A/N: I have no idea if the new year was celebrated in Arthurian times, and I don't much care. For the purposes of my story, they do.

"Arthur, we should…" Guinevere pauses as her husband kisses her yet again, attempting to distract her, "get up." She pulls her lips from his, reluctantly but with resolve. "We have guests arriving and I have a feast to oversee."

"Ugh," King Arthur of Camelot groans, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Must we?"

"Yes," she answers, shoving his shoulder ineffectively. He turns his head and begins kissing her neck. "Arthur…"

"I know, I know," he murmurs, his lips never leaving the soft, warm skin of her neck. I would live right here if I could.

"Why so grumpy, my love? Normally, you enjoy hosting visitors. Gives you a chance to show off, preen and puff about how your legalization of magic has gone wonderfully well, brag about how Camelot has never prospered so," she asks, threading her fingers through his hair.

"I know," he sighs, resting his head on her chest, smoothing his hand over her rounded belly, six months swollen with their first child. "I have something else about which to boast as well," he adds, turning to kiss her collar bone.

"True," she agrees, smiling. "But, none of that will happen if you keep your royal backside in bed all day." She pauses. "Do not make me call Merlin."

Arthur stiffens. "He's not my servant anymore," he tries.

"You don't have a new one yet, and you told him to keep up with some of his duties until he secures a suitable replacement," Gwen reminds him. "Plus, that's a very poor excuse. You don't want me to call him because you don't want to be levitated out of bed. Again."

"Well, that was both humiliating and horrifying!" he blusters, finally sitting up.

"You were the one who goaded him, wagering that he couldn't do it," she reminds him, slipping out of bed before he can pull her back in.

"No, I said he wouldn't do it. There's a big difference."

"Be that as it may; you were wrong. Now, get. Up."

He groans, but complies. "It's Olaf and Vivian who trouble me," Arthur admits from behind a privacy screen, emptying his bladder.

"Do you think Vivian is still enchanted? It's been… at least six years," Guinevere says, sitting at her vanity, unwinding her hair from its braid.

Arthur emerges, frowning. "If she is, I would think Olaf wouldn't bring her," he says, stepping over to her. He reaches down and replaces her hands with his, undoing her braid and running his fingers through her curls.

"Unless he thinks seeing you happily married and about to become a father will snap her out of it," Guinevere says as Arthur bends down to kiss her temple. "Perhaps Merlin can do something for her."

"Merlin said she needs to be kissed by someone she loves. Like you did for me," Arthur says, smiling at the memory. That was a good kiss.

"Yes, that's correct…" Guinevere answers thoughtfully, standing. She kisses Arthur once before walking to the door to call for her maid. "I have an idea," she declares, turning back to him.

Arthur quirks his head at her, curious.

"Mithian, Vivian, and Elena are all yet unmarried," she starts. "We have three fine knights as yet unmarried…"

"No."

"Hear me out," she presses, winding her arms up around his neck.

His hands find her hips and he raises an eyebrow at her, skeptical, but listening.

"I'm thinking… each party should be greeted by one of these fine knights. Personal envoy, that kind of thing."

"Guinevere, I can't ask my top knights to…"

"You may not be able to," Guinevere says, stopping his words with a finger on his lips, "but I can."

"Guinevere…"

"Trust me, Love," she says.

He kisses her finger and smiles. "You know I always do." Her maid knocks on the door, and Arthur exits as she enters, clearly amused by his wife's wishes for the happiness of others.

xXx

"You want us to do what?" Sir Gwaine asks, not sure he's heard his queen correctly. Or perhaps she is having a jest. It sounded like she wants us to be… tour guides.

"I would like each of you to act as a personal envoy to our visitors today," Guinevere repeats. "Normally, I would greet and entertain them, but I am going to be far too busy overseeing final preparations for the feast."

"In addition, Gaius has advised you not to spend too much time on your feet, my lady," Leon points out. "You do need your rest."

Suck up, Gwaine scowls. Secretly, he's jealous of Leon's close relationship with the queen, even though he knows it is nothing more than a friendship dating back to childhood. Secretly, he's still nursing his wounded pride over her rejecting him all those years ago.

