Prince Arthur & the Quest for the Holy Grail

by Soledad

Author's notes: I've messed up the legendary background of the Knights of the Round Table a bit, but this was the best I could do to reconcile the series' canon with the actual legends. Besides, the legends provide us with at least two or three diagonally opposite backgrounds for most knights – I just picked the ones that served the purpose of this story the best, and twisted them around a bit.

And yes, I know that according to some online sources Gaius is supposed to be Hunith's brother – sorry, not buying that one. There's clearly at least one generation of age difference between the two of them. So I made Gaius her uncle.


Chapter 02 – The Brotherhood

At any other time, presenting the new knight-probationers to the King – or, as the case might be, to the Prince Regent – would have been a joyous event, requiring a festive banquet, with a great deal of music, dancing and games. Given the fact that Camelot was currently a ravaged realm on the brink of famine, though, the festivities were kept on a rather subdued level.

Sir Ector of the Marshes arrived in the late afternoon, accompanied by his heir and a hunting party. They had apparently been successful on the way to Camelot, as the huntsmen were carrying a stag, a couple of fat boars and a great number of fowl hanging from their shoulders. All of this their lord offered to the royal kitchens, so that at least the noble guests would eat well this evening – and the people of the Citadel, who would be given the leftovers afterwards.

Merlin watched Sir Ector with great interest. The man seemed to be roughly of King Uther's age and height, but of a much more slender build that suggested wiry strength. His sandy hair, generously peppered with grey, was round-cut, in the fashion the knights of the eastern provinces preferred. His sharp features revealed a strong will and a shrewd mind; his deep-set eyes were dark grey, and his long nose gave his whole face a grave expression. He was clearly not unblooded in battle, if the proud carriage of his lean body and the way he moved around, with a controlled economy of movement, were any indication.

His heir must have taken after his mother, as there was little to no likeness between the two of them. Sir Kay was a tall, handsome young man, with short, curly dark blond hair, and with an open, honest, bearded face. He was a few years older than Arthur, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six, and already knighted. He wore a hunting tunic of fine brown wool and a sleeveless leather jerkin similar to that of Sir Ector, and a large hunting bow across his back.

The older servants of the castle came forth to greet Sir Ector with delight and great respect, Geoffrey de Monmouth hurrying in front of all to welcome him. Even King Uther, who had not showed his face publicly since Morgana's last disappearance, came out of his chambers for a short time. He and Sir Ector embraced each other tightly before the eyes of everyone.

"Are they related somehow, or are they just old friends?" asked Merlin in surprise. In the three years he had lived in Camelot, Uther had never shown such public appreciation for anyone – not even for his only son.

"Related… but not by blood, only by marriage," explained Gaius. "You do remember the Black Knight, called back to unlife by Nimueh, don't you?"

Merlin nodded. Of course he remembered the undead monster. Sir Owain and Sir Pellinor, still lying at death's door, were reminder enough, even if he could forget the horrors of those days. The fear that Arthur might be slain by his vengeful uncle.

Gaius sighed. "Then you'll also remember that while alive, the Black Knight was Tristan de Bois, Queen Ygraine's brother." Merlin nodded again. That had not been a pleasant realization, for either of them. "Well, Sir Kay is the son of that Tristan de Bois."

"What?" Merlin asked, fairly shocked. "He's not the son of Sir Ector?"

"In a way, he is," said Gaius. "When his father died, Sir Ector, who's the brother of Kay's late mother, took the boy under his wing, raised him as his own son and made him his heir. People say he's done an excellent job with the boy, and Kay grew up to become an honourable young man and a brave knight."

"So, he's actually Arthur's cousin?" Merlin tried to clarify things. Gaius nodded.

"The closest kin our Prince has… well, aside from Morgana, that is."

"Let's hope Arthur will be better off with him than with Morgana," commented Merlin grimly.

"I hope so, too," Gaius agreed. "That's why Geoffrey's called them. Sir Ector has already helped Uther through a very hard time, after the death of Queen Ygraine, and Uther will need his support again. But when the day comes, hopefully Arthur will be able to rely on Sir Kay."

"Why have I never heard of them?" asked Merlin. "Arthur often talks about the noblemen of the realm and about the allies of his father – why has he never mentioned having a cousin?"

"They've never been close," replied Gaius. "The lands of Sir Ector lie beyond the realm of King Olaf, so he rarely visits Camelot. Arthur and Sir Kay have met perhaps half a dozen times in all their lives."

"And whenever they did meet, they were at each other's throats… right?" asked Merlin, because Gaius' expression had spoken volumes.

The old man nodded in rueful amusement.

"Kay was the older, and until recently, he was also stronger, more skilled with the sword… and Morgana had taken a liking to him, or so it seemed, while she did nothing but mercilessly tease Prince Arthur all his life. They were very young, all three of them, and fairly competitive."

"I bet Arthur hated being bested by Kay… and that in front of Morgana, no less," grinned Merlin. Gaius shot him a warning look.

"That is Sir Kay to you; don't forget that most nobles are not as forgiving towards insolent servants as Prince Arthur is towards you."

