Chapter One:

Disclaimer: Not my characters just borrowing them

Author's Notes: This is inspired by what should have happened in Season 4, I thought it was only fair for the fans if it were brought to life. No disrespect to the original writers but I've added a few of my own changes.

Previously on The Lost World ...

The Challenger expedition was facing the destruction of the world. The forces of time, space and reality were closing in on themselves resulting in the Plateau's impending doom. Each member of the treehouse family had been transported to different periods of time; Finn was back in her own time, desperately trying to outrun a group of slavers; Challenger was somewhere in the distant future about to be dissected by a mindless human; Roxton was caught up with a band of Spanish conquistadors; and Marguerite was about to be sacrificed on a stone altar by a group of druids. Back at the treehouse, in a pyramid of divine light, Veronica called desperately to her mother for guidance, pleading with her to tell her what to do. All seemed to be lost.

"Mother! Is this what I'm supposed to do? Am I saving the Plateau or destroying it?" yelled Veronica. The trion in her palm burned even hotter making her gasp. "Am I the Protector?"

And Now ...

The trion burned white-hot in her hands, making the jungle beauty scream in pain. Panic clutched her heart and tears burned her eyes. She was Protector so why couldn't she do this? Why didn't she know what to do? Where was her mother? Veronica had been so sure that Abigail Layton would come to her and show her what to do, isn't that why she had sent her the trion? Hadn't she done that to send her a message? Suddenly she wasn't so sure. She screamed again; the pain was unbearable.

"PLEASE! I don't know what to do! I need help!" she sobbed.

The light all around her was dazzling, it blinded, awed, and frightened her. Never before had she felt so alone and so terrified. The fate of the Plateau, perhaps the world … or even the universe, rested on her shoulders and she had no idea how to save it all.

"Please, somebody help me!" she screamed, her voice echoing around the treehouse.


Through the blur of tears, Marguerite saw the dagger slowly descend towards her. And all at once, it hit her like a blow to the stomach, this was it ... she was going to die, she would never see Roxton again and her corpse would spend eternity in this damn cave. The despair that filled her now was almost suffocating. Not now, she thought to herself, not now when everything seems so right, not now that I've found John ... please not now. It seemed to take an age for the blade to fall through the air, but just as it was ready to pierce her vulnerable flesh, something happened. There was a sudden flash of light, a yell from her attacker, and the iron grip that pinned Marguerite to the altar was suddenly released.

Shocked and confused, Marguerite turned her head and saw the druid leader collapsed on the ground, clutching his hand – which appeared burned and blistered – moaning in pain. The dagger also lay on the ground a few feet away. The other druids had for some reason backed away, alarmed by something. Trembling, Marguerite sat up and discovered the cause of the disturbance. One druid stood apart from the others, hand outstretched.

"Warbek!" came a female voice from under the druid's hood. "Your quarrel is with me, not this woman!"

Marguerite waited with bated breath as the druid reached up and pulled down the hood to reveal their face. The heiress gasped, so did the druids, nothing could have prepared her for this. Under the hood was a woman ... a woman with wild raven hair, porcelain skin, and large grey eyes … the woman was Marguerite's double! Clearly the druids hadn't been expecting this and looked between the two women in confusion and fear. The woman shed her drab, brown robe to reveal a flowing purple gown underneath.

"What magic is this?" The druid named Warbek was suddenly on his feet.

"It makes little difference now; you have the wrong woman … and I am here to take her place."

"No, you can't!" gasped Marguerite. The woman turned her large grey eyes on Marguerite.

"You must hurry, there is little time," she urged. "You must go!"

Marguerite instinctively jumped off the altar and ventured a few steps toward the woman. She had the chance to make a run for it, to leave this cave forever and find Roxton, but she hesitated. Marguerite knew what fate awaited this woman standing before her, and she couldn't bring herself to abandon her to it.

"I can't just leave you here!" she said.

"But you must, you have your own destiny to fulfil. Your friends need you, so go!" insisted the druid woman.

