"A good father is worth one hundred schoolmasters."

George Herbert.

********

An embassy, the accepted term for this strange and alien edifice. Morgan told Markus that this was a meeting place, a spot reserved for contact with fey creatures that often visited the people of Britain. But Markus knew a church when he saw one. He could now remember going to small Christian services with his parents, at the small chapels that would sometimes be present for the soldiers on base.

This place was a temple. Iconography and hieroglyphs depicting inhuman figures consorting with still more alien objects dotted the walls. To complete the aesthetic, altars of pure sapphire caught the attention of many supplicants. The altars themselves looked as if they sprouted from the ground as flora, and their worshipers seemed as gardeners tending a precious and rare flower.

It had taken some doing, sleeping in this place. The whole night, Markus was tormented by the sounds of creaking branches, the growling of unseen fauna, and what he swore was the beating of a massive heart. But difficult and brief as it was, Markus slept.

When he awoke, it was to the sight of unearthly blue light streaming from above. The illumination's source was an orb stuck into the center of the ceiling. The glowing egg brought an even greater coolness to this ice-worn wreck. The room was naturally white as if coated by a harsh ice storm, while at the same time being cracked and gnarled in appearance.

It felt like being stuck in an old oak tree.

Yet as distorted and creepy as this place was, Markus knew he wouldn't find any better accommodation. Beyond that, he needed a way to get home. And where was home? Yes, he knew he was from the United States, and he knew he had a family. But did he still have a family? Did he have a happy life before it left his memories?

"So many questions, and they just keeping building up." The young officer was trained to focus his mind and organize his thoughts, that much he knew. And such techniques were keeping him sane even as unbidden memories cloyed at his psyche without any means to make sense of them all. Yet this place...

"It's like I can feel it. In my skin and in my head, I can hear it." Ever since he'd come here, Markus felt as if he were being poked and prodded. His morning routine, or at least what he remembered of it, should have brought him focus. But even as he readied himself for the day, tending to his uniform and the rest of his kit, he remained unsettled. "I feel like I'm not wanted here. Makes sense, I guess. Does it know?"

The "door" opened before he'd gotten within three feet of it. Its composite parts pulled away from each other like shifting roots, presenting him with an exit. He stepped through at a hurried pace, unsettled but not unnerved.

And as he stepped into the hallway, Markus noticed something still more unsettling. It was unchanged. Not just the hall's illumination or look, but the people as well. The same supplicants tended to their altars, even wearing the same expressions and chanting the same words. And their movements, which Markus had dismissed as born of practice and experience, looked mechanical in their execution.

Markus' curiosity bade him inspect these people further, and as he walked towards one sapphire stone altar, it grew. Its composite gems broke off and expanded like spikes, and all towards him. Before Markus dodged out from their path though, their attack was halted. The supplicants caught the crystal strands, and as if soothing a roused guard dog stroked each sapphire blade and eased them back into the altar proper.

They even spoke to the crystal, again as if they were comforting a distressed animal. And once the crystal was whole and in itself again, the supplicants turned their attention to Markus. They were a monstrous assortment indeed. Some had the heads talons of birds of prey. Others were shaped like men but made of the same stone that shaped their vaunted altar. Most unsettling of all was the hooded figure in the center.

It had no face within its spider-silk robes, only a black abyss. The air around that faceless thing seemed to twist and bend with each passing moment, and the creaking and breaking of space from its presence was audible to even Markus's mortal ears. But even that was drowned out by the voice, the whisper that came from this maw:

"Untimed...Elseborn...Unnatural."

It turned after delivering its message, looking back to the altar along with the other creatures. And as it turned, a disappointed hmm...noise came from behind Markus. He knew who it was. And as he turned, he saw Morgan's fine features taken with a girlish and almost teasing aspect.

"And you seemed such a gentleman before." She walked to him, almost seeming to glide above the floor as her new white skirt brushed the wintry ground. "Tis considered poor manners, to interrupt prayer."

"So, this is a temple."

She nodded. "Indeed. The Unseelie are unwelcome in most places, and their worship even more so." She looked at the room around her, listening to sounds that Markus could not, and did not wish to hear. "And thus, we refer to it as an embassy."

Seeing his confusion, she laid a hand on his chest, tracing the lines on his body armor. "Does this please you?" And the teasing aspects of her smile remained. "The uniform I mean?"

