answered quickly, too quickly, giving away his guilt.

The tall man entered, glanced around for a place to sit down, chose instead to remain standing. "I know you all care about Buffy. Well, so do I. You should have included me if you were trying to think of ways to help her." His voice was so calm, so controlled, that only Angel noticed the emotions flashing across his eyes.

And Angel remained silent, offering him no encouragement.

Willow shifted in her chair. "Riley, I'm sorry -"

"It doesn't matter," Riley interrupted, raising a hand. "What matters is that Buffy's hurt and that some strange woman had something to do with it. The woman I saw tonight when I found Buffy - she was in my apartment last night. I should have known then that something was wrong, once she started talking about Buffy -"

"The woman," Angel interrupted suddenly. "What did she look like?"

Riley slanted him a look. "Short. Black haired. Youngish -"

Angel put a hand to his forehead. "Blue eyes."

"Yes." Not only Riley was looking at Angel now.

"She was in my home, too." The vampire stood up and walked towards the door. "On the same night, around the same time."

"Where are you going?" Giles asked.

"Back to the hospital," Angel answered, opening the door. "We may be dealing with an assassin."

"Wouldn't Buffy already be dead by now if that was true?" Cordelia asked. "You could already be too late."

"Thank you, miss optimistic," Xander snapped.

"You guys stay here and see what you can find on supernatural suppression of consciousness," Angel said, ignoring Cordelia's outburst. His eyes shifted to Riley and just as quickly shifted away. "I'll take care of Buffy."

The implication was clear - that he could watch over the Slayer better than her boyfriend could. His words hung in the air even after the door was shut behind him.

He slipped past the security guards easily, and skated around the nurses' station when a code red suddenly drew them all away from their paperwork. Really, the monitoring system for Sunnydale General was far too lax. That was good for him - but bad for Buffy.

She was laying just the way he had left her. The monitors attested to her heartbeat, proclaiming that she yet lived, although that and the steady drawing of breath were all that showed her body retained some spark of life.

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. How many times had he made that same gesture? Too often to count. She didn't answer it with a smile this time.

Damn, it wasn't supposed to be like this. She was tough, strong - she had lived through too much to be here like this. And so had he - he had also made choices less wise than true in order that she might live and flourish.

In the semi-darkness he reached out and took her hand. Softly, oh so softly, he began to speak.

"Do you remember last Thanksgiving, Buffy? Not the one that just passed, but the one before that. The one where I came back to Sunnydale without telling you. Remember? Then you showed up at the office - you were so angry with me." He paused, waited to see if she would miraculously make some response. After a moment he cleared his throat and continued. "But then that Morsa demon came through the window, and for a moment you weren't angry anymore. You were startled - so was I, to be honest. But then I killed it - and you walked away. I heard the door shut behind you; you didn't even say goodbye. Guess I know where you learned that."

Again he paused, this time to bring her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. "What I - what I never told you was that things didn't turn out like that the first time. The first time, the demon escaped, and we tracked it down. Funny thing about Morsa demons, their blood has healing properties. Even for vampires." He laughed shortly. "I killed it - or thought I killed it - and its blood made me human. It's confusing, I know. Believe me, I know. But it was wonderful, like a dream. We were together and happy and everything was perfect. Or it was at first, anyway, until I realized that everything has a price, and your life was what our happiness would cost. And I couldn't pay it. I couldn't pay it," he repeated softly, and fell silent.

After a while he shook his head. "You would have done it in an instant. But by the time I told you, it was too late. I planned it like that. I knew that if came to a battle of wills between us that I would lose. But in those last seconds before time began again, you forgave me. You forgave me. And you promised that you would never forget. You promised, Buffy, that you would never forget that perfect time we shared. You promised." He held her hand a bit more tightly, leaned a little lower. "Remember, Buffy. Just for a moment, remember. Remember what it was like to be kissed in the sun, how it felt to listen to my heartbeat, what it did to you when you realized there wasn't any more time for us. Remember how much I loved you. Please, Buffy, please. Remember."

She sat bolt upright in bed, her breath caught in her throat. "I remember," she sobbed, tears coursing down her face. "Angel, I remember."

Gradually the tears slowed, her breathing returned to normal. She glanced around, confused. Where was Angel? He had been here not a moment before, hadn't he? He had, she knew he had. And then her eyes adjusted to the light and she realized that she was alone and always had been.

She was here in this strange place where she'd been for nearly a week, here in this strange land where she didn't look like herself and no one called her by her real name. What was she doing here? She didn't know, but that other life, the one where a vampire named Angel begged her to remember some half-forgotten dream - that life was slowly slipping away from her. And oh, she didn't want to let it go. She wanted to remember.

She laid herself back down eventually, and it was only when she felt the dampened pillow that she realized that she had begun to weep again.

Her nose wasn’t right. It just…wasn’t. She still looked basically the same…but her nose wasn’t right. And her hair was a darker honey gold than it should be. And much longer.

Buffy set down the tiny mirror with a sigh. These people needed to get real mirrors, and modern appliances. And heat. She shivered, setting her feet down on the cold stone. No wonder they wore so many clothes. She stepped into silk slippers and left her bedroom, slipping out into the halls. For a beautiful (well, what they considered beautiful, which was a whole lot cooler than what she considered beautiful) autumn day, there weren’t many people around. Nimue explained that a lot of the servants had gone with the king, which Buffy found odd. They were going to war with servants?

She stilled, thinking of Arthur—or Riley—in war. Her heart chilled. Angel she trusted to take care of himself, but Riley…They aren’t the same, she reminded herself, thinking again of her reflection. She shook the thought off and kept walking, going down a large set of stairs, through several halls and then down more stairs before finally emerging in the gardens.

How did she know where the gardens were? This whole knowing-things-she-didn’t-know thing was getting old.

A startled gardener fled as she approached. The grounds were beautiful. There was a big fountain in the middle, a labyrinth nearby, lots of carefully tended flowers and an arbor. For a moment Buffy could almost forget the fact she was in a huge fortress 1400 years before she was born.

Almost.

It was kind of chilly, and Buffy shivered, wondering what they used for coats. Or if they used anything. She wandered down the paths, past the fountain and into the arbor, where the trees were edged with reds and golds.

And then she saw him and stopped.

He looked up, as if sensing her there and met her eyes. She managed a smile. "Hello," she said softly. He smiled back.

"Good afternoon Gwen. What are you doing out here?" he asked. She shrugged and sat down next to him on the bench, belatedly remembering the way Nimue had shown her to sit, which was much more proper. She decided she didn’t care.

"Taking a walk. Don’t tell me you’re brooding again," she said before she could stop herself. It was Angel that brooded, not Lancelot. But his mouth twitched upwards in that familiar half-smile.

"You’ve found me out," he teased. She grinned, her hands twitching with the need to trace those lips, to push that unruly lock of hair back from his eyes. She clenched them in her skirt.

"And what, sir knight, might you be brooding about?" she asked lightly. His eyes darkened suddenly and she looked up, cursing herself for stupidity. "Lance, I—"

"It’s all right," he said softly. "How do you feel?" She frowned and glanced back at him, wondering if Nimue had told him anything, then remembered the supposed fall from the horse.

"Fine and dandy thank you very much!" she said quickly, then winced at the confused look on his face.

"Fine and dandy?" he asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

"It’s uh…an expression," Buffy said lamely. His mouth twitched upwards again. She grinned. "There, I got you to stop brooding!"

"Only you can Gwen," he laughed, then went still, looking at her with that soft sweetness in his eyes that made her melt every time. This time was no exception.

Every time? she wondered. Stop thinking he’s Angel. He isn’t.

But he was. Or he was the closest thing to it.

"Of course," she said, trying to dispell the silence between them. "It’s my perogative as queen."

"Of course," he agreed, looking away, as if he was trying very hard not to do something.

Buffy thought she could probably guess what that was, since she was trying very hard herself. Think married, she told herself. Think Arthur. Think High Queen.

"Oh, I forgot, I was supposed to survey the kitchen!" Buffy exclaimed, the thought of her queen status bringing the obligation to mind. Lancelot smiled.

"Are you sure you’re all right? Forgetting things now?"

