"My god it's gorgeous," Diarmuid breathed as they stood on the broken walls, surveying the land around them. Archer hummed softly in agreement.

"Look at the flowers!" Mordred's lisp was already vanishing with her increasing height. Big green eyes gazed over the spring flowers in wonder. "Pappies, it's incredible!" Incredible? Diarmuid smiled a bit. Mordred's vocabulary was growing bigger by the day.

The walls of the Romans were the best vantage point to take in the glory of the hills and today there'd been no ships, so Diarmuid and Archer had decided to go. It was absolutely worth it. Around the walls, the rolling hills of Ludenwic were covered in grass and crocuses, the first flowers of the season. Grey boulders stuck out of the green carpet, covered in moss, and Diarmuid suddenly felt intensely homesick. God this place looked so much like Ireland, it was almost painful. He could imagine riding over these hills, his fellow knights by his side…

A hand on his shoulder recalled him to the present and Diarmuid turned his head to meet concerned, honey brown eyes. Reaching up he took Archer's hand and gave him a squeeze, smiling reassuringly. A gentle feeling of comfort touched his mind and Diarmuid let it, realizing he'd had his defenses up. Instinctive? It had to've been. Morgan was oblivious to their internal drama, climbing a bit higher to get a better view. As she did, Diarmuid saw something amusing.

"It looks like we're not the only ones with this idea," he murmured as he watched the specs gradually coming closer. Hmm, that looked like large and small ones, an entire group of the prostitutes bringing their littles out for a trip?

"A well deserved rest from their labors," Archer said with a smile and Diarmuid laughed. "And without a ship today it's a very good time."

"That it is." It was a gorgeous day, with the sun shining so bright and only a few white wisps of clouds in the sky. "Shall we go down to meet them?"

"Mmm, I think so." It was unlikely the whores would be adventurous enough to come up the walls and perhaps Mordred shouldn't give their children ideas. Although they were likely to think of it anyway. "Morry!"

Mordred wasn't keen on abandoning the wall but realizing she could soon have many children to play with, she finally came down. Diarmuid vaguely wondered what became of the children of Ludenwic, particularly the boys. The girls could follow in their mother's footsteps but what did the boys do?

Many of them likely go to sea. Others follow in our footsteps, becoming wandering hire-swords, farmhands and tinkers. Such a hard life. Someone has to live it. If anything, it's worse for the girls.

"Too true," Diarmuid breathed. In Ludenwic the girls had no chance for any of the acceptable female occupations, like weaver. And it was unlikely they would ever marry. Shaking aside the depressing thought, Diarmuid participated in the childish games. He and Archer were the only adult men in this gathering but they were well accepted, thanks to little Mordred.

When everyone was tired and a bit hungry, they went back to Ludenwic. Today was a special day in another way. The land around Ludenwic was not ideal for farming but there were a few people trying it anyway, and three days ago one of the farmers had slaughtered an old sow when he realized she was unwilling – unable? – to breed. The parts that could be preserved were, but plenty of the carcass had been left and it was going to be cooked communally, then shared. By itself it wouldn't have been much but Archer had decided to be daring and gone out to shoot some birds. Now they had a brace of geese as well, also aging for a few days. Tonight they would cook the lot.

I really shouldn't have, it's always risky. But spring is hard and we can use the meat, Archer thought and Diarmuid nodded as they walked, holding Mordred's hands and swinging her. She squealed in pleasure and Diarmuid noticed that she was almost too big for this. God, how fast she was growing!

The pork was already cooking and savory smells were beginning to fill the camp. Diarmuid watched with a smile as the women fussed over the food, bringing out fresh loaves of bread from the crude ovens that served the camp. One man playfully tried to steal a loaf and a woman laughingly threatened to club him with another loaf.