"Forgiving?" Merlin spluttered indignantly. "You've seen what he puts me through all the time. While I'm saving that ungrateful backside of his again and again – you call that forgiving?"

Gaius shook his head in exasperation. "Yes, you are, but he doesn't know that, and that's good, or else you'd have been burned at the stake already – or be running for your life at this very moment," he said, a little more sharply than intended. "Your only safety is to make everyone think you're just a servant… and a fairly clumsy one at that. Trust me: had you been serving any other master than Prince Arthur, you'd have long learned how to walk on your knees… permanently."

Merlin made an unhappy face but stopped arguing because – as much as he hated to admit it – he knew that Gaius was right. Arthur did let him get away with a lot of things other servants would have been flogged within an inch of their lives for. The worst he had ever experienced was the stocks, and that was something he had almost got used to.

They could not follow that line of conversation, though, as other guests kept arriving all afternoon (most of them courteously bringing considerable food reserves with them to ease the burden of Camelot), and for a while, all helping hands were needed, including Merlin's. When finally the last noble party had been put away in proper guest quarters – the only thing Camelot presently had aplenty was space – Merlin was so tired he could have fallen onto his cot like a log. And the banquet was just about to begin.


There had been a great deal of speculation in the Citadel as to whether King Uther would make an appearance at the banquet – he had never missed such an important event before – and if he did, would he tolerate the presence of Prince Arthur's recently-dubbed knights. That Uther had come forth long enough to greet Sir Ector had given food to wild guesswork, but on one thing everyone agreed: if Uther attended the banquet, the fireworks between him and his heir were going to be spectacular.

The more sensible parties – among them Merlin, Gaius and Geoffrey de Monmouth, once again standing with the other servants and waiting to take their place at the lower tables – were greatly relieved when they saw that Uther had chosen not to preside over tonight's feast. Having the heroes of the great battle against Cenred's immortal army thrown out of the Great Hall would have caused a scandal they could not use at the moment.

Merlin was equally relieved to see that Arthur, for his part, had had the sense not to invite Gwen to sit by his side at the high table. Not that she did not deserve the same honour as her brother; but having a simple handmaid among them would have antagonized the visiting nobles, and that was something Camelot could not afford right now. In these hard times, every ally was of crucial importance, and Arthur could not follow his heart where protocol would disagree.

Thus Gwen was standing among the servants, too, although her fine gown of richly embroidered silk, suitable for a high-born lady rather than for a serving wench, stood out of the crowd rather visibly. Unlike in old times, though, she seemed decidedly unhappy with her status; the scowl on her face was not a thing of beauty, if Merlin wanted to be honest.

As Uther's old steward had been killed during Morgana's blessedly short reign (under circumstances that were still unclear and might never be fully revealed), one of the older, trusted servants, a man named Morris, took over the duties of doorkeeper. As was custom in Camelot, only Arthur and his household had entered the Great Hall through the back door – the one leading to the royal wing of the castle – and had taken their places, waiting for the guests to arrive. These would come through the main entrance: the Porta Speciosa, as the intricately carved and adorned doors were called, with the doorkeeper announcing loudly their names and their rank. A horn was also blown before every new group of guests entered.

Today's guests of honour were the first ones to be allowed in, of course, and after the short horn-call, Morris announced them in a clear, ringing voice.

"Sir Ector of the Marshes with his heir, Sir Kay de Bois!"

In they came, now decked out splendidly in bag-sleeved cotehardies of the finest brocade, black with small silver buttons for the lord and deep burgundy red with somewhat larger golden buttons for his heir, girdled with thin leather belts, adorned with small flower motifs of silver and gold, respectively. They were led to the high table, where Sir Ector was seated on Arthur's right – which would have been Arthur's own place, had the King graced the feast with his appearance – while Sir Kay was given the place that had once belonged to Morgana. It was his right; after all; he was Arthur's closest kin now, with Morgana's fate still uncertain. Still, it made Merlin feel… strange, as he realized that Camelot no longer had a lady – any lady – to claim that orphaned seat.

Not unless Arthur got his wish and made Gwen sit in that seat, that is. But that was not going to happen for a while yet… if ever.

Another horn-call signalled the arrival of new guests, and Morris called out:

"Sir Gaheris of Orkney and his brothers, Sir Agravaine and Gareth."

Three tall, dark-haired men came in two knights and a squire, wearing identical, ankle-length tunics of heavy silk, in dark brown and olive green, girdled with thin belts and with basically the same coat-of-arms emblazoned on their breasts, with the small modifications that marked them as the second, third and fourth sons, respectively, as Master Geoffrey murmured into Gaius' ears. They were a spectacular sight.

"What about the firstborn, though?" asked Merlin, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

Master Geoffrey shrugged. "They say that King Lot of Orkney first sired a son by a noblewoman who was not his wife. That lady took the child, while it was still a babe in arms, to a foreign kingdom, begrudging Lot his firstborn for not having married her. Apparently, Sir Gaheris and the others have been looking for their elder brother for years, but so far in vain."

The three sons of King Lot were seated on Sir Ector's right, not being family, and the horn sounded again.

