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They were not the Lady’s.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his hand reflexively reaching for his sword. Only to find that he was unarmed.
And besides, the Lady was far more powerful than him. She could fry him to a crisp with a mere snap of her fingers.
“And don’t you forget it,” she said, as if reading his mind.
Then, she cleared her throat, took a step back and regarded him with wariness.
“Let’s not test my abilities today, shall we? Even if it is only a dream. If you stay over there, and I stay over here, we’ll get along just fine.”
“Who are you?” Lancelot repeated.
Clearly, this was not his Lady. But what was she doing in his dream?
“What do you want?” he asked directly.
She huffed a put-upon sigh and began to pace around him, emanating an irritability that the Lady would never show. If the Lady ever felt irritation to begin with.
“Listen, Lance—may I call you Lance? Lancelot is a mouthful. Whoever came up with that ridiculous name anyway?”
He scowled.
“Never mind,” she muttered.
“It took forever for me to figure out how to reach you through dreams. Sometimes it was others’ dreams I got into. But you and Arthur…you guys are locked up tight.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she accused in sheer vexation. “And if you sleep, don’t you ever dream? It’s like you’ve erased all of your hopes and fantasies, memories and desires. For that’s what dreams are, you know. The subconscious manifestation of the things you forget when you’re awake, but which you secretly want to remember.”
“Who—” Lancelot began again.
But she cut him off.
“Who I am doesn’t matter. What I want doesn’t matter either. It’s what you mustdothat will sway the future. And what you must do is obtain the Everlasting Embrace.”
Lancelot’s brow furrowed.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was certain he’d heard this phrase before. But he could not recall where.
“I do not understand,” he said slowly.
“That makes two of us!” she chirped, throwing up her hands in a distinctly un-Lady-like gesture.
“I don’t make the rules. I just do what the Song of Destiny whispers in my ear to do. Badgers me, more like. In those annoying, yet sweet little horsie whinnies. Do this, Miss Seventh. Do that, Miss Seventh. As if I have no life beyond carrying out their convoluted instructions.”
“Miss Seventh?” Lancelot echoed.
She waved him off.
“Doesn’t matter, remember? You’ll forget me when this dream ends. But you’ll remember the task.”
“Yet you make fun of my name,” he pointed out.
“Touché,” she intoned, arching an elegant eyebrow.
Lancelot smirked briefly, but quickly got back on task.
“Why must I obtain it? Whatisit? Where can I find it?” he asked rapid fire.