"Thank you, Sir Leon," Gwen smiles at him. "Now, King Rodor and Princess Mithian should be arriving first. Leon, please greet them in the courtyard."

She thinks she sees Leon's eyes light up when Mithian's name is mentioned, but it is so fleeting, she isn't certain.

"Next should be King Olaf and Princess Vivian. Sir Gwaine, if anyone can charm the cantankerous Olaf and his… exuberant daughter, it is you." Gwen smiles and reaches over to pat his hand where it is resting on the hilt of his sword. As expected, he grasps her hand and lifts it to his lips.

"Only for you, my queen," he purrs.

"Still trying," she says mildly, gently extracting her hand from his to pat his cheek before turning to Percival.

"I will host King Godwin and Princess Elena, my lady," Percival says before she can give the order. He nods respectfully, but fondly, a small smile on his boyish but handsome face.

"Thank you, Sir Percival." She touches his arm, always amazed at the sheer size of this man. His arm is thicker than my leg.

"Do take care to have some servants along with you to attend our guests and carry any baggage they may have. Lord Merlin can tell you which rooms they will be using."

"Yes, my lady," they chorus, nodding.

"All right; off with you," she says, smiling fondly at her three favorite knights. After Arthur, of course.

"Gwen, a word?" Leon stays put while the other two exit, chatting and playfully roughhousing as they go. Out of respect for his queen, he only uses her given name on the rare occasions they are alone or in the presence of only Arthur or Merlin.

Guinevere stands in front of Leon, looking up at him, waiting.

"Yes, Leon?"

"Are you certain about Gwaine greeting Olaf and Vivian? I mean, Gwaine is an excellent knight, but, he's, well, Gwaine."

"Are you volunteering to trade with him?" Gwen asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No! I mean, no. But Olaf is so… strict. And Vivian is… is she still enchanted?"

"I'm not certain, but if she still believes she is in love with my husband, Gwaine is the best candidate to break the enchantment. He could charm the bees out of their honey."

"His charms didn't work on you," Leon points out.

"Only because I had already found my true love, which made me immune. Vivian's love for Arthur is false." She casually loops her hand into the crook of his elbow and they begin walking back to the palace from the training grounds where she had found the knights.

"Indeed," Leon agrees, nodding. A moment later, an uncharacteristically mischievous grin crosses his face. "This is going to be entertaining."

Gwen giggles softly. "Yes. And, Leon?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"You may want to consider taking a quick bath, since you've been training."

"Yes, my lady," he nods, flushing slightly. Does she know I've admired Princess Mithian since the first time she visited Camelot?

He escorts her back to the royal chambers so she can rest for a short time.

"Thank you, Sir Knight," Gwen smiles at him. "By the way, Princess Mithian likes the scent of cinnamon." With that, she disappears into the rooms she shares with Arthur.

She knows.

xXx

"King Rodor, Princess Mithian, allow me to welcome you to Camelot," Sir Leon greets the party from Nemeth in the courtyard, bowing respectfully to them. "The king and queen apologize for not greeting you personally. King Arthur is very busy with Lord Merlin, going over the latest reports from the Druids, and Queen Guinevere is overseeing preparations for the feast."

"Queen Guinevere should be resting," Rodor comments, swinging down from his horse.

"Yes. Perhaps you should tell her, my lord," Leon says, chuckling. "She listens to none of us." He steps over to Mithian's horse. "Princess, may I?" he asks softly.

"Of course, Sir Leon," she says, smiling down at him as he reaches up, his broad hands circling her waist and lifting her down from her saddle.

She remembers my name! Leon's heart is pounding. He returns her smile and gently sets her on her feet.

"Thank you," Mithian whispers, looking up at him, noting his kind blue eyes that crinkle in the most charming way when he smiles, his tousled auburn curls, and his slender-yet-muscular build. "I had forgotten how tall you are," she adds, still whispering as the warm scent of cinnamon wafts to her on the cold breeze. The cold breeze she doesn't really feel with his body so close.

Leon clears his throat. "I had not forgotten how beautiful you are, my lady," he answers, boldly, but softly.

Mithian blushes a lovely shade of pink and takes his arm. Leon gathers his wits, motions for the pages to take Rodor and Mithian's belongings, and escorts them into the palace.