"Sir Percival the Angevin, son of Gahmuret," Morris called.

The Percival who was now allowed entrance looked markedly different from the uncouth simpleton Merlin had come to know and like. Wearing the colours and the coat-of-arms of his legendary father, he offered an impressive sight indeed in the tapestry-patterned, bright red brocade, edged with soft gold… even if he looked decidedly uncomfortable in his newly-regained splendour.

Fortunately for him, he was given the seat next to Sir Kay, who soon involved him in a conversation Percival seemed to enjoy. Merlin's opinion about Arthur's cousin went up several notches. Apparently, Kay had a way of making people feel comfortable in his company – that could prove useful, if he was to stand behind Arthur's throne one day.

The next horn-call, again, greeted familiar faces… at least one out of three.

"Sir Leon de Gaunes, First Knight of Camelot, with his brothers, Sir Bors and Lionel," announced Morris.

That caught Merlin's interest. He knew that Sir Leon had brothers, but this was the first time he had heard the full name of Camelot's most faithful knight.

"Sir Leon is not from Camelot?" he asked Gwen, who knew the man best, after all.

"Oh, he is; both he and his brothers were born here," explained Gwen. "But his father, Sir Leontes, was the brother of King Bors, the ruler of one of countless petty kingdoms that have since fallen to one of the stronger realms. The family fled to Camelot after the fall of King Bors, as Sir Leontes had been one of Uther's stout supporters."

"There seems to be a lot of royal blood around there," commented Merlin, watching Sir Leon and his brothers stride up the length of the Great Hall to take their seats next to Perceval.

Sir Bors had a marked resemblance to his older brother: the same eyes, the same curly blond hair and very similar features, although Bors was not bearded. Lionel, their youngest brother, could not be any older than seventeen or eighteen: a smooth-faced, pretty youth with shoulder length, wavy tresses, light brown rather than the blond of his brothers'. On his way up, he flashed a smile of easy recognition at Gwen, admitting to their long acquaintance and not caring what the court might think.

Merlin decided that he was going to like Sir Leon's younger brother.

The next call announced Sir Alynor, once the celebrated star of all jousting tournaments, who had only recently regained his full strength, after having been grievously injured by the assassin Myror more than a year earlier. He was clad entirely in black, cotehardie, hose and leather coat, with his curly, dark hair hanging over his shoulders, and he took his seat next to Sir Leon's brothers without invitation.

He was followed by Sir Geraint – the eldest son of Lord Lagres of Ester-Gales and brother to the still ailing Sir Erec – and his wife, the Lady Cunneware of Lalande. Sir Geraint had come to Camelot to fill the place of his younger brother who had been wounded during the Great Dragon's attack, as his House owed the King an able-bodied knight. He was a battle-hardened veteran on whom Arthur could always count.

He and his lady were followed by Sir Ragnor, who had only survived Morgana's reign by having run into an ambush a few weeks earlier and laid in some peasant's hut, wounded and feverish, all the time. He seemed to have more or less recuperated from his ordeal, but was still very pale. Other than them, only Sir Bedivere was still alive from the Knights of Camelot; and even Bedivere had had to be reassigned as Uther's cup-bearer, having escaped from the hunt after the Questing Beast with a stiff leg.

"Sir Yvain the Valiant, son of King Urien," announced Morris after the next horn-call, and in walked a sharply handsome knight of about thirty years, with short, curly auburn hair and exceptionally large, hazel eyes, clad in sombre dark velvet.

"As I said: lots of royal blood around," said Merlin, watching the proud knight walk along the Great Hall as if he owned the place. "Who's King Urien anyway?"

"The lord of another petty kingdom who probably only ruled over his own castle and a few outlying villages," replied Gaius. "There was a time, before Uther established his rule in Camelot, when every robber baron in possession of a wooden watchtower called himself a king. They fought each other for land and riches, and the simple folk suffered greatly. Uther might have his faults, but he did bring peace and prosperity to Camelot; never forget that."

"I won't," promised Merlin darkly. "Neither will I forget the price it came with."

For a moment, Gaius stared at him in shock, understanding perhaps for the first time that as much as Merlin had accepted his destiny, he would always look at Uther's deeds from the perspective of the hunted. He could not see them in any other light. It was the core of his very existence that Uther had outlawed and declared evil.

"This Sir Yvain," Merlin then said, deliberately changing the topic. "Is he half as good with the sword as he is arrogant? Because he does seem mightily content with himself."

"Oh, he's quite famous, actually," replied Gaius. "He's known to have rescued a lion when he was just a page still, killing a dragon in the defence of a noble beast."

"A dragon?" Merlin repeated incredulously. "That I find a little hard to believe."

"Perhaps it was a baby dragon; a freshly hatched one," commented Gwen, making a face of obvious distaste. "Or a really big lizard."

"It could have been a very young wyvern, too," Merlin suggested, snickering.

"Whatever it was, Sir Yvain killed it," said Gaius. "And all tales told about him agree that he used to have a lion in his father's fortress, a male one that followed his every step like a faithful dog."