Marguerite came closer to the stranger with the identical looks, barely registering the noise coming from behind her.

"But they'll kill you … I can't leave you to die!"

"I cannot fight my destiny any more than you can, mine draws to a close whilst yours is just beginning. Your role in the future is vital. Go, child … go to your friends!"

She spoke with such determination in her voice that Marguerite knew there would be no denying her will. And now she was gripped with a burning desire to seek out Veronica and the others, who she now felt were in great peril. Reluctantly, she ran past the woman who had just saved her life and headed for the cave exit. Still, she couldn't help but hesitate again as she reached the threshold and the druids swarmed around the other woman, seizing her by the arms. Despite everything she had said, she still struggled against them.

"Go, Marguerite!" she yelled, casting a look over her shoulder and meeting Marguerite's gaze once more. "The future depends on you, in more ways than one."

Marguerite remained where she was for a moment, confused and startled by the cryptic message. But a sudden yell from the druids had her running again, leaving the woman to her fate, and the cry of "Morrigan!" still ringing in her ears. As Marguerite emerged from the cave and ran headlong into the jungle, she did not see the hooded figure who emerged from behind some rocks. The stranger paused, watching the retreating form of the heiress, before turning and disappearing into the cave.


John Roxton slumped against a large tree trunk and hissed at the pain the action caused. Armed only with a heavy branch he had ascended a small, rocky hill, with the conquistadors still on his tail. He cursed himself for charging at them earlier, it had been a stupid move which had resulted in him being shot. Thankfully, the bullet had only grazed his arm, but it still smarted like the dickens. He was out of options, not to mention patience and energy. He looked down the hill where the conquistadors were slowly making their ascent, burdened by their heavy armour. The sudden snap of a branch breaking had the hunter spinning around. He gave a start of surprise. Standing before him was a tall young man, who looked vaguely familiar. He was clad entirely in black, his dark hair was slicked back behind him, his grey eyes were cold and calculating and there was a certain air of arrogance about his expression and posture.

"Who the hell are you?" croaked Roxton.

The man's lip curled in amusement, he waved his hand in an arc, from behind Roxton came an almighty crack. Roxton turned and saw to his amazement that the tree had cracked right through its centre, slowly it pitched forward and tumbled down the hill towards the men at the bottom. The conquistadors yelled with terror and scrambled down the hill for their lives. John turned a bewildered gaze to the stranger only to be met by a blow to the jaw. Overcome by darkness he toppled to the ground unconscious.

"I, noble sir, am the new order of things," said the stranger, a wicked smile spreading over his face.


Somewhere in the distant future in a white room, a bald man with a blank expression stood over a red-haired scientist with murderous intention. The flash of light reflected from the descending scalpel stabbed George Challenger's eyes. He tried to look away but found he didn't have the strength.

"God have mercy!" he cried forlornly. "Not like this, please, not like this!"

From out of the depths of hell, or so it seemed, came a startling sound. The cry of a man. It came softly at first then steadily grew stronger and louder, the scalpel hovered over Challenger's temple. The dim face of the enslaved man looked up in confusion. Challenger with some difficulty inclined his head to the side and saw that one sterile, white wall was shimmering like the disturbed surface of a pond. And out of its centre erupted the figure of a man who was launched over the table and landed on the floor with a thud.

"Malone!" cried Challenger, a surge of hope rising within him.

The young man got unsteadily to his feet, dazed by the fall and the too-bright room. He turned startled blue eyes to the red-haired scientist.

"Professor!" he yelped. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Malone suddenly barrelled forward and collided with the bald, mindless man who still wielded the scalpel. Malone hit him with such force that the man was thrown back into the wall and knocked out cold. Ignoring the female voice that now boomed around the peculiar room airing protests, Malone freed Challenger of his restraints and helped the older man to rise.

"What in the world is going on, Challenger? Where are we? And what is that thing?" the young reporter asked, nodding to the time ripple.

