A/N:

Me: *finally making progress on my novel*

Familiar Voice in My Head: "Hey! I've got an idea!"

Me: *keeps writing* "I'm pretty sure I'm finished with you, Merlin."

Merlin: "Just look." *conjures plot bunny*

Me: *keeps writing* "Little busy, Merlin."

Merlin: *conjures another plot bunny*

Me: "I'm serious, Merlin."

Merlin: *conjures plot bunny right in front of me*

Plot Bunny: *boop*

Me: "Dang it, Merlin!"

OoOoOoOoO

Arthur's feet thudded on the stairs as he came down from his room, lured by the amazing smells coming from the pub's kitchen.

He'd officially moved in the day before, and he'd been astonished that the Emryses had a room already made up for him, complete with a Camelot-red blanket embroidered with the golden Pendragon crest.

"You already have a room for me?" he'd asked.

Branwen had shaken her head at him. "We didn't know when you'd return, Arthur, so we've always kept a room for you."

He'd needed to process that thought for a moment, imagining the dark-haired couple in various living spaces through the centuries, always with an extra room furnished but never used, in anticipation of his return. The idea had overwhelmed him and he'd folded Branwen into a gentle embrace. "Thank you."

She'd returned his hug. "It's just so good to have you back."

Now she was standing at the enormous stove, stirring something that made his mouth water. She turned and smiled at him.

"Good morning! You hungry?"

"Famished!"

"I assume you still like sausages, Sire?"

He shook his finger at her. "Don't even start with the 'Sire' stuff. And yes. Yes, I do."

She laughed. "Well, you can help yourself to what's on the table. This'll be ready momentarily."

"Thank you." He snatched a sausage from the heaping plate and popped it in his mouth. He glanced around the kitchen while he chewed and, after swallowing, asked, "Where's Merlin?"

"What, didn't I wake you early enough?"

Arthur smiled at the man just coming up from the cellar. "You didn't wake me at all."

Merlin grinned as he walked toward him. "I know! Isn't it great? And you even dressed yourself, too. I'm very impressed, my lord."

By now, he was standing within arm's reach, so Arthur punched him in the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Knock it off."

"Ow. Well, that hurts as much as I remember."

"That's because you're still a girl."

"Hey, now," came a voice from the stove.

"See?" Merlin pouted. "You're gonna get us in trouble with the cook."

Arthur threw an arm around him. "Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Any response was preempted by the outside kitchen door opening. Branwen squinted at the light-bathed figure who entered. "Morning, Maudie!"

The door closed and Arthur gaped, recognizing the woman who had directed him to the pub when he'd first arrived. "You!"

The woman dipped her head and quirked a smile at him. "Your Majesty."

Merlin blinked at them. "Wait. You two know each other?"

Maudie shrugged. "I may have given him a tiny push in the right direction a few days ago."

Branwen chuckled. "I should've known." Then, "Where's Gavin?"

"Oh, he's coming."

"Wait, wait, wait." Arthur needed to rewind the conversation a bit. "You knew who I was?"

She nodded.

"So, you're a seer?"

She considered the question. "Not like Morgana was, from what I understand. Seers tend to have visions of the future. My gift seems to be anchored firmly in the present."

"I'm not sure I understand."

Merlin cut in. "Basically, Maudie sometimes just knows things. And she's never been wrong."

Just then, the door opened again, letting in another shaft of light and another shadowy figure. When the door closed and the man turned around, Arthur blinked. Blinked again.

"Gwaine?"

Merlin pointed at the newcomer triumphantly. "Told you."

Branwen, taking pity on Arthur's obvious confusion, elaborated. "Arthur, this is Gavin, Maudie's husband. And although the likeness is astounding, he isn't Gwaine, at least as far as we can tell."

Gavin strode forward and gave Arthur a firm handshake. "It's an honor to meet you, my liege."

"Please, I'm not anyone's liege anymore. Just call me Arthur."

"Or Princess," Merlin muttered.

"Shut up, Merlin."

Branwen snorted. "Just like old times."

The door opened once again to admit a spirited red-headed pair arguing in matching Irish brogues. The young man was gesticulating wildly to the young woman beside him.

"Jaz, I don't see how that could possibly make any…" he trailed off when she stopped and his gaze followed hers to Arthur. His brows drew together. "Who's the new guy?"

Merlin turned. "Arthur, meet Jazmine and Jaxson, the Chandler twins." He turned back to the siblings. "Chandlers, this is Arthur."

Jazmine's hands flew to her mouth, her green eyes wide, but Jaxson crossed his arms and smirked. "So his royal pratness finally decided to make an appearance."

"Jaxson!" his sister hissed.

"What? That's what Merlin calls him."

Arthur tore his eyes away from the autumn-leaf hair falling gently to Jazmine's shoulders to shoot a look at Merlin. "Still?"

Merlin's grin was sheepish. "Not… recently?"

Jaxson gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like "Yesterday," before Branwen, shaking her head, brought the rest of breakfast. Place settings appeared as the group arranged themselves around the table, Merlin tugging Arthur into the space beside him. Arthur turned to him in time to see the telltale glow of magic in his eyes. Suddenly, they were no longer in the kitchen.

Arthur gazed at their new surroundings. Not quite as large as the kitchen, its earthen walls were windowless, but adorned with tapestries depicting familiar faces: Leon, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Guinevere, Morgana, and even Gaius, all looking as vibrant as they'd been in his memories. They seemed almost alive in the flickering torchlight.

"I still don't see the resemblance," he heard Gavin mutter.

The ceiling was supported by four large pillars, each carved into the likeness of what modern sensibilities would call mythical creatures.

But Arthur knew better. As he approached one, he realized that not only were they not mythical, they were not unfamiliar. He ran his fingers over miniaturized, perfectly carved scales, eyes drifting down the image until he found the nameplate beneath the claws: Kilgarrah.

He moved to the next pillar, a great winged cat. Trill.

Opposite Kilgarrah was another dragon, smaller, more delicate. Aithusa.

And finally, across from Trill, a griffin. Zephyr.

He stroked the carved feathers, remembering how surprised he'd been when Zephyr arrived at the castle, looking for the girl who had saved her life while she was still in the womb. She'd stayed, becoming fast friends with not only Branwen, but Aithusa as well. Arthur believed that Camelot had owed a great deal of her peace to the elaborate aerial games the two played over the citadel. At least, he knew he'd have thought twice about attacking a city with such creatures flying about.

He shook himself out of his memories and returned to his place at the table. It was only then that he realized that it wasn't the table from the kitchen. He reached out a trembling finger to trace the intricate knots carved into the surface. "Merlin," he breathed, "is this…?"

"It is," the warlock answered quietly. "I took it when Camelot finally fell and Branwen and I have kept it safe for you. Welcome back to the Round Table, Arthur."