"How I wish we could stay," Diarmuid murmured. Ludenwic was rough but it was a community. The sailors could get away with a lot of crap but in Ludenwic itself, there was a rough sort of order, enforced by the more decent of the men. There was also support. If someone was hurt, sick or otherwise fell on hard times, it was more likely they'd be helped than not.

"Or at least come back," Archer said, his voice tinged with regret. Then he shook his head, his eyes dark. "It can't be."

"Pappies?" Mordred was looking at them in concern, her big green eyes wide. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing sweety. Just thinking of the trip to Camelot," Diarmuid said easily and that made her eyes light up. Although he still wasn't entirely sure why Mordred was so happy at the thought of going to Camelot. She'd heard the stories, though, from villagers along the way and then more in Ludenwic. Despite the taxes, everyone seemed to love the King.

And let's be honest. We're not paying our taxes, Diarmuid almost choked at Archer's calm observation.

"Don't even think that," he muttered out of one corner of his mouth and Archer chuckled softly. "That's not just a hanging offense!" That was more like a drawn and quartered offense. And Diarmuid did not want to be hanged until almost-but-not-quite dead, emasculated, disembowelled, beheaded and then cut into four pieces for display purposes.

They haven't started doing that yet. They'd likely just burn you, you pagan. Marvelous. And anyway the merchants are paying their taxes and taking it out of our wages. So you are paying them in a way.

"Hah!" Diarmuid barked a laugh. Maybe that's why the tax collectors never bother to visit. It wasn't like there was much blood to get out of the turnip that was Ludenwic. Although maybe they just showed up at certain times and Diarmuid and Archer had missed it. The vagabond existence they lived made it easy to evade taxes, at least.

When it was time to cook the geese, Archer and Diarmuid both helped. Wild garlic and drippings from the pork was spread over the geese before they began roasting them over the fires. Diarmuid smiled as he helped turn the birds, keeping them from burning. Archer was humming softly as he handled his goose and Mordred tried to help. Diarmuid smiled as he watched them, her tiny, pale hands against large, tanned ones, touched with a few faint scars.

The food, when it was done, was easily the best they'd had since arriving in Ludenwic. Meat and bread, pork and beans, with fresh wild ramps. Diarmuid knew them well, from his childhood and in the future they would be a delicacy. It was all well salted. Salt was one thing Ludenwic was plentiful with. Soon they had their food and were eating it on crude wooden trestle tables.

"This is great pappies!" Mordred said, her small face smeared with goose grease. Diarmuid chuckled softly, wiping a bit of it away with his fingers before sucking it off. Mmm, the grease was good, salty. "Can I have more?"

"Mmm… no more meat, but you can have more beans," Archer said and Diarmuid glanced at the food. The meat had been fully portioned out, there was only bones left, which were being tossed to the stray dogs that haunted the camp. "Or bread, and dip it in the grease." Mordred's eyes lit up at that idea.

"Bread!" She dashed off to get some more and Diarmuid cursed, catching her wooden plate before it could end up in the dirt.

"Child…!" Shaking his head, Diarmuid set down the plate. Archer's chuckle was warm and Diarmuid blinked as a bit more goose suddenly went onto Mordred's plate.

"She needs it, she's growing," Archer said and Diarmuid couldn't help but smile. He considered it a moment before moving a bit of pork from his plate to Mordred's. He didn't need all of it. Then Mordred was running back, a piece of bread in hand. She paused to look at the plate in confusion and Diarmuid smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

"It's for you. Eat up, Morry," he said easily and she smiled widely, her green eyes glowing.

"Thank you pappies!" Then she was tucking in again and Diarmuid enjoyed the sight. A healthy child with plenty of growing to do, the meat would help her do it.

That night, full and satisfied, they did nothing but sleep. Even though it was spring and warmer, Mordred still cuddled between them. So much larger she was, even after one winter. Diarmuid vaguely wondered what Mordred's ultimate dream would be. Would she want to take the throne from Arturia? Or would her mind go another place entirely? And when would they tell her about her tangled heritage anyway?