There was a commotion outside, some sort of alarm had been set off, and the two men could hear footsteps coming quickly up a long corridor. There was also a sound of mechanical voices blaring out commands.

"No time to explain now," said George, getting to his feet. "Let's just get out of here!"

Still gripping the inventor's upper arm, Malone and Challenger charged at the time ripple, just as several white-clad figures burst into the room. The two men disappeared in a shimmer of light, leaving the year 4666 behind them.


Marguerite ran like she'd never ran before, not entirely sure where she was going. Fear gripped her heart and a pang of guilt settled in her stomach as she thought of the woman back in the cave. She couldn't bear to imagine what those monsters were doing to her. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of her friends and that they might need her. Please let John be alright, she silently begged, please protect him from harm.

"Please, somebody help me!"

Marguerite screeched to a halt, shocked by the familiar voice.

"Veronica!" she gasped, looking around in confusion. "Where are you?"

There was no answer to her question, but the voice repeated much like an echo. There was no mistaking the distress and fear in the jungle girl's disembodied voice. It made Marguerite's heart skip a beat and filled her with dread.

"I'm coming, Veronica, just hold on, I'm coming!" she vowed, unsure how she would actually find her friend.

She started running again, but no sooner had she started she was stopped in her tracks by a most unwanted sound; the roar of a T-rex, and by the sounds of it the bloody thing was close.

"Oh, this is really bad timing." Even as she spoke there was a sound of birds scattering from their roosts as the trees parted to reveal a fully grown bull T-rex. "Could this day get any better?" she said through gritted teeth.

The dinosaur staggered towards her, it looked enraged and confused, no doubt due to the strange goings-on. From its mouth erupted a loud piercing roar. Marguerite backed away a few paces, fighting the urge to make a run for it. Desperately, she wracked her brain for some inspiration, some ploy to get her out of this mess. But nothing came to her. She was hopelessly pitted against this beast with nothing to defend herself, having been stripped of her pistol by the druids (not that it would have done her much good).

"Hey, big boy, I don't suppose you've already eaten today?" she said quietly. As if in answer the T-rex roared angrily. "I didn't think so."

The T-rex stormed forward, its heavy footfalls making the ground shake. Cursing to herself Marguerite ran for it, hoping that a solution would present itself.


Across the chasm of time, someone else was running for her life. Finn glanced over her shoulder to see that the slavers in the beach buggy were quickly catching up on her. Great, she thought to herself, this is all I need. Of all the places that stupid time ripple could have sent her, it had to choose here. She was sick of running. Finn knew she wouldn't be able to keep up this pace forever, she'd rather stop and fight for her life, it beat going quietly. Her decision made, she brought herself to a halt. Panting heavily, she turned to the slavers, drawing her crossbow, and aiming it at her target.

"C'mon you sons of bitches!" she said defiantly. "Come and get me!"

The beach buggy drew up beside her and the two men inside jumped out, triumphant expressions crossing their faces. One looked her up and down, noting to himself that someone as healthy as her would fetch a high price. If Finn had been paying closer attention, she would have noticed the slavers' faces suddenly flash with alarm, but she wasn't one to notice such trivial details, she took aim and fired her crossbow. But whether she hit her mark or not she never knew, for at that precise moment, she was engulfed by a time ripple and swept away. A few moments later she found herself staring at a still, silent jungle.

"Great, now where am I?" she said irritably.

As if in answer there was an odd whooshing sound from behind her. Finn spun around and saw a small ledge with a cave entrance … a cave entrance that was glowing with a strange, hazy blue light. Quick as a flash she dodged behind a tree just as a figure emerged from the light. A figure that made Finn gasp with recognition. He may be dressed in medieval clothes and sporting a beard but there was no mistaking who he was.

"Zoth!" breathed Finn.

