A year later:
Jack felt the axe-blade bite into his neck, and he knew that he was done for a while. He spun weakly to the ground, blood pumping out of his arteries faster than even his body could replace it.
"Good god, Jack!" a voice said sometime later, as he gasped into wakefulness. "I thought you dead for certain. Where are you wounded?"
Jack sat up, opening his eyes. "Me, wounded?" he asked, disingenuously. "Is Merlin alright?" They'd been delivering supplies and new technology to Bramwood village when they'd run into raiders.
"For an unwounded man, you are covered in a great deal of blood," Dafydd said, eyeing him suspiciously.
"You should see the other guy," Jack said, grinning. One of these days, Dafydd was going to see something that couldn't be explained away, and Jack was going to have to account for his peculiar abilities. Today was, however, not that day.
Dafydd was not amused. "Merlin is well," he said, looking over his shoulder. "He always is."
"Everyone accounted for?" the Doctor called. He breezed up, taking in Jack's blood-soaked surcoat. "Right," he said. "On we go."
They rode on into the village. The townsfolk were pleased to see them, if somewhat alarmed by their blood-spattered appearance. The Doctor and his company were here to install a powered water pump, with filters that would keep many of the most harmful pathogens out of the water supply. The Doctor explained to the villagers about what they were doing and how to use it, and Jack and his fellow knight-technicians began installing the thing.
When the Doctor had first announced his intention to continue the project of bringing technology to the outlying villages, Arthur and the Doctor had argued bitterly about the issue of armed escort. Arthur had expressed concerns about the Doctor's safety, going out into contested territories. The Doctor had declared- not unreasonably, in Jack's experience- that it would take more than a few Saxons to kill him. It had culminated in the Doctor shouting about "jack-booted thugs with swords" and Arthur calling him a "stiff-necked, suicidal flap-dragon" in return. In the end, they'd agreed that the Doctor needed to take technicians along anyway, and if Arthur saw fit to make sure that they were also trained fighting men, the Doctor would try to ignore that fact.
Jack had been the obvious first choice. The Doctor had wanted Ancelyn, also, but hadn't gotten him- Ancelyn had been exclusively assigned to the king's person ever since the night Morgaine had disappeared. Dafydd had also been chosen, in part because he was the only other one of Arthur's knights who was still on speaking terms with Jack. The last member of their company was a thin, slim-fingered knight named Aglaral.
Dafydd and Jack hoisted up the pump, and began settling it into place on the well. As they moved it into position, Aglaral made fine adjustments to the engine and the filtration mechanism. Jack was the only one of the three who was really conversant with advanced technology, but Aglaral had the best touch for fine work. In another world, Jack fancied he might have been a painter or a watchmaker. Here, like virtually all men of his class, he was a soldier.
It took nearly an hour for the three knights to install the pump. The Doctor checked it over once they'd finished, tweaking the machinery here and there. The Doctor's hands moved over the machine with startling grace. Jack contemplated the freckles across the pale skin of the Doctor's hands, and the smattering of hair on the Doctor's wrists, and the slim set of his shoulders. The shape and curve of this body was at once familiar and alien to Jack, who knew that all flesh was transitory for the Doctor. He felt for a moment the stab of a familiar, painful longing that he knew would never be satisfied. Jack laughed, shaking his head and looking away.
"Something funny?" the Doctor asked, finishing his adjustments and standing up.
Jack grinned. "You, here, bringing clean water to the masses," he lied. "I always wondered what you'd do if you were ever forced to settle down somewhere."
"I've got to find some way to occupy myself," the Doctor said. He turned away, but Jack did not need to see his face to see his reaction. This was good work they were doing here, but it was domestic. Routine. The Doctor was stuck here, unable to bugger off to see the Eye of Orion or the No-longer Lost Moon of Poosh whenever he felt like it. Jack was sorry he'd brought it up. Working so closely with the Doctor in the last year, he'd seen the way the Doctor behaved around his silent, dark TARDIS. He'd noticed how the Doctor rested against it when he thought no one was looking, and the way he oriented himself toward the TARDIS no matter where he was in his lab.
"Are we done here?" Jack asked, trying to change the subject.
The Doctor pulled a lever, and water splashed out onto the ground. "I think so," he said, and grinned.
The squires packed their gear, and they mounted up to leave. "Are you taking the rear, Harkness?" Aglaral said, curtly. He was among the majority of Arthur's knights who considered Jack a traitor, and was not pleased to have been given this assignment.
"Any time you want," Jack answered, grinning. Aglaral wouldn't get the joke, but that didn't mean Jack couldn't still be amused by it.
A little ways outside the village, they ran into one of Arthur's regular patrols. The knights passed on the information about the raiders they'd repelled, and then the group of them set out for home. Jack wasn't sure when Camelot had started to feel like home to him. He'd been here nearly three years, now. He still believed that the Doctor would find a way to fix the TARDIS and get them back into their proper universe, but the possibility seemed very distant.