"I’m fine!" she said tartly, standing up. "Now are you going to escort me or aren’t you?"

He stood up with a smile and offered her his arm.

Okay, so maybe there were things to like too.

After that afternoon in the garden Buffy spent most of her time in Lance's company; whether surveying the kitchens, strolling along the ramparts, putting time in at court, or simply sitting before the fire at eveningtime, the two were seldom apart. At first they made excuses for their togetherness - Buffy would find herself looking for reasons to search him out and ask a question or two; he would come to her claiming that a messenger had told him he was needed. This went on for a spell until one morning Lancelot was caught in his own excuse, and had to confess that he'd come of his own will.

"Must I have a reason to share your presence?" he asked her, only half mockingly.

Buffy had looked at him for a moment , then shifted her eyes away. "You mean an acceptable reason," she said quietly. "One that's logical and practical, one that's unquestionable."

No messengers had come from Riley's - Arthur's - forces for over a week.

He reached out and turned her face to look at him. Their eyes met and they were silent for a long time. "This cannot be anything," he said, probably more to himself than to her. "We should -"

"-Just walk away," she finished, knowing what he'd say because she'd heard the words from him before.

No, not from him - from Angel.

Did it matter who'd said them? Not to her. Whatever her name, whatever his, it all came down to the same thing, and if she was never going home, then what did it matter.....

And so day passed into day and night turned into night, and Buffy felt herself being sewn ever more tightly into the fabric of this life. At first it was hard, harder than anything she'd ever done, to separate her experiences, her memories, her very self into two parts - the part called Buffy, who was in college and single and slayed evil creatures, and the part called Guinevere, who lived in a castle and was married and ruled over a kingdom. But Nimue, the one Buffy still held responsible for being in this mess, was at the same time a priceless help in dealing with the situation. With tireless patience she explained to Buffy how to behave in court, how to conduct herself when reviewing the castle's servants, and a thousand other little points that would have made Buffy's life difficult if she'd had to cope with them on her own. For her part, Buffy urged Nimue to spend more time with Merlin, for the sorceress was terribly in love with him, although she tried not to let it show. The two began to share much time together, and soon the court members noticed that the queen was always in the presence of the sorceress or the knight or both.

It was evening. In the queen's chambers, Buffy and Lancelot were finishing the last of their supper. The fire on the hearth drove the darkness away but created odd shadows, and as Buffy sat across from Lancelot, some of the shadows fell on his face. She studied them for a long time, wondering why she felt an odd emptiness within herself as she saw how his eyes were dark as if with secrets and his skin was pale as if with death.

"Gwen, what is it?" Lancelot asked, wiping his hands on an embroidered napkin. "You look as if Satan himself crossed your path."

Buffy stood up from the table, moved away from it to stand before the small window and stare into the darkness. Her own face looked back at her, but - was that really how she looked? Dark honey colored hair, almost blue eyes - something was wrong -

Lancelot's chair scraped across the floor as he roughly pushed it back. "Gwen, what's wrong?" he asked as he reached her. "Tell me."

Buffy put her face in her hands. "My name is Buffy, Buffy Summers," she said, a panicked note in her voice. "I live in Sunnydale. My mother works in an art gallery, my father lives in L.A. I'm a junior at UC Sunnydale. I'm dating Riley -" She looked up at Lancelot with tears in her eyes. "It's the year 2001. Your name is Angel, and you don't love me anymore."

Lancelot shook his head in confusion. "Gwen, what are you saying?"

"It's true!" she cried. "You left me. And - and you're with a woman named Kate and you won't even look me in the eye and say you don't love her."

He caught her by the shoulders and gently shook her. "Stop, Gwen! Stop it. I'll get Nimue -"

"I hate you," she cried, pulling away from him. "I hate you for telling me it was forever and then for leaving. Do you know what it did to me? Do you know what it's like to hear a song on the radio and start to cry in the middle of a group of people and not care? Do you know what it's like to wait day after day for a phone call and finally wake up one morning and realize it's never going to come? Do you know what it's like to watch the person you love most in the whole world turn their back on you and walk away and know that he's never, never going to come back?" She looked at him blindly, tears pouring down her face, and added very softly, very calmly, "You broke my heart."

He pulled her into his arms, held her as if at any moment she might slip away. "Ah, Gwen, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I - I had to go. It was for you that I did it. And Elaine was nothing. Just some woman that reminded me so much of you. But I never loved her -" He pushed her away just far enough that he could meet her eyes. "I never loved her. Not like I love you."

The memories were swirling around in her head so fast that she couldn't separate them from each other. Nothing was right or true anymore, and she was frightened and confused and so lonely......

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He reached for the first button on the back of her dress.

There was pain on her face, but happiness as well. Such joy…Nimue stroked a bit of pale blond hair out of Buffy’s still face, and wondered what had put the joy there. Which one was it, Arthur, or Lancelot? Did it even matter? There was no other woman in the world who could have such joy of two different men, and yet have it she did.

Nimue’s heart ached for her.

"Oh, I didn’t realize—" a voice said from the doorway. Nimue turned to see him, and her heart froze, seeing again the last moment, the look in his eyes as she sealed him away for a thousand thousand years…

But there he was, standing there, not knowing her.

"I was just checking on her," Nimue said, holding to her guise of nurse. He looked tired, and rumpled, and heartsore. His eyes narrowed behind those wire-rimmed glasses, seeing something in her face. Their eyes met.

"You," he whispered. "You’re the one that did this to her."

Which was true, though he knew not what he spoke of.

"Aye," she said softly. "It is for the best."

"For the best?" he snapped. "Tell me what you did! Bring her back!" Nimue’s mouth formed into a thin resolute line despite the desperate wanting to touch his face, his hair, to tell him everything.

"I cannot. Not yet. The queen—Buffy—has not learned yet."

"Learned what? What did you do to her?" he demanded, his voice harsh and angry. She flinched slightly from it, but held herself tall.

"It is hers to tell if she will. When she comes back."

"She will come back?"

"She will." Nimue’s gaze strayed to the small, pale girl lying still in the bed. "When she has learned, I will bring her back."

"Where is she?" he asked, his pain and worry evident even in the quiet question.

"In the saddest story ever told," Nimue replied, then looked up at him and smiled softly. "You always loved her as a child. Good night Rupert." And then she walked past him, walked away though her heart screamed at it. She had waited a millenia for this man, watched and prayed and searched. And she walked past him, because it was not time yet. Because the Queen must learn.

His mouth was so sweet, and his hands, his beautiful hands were so sure, so gentle, and she tried to think of Riley, of Arthur, of anything, but he was human, and she loved him.

And then the memories came.

They wove themselves around her, around him, as he carried her to the bed and after…and she stopped knowing, at some point, whether the man she touched was Lancelot du Lac or a memory of Angel that she didn’t remember, that didn’t even exist. She called Lancelot’s name once, but later, as settled into his arms, drifting somewhere between the comfort of love, the knowledge of betrayal, and the confusion of memories she didn’t have, she whispered another name, and fell into dreamless sleep. And Lancelot, who was Angel, the greatest knight to ever live, a Warrior for the Light, held her tightly in his arms and wept for the joy that came through betrayal, for the name she had whispered that he did not know.

Part Five

Buffy stirred and woke in his arms, a gentle smile on her face before she remembered where she was, and who he was and was not. And who Arthur was as well. Who Riley was.

"Have I slept long?" she asked quietly.

"Not very," Lancelot replied, love and anguish competing equally in the depths of his dark eyes. Buffy pushed herself up into a half-sitting position.

"What I said was true, you know. I’m not Guinevere. Or I am but…not. I live in the future, and I don’t know how I got here. Nimue sent me, but not the one here…the one in the future."

"You hurt yourself in the fall," Lancelot replied, taking her hands gently. "It is nothing more than that. You are still the other half of my soul."

"That’s just it! You are and you are Angel, who is my soul in my time. You look like him, but…different," Buffy said softly, tracing the line of his face, so familiar and yet not.

Lancelot was worried about her, that much was obvious. And he didn’t believe her.

"If you are not Guinevere, how did you know who all of us were? How did you know your way around the palace and what to do and say?" he reminded her gently. Buffy sighed, wanting so much to lose herself in his arms again, but knowing that even when she did so it wasn’t enough. It only made her think of Angel, who she couldn’t be with—and it brought back odd half-memories of him.