The demon glanced around at his surroundings a determined expression setting on his face. He took a confident stride forward. As Finn watched, she felt a violent hatred rise up in her, making her see red. Right there and then she vowed to herself and the world that this man, this demon, would not live out the day. Silently, she loaded another bolt into her crossbow and was about to raise her arm and fire when the demon spoke.

"The time has come again," Zoth announced in a clear voice. "Time to find the Chosen One."

Quickly he climbed down from the ledge, Finn had a clear shot of him but didn't take it. His words had stirred something in her, she was curious. She wanted to know what he was up to. Why he had returned, and why he looked like that. She was determined to get answers, by any means possible. Challenger must be getting to me, she thought wryly. Zoth marched into the jungle, blissfully unaware he was being followed by a certain child from the future.


A sharp tap to the cheek and an unfamiliar voice slowly brought Roxton to his senses. A strange face came swimming into his line of vision, making him start.

"Welcome back to the world," said the young man.

He rose to his feet and smiled at the hunter gloatingly. As the fog of John's mind began to clear he quickly became aware of the lack of his weapons, stiffness in his shoulders, and pain in his wrists suggested his hands were tied, and by the feel of it, he seemed to be resting against a rock. He peered up at his captor and winced as he felt an ache in his jaw.

"Sorry about the jaw, but you strike me as a man that likes a fight," he said, though he didn't sound very sorry. "Lord Roxton, isn't it?"

"Do I know you?" Roxton asked hoarsely.

"No, but I believe you've met my father." At Roxton's frown, he explained further. "He wore an eyepatch to cover a scar and was slain in the quest of a pendant."

"Mordren," said John, suddenly realizing why he recognized the man.

"His name was Sabra. Mordren was his title, a title which has now passed to me."

Trying to get his head around this surprising news John voiced the question that had been on his mind since his return to consciousness.

"What do you want from me?"

A chuckle escaped the son of Mordren. Roxton didn't like the look of smugness on the youth's face, it put his hunter instincts on edge.

"It's not you I want, Lord Roxton, you're simply a bargaining chip," he answered, his eyes twinkling with malice.

"What do you mean?" John asked nervously.

"It's Marguerite I want," he said, confirming Roxton's worst fears. "She's the key to everything. She's the one that will help me get what I want."

"What does Marguerite have to do with this?" John asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"Change is in the air, Roxton, can't you feel it? Marguerite is the third 'stone'. She has the power to take the control from the Protectors and pass it to the Mordren."

Stunned by this revelation Roxton protested.

"Marguerite would never do that! She'd never betray Veronica!"

The wicked young man chuckled again.

"Oh yes, she would … she'd do anything to save her true love."

Roxton's face contorted with rage.

"You bastard!" he hissed.

"Curse all you like, your Lordship." He bent down and roughly pulled the hunter to his feet. "You know, it's unfortunate my father didn't realize her significance when he met you at the treehouse, we may have gained her alliance by simply giving her the birth certificate. But I don't think that's enough anymore … not now she's discovered true love," he added with a sneer. "Come, we're running out of time, and I have somewhere to be."

With more strength than the hunter expected the younger man shoved him forward, urging him through the jungle. Roxton allowed himself to be pushed and prodded, frantically trying to think of a way out of this. Marguerite needed his protection, perhaps more than ever. He couldn't allow her to be manipulated, just the thought of it made his gut clench in suppressed anger. Veronica depended on him too, he realized after a moment, what would happen to her if she were betrayed? Even if the betrayal was in the name of love? He assured himself that nothing good would come of it, Veronica would certainly be in danger. If anything happened to the young jungle born girl, John was sure that Ned would never forgive him. There has to be a way out of this, he berated himself, there has to be.


Marguerite skidded to a halt, just in the nick of time, since the trail abruptly stopped and plunged over a steep cliff edge. This day really wasn't going well: conquistadors, murderous druids, a T-rex, and now this! She could hear the dinosaur's roars getting closer, and she was hopelessly trapped between this gorge and the jaws of a hungry predator.

"John, where are you?" she whispered.

