Renewed By Love

Part I: Lancelot and Alayna

Chapter 1: Lancelot

His adult life had been characterized by disappointed longing and unfulfilled ambition, thus far. To have a family, after his own was so brutally taken. To find a purpose for his hard-learned skills beyond simple vengeance.

Three and a half years ago, he had begun to hope that things might have changed for him, and perhaps in Camelot. He'd met a girl who was intelligent and caring, practical and beautiful. He'd made a friend who promised to help him achieve his goal of usefulness.

Disappointed longing – Gwen had a prince who'd risk his life to rescue her; she didn't need him the way he'd needed her. And unfulfilled ambition – acting like the knight he'd wanted to be had caused the king he'd sworn his allegiance to banish him to the life of an ignoble mercenary.

But now.

Now he felt the welcome weight of responsibility and potential, every step he took in the chainmail and crimson cloak, every glance of admiration and respect from the people in the lower-town marketplace. Now he felt the gentle flutter of a different sort of responsibility and potential, a young lady's hand at his elbow, her earnest glance and innocent smile.

His skills sworn in service to an even better king, an even better kingdom. His life pledged – privately – to a young lady who did seem to need a protector.

Except…

Was he good enough. Still common-born… Was he ever going to be enough to fill his own aspirations and hopes?

"Do you think we'll have many more days like this one," Lady Alayna said wistfully, tipping up her chin to gaze at the last streaks of daylight in the sky. "Or will we have to wait for next year?"

He wondered if it was presumptuous of him to hope her we encompassed no more than the two of them. "The harvests are almost in," he answered. "First snowfall on the mountain peaks…"

"How many mountains have you seen?" she asked, childishly sweet and perfectly serious. He used to think he'd seen too much – but for a young lady brought up in seclusion due to the danger her magic placed her in, as a daughter of one of Uther's lords, his experiences held evident fascination. And therefore, new worth to him.

"I never did keep count, my lady," he told her.

She gave her short black curls a little shake, and sighed. He knew what she was thinking, she'd said it many times before on their little rambles through Camelot's streets – more freedom than she'd taken in her own home of Descalot, far to the north. But Lancelot would not use her name because he had no right to… even if he sometimes dreamed of whispering against those black curls at her temple, or against that rosebud mouth. Oh, Ally…

"Do you think they'll be back this week?" she said then, as they skirted the potter's stall. "The princess says they came to speak with Merlin as much as with King Arthur, but if they have to wait for days and days…"

Lancelot gave her a smile, covering her hand on his elbow with his other. Strictly speaking, Alayna of Descalot was the highest-ranking lady in Camelot – but she was also an ostensible hostage for her father's loyal guardianship of the northern border shared with King Odin. And shy as only a noble magic-user raised in Uther's Camelot could be; she never went to the lower town without him or Gwen or Gaius, though any pair of the knights could easily have provided escort. And after five months – and a few amendments to Camelot law - the rumors and whispers about her talents had died down.

From what he'd seen and how Alayna spoke, it was Gwen doing the practical majority of hostessing and entertainment for the visiting female royalty. Sister of Sir Elyan didn't quite convey a title to Gwen, but it didn't seem to matter much to anyone of note. And that was the reason, he tried to assure himself, why the young lady on his arm anticipated her cousin's return. So the visitors would conclude their business and Camelot's citadel could relax, and perhaps so that she could return to the afternoon lessons in magic Merlin's departure with the troop sent north had interrupted.

Not because…

"Do you have plans for tomorrow?" he asked solicitously, skirting her around a puddle that had formed in a dip in the cobbled road.

She sighed. "We're getting out of the citadel, at least," she said – and gave him an adorable grimace. "Going riding, bringing lunch with us, maybe."

He sympathized. Out of the citadel was good, but it was one of the things he'd had to adjust to as well, the time a knight spent in the saddle. Not something Alayna was used to – nor Gwen, he supposed – for all the time she spent in her father's stables in Descalot, growing up. It was probably an outing calculated to appeal to the princess.