"I don’t know how I knew your names. They just…came to me. But most things Nimue had to tell me. Just ask her, she’ll tell you that it’s true. I’m not Guinevere."

"Then this was nothing?" he asked in a whisper. Buffy’s eyes filled with tears at the plea.

"This was everything," she said. "I haven’t felt this way in so long. And I love Arthur, who is Riley in my time, and is probably the greatest guy I’ve ever met. But I love you too. I can’t stop."

"I have tried too for so long," he whispered, echoes of Angel’s voice whispering in her ear. I love you, I tried not to, but I can’t stop.

"I know the feeling," she replied, before remembering that she was trying to convince him she didn’t know him at all. She sighed and looked away. The fire was burning low. "You better go before anyone comes."

He nodded, understanding, and slipped out of the bed. She shivered at the loss of his body alongside hers, the warmth of his touch. Warm…he was warm…Human.

And for a moment, before sense and homesickness intruded, she didn’t want to go back. He was human there.

"How could you just let her walk away?" Xander demanded.

"I told you, Xander, I didn't just let her walk away," Giles said with exaggerated patience. "She went around the corner, and when I followed her, she was gone."

Willow moved away from Buffy, who was still smiling sweetly. "She must be a witch. That's the only thing I can think of. Unless..." She glanced sideways at Anya.

Anya folded her arms. "What? I don't know her."

"Are you sure? ‘Cause you haven't been a demon for a while, and it would be normal for you to forget," Willow said hopefully.

"She was a demon?" Doyle asked Cordelia. "What kind?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't you ask her? Maybe you guys have something in common - like facial spikes or something."

Doyle shot an appreciative glace at Anya. "She sure is a good lookin' woman. Wonder what she looks like as a demon."

Cordelia slapped his arm. Hearing his words, Anya gave him an ugly look. "I was a revenge demon, you moron. I took revenge on males who wrongly treated their women. I'm sure you've heard of me. I, however, have never heard of this witch woman that puts Slayers into comas. She's not a demon, I'm sure of it."

"For once, I have to agree with you," Giles said, rubbing his forehead. "This woman - she acted as if she knew Buffy. She called her ‘the queen'."

"The queen of what?" Oz asked, speaking for the first time in a long while.

Giles sighed. "I don't know. But she is definitely responsible for Buffy's situation - s-she admitted as much, and said that Buffy would ‘come back' when she had learned."

"Learned what?" Xander asked.

"How to knit an afghan. For god's sake, Xander, I don't know," Giles returned.

"So let's get her back," Cordelia said easily. "Willow, you're a witch - make a mind-to-mind phone call or whatever."

"Cordelia -" Willow began.

"No, she's right," Oz said slowly. Seeing Willow's look, he added, "Well, sort of right. About asking witch lady more questions, at least."

"Of course," Giles said. "She believes Buffy is some sort of nobility. If Buffy were in danger -"

"She'd come running," Xander laughed. "Good thinking, Cordy - I knew there was a brain somewhere beneath all that makeup."

As Cordelia fumed and prepared to make a scathing retort, Doyle looked at her and said, "He's just insulted you, love. Don't you have anythin' to say?"

Buffy realized she had a slight headache as she finished eating her pastry. By the time the serving women came to help her dress, the headache had become painful, and she asked one of the women to get her a drought for it. When she finally appeared in the royal court, the headache had become a nearly blinding pain.

"My lady, are you well?" someone asked as slumped into her throne.

She glanced at the empty throne beside her, and said the first words that came to her mind. "When is Riley going to get out of class? He's always in class, and he's a senior, you know, so he should have a little more free time."

"Lady, who is Riley?" the minor lord asked.

Buffy shook her head. Did she just say Riley? She didn't know anyone named Riley. That sounded like a foreign name. Where was Angel? He could tell her if she knew anyone named Riley.

"Truly, my lord, I feel not well," she told him weakly. "Fetch Sir Angel for me. I require his assistance."

"Guinevere, what ails thee?"

That was Morgaine. Morgaine was her dearest friend, next to Nimue and Lance. "I feel really yucky, Will," she told the woman leaning over her. Odd, she didn't remember lying down.

"Fetch Lady Nimue and Master Merlin immediately," Morgaine cried.

Buffy nodded weakly. She finally understood that something was wrong. "Get Giles," she agreed softly. And then a blinding pain flooded her head and she could no longer see or hear anything.

"What is is?" Angel was demanding in a harsh voice—no, not Angel. Lancelot? Buffy didn’t open her eyes, her thoughts slightly clearer than they had been, but not in premium shape. "What’s wrong with her?"

"There’s a trace of magic about her," Willow’s voice said. But it wasn’t Willow, was it? Maybe it was. Maybe she was home. Maybe…but no. Angel wouldn’t be there. Angel had left her.

Who was Willow in this world again? Oh, Morgaine, right. Arthur’s sister.

"More than…than a trace I’m afraid," Giles’ voice corrected, sounding worried. Sounding like Giles. But it wasn’t. It was Merlin, some great sorcerer from a thousand years ago…

Lancelot’s pacing stilled for a moment. "Mordred?" he asked quietly, his voice full of death for whomever had done this to her, whomever had hurt her. Buffy knew that voice. She’d had it herself quite a few times. She knew if she opened her eyes, exactly how Lancelot would look too, his face, his expression…but she was thinking of Angel, and this was Lancelot. Whom she’d spent a perfect, amazing night with, and had been unable to separate him from Angel ever since.

"Possibl—" Merlin began, but another voice cut him off as the heavy door opened and closed.

"No, it is not," Nimue said. "I came as soon as I heard. What happened?"

"She complained of a headache, and then collapsed near the throne, saying all sorts of odd things, and calling everyone by names not their own," Morgaine replied. "Then she fainted."

"And the other night…we were speaking and she…she told me she wasn’t herself. She claimed to be someone else, from the future," Lancelot put in, the worry in his voice increasing though Buffy knew the others would not be able to tell. To the observer he seemed calm. To her he seemed frantic.

But this wasn’t Angel.

But he looked like Angel. He talked like Angel. He felt like Angel.

"She said you would corroborate her story," he said to Nimue. She sighed and Buffy tried very hard to hold still, to listen to what they would say.

"After her fall she seemed odd…she didn’t know where things were, or how to act or dress. She didn’t recognize me in my disguise. Then…she attacked me, and threatened me and said that she wasn’t Guinevere and that I…myself in the future that is…had sent her back here somehow, and that I must send her back. At first I did not believe, but she was very convincing. She…knew things she could not have known otherwise. She claimed that we were all considered legends in her time. She knows what shall become of all of us."

"Did she tell you?" Merlin asked, his voice cold.

"No, she would not say."

"It is not to be told," he replied, his voice odd, not quite human, not quite his.

"Will she be all right?" Lancelot asked.

"I don’t know," Morgaine replied. "I don’t know what’s wrong. If she is from another time…how did she know all of us?"

"She said we were like those she had known in her life, and that our names came to her when she saw us, but she doesn’t remember anything else," Nimue replied.

"She told me that as well. That I was like…someone she had known," Lancelot said softly.

"Perhaps she is going mad," Morgaine suggested in a quiet, sad voice.

"Then we are all lost," Nimue whispered.

"Or all saved," Merlin replied.

She had gone crazy, for a minute. Or two. She just hadn’t been able to sort out what was what. She didn’t remember which one of them was which, or where she was, or what was going on and her head hurt so much…

It twinged again, just at the memory of the headache. The others had fallen silent for a moment.

"We should send Arthur a message," Morgaine suggested. Buffy took that as her cue to open her eyes and sit up.

"No need," she replied to the shocked room, "I’m feeling better now. Though I’d still be very grateful if you could send me home."

"We will discuss that later," Morgained said, "How do you feel?"

"A little confused still, but I’ve got it sorted out for the moment," Buffy replied. "I just…couldn’t think. I felt like my head was going to explode, and everything got all jumbled up."

"The two worlds you mean?" Nimue asked. Buffy nodded in agreement.

"I didn’t know which was which. Which was real and which wasn’t."