A loud crack had her turning. The T-rex had caught up with her at last. Heart pounding in her ears, and with no obvious escape, Marguerite found herself frozen to the spot. The mighty beast let rip a tremendous roar and charged forward. Just as it seemed that death was inevitable a body collided with Marguerite, shoving her to the side and out of the T-rex's path. Heedless of the danger the beast continued its rampage and toppled over the cliff edge, bellowing one last angry roar. Trembling from shock, her face pressed against the ground, Marguerite tried to settle her nerves and steady her breathing. She could feel the weight of a man on top of her, and for one blissful moment the heiress thought that Roxton had answered her call and come to her, that was until the figure spoke.

"Are you alright?" asked a deep, yet unfamiliar voice.

Mentally, Marguerite sighed in despair, she wanted Roxton by her side so badly that it made her heart ache. Please be safe, my love, she said to herself. Reluctantly she turned her face toward her rescuer. He was an older man, about Challenger's age, his face was flushed as if he had been running a long time. In a second, she realized he was dressed in medieval clothes – if she hadn't already encountered conquistadors and druids in the same day she may have thought this odd – his hair was brown, long, and unkempt and his lower face was hidden by a beard. But there was something about him that stirred up a strange feeling of déjà vu, something that summoned a ghost of a memory. Stiffly, he got to his feet and peered down at her. Marguerite sat up and fixed him with a steady gaze, trying to work out where she knew him from. He offered his hand to help her up, and although it was not her nature to trust strangers, she accepted it.

"Bokra?" she gasped, an image of a fog and another set of druids flashing in her mind's eye.

The man beamed at her, delighted she recognized him.

"Glad you remember, Marguerite … though judging by your expression, things are still a little bit foggy, if you'll pardon the pun?"

"You could say that, yes. I thought you were just a dream, what are you doing here?"

The smile faded from his face.

"Alas, Marguerite, I bring bad tidings," he paused, to make sure he held her attention. "Your lover is in great peril, and time is quickly running out for him."

"What! Where is – How do you – What kind of danger?" she asked urgently, gripped by terror.

"Even as we speak, my dear, his life hangs in the balance."

"Where is he? You have to take me to him! We have to save him!"

"NO!" said Bokra, grabbing her arm as she tried to move away. "I simply came to warn you. There is nothing you or I can do."

Marguerite tugged her arm desperately, her eyes brimming with tears, unwilling to hear what this man had to say. It wasn't true, it couldn't be. There had to be something they could do, something she could do. Bokra took her by the shoulders, a serious expression crossing his weathered features.

"But I know someone who can save him. A man who calls himself Rannik. Only he has the power to save Roxton, but he will likely ask for a favour in return."

"Favour? What sort of favour?" she asked, slightly suspicious.

"Rannik will need your help, Marguerite, there is a struggle approaching … a battle against two ancient forces. And you are crucial to the success of this battle."

"Me?" said Marguerite in a baffled and surprised voice.

"Yes, Marguerite, you are the Chosen One, Morrigan reincarnated, you have the power to switch the control!"

"Control of what?" she asked.

"The Plateau of course!" exclaimed Bokra, making her start. "It's your destiny to make a choice. You can take the power from Avalon, from the Protectors and give it to the Mordren, to Rannik."

Marguerite looked at him incredulously.

"Mordren! But he killed Veronica's father, tried to kill her too. And she happens to be a Protector, or at least her mother is! Do you seriously believe I'd help him?"

"You speak of a raving lunatic. Rannik is a good man, and the Plateau needs change. Those in Avalon can no longer manage it, are allowing it to waste away. The Mordren can right that!" said Bokra, his voice suddenly harsh.

"I can't do that, not to Veronica, she's like a sister to me. It would feel like betraying her!" exclaimed Marguerite, feeling very uncomfortable about this whole situation.