"That part is true," Geoffrey de Monmouth assured them. "I saw the lion with my own eyes when I accompanied King Uther to Urien's castle. Sir Yvain went on a series of adventures with that lion, too, helping one lady after another, which made him the subject of many songs. Also, with the help of the lion, he slew the giant Harpin of the Bleak Mountains. He's a brave man and a valiant knight; Camelot will benefit from his bravery greatly."

Merlin had his doubts about the wisdom of inviting someone who was already a living legend to the court of a king who was presently unable to fulfil his duties and had to rely on the help of an old ally and his young, inexperienced son, but he knew better than to voice his doubts. As usual, Arthur would simply dismiss his worries.

The horn at the Porta Speciosa sounded again, interrupting Merlin's worried thoughts, followed by the announcement:

"Sir Girflet of Conduel, son of Lord Doon!"

The knight who came in, clad in rich, dark brocade, with his long tresses framing his handsome face like dark flames, seemed almost impossibly young and way too slender to bear the weight of a knight's armour. Nonetheless, even Merlin had heard of him. He was the cousin of Sir Bedivere and Lucan, Uther's wine steward; he was the same age as Arthur and had been knighted with the Crown Prince. He had returned to Conduel just before Merlin had come to Camelot, to help his father protect their lands against the bandit chieftain Hengist, but had come as soon as Arthur's call had reached him.

There were many more horn-calls and announcements, welcoming Sir Tristan of Cornwall with his companion Sir Dinadan, Sir Lamorak of Gales, Sir Agloval, Sir Sagremor and others. Merlin simply lost count after a while and only hoped that – given enough time – he would be able to mark all those new faces and learn all those new names. Perhaps Master Geoffrey, who seemed to know everyone (at least by reputation), would be able to provide some help with that. In any case, the high table had filled up nicely, leaving only a few empty seats on Sir Leon's side.

Like everyone else in the Great Hall, Merlin knew to whom those places belonged. The noble guests, on the other hand, did not, and it was a calculated risk on Arthur's part to have his new knights, the ones dubbed in defiance of the Code of Camelot, sitting at the same table as the highest-born, most respectable noblemen in several countries. He did it deliberately; as he had declared, if the nobly-born knights were not willing to share table and company with Camelot's rescuers, he was not willing to tolerate them in Camelot. Tonight's feast was planned as a challenge for them to show their true colours.

Sir Lucan, the wine steward, offered the doorkeeper a cup of wine to ease his throat. Morris accepted it gratefully; then the horn was blown again, and he called out:

"Sir Gwaine of Lothian!"

In walked Gwaine, in his usual rough linen tunic and leather jerkin, with the usual swagger in his step. He almost danced up the Great Hall, flashing everyone delightful grins along his way, and sketched a somewhat exaggerated bow in Arthur's direction before taking his place. Arthur looked at him solemnly. Only someone who knew him as well as Merlin did could detect the tiny, amused smile hiding in the corner of the Crown Prince's mouth. Arthur liked Gwaine a lot, despite the man's outrageous manners; or perhaps because of his refreshingly disrespectful manners.

The noble guests at the high table did their best not to look shocked – and failed miserably. Especially Sir Gaheris and his brothers seemed thunderstruck, for reasons Merlin couldn't quite understand. After all, Gwaine was on his best behaviour tonight.

Apparently, the nobles had a different concept of best behaviour.

The horn sounded again, and Morris was announcing Lancelot now, naming him after the small village he originated from.

"Sir Lancelot of Benwick!"

Unlike Gwaine, Lancelot walked up to the high table solemnly, with his head held proudly high. He, too, had been dressed up handsomely for the feast (Merlin suspected Gwen's hand in it), and looked really good in his bag-sleeved, dark green cotehardie, the open neck of which revealed the ancient bronze coin which he always wore around his neck on a thin leather thong. He bowed towards Arthur respectfully and took his place at the table, refusing to look at anyone. He had grown out his hair again, and Merlin was surprised how young that made him appear.

Finally, there was only one seat at the high table left, and Morris announced the last knight.

"Sir Elyan of Camelot!" – for what else could he have said about the blacksmith's son?

Elyan came in with long, purposeful strides, looking strikingly handsome in his deep red brocade cotehardie, which emphasized the rich, warm colour of his dark skin. In fact, his skin was a great deal darker than Gwen's, Merlin realized for the first time, and his features were sharper, more refined, too. For all that they were siblings, there was very little likeness between the two of them, and Elyan was definitely the better-looking one. He gave his sister a tight, apologetic smile – which Gwen answered with an unhappy scowl – and bent his knee to Arthur before taking the seat reserved for him.

For a moment, there was eerie silence in the Great Hall, tension palpable in the air. Everyone was waiting with bated breath for the storm to break loose… only it never happened. The noble guests, while eyeing Arthur's newly-dubbed knights with various degrees of suspicion, wisely chose to remain silent. After the first few, endless moments, Sir Lucan, the wine steward, picked up the heavy pitcher and began to walk around the high table, filling the cups of all the lords and the Lady Cunneware, while his brother, Sir Bedivere, filled the Royal Chalice, standing in front of Arthur in the King's absence.