"Who’s to say both are not real?" Merlin asked.

"Well, which one is my world," Buffy amended. She looked up and caught Lancelot’s eyes, his beautiful eyes full of relief and pain and worry, all of which he showed only to her, always to her. The rest of the world saw a knight of great stature who could best any man in the world. She saw Lancelot, the only man that could ever complete her.

Except Angel. Who wasn’t a man. And didn’t exist here. But was Angel the same as Lancelot? Was this all some weird dream her psyche had conjured up? For all she knew she was lying in some hospital bed right now, hooked up to a heart monitor, dreaming away…

"Gwen, whatever the truth is, you are not well. You must let us help heal you," Nimue said gently.

"It’s Buffy," she reminded, just as gently. "And…I want to get better. But I don’t think this is something you can fix that way. I’m not sick, I’m…torn. Between two worlds. I want to go home."

"But where is your home?" Lancelot asked, and looking at him, she couldn’t find any words except with you and she knew those would not do at all.

They had to wait for night. The hours of the day stretched out, every minute somehow changed into a day, a month, a year. But they made use of the time wisely - researching, gathering materials, preparing to spring the trap.

And convincing Angel.

"I'm not doing it, Giles," Angel said flatly when Giles proposed the plan.

Giles watched the vampire pace restlessly around the room. Angel had returned to the mansion for the daylight hours; the sheet over the couch had been thrown back, telling tales as to what Angel had been doing before Giles appeared at his door. "A-Angel, the only way to make sure that the woman will show up is if Buffy's in true danger. Willow will be there, along will all of us. There's very little risk -"

"You're out of your mind," Angel snarled. "To deliberately break the curse -"

"Only for a moment," Giles said quickly. He spread his hands. "If she's not in real danger, the woman won't come."

Angel shook his head.

Giles was running out of options. The plan, hazardous though it was, was the only one they had. It would only work if Angel agreed to help - there was no way Angelus could be released with any degree of safety otherwise. He had to change tactics. "Dammit Angel, don't do this. Pretend for once that you care as much for her as she does for you. Buffy would do anything, anything at all to save your life."

It would have been impossible to say anything to make the vampire more angry. In one step he stood before Giles, his eyes blazing and a furious look on his face. "Don't you ever say I don't care for her. One hour doesn't go by that she doesn't cross my mind, that I don't wonder what I could have done differently to prevent this - and I don't just mean the current situation." He backed up a few steps, turned away and added, "I would do anything for her, Giles, you know that. But not this."

But in the end he gave up and gave in, because he truly meant what he said. He would do anything for Buffy - protect her, walk away from her, give up his soul for her. That was all there was to it, and when the group stood in the cramped hospital room making their final preparations, Giles regretted ever saying otherwise. But he too would do anything for the young woman lying silently on the bed.

Willow finished setting up the candles in the corner. "Okay, I guess we're ready. We'll have to be quiet; the nurses -"

"Are not going to be a problem."

Riley leaned in the doorway, hands in his pockets, a slight smile on his face. "I made sure they all have to be on other floors. Amazing what having friends can do for you."

"Riley," Xander greeted him nervously. "Glad you could make it. Guess you got that message after all."

"What message?" Cordelia sneered. "You said you didn't want GI Joe anywhere near here when Angelus gets out."

"Cordelia," Angel and Doyle chorused with disapproval.

"Yo guys, I got the - orb," Oz finished, appearing behind Riley. "Hi," he added calmly.

"Hello," Riley answered, moving out of the doorway. "You guys should have known better. You've been trying to cut me out at every step. I bet Buffy would be surprised."

"Riley, you need to leave," Giles said gently. The young man was loyal to Buffy without a doubt, but he was also part of a group dedicated to the extermination of vampires. When Angelus was released, he would at best report Angel's existence to his group if he didn't kill him outright - or try, at least. And Angelous would likely destroy him in an instant.

"I don't think so," Riley said easily. "You're about to do something very dangerous and you'll need help."

Willow looked to Oz; Cordelia looked to Doyle; Doyle glanced at Angel.

"How did you know we were going to break the curse?" Anya demanded. "I thought that was a secret."

Riley looked at her askance. "What curse? I just know that you're about to spring a trap for the woman that did this to Buffy."

The tension went out of the room in a flash. Everyone except Angel began to babble. Finally Cordelia latched onto Riley's arm and said, "You're right, Riley. We never should have tried to keep you in the dark. Come on, I'll explain everything to you."

Riley pulled out of her grasp. "I'd like to stay here, actually."

"Riley, man, you should go with her," Oz advised. "We can't do anything without Cordy anyway."

Riley shook his head. "Oz -"

"Seriously, man," Oz said calmly. "Promise."

"If I don't show you, you won't understand," Cordelia added. God, what did Buffy see in this too tall, stubborn guy anyway?

"Alright," Riley relented. "But let's be quick. The nurses won't stay away for long."

When the pair were gone, Oz stepped into the room and handed the orb to Willow.

"You told him, didn't you," Anya accused Xander.

Xander shook his head. "Yes Anya, I did -"

"Let's do this," Angel interrupted, hearing a drawn out fight coming.

"He's right," Giles agreed. "Mr. Doyle, if you'll please man the door..."

"I'll man Angel," Xander said, taking up a position a few steps away

"Yay, I get to wave the stinky stick," Anya complained.

Willow moved to stand beside the candles burning in the corner. Anya stood next to her and lighted the herb bundle while Oz stood on her other side with the copy of Ms. Calendar's translated curse. "Are you ready?" she asked Angel.

Angel turned to look at Buffy lying so silently on the bed. The heart monitor continued in its rhythm, attesting that Buffy knew nothing of what was happening around her. He slowly shook his head. "Yes."

Swallowing nervously, Willow closed her eyes and concentrated.

"You have ever been stubborn, Morgaine. You are much like her; perhaps that is why you are such dear friends."

Willow nearly dropped the orb in surprise. The woman Giles had described earlier that morning stood in the circle of candles not a foot away from her.

And somehow, without cause or reason, Willow knew her. "Nimue," she said softly.

Part Six

She dreamt that night and her dreams were as muddled as the waking world, maybe less. She woke crying and wondering if her dreams were the reality and everything else was just the phantom of memories.

"It’s all right Gwen," he said from beside her bed, shrouded in the night but she knew him. The one who always came to her in the night. Buffy relaxed back into her bed and noticed that it didn’t feel right and he’d called her by the wrong name anyway. Or was it the right name?

Did she have a name? Or was she a phantom too? A ghost, a memory, the lost wisp of spirit that was once a woman.

Her head hurt again.

"Angel," she whimpered, and he held her, but it wasn’t him, because his face was smooth, his heart beat—but she had heard Angel’s heart beating. She could hear it still. And who was this, if not Angel? It wasn’t Arthur. It wasn’t even Riley…It was…

"Shall I get Morgaine?" he asked. Morgaine? Who was Morgaine?

You have ever been stubborn Morgaine, a voice whispered in her ear—but not her ear, in her mind, or as if she was hearing it from a very long way off.

"Don’t leave me," she cried, clinging to him, because whoever he was, he made her feel safe, made her head stop pounding a little.

"I shall never leave you my love," he promised, and it sounded as though he were in pain, as though he were weeping. As though it was the hardest thing in the world to say.

"Never leave me Lance," she breathed, and kissed him, because his mouth was so sweet the pain could almost be forgotten, she didn’t care about the confusion anymore, just him, only him, forever and ever…

"Good even," the sorceress said, accepting her name. She looked around and smiled a little, sadly, "What a prestigious company ‘tis gathered here. A thousand years has failed to find your like and you don’t even know it. Where is the King then?"

"What king?" Xander demanded. "Tell us what you did to her!" Nimue looked over and met his eyes and her own softened.

"You are worried," she stated, "You need not be. You need no be mistrustful either, I am only here to help. And such drastic measures—" her eyes flickered to the orb "—were certainly uncalled for. All you need do was call me."

"Well you’re here now, so wake Buffy up!" Willow exclaimed emphatically.

"I cannot," Nimue replied.

"C-cannot?" Giles asked.

"Not until she’s ready to be woken. It would only make things harder were she to come back before…Much harder," Nimue said softly.