"Sir Leon, how fare your parents?" King Rodor asks. Leon's parents, Lord Edwin and Lady Amelia, are well known in the five kingdoms, so the question doesn't surprise him.

"They are quite well, thank you, my lord. They will be attending tonight's feast, and I am certain Father would very much enjoy a word or two over a goblet of wine."

"Excellent," Rodor smiles.

"Ah, Princess Mithian, this is Eleanor. She will be your maid for the duration of your visit," Leon says as the young woman meets them in the corridor outside their rooms.

"Yes, I remember her," Mithian says, smiling. "She has attended me in the past."

"Very good. King Rodor, Curtis will be attending your needs," he introduces a young manservant standing with their bags. Rodor nods at the boy. "Please do not hesitate to let me know if you require anything at all."

"Thank you, Sir Leon. Perhaps a tour of the grounds later, if the weather holds," Rodor suggests.

"Very good. I will leave you to unpack and freshen up, then."

"Thank you, Sir Leon," Mithian adds softly, squeezing his arm lightly before releasing it.

"My honor and pleasure," Leon says, bowing to both.

"Eleanor, I think I should like a bath…" Mithian's voice drifts away as she disappears into her room with her maid, leaving Leon with half-formed mental images of a bathing Mithian floating through his brain.

This is going to be a long day.

xXx

Gwaine fidgets, waiting for Olaf and Vivian. He's perplexed, because no one would tell him anything about the pair other than obvious things like "Olaf is very protective of his daughter" and "Vivian is beautiful."

He'd been unable to find the people he knows would tell him: Leon, Gwen, and Merlin. Leon had been holed up in his room since Gwen dismissed them, and now he's with his charges. Gwen was resting when she wasn't busy checking over things in the kitchen or telling servants where to place decorations. And Merlin was helping Gwen, filling in for her while she rested and assisting her while she was up and about.

He wasn't going to even try to ask Arthur.

So, he waits.

At least Vivian is beautiful. Well, that's what they told me.

Finally, they approach. Olaf, tall and proud and stern. Vivian, a petite vision in pale flowing silks.

Nice.

"Where is your king?" Olaf barks as soon as he notices he is being greeted by a knight. An unshaven knight with long hair falling in his face, no less.

Gwaine straightens his shoulders and puts on his best Good Boy act. "King Arthur sends his apologies, King Olaf. He's busy with…" he pauses, deciding to forego whatever it was Gwen had told him to say, "…king stuff. You understand. And Queen Guinevere is having her mid-morning rest, which, I believe, you cannot deny her."

Olaf grunts noncommittally and looks over at his daughter. Her eyes are in constant motion, darting around the courtyard, searching. "Father? Where is my love? Where is Prince Arthur?" she asks, confusion playing across her lovely face.

"He's the king now, Precious, and he's married." Olaf sighs the sentence as though it is one he has said thousands of times. He dismounts his horse.

What the ever-loving hell is this? Vivian is in love with Arthur, and she thinks he's still the prince?

So, that's why no one would say anything.

Bastards.

Gwaine looks back up at Vivian. He smirks. Well, I do love a challenge. "My lady, if I may?" He steps over to her horse and extends his hand. Then, he flips his hair and looks into her large, blue eyes.

"It's about time," she snaps, but takes his hand and allows him to assist her.

"There, now," Gwaine murmurs, once Vivian's dainty feet are on the ground. She blinks up at him and stares a moment. He winks at her. Her eyes widen slightly and she shakes her head, trying to clear the confusion.

"Will you take me to see my love?" she asks.

"Why don't I show you to your rooms first?" Gwaine suggests, tucking Vivian's hand into his elbow.

He notices Olaf watching him. His face is stony, giving nothing away.

"Very well," Vivian agrees.

Olaf blinks.

They start walking, and Olaf falls into step beside Gwaine. "That's the first time I've seen her attention shift away from Arthur," he mutters (more of a growl), just loud enough.

"How long has she been like this?" Gwaine asks, just as softly.

"Arthur! There he— oh…" Vivian interjects loudly. Another knight with blonde hair appeared at the end of the corridor. She almost pulls away from Gwaine, but he keeps his hold on her hand.