A faint distant sound behind them caught his attention – the hooves of a horse, more than one, and without the accompaniment of wagon wheels – a half-second before he noticed others on the street pause in various day-end chores to look up. Alayna halted obediently as he did, but looked up at him in puzzlement before following his gaze to the far end of the street.

Riders dressed as he. Knights. Too early for the patrol's return, and the second rider was out of armor – black hair, which meant –

"Not only this week," he said to Alayna, still watching the riders. "But today."

"Oh, good," she said involuntarily, smile lit and brows up.

And part of him that had hurt to see the way Gwen looked at Arthur – even though he was glad to see the way his king looked back at her – hesitated. He couldn't quite convince himself that it wouldn't happen again.

"All hail, Sir Lancelot!" Gwaine called out as soon as the mounted party had gotten close enough for greetings. "And my lady of Descalot, good evening to you."

Beside Lancelot, hand still gripping the crook of his elbow, Alayna bobbed a grave but amused curtsy. Merlin was grinning, too, as he swung his leg over the back of his horse to dismount.

"I'll be along shortly," he promised Gwaine, who bent to retrieve the reins of Merlin's mount from his hand, as the other riders passed to continue on their way to the citadel. Several of them gave Lancelot a silent-friendly nod, which he returned gladly.

"The report won't take long," Gwaine said, by way of answer. "And I'm telling Arthur that you said not to wait dinner."

"Not that he'd wait dinner for me, anyway," Merlin said wryly, as Gwaine nudged his horse to follow the others, leading Merlin's.

And then Alayna moved, leaving Lancelot's side to throw her arms around Merlin's neck, he embracing her gently but just as readily. Lancelot averted his eyes, watching the retreating troop, but he was standing close enough to hear the two.

"How was your journey, cousin?"

"Long," Merlin said lightly. "But with Gwaine in the company, at least it's never boring."

"How did you find Descalot? My father?" From the corner of his eye, Lancelot noticed that they'd released each other, but still stood close.

"Intact. Bustling. Lord Bernard is busy, of course, with the defense of the border. But satisfied with the state of things, I think. I should discuss it with Arthur first… Did Gaius let you try anything new this fortnight?"

Lancelot was briefly startled as Merlin moved next to him, still speaking to the lady – but offering him a wide smile and a hand in greeting. Which he took wholeheartedly, glad to see his unique young friend returned safe and sound, body and spirit. He noticed the slightest pinching at the corners of Merlin's eyes – but if there was something, it was relatively minor, and not something the young sorcerer would probably bring up before Alayna, or to Lancelot rather than Arthur.

"No," Alayna said mournfully. Slipping her hand into the corner of Lancelot's elbow again – he felt warm and complete – but taking Merlin's arm, too. Lancelot's feet moved of their own accord, back toward the citadel with the lady and her cousin. "It's been all books and memorization and herbs, with Gaius."

"Oh, poor Ally," Merlin said, mock-sympathetic. "I suppose you'll want a practical lesson tomorrow, but –"

Alayna said, unintentionally over Merlin's last words, "Oh but there's royalty visiting, so –"

Realizing she'd interrupted, she stopped herself – but Merlin was leaning ahead of Alayna to give Lancelot a slight frown of intensity, the young lady between them all but forgotten. Lancelot slipped his hand over hers at his elbow, again.

"Visiting royalty?" Merlin said. "Who? There was nothing planned when we left."

"King Rodor of Nemeth," Lancelot told him. "Evidently the personal reasons the trip was delayed through the summer were resolved and so, they came."

"Surprise," Alayna said, making light of the polite scramble Camelot had done to accommodate the visit, herself included, as hostess for a good part of the princess' time.

"Nemeth," Merlin repeated, turning his head to gaze toward the citadel – in clear sight now as they neared the end of the street. "And – everything's been going smoothly? Everyone getting along? No – incidents?"

"No," Alayna said.

Lancelot followed her answer with a more cautious, "None that we're aware of."

"And the dragon's egg?"

There was a curious intensity to the question. Lancelot wondered, but answered, "No, it's fine."

"The princess was absolutely delighted to see it," Alayna mentioned. "She wants to come back next spring when you hatch it."