Markus hadn't even considered that. He'd worn this rag for over two days now, and there was no smell or dirt on it. He'd figured his cleaning had been that through, but even his boots looked spit-polished and shone against the light.

At his seeing this, the sorceress smiled. "I had them cleaned. You take such care with their maintenance, so I had the caretakers lend you aid." The teasing looks on her face grew in definition, as she apprehended him further. "I must confess though; you wore the grit well."

Markus didn't mind the compliments, nor the attention. But something was holding him back from appreciating them fully. Not just his orders to stay away from interfering with the timeline, but something more personal. Each time Morgan lavished him with some coy praise, or unsubtle flirtation, a feeling of guilt accompanied the words.

"Is there someone else?"

A name came to his mind: Penelope. And bade on by a deep instinct, he removed his gloves. He'd done so already but now made a conscious effort at looking for something. And he did find it, or rather its absence, on his left hand.

A noticeable impression was stamped onto his ring finger, the unmistakable shape of a wedding band.

"Penelope." Her face was out of his sight, but she was there. A wife...and with her a son. "We have a son..." The words were drawn from him like poison. Painful to recollect, but life-giving as soon as they were in the open. He was more fascinated than anything and excited. He was a husband; he was a father. Had he been this excited the first time?

His jubilation was not matched by Morgan. Her teasing look was now a defeated, though still genuine smile. "Your Penelope is blessed. But where is the band?"

"I left it; I remember that much. I was afraid to lose it, so I left it at home...home." His excitement still took hold of him. "I know I said I would help you but-"

"I keep my pledges, as any Monarch should." The smile was gone in its entirety now, and grim resolve had replaced it. "I will return you home, Markus Lancaster."

Fast steps grew closer, as did heavy breathing.

"Mother." The voice was Mordred's. "The watchmen are here, and they've seen the Marshal accompanied by several knights." There was hesitation in the young child's eyes, and beyond that: fear.

Morgan would have none of it though. "Spit it out." The anger in her voice, the almost bestial growl that accentuated her words, was surprising even to Markus.

"He's just scared, give him a moment. Please?"

He knew he was treading on thin ice, most parents resented being counseled on their parenting. But Morgan took the words seriously, albeit with great annoyance.

"Take a deep breath, child. And then speak again." Her face had hardened even further, and the "caring words" had not eased in their tone at all.

But it had been enough, and Mordred did as he was instructed, before continuing his news. "Galahad himself is with them." The name was said with a quiet reverence as if the boy was speaking of a saint or mythical hero.

Morgan did not share this sentiment. "That pious Bastard! He would pursue me, and of course, it would be now of all times..." Her fury was of almost religious zeal, and the entire temple writhed in agreement.

The walls shook and the snow that flaked them now turned to ice. And the growling of those unseen beasts rang intensified as the alien altars glowed still brighter. And as disturbing as this was for Markus, it was even more so for the young person next to him.

Mordred seemed not only disturbed but physically hurt but the cacophony. "Mother, please..." Blood streamed from the youth's nose, just as disorientation took the eyes.

But Markus was there to catch the falling child, almost before it had happened. His parental instincts and it was a parental impulse that drove him, spurred him to save the child from further damage.

As he held Mordred in his arms though and heard labored breaths admirably suppressed whimpers of pain, Markus realized something.

This body he held was much too slight to be a boy's, even a younger one. The voice was distinctly feminine as well, and as Markus looked into the child's eyes to confirm, he saw features that were undeniably a girl's.

He wondered if Mordred was just very feminine-looking, but the almost horrified look in the young girl's eyes told him the exact opposite. And as Markus turned to Morgan, the disapproving glare from "mommy dearest" said it all. The marine had just discovered their secret.

"That such a weak child should come from my womb..." The sorceress, rather petite in her build, stood up to her full height. She wasn't taller by much, and yet her presence commanded undeniable and royal attention. "Stand up."

Mordred swiped away the blood from her nose and stood as rapidly as she was able.

As she did though, a small whisper escaped her lips. "Thank you." And with that, she scurried off to where her mother had directed her next.

Markus was ready to say more, but his protests were halted by a single dismissive wave from Morgan. "You may ask your question later. For now, you will attend me." She marched off towards Mordred and beckoned Markus to follow. "If I should fall to these Knights, you will be marooned here. Away from your own time, and your own family."

He couldn't argue with that. And against his instincts, which now seemed to audibly scream at him to run away from here as fast and far as he could, Markus followed after his liege and her beleaguered daughter.