It was an amazing piece of artwork: a cup made from red agate that had been ornately mounted on a golden column, with two golden handles in the form of serpents, and an indistinct inscription on its base, believed to have been written with runes of the Old Tongue that no-one understood any longer (or so people thought). The base was also of stone, with a gold rim, and set with two emeralds and a number of pearls. The cup was an ancient family heirloom only the Kings of Camelot were allowed to drink from – starting with the times of the Fallen Kings who had once ruled the realm from Tintagel Castle that had long since fallen to ruin. The same castle where the Round Table had stood.

Arthur rose from his seat, grabbing the cup with both hands and raising it, so that all could see it.

"Friends and allies from distant lands, I thank thee for having come to the aid of Camelot in its hour of need," he intoned. "Be welcome and let us share food and wine as has been custom since the olden days. Let us return Camelot to its former glory."

He took a drink from the cup and sat again, giving thus the sign for the rest of the court to take their places at the lower tables and for the servants to begin serving the dishes.


At the end of the meal, Arthur led the visiting knights through the back door to another room. It wasn't a particularly large one, but was most beautifully furnished with artfully carved stone window-frames, stained glass window-panes, an arched ceiling that had been wrought in the likeness of palm leaves crossing each other, tapestries hanging from the walls between the slender stone pillars and a tiled floor, depicting ancient legends. In any case, the octagonal room was large enough to take in the Round Table that had been secretly transported from the ruined Tintagel Castle to Camelot, sufficiently cleaned and polished, and arranged so that the King's Seat would face the door leading to the Great Hall.

Merlin, who had trailed in after Arthur without invitation, could now have his first real look at the legendary Table. It was made of dark, polished wood so ancient that it had nearly become petrified with age. Aside from the King and his future Queen, fifty knights could be seated at it, and the same number of masterfully carved, high-backed chairs stood around it. There were short inscriptions in the Old Tongue at each place, symbolizing the values a true knight ought to make the keystone of his very life.

The visiting nobles admired it with the same awe Merlin did, for the Round Table was a connection to Albion's past. A connection most of them had thought lost beyond retrieval.

"My lords," said Arthur quietly but forcefully, "Camelot has come to a point where much of what we long held for granted may get lost in the upcoming storm that we shall have to face, soon. For that very reason I believe that we need to rediscover some things of our distant past that have been lost for too long. This table belonged to the ancient Kings of Camelot and had stood, forgotten, in the Great Hall of Tintagel Castle ever since their fall. I have ordered it to be brought to Camelot, as it seems fitting that we revive one of our most sacred traditions and re-establish the Knights of Camelot as they were meant to be."

"What do you mean by that, sire?" asked Sir Leon, one of the very few who knew exactly what Arthur meant. Which was why he had been entrusted with the task of asking that particular question.

"A round table affords no-one man more importance than any other," Arthur replied. "The Knights of Camelot, bound together by the ties of their solemn oath and of a powerful brotherhood, believed in equality in all things, regardless of differences in age, birth, wealth or rank. They lived to fight with honour for justice, freedom and all that is good. To protect the King; and to protect the people, should there be no King any more. That is the tradition I wish to revive, for Camelot will need such a tradition, soon. That is the brotherhood I offer you all, if you will accept. Right now, the Round Table has only five knights: four that I have hand-picked, based on their strength, loyalty, bravery and personal honour, and one that has always been at my side. I hope one day all these seats around the Table will be taken. Are there any of you who will join us, for the love of Camelot?"

The visiting nobles were very silent while Sir Leon, Lancelot, Gwaine, Perceval and Elyan took their pre-assigned seats, leaving one chair empty on either side of Arthur. Sir Kay was the first one to move.

"I don't know much about this new world you seem so intent on building," he said, his voice smooth and gentle, "but we share the same blood through your mother, the late Queen Igraine, and so I feel honour-bound to join you."

"Thank you, cousin." Arthur gestured him to take the empty seat on his right. It had been reserved for the family, just as the one on his left had been reserved for his future Queen. He was grateful that in Kay the shared blood apparently ran deep enough to overcome their past differences. Kay nodded, smiled briefly and took the proffered seat, not knowing yet that this would remain his place for the rest of his life.

Now that the ice had been broken, young Sir Bors stepped forth boldly. He had just been knighted a few days earlier and was eager to prove himself.

"My brother has fought alongside you many times, sire," he said, "and I know he would die for you willingly. I shall gladly do the same, if you accept me."

Arthur grinned at him in a friendly manner. "Welcome to the Round Table, Sir Bors. If you are half the man your brother is, we could not ask for a better knight."

Sir Bors flashed him a happy grin, bowed and took the seat next to his brother. Now Sir Geraint extracted himself from the crowd, letting go of his wife's hand, and bowed to the Crown Prince deeply.

"I have served you and Camelot since I was old enough to pick up a sword," he said. "I would wish to continue that service till the sword falls out of my hand, be it by death or by old age. Where you lead, I shall follow."