"So you will not," Angel stated.

"You could put it like that," Nimue replied calmly, a hint of steel in her tone. Angel looked close to murder.

"If Buffy’s in danger—"

"She isn’t," Nimue said swiftly, cutting him off. "I would never let harm come to her."

"What about others? Buffy is the Slayer. The longer she is absent the more will suffer from it," Giles reminded her.

"I know it, but there are others to hunt. Believe me, I will not let another be harmed from this. Too many have died and suffered already. All needlessly…if they would only see…This time they will see."

"Who?" Willow demanded.

"The three that cannot see," she said softly, turning to regard Angel, and then Buffy.

"Hey, you guys were—" Riley began, bursting into the room. He stopped when he saw Nimue. Her eyes rested on him and some sort of terrible understanding bloomed in those watching. They didn’t know really what was happening, but a kind of gut feeling registered that this was something more than an errant sorceress with a vendetta against the Slayer. This was something much deeper.

"Good even my lord," Nimue said.

"You-you did this to Buffy!" he exclaimed.

"No," Nimue replied, looking from him to Angel and back again. "You did it to each other."

And then she was gone again.

Oz and Willow went back to the dorms. Doyle and Cordelia headed back to their hotel room. Anya and Xander returned to his "apartment". Angel stayed with Buffy, refusing to leave her, and what Riley did no one was certain. But Giles went home alone and heavily depressed, intending to do more research and perhaps even a bit of praying – that seemed to be all there was left to do.

The moment he opened his door he knew someone was already inside. It was still night, and darkness filled the room with shadows. He couldn't see anyone, but he knew... Slowly he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He stood completely still and scanned the shadows, but could see nothing.

"Enough of this," he said finally. "Whoever you are, show yourself."

A lamp flicked on. His eyes immediately turned towards it, but no one was there.

"I could never hide from you," an amused voice said softly. "That was one of the only things you would never teach me. There are a few things I yet do not know."

She stood beside the window. Moonlight spilled through the glass and fell kindly on her dark hair and fair skin. Giles wondered briefly how he could have missed not seeing her.

"Nimue," he said, his voice cold. "You're playing a game of some sort with all of us, aren't you? Not just Buffy, but all of us."

"A game," Nimue echoed, and smiled sadly, bitterly out the window. "I wish that were so. Then I could call it finished and end it all." She turned to look at him, and he could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. "But it's never over, Rupert. Never. The agony lasts for year upon year, and when things seem to be drawing together, at the last moment they again fall apart. Everything falls apart, time after time. It is never done."

Something pulled at the edge of Giles' mind, an old, half forgotten something that he wasn't quite certain he really even knew. "I know you," he said slowly.

She turned her head from him. "You did once. Long and long ago."

The something in his mind was beginning to dimly take shape. "I-you-Buffy..."

Nimue nodded. "Yes. It's returning to you, isn't it? I don't expect you to forgive me. What I did was- is- unforgivable. I know that. I've always known that. But Buffy will survive this, I swear by the Lady. This last time, this final time - trust me. Do not interfere. Please."

Giles looked at her and she returned his gaze. Eyes locked, little bits of memories teased the edge of his mind, just out of reach, and he saw them reflected in her eyes. Gardens and laughter and moonlight and magic and a ring of towering stones where together they watched the day be born...

He shook his head, breaking the spell. "No," he began.

But she was gone, leaving behind nothing but the empty moonlight.

The phone was ringing. How long it had been ringing he wasn't sure. In a daze he went to it. "Hello?"

"Giles, where have you been?" Cordelia's voice demanded from the other end of the line.

"What do you mean, Cordelia?" he asked, slipping off his glasses to rub at his forehead. "I've been here for all of five minutes...."

"Whatever," Cordy sighed. "It's ten thirty in the morning. We've been trying to call you for an hour. Xander and his demon girl are out looking for you."

"Whatever for?" Giles asked. He glanced at a clock and found that it was indeed close to ten thirty. What was coming in through his window was sunlight, not moonlight.

Cordelia's voice dropped. "It's Buffy. She's not doing well." She paused. "The - the doctor says you better come. Soon." Again a pause, and this time her voice was noticeably rougher. "Real soon, Giles."

A week went by, and she only had a few headaches. They came at night when she lay in bed. Lance would hold her until they passed, and she would make him promise not to tell Nimue or Merlin. And Lance would promise and the night would pass, and in the day things were wonderful.

The weather had taken a turn for the better. It ceased to rain for once; the sun came out and the puddles dried up. She and Lance spent the hours in the gardens or out riding horses through the fields. Everywhere they traveled people smiled and blessed them and offered them flowers.

And Buffy, except for a few brief hours during the night, began to believe that she was truly the queen of an entire realm and the woman loved by the most courageous knight in the kingdom.

"I love it here," she sighed, leaning back into Lance's strong arms. It was afternoon and they were seated in the rose gardens. The sun shone down peacefully on them as they watched water trickle down the stone fountain. Lancelot was braiding a crown of roses for her head to match the bracelet and belt at her hips and wrist.

"So do I," he said, setting the crown on her head. He moved a strand of hair out of her face and kissed her.

The crown slipped to the side over her eye. She laughed and moved it, then stood and pulled Lance to his feet. "I love you," she added, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He settled his arms around her waist. "Then I suppose I should love you too," he teased, and she laughed again.

"That would be a wise move."

He caught her close and spun her in little circles until she was out of breath and begged him to stop. "Don't let go," she told him, knowing she couldn't stand upright if he did.

"I'll never let you go," he returned with a smile.

Something about those words pulled back an old memory. It was a sad memory, a heartbreaking one, and it swept away her light mood. She looked up at him with tears suddenly in her eyes.

"Don't let me go back, Lance," she said softly. "I don't want to go back. Things aren't the same there."

"Go back where?" he asked, confused. "Where would you go?"

"You know," she said, the tears starting to fall. "Back there, to that other life. You don't love me there. You never hold me, never even touch my hand. You won't let me be with you."

"Gwen, calm down," he said, concern flooding his voice. He loosened his arms from about her and stepped back. "Be easy."

"No!" she cried, and made a desperate grab for his hands. "Please, Lance, don't let them send me back. I love you, Lance. I love you there, and you don't love me. There's no place for us there." She was crying roughly now, tears pouring down her face and a lump in her throat.

"Nimue," Lance said quietly, fear in his eyes. Louder he said, "Nimue," then finally fell to shouting the name with a desperation close to Buffy's own.

When the young sorceress appeared a few moments later with Merlin at her side, they found the queen lying absolutely still in the arms of the first knight, and he was weeping over her.

"Her brain waves are fluctuating," the doctor explained. "As if she were in some kind of distress, but we cannot find anything. Physically, she’s fine."

"Physically," Riley repeated, his eyes fixed on Buffy, looking as if he hadn’t slept all night.

"Dr. Corey?" a nurse asked, looking in, "We need you in Trauma 2."

"All right, I’m coming," the doctor replied. She turned to Giles. "I’ll be back later, I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you."

"O-of course. It’s not your fault," he replied absently. She nodded and turned, leaving the room.

"What did Nimue do to her?" Willow asked softly, leaning forward and stroking her friend’s hair back.

"I-I’m not sure it was her after all," Giles said, frowning slightly.

"You don’t believe her mumbo-jumbo?" Xander demanded.

"No, o-of course no—But there is something deeper here than we know," Giles said, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes, trying to rid himself of this odd headachy feeling.

The beeping of the heart monitor stopped for a second and then beeped an irregular rhythm. On the bed, Buffy caught her breath in very quickly, her face tensed. Willow’s eyes filled with tears and Oz put his arms around her.

"There has to be something we can do," Angel said. "We can’t let anything happen to her." He looked up briefly and met Riley’s eyes. In one thing, at least, they were agreed.

"We have to send her back."

Nimue looked up sharply, knowing how hard that was for Lancelot to say, to even think. He’d found some happiness since Buffy—if she truly was from another time—had come, even coupled with guilt and pain as it had been.

"I don’t know how," she replied truthfully. There was no change of his expression, though she thought his eyes brightened a little, and darkened too. Why couldn’t this just be simple? Why did everything had to hurt as much as it helped?