Merlin made a thoughtful noise, but when he looked aside again, his smile was back and included both of them. "So it's been bustling and busyness here, too? I'm sorry to have interrupted your evening stroll, then."

"Don't be," Alayna said.

"Not at all," Lancelot assured him.

"We have tomorrow," Alayna reminded him, tightening her grip on his arm as they passed the guards stationed at the courtyard gate. "Our ride, and the picnic lunch. King Arthur probably can't join us, but – oh, Merlin! You could, couldn't you?"

"I'm sure Arthur has something in mind for me with our company," Merlin answered, head tipped up to glance over the lighted windows of the citadel. "And there's some other business I need to see to…"

Business that put that tension by Merlin's eyes? Lancelot wondered. But the next moment, his young friend had shaken off his concern.

"You're going for a ride?" he said to Alayna. "Perhaps we could meet. At the ruins at noon?"

"Yes, let's," Alayna said.

Lancelot wanted to say something admirable and noteworthy, but could think of nothing, as they climbed the grand staircase still arm-in-arm. Maybe he was wrong about Merlin and Alayna; he didn't know whether to selfishly hope he was wrong, or…

"Banquet in the dining hall, tonight?" Merlin guessed. "I may have to excuse myself as too tired and dirty from traveling."

Alayna objected, "There's still time to –"

"Time which Arthur will take up, discussing our trip, and then say, Why are you still filthy? Stop blinking like you're about to fall asleep on your feet."

His mimicry of their king made Alayna laugh – and Lancelot smiled inadvertently, happy that she was happy. It wasn't often that he could make her laugh.

"He'll want you, too," Merlin added to Lancelot, as they paused on the landing.

"Me?" Lancelot said, taken aback by his friend's certainty. He found himself looking down bemusedly at his curly-haired lady, as if she could explain, but she was surprised also.

"Then I shall hope to see one of you at dinner, at least," she said, offering him her hand. "Otherwise Gwaine will insist on talking."

Her hand was small and soft and cool in his; he always marveled that she seemed so ready to let him hold it again. And when he kissed the smooth skin on the back of her hand, he could smell the faint light-flower scent of whatever lotions she used. He was not as well-versed in such things as Gwaine, he couldn't name which flower, but it was his favorite, no matter what the blossom might look like, or what name it might carry.

"I will be there," he promised.

She glanced once over her shoulder, the fourth stair from the top, but Merlin had shifted to put his back to that stair, facing instead the corridor they'd take to reach Arthur's chamber, and didn't see. Lancelot raised his hand, and Alayna disappeared with a smile.

"Honestly, unless Arthur gives me a direct order," Merlin murmured, "I'd rather get an early start in the morning, and go straight to bed now. Maybe by way of the kitchen. Maybe even if he does try to order me…"

"You ran into some trouble, then?" Lancelot said. Their pace increased, now that it was just the two of them. "I didn't see any evidence of injury to the troop."

"No, not really. We came across a new druid encampment and there was a bit of tension, but –" Merlin shrugged. "Nobody drew their sword or hurled a curse. Gwaine shared a drink with some of the young fellows and their clan elder spoke with Sir Sindran about rumors he'd heard of Gawant."

"Unrest?" Lancelot suggested.

"I'm not certain. The dragon's egg was mentioned… and Odin." Merlin glanced at him sideways, and he nodded – of course he'd keep the mention of both to himself. "I," the sorcerer announced, more lightly, "was mobbed by the children to craft magical creatures out of the campfire flames." He cast a grin at Lancelot as he lifted his fist to knock on the king's door.

So that was why he was so cheerful, in spite of the hints of potential trouble ahead. It occurred to Lancelot that Merlin ought to have children of his own someday; he seemed to be very good with them, especially Orryn's son Tobe.

And then, why's he knocking? in the moment it took for Merlin's hand to drop, and push the door open without waiting for verbal permission for admittance.

"Merlin," Arthur said, a reflexive reprimand.