"And I gladly welcome you to our brotherhood, Sir Geraint," said Arthur, waving the tall, grave, sandy-haired knight to sit next to Sir Kay. "Your bravery and loyalty have always been exemplary. I hope that one day your brother will recover enough to join our ranks as well."

"So do I, sire," answered Sir Geraint simply, and sat.

The next one to move was Sir Girflet, which surprised no-one. After all, he had once been the closest thing Arthur ever had to a friend.

"I have come to support you," he said bluntly. "If the brotherhood of the Round Table is the best way to give you that support, then I wish to join, too." He gave Sir Bedivere, who was lingering in the background, a challenging look. "What about you, cousin? Want to become a knight again?"

"I wish I could," replied Sir Bedivere with a despondent sigh. "But I doubt that our Prince Regent could use a man with a stiff leg in a fight."

"Perhaps not in a fight on horseback; but you can still wield a sword masterfully, and your heart is still that of a true knight of Camelot," said Arthur. "Join us, Sir Bedivere, and I shall make you the constable of the Citadel, to care for its defence when I cannot be here."

"I am too young for such responsibility!" Bedivere tried to protest, but Arthur silenced him with a sardonically raised eyebrow.

"You are older than I am, and people expect me to rule the whole realm," he pointed out.

To that, Sir Bedivere had nothing to answer, and so he took his place at the Round Table, together with his cousin and his brother.

One by one, the other knights all chose to join the brotherhood of the Round Table and to pledge their fealty to Prince Arthur. And while half the seats still stood empty, Arthur felt new hope budding in his heart. Perhaps he would be able to rebuild Camelot and to protect the realm, after all.

"I thank you all for your willingness to support and protect Camelot in its greatest need," he said. "On the morrow, we shall present the new Knights of Camelot to the people in the inner courtyard. May the sight give them new hope – God knows we all need it."


Despite the toll the long journey from Ealdor to Camelot had taken on her, and the bone-deep weariness caused by the knowledge that Ealdor was no more, Hunith found that sleep was eluding her. Her left arm, the one that had been miraculously healed by her son, still ached a little – although it was bearable now, and at least the bones were hale again – and Gaius' ointments and poultices could do little to ease the hurt of the numerous cuts and bruises she had received during the destruction of her home. She knew those kinds of injuries; they healed slowly. She was prepared to endure that.

It was the invisible wound, caused by the loss of the only home she had ever known, that hurt even more.

Aside from the few years spent in Camelot, so that she could learn the way of the healing herbs and their many uses from her uncle, she had always lived in Ealdor. Just like her mother and her grandmother and all their mothers had before. Six consecutive generations (that she knew of) had lived in that little cottage, the one that had been burned to the ground by those lawless men, together with her meagre possessions and the invaluable riches of memories those modest walls had held.

She felt empty. Lost. Indescribably alone, in spite of the fact that she had been one of the lucky ones: she still had her family, safe and unhurt, in Camelot. She could count on their help and on their loving care. Especially on that of her son.

But she no longer had her home.

She pulled the soft, wide woollen shawl tighter around her to keep the chill of the night at bay. The shawl, just like the plain white nightshift she was wearing, had originally belonged to Mistress Alice, and so did the fleecy slippers keeping her feet warm. She had found them in the clothes chest, carefully packed away with small sacks of dried lavender flowers to keep out the moths.

At first, she had been reluctant to touch another woman's personal belongings, but her own clothes needed washing and were probably beyond repair anyway. So she took Mistress Alice's things, apologizing to the older woman in thought and promising to wash them, press them and pack them away in a flawless state, as soon as she could replace her own ruined and lost garments.

She did not want to rely on Merlin, to take money from him – she had been fending for herself all her life – but her son had been right. She needed at least two sets of clothes, even if she managed to patch up the ones she had been wearing when she fled Ealdor. There was simply no way around it. The thought of how many things she would need to get her life back together made her very unhappy. Her family had always been poor, but at least her home had provided her with the means of daily life: small tools that were needed in the garden, a spindle and a loom to make clothes for herself and her son, pots in which to cook, basic food items in the pantry for daily use, soap, bedlinens… so many things, most of which she had inherited from the previous generations. Things that had simply always been there.

Now she had nothing left. She could not even call a comb her own. She was living in another woman's home – even though it technically belonged to her uncle now – wearing another woman's clothes (that were, by the way, too short for her), using another woman's pots and even her hairbrush… she felt like a leech. And she ached all over.

In the afternoon, she had drawn herself a bath in the small wash-house in the garden and washed her clothes – wishing Merlin could have been there to heat up the water within moments as was his wont. She did not like her son using his magic, for fear that he might be caught, but she had to admit that having Merlin take care of the hot water would have been a relief. It would have spared her the splitting of wood that was particularly tiresome in her present condition.

But Merlin was kept in the Citadel by Prince Arthur all day, so she had to take care of her bath and washing alone. It was not as if she was not used to it; that was what she had done in the last three years, after all. But she was so very tired right now. And yet she could find no rest.