"Do you want to save the man you love?" demanded Bokra, shaking her slightly. "Would you really risk his life for a girl who even to this day, still doesn't trust you? A girl that thinks you would abandon your friends for gems and a way home. A girl who automatically blames you when something goes wrong. A girl who insists on looking for the worst in you!"

Marguerite stared at him in shock. How could he know all that? He had just voiced all of her private fears that she still harboured for her friends. Fears of rejection, fears that even after everything they'd been through – everything she'd done for them – they still didn't trust her, fears that they still saw her as a selfish, greedy pain in the ass. She cast her eyes to the ground, feeling exposed and vulnerable, feelings she hated.

"Think, Marguerite," he continued in a softer tone. "Think what you're risking, John loves you–"

"Alright!" she exclaimed. "I'll do it, I'll do whatever this Rannik wants … I can't lose John. I'm nothing without him. Take me to him, take me to Rannik," she said in a defeated voice, hating herself for doing this to Veronica. But what else could she do?

Bokra squeezed her shoulders and smiled at her, happy with her decision.

"Take my hand," he said.

"Don't do it, Marguerite!" yelled a voice.

The pair spun around to see a dishevelled Finn step out from behind a tree. Her crossbow aimed at Bokra's chest. Instinctively, Marguerite took a step in front of him; he was, after all, her only hope to save John.

"Finn, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"You can't trust him, Marguerite!" Was the girl's answer.

"What are you talking about? Bokra's here to help me."

"He's a liar! All of it's been a lie. His name isn't Bokra, it's Zoth, he's the one that destroys the future!"

Marguerite turned to him, backing off a few paces.

"Is that true?" she demanded angrily. "Answer me!"

"Of course not, this young woman is obviously mistaken. I exist to serve you, Marguerite," Bokra answered with a chuckle. But the raven-haired heiress couldn't help but notice that the smile didn't spread to his eyes.

"It's no mistake. I could never forget your face, you evil son of a bitch!" said Finn.

Bokra shot the young girl a cold hard stare.

"Marguerite, Finn, where are you!" screamed a distressed young voice.

"Veronica!" gasped both women, Finn looking around for her friend.

Both shared an anxious glance, Veronica sounded really frightened, her cry suggesting she was in pain as well. Finn was suddenly filled with guilt for not returning to the treehouse to check if her friend was alright.

"Is John in danger?" Marguerite questioned, barely keeping her emotions in check.

"Yes!"

"I want the truth!" yelled Marguerite.

"Yes! And if you don't give Rannik what he wants, he will be killed!" bellowed Bokra/Zoth. "You have no choice, Marguerite, stand by Veronica and the Protectors and he dies! Is that what you really want?"

"You planned all this, didn't you?" said Finn. "You put Roxton in danger, so Marguerite would do what you want?"

"I've had quite enough of your interference!" hissed Zoth. "Come, Marguerite, time is short and Rannik is notoriously impatient. Now, take my hand."

Bokra or Zoth, or whoever he was, had dropped all pretences now, laying bare his cold calculating heart, and his black soul – if demons actually possessed such things. Again, he offered his hand, but this time Marguerite recoiled from it. Disgusted by what he was demanding of her. She was unbearably torn by the decision presented to her, save Roxton or keep the control of the Plateau where it belonged. Why was it her decision? It wasn't fair. An assortment of stolen kisses, playful banters, loving glances, and passionate arguments came streaming into her memory. Some destiny indeed, she thought angrily. To save a good man she must hand over great power to a force of evil. To protect her friend, and this bloody Plateau she must let the love of her life die.

"Marguerite!" Finn's startled voice interrupted her train of thought.

Marguerite looked back at the young girl, apparently oblivious to the violet aura surrounding her body. But the heiress suddenly found it difficult to focus her attention. Roxton's handsome face now preoccupied her thoughts; his dark wavy hair, his crooked smile, his dark green eyes that twinkled with mischief, even his eyebrows that had that delightful habit of lifting skyward when he flirted. Finn watched with a mixture of awe and alarm, as Marguerite's expression became faraway, and the violet glow became stronger, eclipsing the older woman's figure. With a painfully bright flash, both the light and Marguerite disappeared.

