"Quick you need to be, or my back breaking will."

“Oh, do fuck off, you fat-shaming twat."

With as little grace as I could summon, I pressed down on Lancelot's back and enacted some sort of ungainly jump, grabbing the exposed brick of the cell ceiling with my right hand.

For a horrible moment, I thought the whole thing wasn't going to hold - PTSD-style flashbacks of a particular level of the original 'Prince of Persia' came flooding back - but then I tightened my grip and was able to swing myself upwards and through the gap we had created in the cell roof in a manner wholly defying the laws of physics.

Up yours, Newton. Equal and opposite reaction, my arse.

I was free.

Well, I was standing on the top of a Dark Tower, hundreds of feet in the air, with no idea where in the world I was. Oh, and a psychotic, vengeful cultivator miles above my level was hanging around somewhere. And my only companion was so lacking in wit and intelligence, whilst also being unnaturally buff, that he was a shoo-in for the next series of Love Island.

What I'm getting at is that I wasn't exactly home and hosed, but after what I'd been through, I was feeling pretty damn chipper.

I peered down through the hole at Lancelot, reaching his arms up at me and jumping up and down with a stupid grin on his beautiful face. His whole demeanour resembled nothing so much as a really good-natured puppy wanting to play.

Not for the first time in the last few minutes, I found myself a touch baffled to reconcile my reading about Lancelot and the reality of this slab of muscle. Was this guy really going to be the catalyst for Camelot's downfall?

"Helping me up, you will? The sky I want to be seeing, pretty hair!"

Mind you, it wasn't even like the age of Arthur had even properly started yet. If it ever would.

We had no Merlin. Arthur and Guinevere hated each other's guts, and Uther was still king. This wasn't like any version of Camelot I knew. But, then again, I was still in existence, so I could presume the timeline hadn't altered significantly from what was supposed to happen.

Zizzie was still alive out there somewhere.

So, say I left Lancelot down there in his prison. Would that make things more or less likely to work out well? This lump would lay the pipe to Guinevere at some point in the not-too-distant future. As sure as eggs are eggs, it would be this which would bring about the whole 'end of the world' vibe I saw in my vision of Camlyn.

On the other hand, I knew of many stories where, without Lancelot, the whole Kingdom would fall into ruin anyway. And it couldn't possibly be a coincidence that I ran into him here, could it?

I remember what my dad used to say. "There are no coincidences. Only secret plots you haven't uncovered yet."

Yeah, cheers, Dad. I always wondered where I got my raging paranoia from.

Decisions. Decisions.

I don't know what you're against the big guy, but if you want, I'll fucking fry him for you.

"Cheers, D. It's not that I don't appreciate your psychotic instincts, but I'm not sure that's how I want to handle this right now. If I decide a fiery demise is the only way forward, you'll be the first person I call."

I looked down again. Lancelot was still doing the odd jumping and hopping thing. Staring at him, I couldn't quite see what would appeal to Guinevere about this man.

I mean, obviously, I did.

He was the closest thing to physical perfection I'd seen outside the Elgin Marbles. And I'm including my late, lamented woodcutter in this, too.

But the Princess I'd met seemed to have a bit more about her than just swooning for all the muscles.

But then again, who was I to chat shit? If I were stuck with Arthur, I'd probably take the opportunity for an angst-free shag too.

Whichever way I looked at it, I didn't think the smart play was to leave him locked up. I leaned down through the hole, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him up with a quick jerk.

"You're crazy strong, pretty red-haired lady. Mother would cheerfully carve you up with her favourite axe.”

“Thanks. Glad to be of help. Tell your friends."

Now free, we both explored the top of the Tower, seeking an appropriate way down.

Well, to be strictly accurate, I looked around, and Lancelot followed me about like a lost puppy—a big, hauntingly attractive puppy with giant muscles and eyes you could get lost in.

To be honest, I could get used to this.

My good mood lasted until I realised quite how stuck we actually were.

The Dark Tower's roof was perhaps twenty feet square and—apart from the hole we'd battered in Lancelot's cell ceiling—was utterly devoid of any way to get down.

After jogging around it a few times, I found myself peering over the edge, trying to calculate precisely how wide my exploded corpse would spread if I jumped.

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I was pretty confident it would be a job beyond all the king's horses and all the king's men.

Basically, it was a very, very long way down.

However, even from this great distance, I could make out Bors's battle cries when the wind gusted in the right way, and that got me right in the feels.

They'd come to rescue me.

I couldn't help it - call it the residue trauma of the time loop, if you like - but a lump formed in my throat, and tears streamed down my face.

Many so-called white knights had tried to swoop into my life over the years. Most wanted something- obviously- but I think a few genuinely saw what a fucking wreck I was and were motivated to do something about it.

Of course, regardless of motivation, I'd told them all to fuck off to whence they'd came. And the horse they'd rode in on.

But that was the old me.

This new girl? Well, let's just say that when a literal white knight rode into town to save her, she wouldn't be turning them away.

What are you thinking? I recognise that fucking mental glint in your eye. Not saying I don't approve - your side of this partnership could use a bit more oomph - but your plans of late have lacked a certain . . . logical coherence.

"Fuck off. At least my plans are more evolved than setting everything on fire. No, listen. I'm wondering t exactly how much healing an Inferior Elixir of Wellness is capable of. Oh, and whether you'd bounce.”

*

"Merlin's dead." Arthur's voice was flat, and he circled around the Tower, trying to develop an angle of attack.

Aurelius Ambrosius. Who would have thought it?