In the early evening, that lovely young girl who had accompanied Merlin during his visit to Ealdor two years ago – Gwen, if she remembered her name right; she had been the blacksmith's daughter – had come down from the Citadel and brought her some food. It was better than she had expected to have for a long time to come: leftovers from the royal kitchens, the girl had explained. Just some soup, thickened with breadcrumbs, with a cooked chicken leg or two in it, half a loaf of almost-fresh bread and a piece of hard cheese, really; but more than everyone in Ealdor had seen for a while. They had lived on mushrooms, wild berries and ground tree bark near the end.

She could not find it in her heart to eat the whole feast alone. She had put away a good part of it, intending to ask her neighbours on the morrow if they wanted it; she was sure they would. The lower town seemed to have suffered from the food shortage a great deal more than the Citadel had, and she knew she could hope to get more food from the royal kitchens. Her son would never let her suffer from the lack of the basic necessities of life. Not if it was within his powers to help. He was such a good, dear boy. Such a bright light in her life.

Her thoughts wandered back to the boy's father, whom she had smuggled out of Camelot at Gaius' request. She had not known who – or what – Balinor was, not back then. She had only assumed he must have had something to do with magic, or else he would not have had to flee Camelot. But he had been soft-spoken and courteous and grateful… and darkly handsome, so that she had lost her heart to him at once.

For a while, they had been very happy. Led a modest life in the little cottage of her parents, Balinor helping her in the garden and working for the blacksmith; he had a way with iron, the blacksmith had said approvingly. But Uther could not leave them alone. He had sent his knights after Balinor, even deep into a foreign kingdom, and Balinor, not wanting to endanger her, had left.

She had not even found the chance to tell him that she was with child. His child.

She had only begun to suspect that he must have been more than a mere sorcerer after Merlin's birth. Having your babe move around small items without actually touching them and make them dance in the air like a swarm of fireflies could make you suspicious about the true nature of said babe's father. So she had asked Gaius and learned the truth. But they had both agreed not to tell Merlin about it. The boy was better off not knowing – it had been hard enough for him to keep his untrained powers under control.

Of course, Merlin had learned the truth eventually. In the end, it was inevitable; and she was grateful that her son at least got the chance to meet the father he had always longed for. Even if they had only been given a short time. Merlin had told her everything, and it saddened her to know that a great and noble man like Balinor had had to spend long, lonely years in a cave – like some wild animal. And all because he had been born with a power that frightened a King.

It also grieved her that she would never see him again. He had been the one for her. No-one else would do. Besides, even though his death had set her free, she was too old now to begin her life anew, even if she wanted. Which she did not. She had been well content with her simple life in Ealdor, living with her memories, waiting for news about her son in patient, loving concern. It had been enough to know him in Gaius' care, in the relative safety of a fortified town. Even if it was Uther's town; sometimes hiding in plain sight was the best thing one could do.

That did not mean she didn't worry about him all the time. She did. Camelot was a dangerous place for a warlock, and Merlin could not simply stop using magic, she had long realized that. Merlin was magic, born with the inherited powers of his father, the last of the Dragonlords; powers that would grow too strong one day to remain hidden.

He had already changed in the few years spent apart from her. He seemed the same kind, good-hearted person that he had always been, but his eyes were haunted now, like the eyes of men who had seen too much. He had seen too much in the recent years; had probably done things he regretted. He had not spoken about those things, but for a mother with eyes to see, the signs were clear enough.

He had always been slim like a twig, but he had grown almost painfully thin recently; his face was pale and gaunt, his elfin ears seeming larger than ever, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Clearly, his innocence had been marred in Camelot, in ways Hunith couldn't even begin to guess – and did not truly want to know. But it hurt her to see her precious, wonderful son like this; even though she knew that it was the order of things for boys to grow up and become men. And that could not happen without the loss of innocence.

That did not make her hurt any less. For she could see that he was hurting, too. And she did not know how to help him.

She stiffened as she sat on the edge of the bed. There was a noise at the front door. Someone was trying to move the latch from the outside; to open the door. A single person, most likely, and not a particularly strong or an armed one, or else they would simply break the door down. Whoever they were, they probably wanted a place to sleep… or hoped to find something to eat. Not so surprising in a town that had just recently been besieged.

Hunith grabbed the axe that was standing in the corner next to the fireplace, just in case; she found the small stump of a candle that she had used before going to bed and touched it to the still smouldering embers. Then she walked to the door and flung it wide open, holding up the candle to the face of her uninvited visitor.

"What do you want?" she asked calmly.

The light revealed the thief – for what else could he have been? – to be a young man roughly of Merlin's age, with a shock of brown hair that looked like a bird's nest… a particularly untidy one. Big, round, frightened blue eyes stared at her from a pale, bearded face that might have been rounded once but had become hollow due to hunger and other sorts of duress. He was very thin, too, with sinewy arms and a long neck, but his hands were large and strong, clearly used to regular work. He wore all the signs of a life spent with hard labour and on little food.

Hunith shook her head in compassion. This could have been Merlin, had he been less fortunate – or any other lad from Ealdor. Clearly, the young man was starving and desperate, but he did not look malevolent… or like someone prone to violence.

"You'd better come in, lad," she said, not unkindly. "It's well past the curfew, and you could get in trouble, should the patrols find you on the streets."