"Marguerite!" Finn yelled again.

"NO! It can't be!" cried Zoth.

Finn saw with some pleasure, that Zoth looked angry and distressed about Marguerite's sudden departure. This was her chance to keep her promise, to put an end to Zoth once and for all. But something held her back, part of her wanted answers, to justify the lives lost because of this terrible creature. She held her crossbow steady and tried to keep a reign over a lifetimes' worth of hate.

"Looks like your plan's fallen through," she observed smugly.

"That is the second time you have gotten in my way, child," hissed Zoth. "You will not live long enough to do it again."

"Who are you anyway? Why are you here?" asked Finn, ignoring the threat.

Zoth seemed to compose himself, drawing himself to his full height, his nostrils flared, and a small smile played on his lips. He cast his eyes up and down Finn's body, as if trying to judge whether she was worthy to hear his story. Reluctantly, he seemed to decide that she was.

"They granted me my freedom," he said simply.

"Who?"

"The Mordren of course."

"Why?"

"Well like all good motives, they wanted something in return," said Zoth waspishly.

"And what was that exactly?" prompted Finn.

"The Chosen One. She is the key you see, the one person that can sway the balance of power. Her choice will decide which side will conquer the other and gain control."

Finn remained silent, finding it difficult to get her head around things.

"Morrigan was the first. Her birth started it all, changed everything, she's the one that opened up new possibilities. Those of Avalon devised a plan … a plan to put their side in control. They gave Morrigan the love of a man. A man who would guide her judgment and put her on the path of good. In retaliation, the Mordren came to me. I was chosen to guide her judgement, and to lead her on another path. You see, Morrigan didn't understand her fate any more than your friend, she thought she was destined to die to prevent the oncoming storm, and she was willing to do it. It was I who showed her the truth, I was the one who saved her from the druids who rose up against her, I was the one that told her how important she was!"

"Let me guess, after gaining her trust, you kidnaped the man she loved, told her he was in danger and said the only way to save him was to help the Mordren."

"Oh, how very perceptive. So you do possess a brain, after all. Yes, that was the basic plan and it worked perfectly … almost."

"Almost?" said Finn.

"Well after the Mordren had got what they wanted; they destroyed any trust Morrigan had in them by killing her lover anyway. In a rage, she banished me, setting me adrift in another dimension. Unable to punish the Mordren and consumed with grief, she succumbed to darkness, and let loose her wrath on the innocent, using the darker side of her powers. Eventually, she was captured by the same druids I had saved her from and sacrificed."

"Then why are you doing it again? Won't the same things happen again?" said Finn.

"My dear child, the Mordren have used other ways to influence the decisions made by each Chosen One, born from Morrigan's bloodline, and all have failed. So why not go back to basics and get the desired result, and in so doing win myself my freedom."

Finn figured the story was over, and even if it wasn't she didn't care, she was sick of hearing him talk. He wasn't going to give her the answers she wanted, because he hadn't done any of those things yet, and she was going to make sure he never got the chance. Somehow, she felt that all her life had been building to this moment, that this was her role to play in the grand scheme of things, to rid the world of Zoth and save the future.

"If its freedom you want then it's freedom you'll get!"

At last, Finn fired her crossbow and was overjoyed when it struck Zoth in the chest. He staggered back a few paces, caught off guard by the sudden attack. But he did not drop dead to the ground as Finn had hoped, somehow, he regained his balance and stood up straight. To Finn's horror, he grinned and removed the small metal bolt from his chest.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" he asked.


2020 Update: After re-watching the series I decided to come back and tweak a few things in this chapter, nothing major, it's just that I noticed a few things I'd written about Morrigan's storyline didn't quite sync up with the show's canon. I've also fixed some spelling and grammar mistakes throughout all the chapters; I'm not saying it's perfect, but it should at least be better than it was.