"Since we visited seven years ago. They were both like that. Arthur snapped out of it. Vivian didn't. I thought news of his marriage would take care of things. It didn't. I'm hoping seeing him married with a pregnant wife might jar her out of it."

"She still thinks he's the prince…" Gwaine recalls.

"Yes."

"Is she enchanted?"

"Probably."

The gruff affirmation surprises Gwaine. He also realizes he likes Olaf, despite the man's brusque demeanor. Perhaps because of it. He's always appreciated straightforwardness. "I'll send Merlin 'round. He might be of some assistance," Gwaine says.

"Oh. The serving boy who turned out to be a big wizard. Right. Um, thank you," Olaf says.

Gwaine smiles. "Here we are," he indicates their rooms. They are as far away from the royal chambers as possible. By design.

"Oh! The serving girl I had last time was… passable. Her name was… something like Genevieve… Might I have her once again?" Vivian chirps.

Likely Gwen. "Sorry, darling, that serving girl is the queen now," Gwaine says indulgently, taking her hand in his. "But Rose will make sure you want for nothing." He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles. She stares at her hand a moment. She stares up at Gwaine.

"Thank you," she squeaks, her eyes like blue and white saucers. She flounces into her room, her maid (who has clearly been briefed by Gwen on Vivian's behavior) following quickly behind. The page carrying Vivian's baggage follows last.

"Normally, I would have your head on a pike for behaving in such a manner toward my daughter," Olaf's voice behind Gwaine makes him turn. "But, since it seems to have some sort of… distracting effect on her, I'll allow it." He narrows his eyes. "She is my youngest and most precious. Be mindful."

"So, not heir to the throne, then," Gwaine answers casually. Very nearly cheekily. He meets Olaf's steely gaze with his own calm one. "Interesting."

"How did you get to be a knight?" Olaf asks after several long moments.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Gwaine answers, grinning.

Olaf merely grunts again and heads into his room.

Gwaine can hear Vivian yelling at poor Rose from inside her rooms. His grin widens as he saunters away.

This is going to be an entertaining day.

xXx

Sir Percival knows the story of King Godwin and Princess Elena's bizarre visit to Camelot. Uther had tried to make Arthur marry Elena. Neither Arthur nor Elena had wished to marry the other, each for their own reasons.

Arthur's ability to stand up for himself against his father, to do what he believed was the right thing instead of unquestioningly doing his father's bidding is the main reason Percival stands here today, waiting for the king and princess to arrive.

If Arthur did whatever his father told him, neither Gwaine nor I would be Knights of Camelot. Gwen would not be our wise queen.

Merlin would be dead.

Percival tries to imagine his life had he not met up with Lancelot. He really cannot. I would have probably ended up a man-for-hire, or, if I were lucky, perhaps a bodyguard for some low-ranking noble.

He wonders what the princess is like. He was told she was beautiful but slightly clumsy. Merlin explained she was unknowingly possessed by a faerie, and once it was exorcised, she was much better. More graceful. The queen had confirmed this, saying she found Princess Elena to be a very gentle and plain-spoken woman. Much like the queen herself.

Godwin and Elena enter the courtyard, snapping Percival out of his reverie. He straightens his shoulders, standing proudly, drawing himself up to his full height of just under six and a half feet tall.

He sees King Godwin cock his head quizzically, so he steps forward. "Greetings, King Godwin, Princess Elena. I am Sir Percival. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere have asked me to welcome you to Camelot as they are indisposed."

"Thank you, Sir Percival," Godwin answers, stopping his horse beside a waiting stablehand. "I trust Queen Guinevere is well?"

"Yes, my lord, the queen is well, indeed. Does not rest as much as the king would like, but she has her own mind," Percival says with a smile.

"So I have heard," Godwin smiles. "We have been remiss in that we have not visited in recent years. I am eager to meet the Peoples' Queen."

"Father, you did meet her," Princess Elena speaks, looking over at him as he allows a page to assist him from his horse. "She was the lovely maidservant who attended me when we were here before," she reminds him. "You know, when I almost had to get married," she adds, laughing.

"Was she? I think I remember her," Godwin says, furrowing his brow.

"My lady," Percival steps over, offering his hand. Elena turns to look at him, and startles briefly, noting that she doesn't have to look down so much as over.

She is lovely. Does not appear to have any airs about her at all.