The young man, still in obvious shock, obeyed without a word. Hunith ushered him to the table and made him sit before she bolted the door from the inside again. Then she, too, sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"What is your name?" she asked, keeping her voice low and calm. The last thing she wanted was to startle him, to make him bolt in panic.

The young man swallowed several times before he could answer.

"W… William," he finally muttered. Hunith nodded.

"Where are you from, William?" she continued her patient interrogation.

"D…Daria," he answered, licking his parching lips. His voice sounded smoother, more stable now. "It is… was… one of the outlying villages… before Cenred's men burned it to the ground."

Again, Hunith nodded in sad understanding. She had heard too many similar stories since the war had started.

"Your family?" she asked gently.

"Gone," replied William dully. "My father… he tried to protect our farm… we were farmers, you see, grew rye and turnips and kept some sheep… they slew him on his own doorstep. My mother, she was a cheese-maker… she burned to death while trying to get our flock to safety. I… I wasn't even there to help them…"

"And what good would it have done if you had been there?" asked Hunith kindly. "Those warriors were made invincible by magic – not even the Knights of Camelot could do anything against them; not until the enchantment was broken. Had you been there, you'd have been killed, just like the rest of your family."

"And what do I still have to live for?" he returned bitterly. "I've got no home, no family… just the clothes on my body." He gestured at his rough canvas shirt and breeches.

"Many have suffered the same fate," said Hunith quietly. "I, too, have lost my home – this is the house of an old friend, and I only stay here on his sufferance until I can return to my village, should it ever be rebuilt. Although I am fortunate enough to still have my family, and that is all that truly matters."

The young man nodded, his eyes tearing up a little. "I wish I could still have my mother, too," he admitted. Hunith patted his hand.

"Why have you come to Camelot?" she asked. "Do you have friends here?"

William shook his head. "No; but where else could I have gone? All the other villages in the neighbourhood have been destroyed, and the survivors are all coming here, hoping to find work… perhaps to get some food. A year and a half ago, I did Prince Arthur a favour. No-one was supposed to know, and I kept my promise and my mouth shut. But he is a generous man, so I hoped he would help me now that I am in need," he admitted.

Hunith frowned a little. She would have expected the same of the young Prince. Arthur was a generous man, generous to a fault. So what had happened?

"He refused to help you?" she asked in surprise. William laughed bitterly.

"I couldn't even get close to the Citadel. The patrols are everywhere, and they are quick to beat you up or throw you in the dungeons if they find you in places where you are not supposed to be. I tried to find the blacksmith's daughter, she would have helped me if she could; but there's a new blacksmith living in her house now, a young one I've never seen before… I didn't dare to ask him any questions."

"It's her brother," said Hunith, "but he wouldn't know you anyway. So you chose to break into this house then?"

William gave her a pitiful look.

"Everyone said it was abandoned. I just wanted to sleep… perhaps find some clothes… if I was very lucky, even some food… I know it's not right, but I had no-one to turn to…"

"I doubt you could find here any fitting clothes; this used to be the house of an old herb-mistress who lived here alone. But food I can offer you." Hunith rose from her chair and went to rekindle the fire and heat up the soup she had put to one side in the afternoon. "It isn't much, but it's better than nothing. Then, after you have eaten, we'll find you some blankets. There's only one bed, and I'm too old to sleep on the floor any more, but I'm sure we can make you a decent bedroll."

William stared at her in open-mouthed awe.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "I've tried to break into your house, to steal from you… and you are about to feed me and to take me in for the night? Why?"

"I have a son about the same age as you." Hunith poured the now warm soup into a small bowl - it really wasn't that much - and gave it to him, with a chunk of the bread that she had left in the evening. "Should he ever suffer the same fate, I hope he'd find someone to take him in, too."

"But won't your son mind that you gave shelter to a stranger… to a thief?" asked William uncertainly, clearly not wanting her to get in trouble on his behalf. He must have been a good, decent lad.

"If you truly did Prince Arthur a favour, then no, he won't mind at all," she said, smiling. "And you're not a stranger; not if you know Gwen. You can work it out among yourselves in a day or two. Now, eat your soup before it gets cold again, and then have some rest. Maybe I'll find some sleep, too, now that I'm no longer alone in a strange house."

William still did not look entirely sure about the whole affair, but the hunger and the mouth-watering scent of the hot soup decided for him. He picked up the spoon and began to eat, slowly, almost reverently, relishing every mouthful after having gone on an empty stomach for so long.

Hunith sat on the other side of the table and watched him eat. The poor lad, he obviously had not eaten for quite a while. And he had no-one left. Her own loss seemed a lot less significant at once, and she mentally chastised herself for having wallowed in misery all afternoon. She was alive and relatively unhurt, she had Merlin, and she had Gaius, too. Compared with a great many people fleeing from the villages, she had been truly fortunate.

Perhaps, if Gaius did not mind, she could keep young William with her for a while. It would be safer to have a man in the house, and Merlin could not, would not leave Prince Arthur's side. She understood that. She accepted that. Still, having someone around to mother would be nice.

~TBC~