We'll tell her someday. Go to sleep, Archer's thought was very tired and Diarmuid felt a bit guilty as he realized his musings were keeping Archer awake. Closing his eyes, he settled in to sleep.

Tomorrow the ships would be in. There would be plenty of work to do.

"Rat fink bastard," Diarmuid muttered as he helped Archer lash a shipment into place. "If he yells at me one more time for someone else's fuckups…"

"You'll take it calmly like you always do, gently apologize and start making it right," Archer said and Diarmuid ground his teeth together because he was right, curse him! "Then when we're travelling you'll start playing with Vase Killer and only I will know what you're thinking."

"HAH!" Oh god wasn't that the truth. He viciously killed shrubs with his halberd when he was in a foul mood. "MORDRED STOP THAT!" Oh she was MUCH too close to the horses! Mordred suddenly scrambled and Diarmuid nearly had a heart attack as a horse's foot stomped down where she'd been. "MORRY!"

"Calm down Goodman, I'll have her," the merchant's wife said calmly before going to collect the little girl who was not really so little anymore. Firm chivvying got Mordred into the cart that held the other children. Not too many of them, really, but this merchant had come with his family. Diarmuid reflected on it as he finished getting the load in place.

They'd managed to attach themselves to a reasonably good caravan, this time. Not the best yet not the worst, it was run reasonably competently by a merchant and his family. Unfortunately, it was definitely a family business and nepotism was at work. The merchant's brother, in particular, specialized in reaming them out for his own mistakes. Well, Diarmuid could take it. Not like it, but he'd take it.

The huge plus side of the caravan was Archer. Often, they tried not to pay him, since he was a tinker and a bowman. Archery was not well-regarded at all, in this day and age, and Archer's little small bow really was a game weapon. This time, though, they'd accepted Diarmuid's assurances that Archer was deadly with his short swords and included him in the caravan. So they were both drawing wages. Small wages, but wages.

It took until noon but they finally got everything put together and the caravan was moving out. They were carrying mainly grain but also a smattering of luxury goods, dried herbs and medicinal items. Also some things that Diarmuid was dead sure would fall into the hands of wizards. He didn't need reagents as Berserker – his connection to the runes was too primal for that – but he could still recognize them.

Diarmuid and Archer walked with the caravan, having no horses. Which was fine, the caravan wasn't going fast anyway. Diarmuid's mood had recovered and the vegetation did not suffer. All in all, it was a fairly good start to the trip.

The only difficulty is going to be finding places to be intimate, Archer thought and Diarmuid grimaced. Perhaps they should – No.

"Damnit Archer stop thinking with your cock," Diarmuid muttered and Archer turned his head to give him a smile. It was small and secretive and his eyes were warm with lust. It threatened to turn his knees to water. We have to be very careful.

Yes. At best, they would be kicked out of the caravan. At worst, they could be killed out of hand. Diarmuid thought longingly of ancient Greece. The only thing this place had on them was steel, as far as he could tell. It was called the Dark Ages for a reason.

"And the King is trying to draw us all into the light, which is why the high nobles hate him. They prefer their knights unlettered," Diarmuid muttered and Archer nodded, his eyes darkening a bit. That was the truth of the matter, in a lot of ways. No one really gave a shit about the peasants but the lower nobility, who made of the bulk of the knights, could be truly dangerous if they started to think for themselves.

A peasant rebellion, supported and led by that particular class, would be enough to unseat any baron, Archer agreed. And many of them have reason to fear it so they are rebelling both openly and passively against the King's reforms. Archer shook his head before fixing him with calm eyes. But that is not our concern. Getting Mordred to adulthood is.

"Too true." Gods knew it was a struggle. "Well, she's looking forward to seeing Camelot," Diarmuid said, making the best of a bad situation. Archer's chuckle was soft and warm.