He'd heard stories of his uncle, of course. But the vast majority of them were pretty consistent with the fact that - you know- Uther killed him.

“That's what I thought," Aurelius gestured for his men surrounding Bors and Arthur to fall back slightly, "and yet what can feel in the air?”

Bors and Arthur exchanged glances, and the big man moved forward to a defensive position. “Well, unless you think I've him rammed up my arse, I'm not sure what more we can tell you. But while we're in a questioning mood, what the fuck's a Briton doing palling up with the Saxon?!"

Aurelius' eyes slipped to Bors, and he clenched his fist together. In moments, the big man grunted in surprise and collapsed, clutching his chest. "I've heard people live just fine with only partial heart function. Apparently, those stories are exaggerated.” He turned his gaze back to Arthur. "Where is Merlin?"

Arthur licked his lips, trying hard not to panic as Bors' skin took on the colour of slightly off milk. "I'm going to guess the offer is that if I tell you, you'll let us live?"

Aurelius smiled, and Arthur noticed several of his teeth were... were they melted?

"Of course not. But if you spin me an entertaining tale, I might just kill you a hair quicker.”

Arthur was about to come back with a witty, cutting remark - any second. Any second now - when he was interrupted by two loud - yet oddly soft, squelching noises from beyond the entrance.

And then a loud clang.

*

If you're interested, the sweet spot to surviving this death dive seemed to be downing ten Elixirs each—to get a good buzz on—and then cramming as many vials in our mouths as we could hold on to the way down.

The plan—and I admit, this was not one of my better ones—was that the bottles would break when we hit, and maybe—just maybe—enough liquid would get down our throats to get another round of healing rolling before we died.

Oh, and I also had my Healing Rock wedged firmly in my hand.

It would be fair to say that I still had a long way down to go before I began reconsidering the advisability of this plan.

It would have helped if I'd had anyone with a functioning brain cell to help talk me out of doing it in the first place. Lancelot, though, had been absolutely on board with Operation Jump-from-twenty-thousand-feet-without-a-parachute.

"Is that what you think is best, pretty hair? Let's do it."

Seriously, Guinevere, this guy better be dynamite in bed.

As the ground rushed up to meet me, I turned on my back, indicating to Lancelot to do the same. The last thing we needed was to spill the elixir outwards when we hit.

Fucking hell. We were going to hit . . .

Then we clamped our teeth shut and hoped for the best.

We'd been falling for longer than I would have thought possible when . . .

*

Merlin couldn't keep this up.

He pumped every grain of Melehan's Qi he generated straight into Guinevere, and it was not going to be enough.

He knew there was only so long a cultivator could operate at absolute zero, and he had already crossed that line a while back.

If Arthur didn't appear soon with a fucking amazing healer, there would be two more corpses waiting for him when he returned.

He was just giving in to the blackest pit of despair when Merlin was suddenly amazed by the appearance of not one but two rather unexpected presences.

The surge of adrenaline increased his cultivation by the slightest amount, But it was enough.

A few extra grains of sand were shot over to the Princess.

Merlin forced open Melehan's eyes, hoping to catch sight of what had grabbed his attention.

One was a welcome if rather quickly moving blur outside the Dark Tower. The other, which he could see just inside the building's entrance, was a much less pleasant acquaintance.

Especially as, the moment they made eye contact, Aurelius Ambrosius began striding towards him.

*

Arthur was thrown bodily out of the way as Aurelius stormed past him and made his way quickly outside his Tower.

It had been an awful long time since he had been so summarily dismissed, and the injury to his pride hurt almost as much as the wall he smashed into by his uncle's shove.

Almost.

Fortunately, the rest of the Saxons who'd surrounded them had followed their master outside, so he was able to run to Bors's side quickly.

"Can you stand?"

"I doubt I could even fuck, but I never let that stop me before. Help me up." Arthur tried to ignore the paleness of his friend’s skin and how heavily he appeared to need to lean on him. "It's like someone hit me in the chest with a hammer. Only not as much fun. Where did that smug bastard go?”

They slowly reached the entrance just in time to see Aurelius backhand Melehan against a tree.

*

The funny thing is, there wasn't much pain.

I doubt there was enough time.

I was me. Then, I was roadkill. And then I was me again.

I sat up, and - oh, excellent! There's all that pain I was missing- and quickly downed a bunch more Elixirs, crawling over the ground to pour some more down into what I thought was Lancelot's mouth. It could have been his ear, I guess.

It was hard to tell.

Say what you like about Inferior Elixirs, but they didn't fuck about. In seconds, Lancelot started reinflating. Yep, that's the best verb I have for what was occurring. Like a burst balloon, lying in a pool of its viscera, blowing itself back up.

If it weren't so sickeningly appalling, I'd have been looking for this year's Academy Awards for Special Effects.

Then something moved to my left, and I spun, seeing Bors and Arthur emerge from the entrance to the Dark Tower.

They looked like absolute shit.

"You get an Elixir of Wellness! You get an Elixir of Wellness! We ALL get an Elixir of Wellness!” I shouted, slinging little bottles everywhere.

There's a chance I may have become a little hysterical.

As the potions took effect, I quickly recovered Drynwyn, who seemed none the worse for his mid-evening flight and tried to calm myself.

“Dudes, so good to see you! You didn't need to come all this way.” I went for an awkward hug, but Arthur pushed past me. Bors followed him at a run.

I turned to see what all the non-Morgan-related fuss was about and saw a wonderful visual of a slightly less attractive Uther pulling Melehan’s arm free from its socket.

I winced. "Not sure an Inferior Elixir is really going to cut it there".

And l ran to join the fray.