"I think I may," Merlin said from beside the window. Nimue looked over at her lover, her love, and wondered whether that was a good thing or not.

"How?" Lancelot demanded, his voice harsh.

"She said she was sent back by you, Nimue, from your future self. It is possible to call to oneself through time, to any time, and summon them. If you call her, she will come."

"And what good will that do?" Morgaine asked. "She is not well, will it help to ‘send her back’. How do we know this isn’t all a delusion planted by Mordred? Perhaps he seeks to rend us apart."

"We will not be rended," Nimue replied calmly. She turned to look at Merlin again. "What is the price of this spell?"

And he told her. And she was afraid again.

"What do I have to do?" Buffy asked. She was sitting up in bed, feeling very clear headed again, listening to the newly formed plan.

"You must provide the link to the future," Nimue replied. "I do not know your time, therefore you must link me to it. While I perform the spell you’ll have to focus on your home, your time and me, as you have seen me in the future."

"Do you think it will work?" Buffy asked, not quite sure whether she wanted it to or not. She wanted to go home, she really did. She missed her friends and her mother and her life…not to mention indoor plumbing. But here she was a queen, and she had Lancelot, whom she loved the way she loved Angel, without the spectre of a curse, or the fact they were supposed to be mortal enemies.

"I don’t know. I believe the spell will work to summon myself here, but whether she will be able to take you to-to the future none of us can foresee," Nimue said softly.

"She sent me back here," Buffy said firmly. "If anyone can send me back, it’s her–you, I mean."

"I understand. We shall see."

"It is late," Morgaine said. "The que—Buffy needs rest."

"I feel fine," Buffy pointed out, but she knew that it probably wouldn’t stay that way for long.

"We must try and keep you so," Morgaine said mock-sternly, reminding Buffy even more of Willow for a moment. She missed her best friend. She missed Xander, who wasn’t in this world (that she could see anyway) and she missed Oz. She missed Riley, who made her feel safe and loved, even if he didn’t set her senses on fire.

But there was Lancelot. And nothing was ever easy.

"When will we do the spell?" she asked.

"In three days," Nimue said. "It will be the full moon, and the Lady’s power—and mine—shall be at it’s height."

"We must prepare," Merlin said. "Come Nimue." The sorceress nodded and bid them good bye, leaving the room with her lover. It was so odd thinking of the young woman in love with this Giles-like figure, but it was also obvious to anyone looking. And that the love was returned—that was even more obvious.

Buffy was very glad, suddenly, that she would be going home. She didn’t want to stay and see how all of them would hurt each other.

She found him leaning on the same rampart where she had watched Arthur ride away. He was frowning darkly, his brows drawn together and the corners of his lips turned down; his fists were clenched harshly around the top of the wall.

He didn't hear her approach. She stood off to the side in the shadow of a turret and looked him. He looked a lot like Angel - but then, she had always known that. And he acted a lot like Angel - but in that way he was a little more different. Angel had lived five, six times as long as Lancelot had, and that experience influenced his behavior; Lancelot had never lost his soul, never known what it was to watch as his body commit atrocious acts while his mind was locked away from its control. But then, Angel had never known what it was to serve a king and love his wife; surely that was its own form of torture. There were far more similarities between the two men than there were differences.

She looked at his eyes, dark and full of emotion, and at his hands, strong and calloused and darkly tanned. She would not see him stand in the sun after she returned - ha, she would be likely to see him at all. She would have Riley and her nice Slayer life, complete with friends she loved and a college career she enjoyed, but no Angel. She felt more torn now than she had during any of the confusion spells.

"It's too early to start weeping now, Gwen," Lancelot said without glancing at her. "You still have three days left."

So he had seen her. She didn't realize until he spoke that she was indeed crying. Not massive tears that streamed down her face in great rivers, but little solitary tears that appeared only long enough to slip down her cheeks and disappear to the place where all helpless tears go. Her voice still worked fine.

"I'm not weeping," she said brightly, moving forward to stand beside him. "The sun is in my eyes."

"We're standing in shadows," he returned gently, turning to face her.

She smiled up at him. "You've got that right."

He nodded ruefully. "Aye. But the sun will not set for three days."

"And even then you'll still have Gwen, the woman you love," she said, determined to not break down again.

"You're Gwen," he said, framing her face with his hands.

"Buffy," she corrected.

"One and the same," he argued, but he too was smiling. "In your time, I am there, I simply have a different name."

She couldn't argue with him. Time was too short for arguing. Instead she just smiled and said, "Three days. Let's do something smart with them."

He leaned his forehead against hers. "Quince pastries?"

She thought of the fruit filled pies with sweet honey on top. "You know it," she laughed, and so did he.

They stood at the corners of the pentacle; Nimue, Merlin and Morgaine forming the main triangle and Buffy between Nimue and Morgaine. The fifth point of the star was a priestess of Avalon, Tirion, who had been visiting Morgaine. Nimue looked over at Buffy with concerned eyes. The queen had dark circles beneath her eyes and seemed nervous and distraught. Nimue just thanked Dana that Buffy wasn’t having one of her fits again. They needed her for the spell to have any chance at succeeding. Lancelot stood just behind her, his hands on her shoulders, not caring whether they gave themselves away to all. Those in the room knew it anyway.

"Ready?" Nimue asked, the question for all, but mostly for Buffy. Merlin nodded once, Morgaine agreed and Tirion bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. All eyes turned to Buffy. She took a deep breath and nodded. Lancelot released her and stepped backwards.

Nimue cast the circle, her mind not on her words of summoning but on what she must do next…what the price of this spell would be. All magic had it’s price. Everything you sent out came back threefold. And this was a powerful magic, with a very personal price.

When the circle was cast Nimue turned to Buffy. "Open your mind. Concentrate on me as you know me in the future,"she instructed. Buffy nodded and closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Nimue turned back to the center of the circle and closed hers as well, beginnning the incantation, feeling the power radiating to her from three points of the star, and a memory from the fourth. She siezed the memory as she spoke, fastening on it, absorbing it into herself. A woman, small and slender, with pure black hair and blue eyes, old in an unlined face, wise and tragic, who spoke of what had been…

Nimue opened her eyes as she spoke the last words. "So mote it be," she whispered, and looked upon herself.

Old, old eyes, wise with the wisdom that comes from grief and betrayal met young ones, bright with love and hope for the future.

Time stood still and in a moment, or a thousand, the second pair of eyes was suddenly as the first.

Nimue staggered under the weight of the future. This was the price she must pay. To know her own fate and have no way to change it. To know that someday she must betray her lover, to know that she would watch her friends die, helpless to save them, and wander the earth for a millenium and half again the same, searching for those she had lost.

"Why did you do this to us?" the older Nimue asked quietly from the center of the circle, knowing what she had just done to her younger self.

"It had to be done," the younger said, helpless tears filling her old, tragic eyes. "As everything else has to be done."

The future Nimue reached out a hand to her younger self and their fingertips touched for a moment. And then Nimue looked over at Buffy.

"It is for you that she has done this thing?" she asked.

"What has she done?" Buffy asked, not understanding.

"It is of no matter," the younger Nimue said quickly. "We called you because the queen—because Buffy–is ill."

"Whatever you have done, you must undo it," Morgaine said. "She worsens every day."

"What is wrong?" Nimue asked, her eyes upon Buffy’s face that she knew wasn’t really hers. The nose was wrong.

"I-I don’t know who I am, or where or when," Buffy said. "Sometimes I think I’m me, but then, I think maybe I am Guinevere, maybe I’m going insane. And then…and then sometimes I just don’t know. I feel like my head’s going to explode and everything gets so muddled. I don’t remember what I remember."

"Is this true?" the older Nimue asked, betraying a worried look.

"Aye," Merlin replied. Nimue turned slowly to see him. Their eyes met and Nimue’s twisted with sorrow.

"I am sorry love," she whispered softly, before turning back to Buffy. "I do not think it has been long enough, but it seems I must take you back anyway." Buffy let out a breath.

"When?" she asked.

"Now," Nimue replied. She looked at her younger self. "You cannot hold this much longer?"

"No," the younger Nimue agreed, "It is difficult." The elder nodded and turned back to Buffy.