"To be honest, I am too. That is one thing I have never seen," Archer said and Diarmuid smiled at the thought. "Although I don't really expect it to be any different."

"Humans are the same everywhere," Diarmuid said sadly. He didn't expect the people of Camelot to take them in with open arms. "Oh well." That was just how it was, they had to deal with it. Lapsing into companionable silence, they walked alongside the caravan as they kept their senses alert. There was nothing but the sound of birdsong and the laughter and quiet talk of the men, as they travelled.

Hopefully it would be an uneventful trip.

It took them almost two weeks to reach Camelot.

Theoretically, if they'd just gone straight it would have taken half the time. But a caravan was a caravan and it existed to sell things. Camelot was where they'd unload the bulk of the goods but all the little villages they passed through wanted a piece of the pie. Also, there was one decent sized provincial town they needed to visit. It was a detour but well worth it as the merchants sold all the reagents to servants of the local lord. Diarmuid made a mental note that there was a wizard in charge, although probably not a strong one. Merlin wouldn't tolerate any kind of challenge from an upstart lordling.

Finally they reached Camelot and Diarmuid marvelled at the white stone walls. They were quite beautiful and well-made. The guards on duty were alert and searched the caravan for contraband before finally letting them pass. Archer got several looks of misgiving but no one said anything, to Diarmuid's relief.

"Camelot pappies! Camelot!" Mordred was looking around with wide eyes and Diarmuid and Archer exchanged an amused glance. "We're in Camelot! Are we going to see the King?"

"Perhaps," Archer said, humoring her. It was unlikely unless there was a tournament on. Diarmuid looked around, interested in spite of himself.

Camelot was a beautiful place. Most of the houses were built out of the same white stone as the walls, before being roofed in pretty tiles of various shades. Some buildings had thatching, but it was rare and mostly the stables. The town was surprisingly clean and Diarmuid wondered if there was some kind of sewer system in place. And how did they clean up the horse crap? Perhaps that was a job given to convicts.

Musing on how Camelot worked, exactly, Diarmuid almost missed it when the head merchant was calling them over. But Archer poked him firmly in the arm and Diarmuid awoke from his thoughts with a start. Oh, time to get paid! Although unfortunately it would be the last time. The merchant would be taking on a new load before heading off, but that would likely take a week. Depending on how long he stayed and where he was going, perhaps they'd sign on again. Perhaps they wouldn't, too.

If he ends up going North and will take us, we should sign on again. But I think that's unlikely, Archer thought and Diarmuid sighed, nodding. He is more likely to head for a port so he and his family can go home.

"Right." That would mean East or South but not North. And East wouldn't work for them, there wasn't much there. Then Diarmuid spotted something interesting. "Hey Mordred, would you like a seed cake?" There was a little booth selling them, likely to all the merchants coming in through the gate. Mordred's face brightened.

"Please pappy!" Diarmuid smiled and went to get her one. With the brisk business the seller was doing there was no bargaining and Diarmuid quickly netted two seed cakes. They were more savory than sweet but that was fine. Diarmuid gave Morry the one and split the second with Archer. Handling their piping hot prizes carefully they went to find an inn.

Even in Camelot, there were seedy areas and that was where they went looking. To Diarmuid's amusement, even the seedy areas of Camelot were somewhat respectable. Plenty of day workers, laundresses and other respectable but poor sorts. Also thieves and thugs and whores, but not as many as he would have expected. That quickly caused problems finding an inn, as two of the more respectable ones firmly told them to shove off. They settled on a third, shabbier than the first two. As they went to their rooms Mordred was sniffling a little and Diarmuid looked at her in concern.

"What's wrong child?" Archer asked, his tone gentle. Mordred just shook her head, looking down.

"Nuttin'." She mumbled and Diarmuid frowned. That was an out and out lie. Archer just sighed softly, ruffling her hair for a moment.

I believe she is distressed at our treatment. …Oh. She's old enough to understand taffy now. Ugh.