"Well, I don't actually need assistance…"

"Elena…"

She huffs at her father. "But, thank you, Sir Knight." She takes his hand and swings her leg over the saddle. Percival is about to lift her down when she drops gracefully to the ground.

Almost. Her foot catches in her skirt and she tumbles forward into Percival's arms.

"Oh, dear…" she stammers, cheeks pink with embarrassment. All she is aware of is this giant man with arms like tree trunks and the sweetest face she's ever seen, holding her upright with the gentleness of a lamb.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Percival asks, glancing up to see that Godwin is momentarily distracted, pointing to bags for the pages to take.

"Y-yes, I'm fine. I tried to wear trousers for riding, but Father insisted on a dress, saying not wearing one would make a poor impression. Especially after what happened the last time we were here." She looks up at him. "You weren't here for that ridiculous affair, were you?" she asks. "I think I would have definitely remembered you."

Percival feels his own cheeks flush now. "No, my lady, I was not here. I was merely told about it. For what it is worth, I believe the correct decision was made that day," he says, smiling a little.

She laughs. "Yes, me, too. I mean I like Arthur and everything, but…" I like taller men. She stares up at Percival for a moment longer, momentarily flummoxed. "No. Didn't want to marry him."

"Elena?" Godwin asks, finally noticing them, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Forgive me, my lord, the princess took a small tumble and I was merely ensuring she was uninjured," Percival states.

"Very good," Godwin answers, looking at Elena. She nods, confirming Percival's statement.

"My lady?" Percival offers his arm.

"Afraid I'm going to trip again?" she asks, chuckling, but takes his arm nevertheless.

"Merely doing my duty," he answers. He glances down and sees a slight frown playing across her face. I said the wrong thing. "And the stones are a trifle uneven," he mutters, just loud enough for her to hear.

She laughs. It is musical and free. He likes it.

"If there is anything you require during the day, please do let me know," Percival says, mainly to Godwin, as he escorts them to their rooms.

"I'd like to visit the marketplace," Elena says brightly.

"Daughter, must you visit every marketplace in every kingdom we visit?" Godwin asks.

"Father, you know it is important to me," she says. "I am very interested in how the commoners are living. It tells me more about the state of the kingdom than any meeting with any king or queen," she explains, looking up at Percival.

She's very smart. I wonder if she is his heir? No. If Godwin was going to marry her off to Arthur, then likely not.

"Yes, but I'm not sure we'll have time," Godwin answers. "However, now that I think of it, I recall there being some fine craftsmen here in Camelot…"

"I would be happy to escort you to the marketplace this afternoon," Percival volunteers. "Lunch will be served very soon. Perhaps after we've all eaten?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," Elena agrees. "Are we the last to arrive?"

"I believe so. Kings Rodor and Olaf are already here, along with Princesses Mithian and Vivian. You'll see them, along with King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, at lunch. Here we are," Percival says, stopping outside their rooms.

"Ugh, Vivian is such a nitwit," Elena mutters. Godwin doesn't hear. Percival coughs to cover his laughter.

Elena smiles conspiratorially at Percival. He feels his cheeks warm again, and clears his throat. "Um, King Godwin, Bertram will be your manservant for the duration of your stay."

"Thank you. Lunch soon, then?"

"Within the hour. You will be sent for," Percival explains.

"Very good." Godwin disappears into his room.

"My lady, this is Elizabeth. She will take excellent care of you during your stay with us," Percival says.

"Thank you, Sir Percival," Elena says, squeezing his arm (as best she can) before releasing it. She hadn't realized she was still holding it. "Will you be dining with us at lunch?"

"I believe so," he says.

She smiles and turns to her door. Then, she stops and turns back. "Are you always so formal?"

"My lady?"

"There. Always 'my lady.' Are you always so formal?" she asks again, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Um… yes, I suppose I am." He frowns slightly, not really wishing to tell her he was born a commoner and addressing his betters by title has been deeply ingrained into him. "It's a bit complicated, I'm afraid."

"I look forward to hearing about it," she says, a challenging smile on her face.

"My lady?" he repeats, for he doesn't know what else to say.

"Call me Elena, please," she says, smiles again, and disappears behind her door.

This is going to be an interesting day.