"Say your good byes," she said gently. "We must go now."

Buffy blinked at the words, her hand going to her mouth. "No," she said softly, "It’s not enough time."

"I am sorry, but it must be so," Nimue replied. Buffy blinked back tears and turned to look at Lancelot, who was trying his best to look stoic.

"You will not forget me?" he asked quietly. Buffy held back a sob.

"Never! And me? When you have your queen back, will you remember me?"

"You are my soul, no matter who you are, or when," he whispered, pulling her into his arms despite the fact she was still within the cast circle. A jolt of power ran through them both but he didn’t let her go. She clung to him, knowing that soon she would be back in Sunnydale and Angel would not have changed. Angel would not know. Angel would not hold her like this.

"I love you," she cried, pulling his mouth down for one last sweet kiss. She tasted the salt of his quiet tears, and her own in the sweetness of his mouth, and clung to him even as she looked over her shoulder at Nimue.

"Come my lady," the sorceress whispered, holding out a hand to her. Buffy felt a sob rip through her and buried her face in his chest for just one moment, fixing the memory in her mind of how it felt to be with him, to hear his heart beat. She had heard his heart beat. And then, before she could stop herself, she pulled away from him, fled into the center of the pentagram and siezed Nimue’s hands. But her eyes were all for Lancelot and she hardly heard Nimue say, "Send us home."

Part Seven

It was nightime now. In the hospital room Angel sat beside Buffy; the lamp beside her bed was on because if he'd turned it out the nurses would have been angry. Her heart monitor was continuing its steady rhythm, and after its fluctuations that morning Angel found the beeping to be one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

He sighed and laid his head on the bed beside her hand. What would he do if the blessed sound suddenly went dead? Would he run screaming into the hallway, shouting for a nurse, a doctor, a miracle? Or would he simply sit frozen to the chair, unable to move, until the daylight slipped in through the window and he was able to be with her again?

It's not enough time....

The words came to him in a whisper. He jerked his head up and looked around the room, but no one was there.

The heart monitor's stead beeping suddenly changed to a screeching whine.

He cried out her name and quickly turned his eyes back to her.

Her eyes were open and she was smiling up at him, a tiny, sweet little smile that he had seen only once or twice before when he had been lucky enough to see her awaken from sleep. Vaguely he noticed that the heart monitor was steadily beeping again.

She reached up and gently touched his cheek. "I remember," she said softly. "I told you I'd never forget."

Angel dropped to his knees beside her bed and did that which he had refused to do since he had first received the call from Willow that she was in the hospital. He wept.

"I tell you, I'm not staying here one more hour," Buffy protested, pulling on a pair of socks Anja had brought her. "I feel fine, the doctors say I'm fine, and besides that, I'm stronger than you and you can't make me stay."

"There's an argument based on logic," Cordelia said sarcastically. Doyle laid a hand on her shoulder and gave her a look.

"But, Buffy, you've been unconscious for days," Willow objected. "You can't overdo it now - you could have a relapse!"

Buffy shook her head and got to her feet. "Not gonna happen. Now where are my shoes?" She began to scan the floor, carefully avoiding the many eyes watching her.

"How can you be so sure?" Xander asked, picking up the shoes she had been wearing the night of the attack and handing them to her.

"I just am," she said vaguely. "Thanks," she added, accepting the shoes.

"And you say you don't remember anything at all about the attack or what went on while you were unconscious?" Giles asked for what seemed like the one hundredth time.

Buffy knew he kept asking her the same question because he suspicioned she remembered more than she let on. Which was true - she remembered quite a bit. Everything, in fact - from the sunlight and rose gardens and long dresses to the sweet smiles and strong arms and steady heartbeat of the bravest knight in the world, the man who had loved her and whom she had loved. Still loved.

Angel stood in the far shadows of the room now, and when she looked at him with all the memories of two lifetimes in her eyes he simply glanced away.

"No," she said dully. "I don't remember anything except that there wasn't enough time."

"What does that mean?" Cordelia asked. "Oh god, are you having one of those prophesy visions or something?"

"Down Cordy," Xander said. "She just means that there wasn't enough time to get away from that woman before she attacked, right Buff?"

"Right," Buffy said with false brightness. "It's so good to be understood."

If anyone caught the bitterness in her voice, it was only Willow, and when the red haired witch glanced at her silent boyfriend to see if he had noticed it, he didn't seem concerned at all, and so she let it go.

And Buffy suddenly felt more out of place in this life than she had in the one where women wore outrageously long dresses and her hair had been auburn instead of blonde.

The gang was going over to Giles house for an early morning raid on his refrigerator before Angel, Doyle and Cordelia left for L.A. Angel had wanted to leave right away, claiming that Kate still needed his help on a serial murder case she was working on, but Cordelia had flatly refused to leave before she had a shower, so they weren't leaving for a few hours.

Buffy heard Angel say he wanted to leave right away, and it broke her heart all over again. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and scream that she remembered everything, everything, from kisses in the sunshine to rides through empty meadows to waking up beside him in the night, and what did it matter that they were all the memories from that other life... But he probably wouldn't have listened anyway, so what was the point? Nothing mattered anymore. She wasn't even going to cry this time; she was just going to sneak into the ladies' room for a moment and run some cold water over her burning eyes.

"This is your fault, Nimue," she muttered as she switched off the faucet. "I was fine until you came along..."

A nurse had been washing her hands at the sink beside Buffy. Hearing the Slayer's words, she reached for a papertowel and said, "You know that is not true, lady."

Buffy turned, not at all surprised that the sorceress was beside her. "Do me the honor of at least using your true form, Nimue. You've put me through too much to start playing the mysterious woman now."

The nurse's form shimmered for an instant, then reformed into the shape that was true. The sorceresses' crystal eyes held a deep sadness, but she smiled softly. "Peace, my friend. I sent you back for your own good."

"Oh yeah, witness me in my goodness," Buffy said bitterly. "Angel's leaving, Nimue. I get to say goodbye all over again. But that's okay because I have not one but *two* lifetimes worth of memories to keep me company. On all those lonely nights I'll be facing I can just look back on the times when I was loved and comforted by the man who won't even stay in the same city with me now. Doesn't that sound wonderful? Don't I look happy? Would you like me to say thank you?" She had broken her promise to herself and was crying heavily now.

Nimue's hands curled into fists, but she made no move to touch the Slayer. "Gwen - Buffy - I had to. You do not understand. Please forgive me - and listen to me one last time. Follow your heart. Heed what it tells you, for it is your truest guide in this life. In every life." She took a step towards Buffy, who immediately backed up a step. "Please, lady. For all the evenings we walked in the setting sun, for all the nights we sat and talked of our lovers, for all the times we stood together in court and mocked the lords and ladies in their silly fashions - for the friendship we once shared, lady, listen to me now. Trust your heart."

Buffy roughly wiped away her tears. "You're one to talk, Nimue – look at how you followed your heart. In another life we were friends – but in another life I had the other half of my soul, too. That was then, this is now. Time to move on." She turned to storm out the bathroom door, then paused at the last moment and added without looking at the silent sorceress, "I'm sorry." She did not explain for what; she wasn't even sure that she knew herself.

Then she walked away from Nimue and Lancelot and Arthur and Morgaine and every other memory that was from the other life. She had to - to do otherwise would have driven her insane.

Or so she told herself.

Of all the times Buffy had missed school, this was the first she’d had a valid life-threatening injury to be excused for…not that it had been life-threatening…she wasn’t sure whether it had been threatening at all. But the doctors said she was in a coma, and that was enough for her teachers.

Which meant she was excused. It said nothing about having to catch up…

There was a knock on her door and Buffy looked up, thankful for the excuse to take a break from the masses of schoolwork she had to do. "Come in," she called. The door opened and Angel walked in, looking hesitant. Buffy’s face closed immediately, hiding the secrets of her memories.

"Angel," she said softly.

"Buffy…" He looked at the papers and books spread out across her bed. "What’s all this?"

"Make up work. Willow’s coming soon to help me with it, but she’s out with Oz right now…"

"Oh. Right…How are you?" Angel asked, looking everywhere but her. Buffy cast her eyes down at the books again.