"Well, why don't we go for a walk?" Diarmuid said aloud. "We should see Camelot, while we're here." That didn't cheer Mordred up as much as he'd hoped, but she went with them dutifully.

Her enthusiasm rekindled as they walked through the streets of Camelot. Mordred was soon skipping ahead of them, looking around alertly. Diarmuid and Archer didn't venture too far, just taking her to a lower-middle class neighborhood. There were plenty of little houses, very neat and tidy but packed tightly together. That made Archer frown, as he gazed them over.

"If a house caught fire it could race along these roofs," Archer said and Diarmuid winced at the thought.

"Surely the tiles are better than thatch?" He knew quite well how flammable thatch roofing could be. Archer pursed his lips before shaking his head.

"A minor improvement at best. If a true fire broke out, the best hope the city would have would be Merlin." Divine intervention, basically. Firefighting in the dark ages was something of a joke. They used the same methods as the Romans, which involved men with buckets and hooks to pull down houses to create fire breaks. Yet the men often were only volunteers and not well trained, unlike the Romans. The results could be tragic.

To their delight, they stumbled over a park. It was actually more of a community garden but still provided a few very nice trees that Mordred was soon climbing. Diarmuid and Archer just watched, confident that she would be fine. Mordred knew how far she could push it, with trees at least.

Of course, some busybody had to ruin it.

"You there! What are you doing?" Archer and Diarmuid exchanged a glance before Diarmuid turned to address the source of the problem, a burgher in dark grey clothing. His hat was a rather absurd, shapeless thing to Diarmuid's eyes.

"We are but letting my niece stretch her legs, Goodman," Diarmuid said smoothly, glancing up at the tree. Mordred was swinging from branch to branch? "Morry, be careful!" he called although Diarmuid was relatively sure she'd be fine. Glancing back, Diarmuid saw the man was looking at them both with deep suspicion, particularly Archer.

"This is not a place for your kind," he said stiffly and Diarmuid wished he could deck the bastard. Their kind? "Get you back where you came from or I'll call the constable." Fuck you good sir!

"There is no need for that. We were leaving soon in any case," Archer said calmly as Diarmuid drew a breath. "Mordred!" Archer called and Morry looked down, green eyes wide and surprised. "Come, we are leaving!"

"Pappies?" Mordred called but started climbing back down. "What's wrong? I wanted to play!" And they wished they could let her but…

"We have to go," Diarmuid said firmly and Mordred gave the stranger a mistrustful look before running up to Archer and taking his hand. Archer smiled at her as Diarmuid took her other hand. Then they left the park, although Mordred looked back a few times. For the first time, Diarmuid thought he saw a real darkness in her beautiful green eyes.

"Why're people so mean?" Mordred muttered and Diarmuid winced, meeting Archer's eyes. His honey brown eyes were tinged with a bitter sadness.

"I don't know child. Don't worry about it," Archer said gently and Mordred sniffed a little. Feeling a headache coming on, Diarmuid started leading Mordred back home. As he did, he wondered. Did it make him a horrible person that he was tempted to take off one of his necklaces and see what the runes could make of that officious asshole?

No, it makes you human. But don't do it, the last thing we need is Merlin's attention. That was too true. And being an asshole isn't a death sentence.

"Ought to be," Diarmuid muttered and Archer chuckled softly. Mordred looked up at them questioningly and Diarmuid smiled at her. "Are you hungry Morry?" Her expression quickly lightened.

"Yes! Can we have pie pappy?" Oh good, something they could probably get her! "Humble pie?" Even better!

"I think we can find that, let's go look," Archer said with a smile and Mordred squealed. Diarmuid was very glad they had a daughter who liked pies filled with castoff bits. But then, that was what she knew. It made him wonder how Morgan would have raised her daughter, if she'd gotten the chance. Well, it didn't matter. He'd never know.

It was better that way.