"I hear his majesty wants you to stand with him at the wedding tomorrow," Jack said to the Doctor as they rode. "Have you considered what you're going to wear?" He grinned. "Robes are in style for the discerning wizard."
The Doctor shook his head. "I don't think I like robes," he said, absently. "Hasn't really come up, this life. But you never know."
Sir Dafydd spoke up. "Have you considered what you will wear, Sir Jack?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "I do not think the laundries will be able to clean that stain out by tomorrow." He indicated the blood on Jack's surcoat, the legacy of having bled to death from a throat wound. "You are very careless of your clothing, Sir Jack," he said in that dry, humorless way that meant that Dafydd was joking.
It was true, though. Jack owned several blue-and-crowns surcoats, and, as he considered, he realized that all of them had now been damaged or stained. It was the problem with trying not to kill people who were doing their damnedest to kill you- it put you at a disadvantage in a fight. Jack had died frequently in the last months, and his clothing had paid the price. "I'll have to borrow one," he said, smiling. "Either of you gentlemen care to loan me a surcoat?"
"If it were my choice, you would not have the right to wear those colors at all," Aglaral grumbled, bitterly. It was just audible enough for everyone in the party to hear it.
"It is not your choice," Dafydd snapped, loudly. "If you have forgotten, recall that it is our king's choice. Do you think yourself wiser than he?"
"No," Aglaral said, sullenly. He did not give the counter argument (but the king is blinded by his loyalty to one of his knights, and must be protected from himself) that Jack had heard whispered by the other knights so often in the last year.
"I have a spare surcoat," Dafydd said, staunchly. "You may borrow it." He and Jack were still not friends- there was too much difference between them for that. Dafydd, though, was a man who refused to let injustice stand without marking it. Jack knew Dafydd's refusal to vilify Jack had made him unpopular, but Dafydd seemed unphased by that.
"Thanks," Jack said. "I'll do my best not to get blood all over it."
"If it should happen that we have occasion for fighting tomorrow, then I think I should forgive you that trespass," Dafydd said, almost cracking a smile.
They returned to Camelot just in time to change and be ready for dinner. Arthur was already seated at the high table when they entered, Guinevere at his side. The two had rarely been apart from each other since Arthur's injury. It had been close to a month until he'd been stable enough to return to Camelot, and when he'd left the convent, he'd asked her to come with him. As they came into the hall, the Doctor veered off towards his seat at the high table.
Also at the high table was King Leodegrance of Cameliard, Guinevere's father. He was dark-haired, and it was clear that the queen-to-be had gotten her looks at least partly from him; he was notably handsome. He was also well-known for being irascible and unreasonable. He had refused until now to bring his lands under the Pendragon banner. Rumor had it, though, that Leodegrance planned to swear loyalty to Arthur as part of the marriage agreement.
Jack was more immediately interested in his dinner than in politics, though. He was still seated with the other household knights, but they no longer joked and talked with him. Many of the knights he'd known well were dead, anyway, casualties of the ongoing Saxon conflict. With Dafydd alone as his companion, dinner was quiet- but at least the food was good.
Jack was nearing the end of his meal, when Leodegrance stood, raising his wine glass. The hall fell slowly silent. When all had quieted, Leodegrance cleared his throat, and began speaking. His voice was deep, booming through the hall. "Good evening to you all, people of Camelot," he said. He turned. "And greetings most of all to my host, and soon to be my son-in-law: King Arthur, who is Pendragon. This is an occasion for celebration!" he called. "This marriage marks the joining of two great families, in an alliance that will last for generations. To commemorate this, I bring gifts." There were whisperings throughout the hall. "King Arthur," he said, portentously, "As my first gift to thee, I present thee a company of fifty knights." Armed and armored men marched into the hall. They formed ranks, and saluted the high table. It was a gift that was both practical and symbolic; Leodegrance was clearly signaling his intention to provide military support to Arthur's campaigns against the Saxons.
Leodegrance raised a hand, quieting those who had begun to chatter amongst themselves. "I have not finished," he said. The knights cleared to the edges of the hall, and an army of servants appeared from the doorways, carrying extremely large, extremely heavy somethings covered by draperies. "As my second present, I bring a gift the like of which has never been seen before in this land." He waved a hand, and the servants pulled the draperies aside. There were many large wooden pieces, and it took Jack a moment to realize what it was. "I bring to thee a great table, built from the grand oaks of Cameliard," Leodegrance continued, "in the hope that it may reside in Camelot, as stout and timeless as the union between Camelot's king and the fairest daughter of Cameliard." He raised his glass once more, and the hall raised their glasses in return.
In the center of the hall, the servants assembled the table. It was enormous. Jack estimated that it could easily seat the fifty men that Leodegrance had brought with him, and it barely fit in the center of the great hall. It was intricately carved, and lushly painted. Lastly, and perhaps most interestingly, it was round.