"How am I?" she repeated quietly, wondering if she even knew. "I’m…fine. I feel fine."

"Are you sure?" Angel asked. Buffy nodded quickly, not looking up to meet his eyes. She wasn’t sure she could do that—look straight at him and tell him she was completely all right.

"What’s up?" Buffy asked finally, breaking the silence.

"I’m…I’m going back to L.A. tonight. I have…work to do. I don’t want to wear out my welcom—"

"Angel, you’re always welcome," Buffy interrupted, trying to hide the fear and pain in her voice. He was really leaving again, really going back.

This was not that world. He was not the same man. He wasn’t even a man here.

"Thank you…but I need to be getting back." Back, he said. Not home. Where was Angel’s home? Did he even have one?

"I know," Buffy whispered, "I just—" She broke off suddenly and looked up to meet his eyes. Her own had, against all her efforts, filled with tears. She brushed a piece of blond hair back, blinking her eyes futilely, and watched him. "Don’t leave me again Angel," she pleaded in a small, quiet voice.

His eyes were infinitely sorry, infinitely sorrowful. "I am sorry Buffy," he whispered. "I should not have come, but I had to…to be near…"

"I’m glad you came," she said truthfully, though maybe she shouldn’t be. Maybe it would have been easier had she woken and seen Riley sitting by her bed.

Maybe not.

"Pretend I did not," he advised. "Pretend I was never here. Tell yourself it was all a dream." Tears spilled out of her eyes finally, down her cheeks and she made no move to wipe them away.

"It was a dream," she told him, her voice shaking despite herself.

He wanted to go to her, to gather her in his arms and soothe the hurts he did not understand. And she wanted to run to him, to bury her head in his chest as she had done so little time ago…except it wasn’t him. It wasn’t. But her heart cried out that it was, her sould yearned for him just the same…and he was leaving.

"Just go," she whispered. "Before it gets any harder."

"It can’t get harder," Angel replied, his voice raw for once. She looked up and saw it in his face as well, the emotion he never let show through.

In the other life, he had shown emotion. Not much, but some. He had, after all, been human.

Stop, she told herself. You could not have that life. You cannot. It is better this way. But as she opened Angel’s mouth to tell him it could always get harder, as she watched the understanding in his eyes, watched him turn away and walk out the door, away from her again, it was very, very hard to believe.

Riley had sounded surprised to hear her voice, but had buzzed her up immediately. Buffy opened the door, unsure still of exactly what she was doing at his apartment, what she was going to do, and walked up the stairs slowly. He was waiting for her again, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes hopeful. They lit when they saw her and she knew what he was thinking: Buffy was coming back to him. Everything was going to be all right again, like it had been before.

After all, nothing had changed, right?

Except it had.

Buffy didn’t run up the rest of the stairs this time. She walked slowly, her eyes locked on his, until she was on a level plane with him.

"Can we talk?" she asked, avoiding him as he reached out to pull her closer.

"Of course," Riley replied, frowning slightly at her tone and the evasion. He stepped back from the door and Buffy walked past him, inside the apartment. It was a nice place. A bachelor’s place certainly, but warm and human and lived in. Buffy turned back to look at him as he closed the door. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I…" She stopped, unsure how to say what she needed to. She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t even want to say this, but she didn’t have a choice either. "I can’t do this Riley."

"Do what?" he asked. Buffy gestured vaguely with one hand.

"This. Have a relationship. Be a couple…not with you, or with anyone."

"You’re breaking up with me?" he asked, confused and hurt. Buffy hated herself in that moment, because he didn’t deserve to be hurt. But then again, none of them deserved it.

"I…I don’t want to," Buffy said truthfully, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Then why should you?" Riley demanded quietly, taking a step closer. Buffy took a step back.

"I need time Riley. To…to figure things out. To figure out who I am and what I want and…what I need."

"And you can’t do that with me?" he asked softly. Buffy shook her head, wishing to God that she could.

"I love you Riley," she told him truthfully. "I want to be with you, to just let myself be happy with you."

"And you can. Nothing’s changed Buffy…nothing’s keeping us apart," Riley pointed out.

"But it is," she whispered. "It’s different…So, I need to be by myself for a while."

"How long?"

"I don’t know. Maybe just a few days…maybe a few months…I know I can’t ask you to wait. I won’t."

"I will anyway," he said with a slight smile. Buffy smiled despite herself. What had she done to deserve this kind of affection? With Angel, she knew that neither of them could help it, that it was fate or the meeting of souls or something…but Riley was so good. Why would he love her?

"Thank you, for that," she said softly, then met his eyes again, her expression becoming serious. "I can’t promise I’ll ever be ready for a relationship though. Maybe not in years even."

"I think I understand," Riley said, moving forward to take her hands. "I won’t pressure you into anything Buffy…but I’m not just going to give you up either. I love you."

"I know," Buffy whispered. "I just…like I said, I need to be alone. No boyfriend, no unofficial-boyfriend. You can wait, but you’ll be waiting by yourself."

Riley nodded. "Will you tell me why?" he asked.

"I don’t think I can," Buffy replied. "I don’t think I know. I’m sorry."

"So am I. Can I have one last kiss?" he asked softly. Buffy looked up into his eyes and saw only that he wasn’t Angel, or Lancelot. Saw Riley, and the echoes of Arthur, who had been her husband when she had been Guinevere.

"I have to go," Buffy said, tears filling her eyes, and fled because whatever happiness came from the warmth of Riley’s humanity, there was still so much more in the memory of Angel’s.

Epilogue

It is night again. It is always night.

I am standing in the shadows of a large oak tree, and she does not see me as she passes by. I watched her through the open window of the king's apartment, and I can still see Arthur now - he has thrown himself into a chair and buried his face in his hands. She has broken his heart, or so he thinks. He has no way of knowing that in another time, another place, she did indeed break his heart, and it was a wound from which he never recovered. This time she has not mortally wounded him; she has fulfilled her destiny, and all the heartache he suffers now would be nothing compared to what he would feel later.

The same is not true for her. The memories she keeps of the days with her beloved are taking their toll, and in all truth I confess that I did not believe things would meet this end. That she would break with Arthur, yes, I knew, and yes, I had planned, but not so with the knight. Lancelot - Angel - was never to have parted from her again. She was to have fought harder to keep him. I did not calculate that, upon her return, she would again let him slip from her grasp.

Where did I error? Was it my youth's folly to demand she be sent back so soon? Yet what else could I have done? She was going mad.

I watch as the queen - Buffy - walks quickly down the street and into the darkness. She is alone and lonely, and keeps more secrets than anyone her age ever should, and I realize that she may yet continue to descend into madness.

Lady, where did I fail?

"She'll be alright," a voice says behind me.

I know without turning that it is his voice. A part of me cries out to turn and rush into his arms, knowing that he would welcome me there even if he knew not why; and yet another part of me knows that I do not deserve any comfort, and I am a fool after all these years to continue wishing for that which cannot be. Again I failed to calculate all that was involved when I created this plan - years upon years of concise figuring, and I forgot to predict that I would fall in love with him all over again the instant I heard his voice or set eyes on his face.

Lady, I know where I failed.

Slowly I turn to face him, my half-smiling mask in place. "Yes," I answer him calmly, as if I truly believe it. "All will be well."

He looks at me skeptically, knowing somehow that I am telling less that I know. "You'll be leaving now, I suppose?"

I nod regally, in just the same manner that my younger self taught Buffy how to do. "My work here is finished."

"If I asked you what good whatever you did accomplished, I doubt that you would tell me," he says, smiling ruefully. "So instead I'm going to ask you something else. The other night, when you were in my home, I felt like I knew you. Have we ever met before?"

And now my smile has frozen on my face and I cannot remove it. How should I answer that question?

It is too much. The queen is unhappy, Arthur is unhappy, Angel is most certainly unhappy - and I too am unhappy. I have only partially succeeded in my quest, and this is not that part.

"Long and long ago," I answer honestly, my voice for once betraying me. Before he can ask me more that I would surely answer, I turn from him to the darkness. "Fair evening, Rupert Giles," I say softly, and as I blend into the shadows before his questioning eyes I whisper, "Fair well, my love."

Dear Lady, I forgot to count the consequence of love.

The agony of its loss.