The king was seated in his high-backed armchair, sideways to the head of his table. Dressed in formal finery – golden-dragon embroidered on the crimson tunic over his chainmail, the matching cape hooked over one side of the back of his chair – and facing Gwaine and Sir Sindran. But even Lancelot, remaining respectfully in the corridor between the two stationed guards, could see that Arthur didn't quite mean it, and couldn't quite stop his smile.

"Rude as ever, I see."

"What did you think would happen, sending me to the wild north for two weeks?" Merlin answered, leaning his elbow informally on a high narrow table against the side wall. "All my manners are gone."

"Good, we can finally start to teach you better ones," Arthur shot back.

Gwaine retreated from his place – without waiting for permission, either – and paused in the doorway by Lancelot. "I wish you very good luck, my friend," he said inexplicably, punching Lancelot's shoulder lightly.

Lancelot started to say, "What for?" but was distracted by Sir Sindran concluding his report and being dismissed by the king – and then Gwaine was gone, along with the troop captain.

"Come in, Lancelot, and close the door behind you," the king said, looking down to rearrange some sheets of parchment on the table.

He obeyed with some trepidation, trying to think if there was anything untoward in his behavior of late that he was ignorant of, and that Arthur should have to correct – but Merlin was still grinning like a… like a very young boy, he amended mentally, skirting the term that the king habitually used.

"Come sit," Arthur added, kicking the leg of the chair nearest him at the table in invitation. "This isn't a matter of state. It's a personal thing I – we – wanted to discuss with you."

Lancelot paused in lowering himself into the seat, and glanced over at Merlin. His young friend, still smiling to himself, reached to pour some wine into a goblet from a pitcher on the side table, then leaned between them to set it at Lancelot's elbow. He shifted, uncomfortable at being served by the sorcerer; Arthur's eyes tracked his former servant without betraying his thoughts.

"The lady Alayna," the king said.

Lancelot tensed away from the back of his chair, his fingers twitched away from the goblet. "I… beg your pardon?"

Merlin circled round the back of Arthur's chair, to hook one arm around the knob atop the chairback casually. He was still smiling in that joy-humor-sharing way he had. "You like her, don't you? You're in love with her?"

Intuitive – yet gentle, with a notable lack of jealousy, and Lancelot's secret bared by another didn't hurt, exactly. Just – ached, with fond regret that Merlin evidently knew his heart better than he expected. Always had, hadn't he?

Lancelot gripped the arms of his chair and dropped his eyes to his boots. "I… I shouldn't be. I know."

He had to swallow then, and meant to go on with a promise that it would not interfere with his duties nor the young lady's activities. Had someone else complained? He didn't believe Alayna minded their time spent together; she always seemed pleased, and he was sure she'd sought him out on occasion, but…

"Why not?" Arthur said.

Probably Merlin could read the emotion behind that question and that look, but not Lancelot. "She is a lady, Sire, and I'm just a –"

"A knight," Merlin put in, his smile easing toward seriousness.

Lancelot reminded them both, "Common-born."

"A knight," Arthur said firmly – then glanced up at Merlin. "Don't let it go to your head, but this time I think you were right – he was never going to say anything."

"Because her father –" Lancelot protested.

"Her father," the king said, flattening his hand over the papers on the table, "wrote to me about Alayna's prospects for marriage."

Lancelot had to swallow again, and found that he couldn't, without the help of a gulp of wine from the goblet Merlin had poured. A curious sinking sensation trickled from his temples down his neck, through his chest, leaving emptiness in its wake. He wanted to say something like, that's good. He wanted to feel like, that was good.

"Perhaps you'd like to read his response?" the king offered, flipping one page so that its edge beckoned to Lancelot.

I don't read that well. Not a skill generally taught among children of his station, growing up. And not one he'd taken to as readily as the sword, when he had nothing else to turn to. The rough basics he'd mastered before he'd come to Camelot the first time, had been polished a bit more over the winter spent with Merlin and Gwaine – who sometimes corrected Merlin, surprisingly enough – in the ruined castle an hour's ride from the citadel.

Lancelot took the paper – Merlin nodded encouragingly – and cleared his throat.

"Bernard, Lord of Descalot and Protector of the Northern Marches of the sovereign kingdom of Camelot.

To Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, my lord and my liege, Greetings.

I admit to experiencing some initial surprise, when my young cousin broached the subject of Alayna's marriage, in the midst of our talks of guarded borders and defensive magic. That was a hope I mourned as lost, when first we discovered her magic. After several days of consideration and adjustment, however, I find myself relieved and delighted at the possibility of giving her hand in marriage – as well as the future of the Descalot estate and family line – to some deserving young man.

Alayna is young, but to my knowledge has formed no preference for anyone here. My cousin Merlin, however, assures me of his belief in her growing attachment to a certain young knight of yours. I confess that I do not recall the Sir Lancelot mentioned-"

His fingers fluttered the page, as the words swam. Sir… Lancelot. Truly? No – a jest? He looked up at the other two. Arthur's smile lurked, while Merlin's spread wide and free, but to Lancelot's eyes, they had never looked more alike.

"Finish it," Merlin suggested softly. And Lancelot been wrong - the affection there was entirely familial, then.

"But his common birth –" Lancelot's voice trembled – "does not concern me as much as his character, particularly in reference to his attitude toward magic. I trust Ally's judgment even in a subject with which she is inexperienced, I trust also my cousin's word. My concerns are laid to rest with Your Highness' recommendation, and my permission is hereby given for Sir Lancelot of Camelot to court my daughter the Lady Alayna. I look forward to receiving news of a betrothal before the new year, if the knight's intentions are serious and honorable."

Permission. Betrothal.

"Well?" Merlin prompted. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? You're just too noble and humble ever to ask for something for yourself."

Lancelot shook his head, staring at the black and white missive uncomprehending, the swoop of the script capturing the feeling of his stomach. "I… I could never…"

"Make her happy?" Merlin said. "You already do, my friend."

A pair of large fingers slipped over the top edge of the parchment, and Lancelot released the sheet to the claim of his king. He met Arthur's eyes, certain that the king would understand more than a former servant from a farming village, in this instance. Yes, Merlin would think of love. But –

"I could never manage an estate," he said, so low it was almost a whisper. "She needs someone who knows… who can do… whatever that entails."

Arthur leaned forward. "If you love her," he said, matching Lancelot's tone and intensity, "I will see to it that you learn whatever you need to know. You will be Leon's right hand, starting tomorrow –"

"Day after tomorrow," Merlin interjected. "He's taking her on a picnic tomorrow."

Lancelot felt his face warm; Arthur glanced momentary irritation up at his unrepentant sorcerer. "And it will not take you long, Lancelot, I firmly believe it. Bernard and I would both rather see Descalot in the hands of someone we trust, than not. And, barring accident or illness, it may be a couple of decades before you and Alayna would inherit the estate completely. Plenty of time for you to absorb Descalot's idiosyncrasies. Although it'll mean that you remain in Camelot with Leon when we leave on our own royal visits…"

"I…" Lancelot's mouth and mind were empty of words, because – wasn't personal disappointment his destiny? Of course knighthood was his at last, but he'd figured family was too much to ask for, even as his heart had been gently guiled from him by the young sorceress, he knowing and she unaware. And now he had permission to remain in Camelot with her, and need not spend every day apart worrying over her welfare and happinesss.

"Say yes," Merlin prompted. "Or Arthur will feed you to Nemeth."

"What?" Lancelot said.

"I'll feed you to Nemeth," Arthur growled at Merlin, who shrugged unperturbed. To Lancelot's slight frown – quickly smoothed, he hadn't the right to question – Arthur added in explanation, "Rodor trusts that our policies on magic are genuinely changed, and Gedref is no longer contested, but they've proposed alliance by marriage."

By Merlin's roll of expressive blue eyes, it was not an unexpected development. "They wanted to give their princess to you?"

Lancelot tensed, leaning forward, wondering – not because he thought Gwen wanted him any longer – she hadn't for a very long time, and he'd finally made his peace with that, but because…

"Of course you declined," Merlin went on confidently.

"Of course I did," Arthur confirmed – and Lancelot knew why his king threw him a swift glance, though he only dropped his eyes deferentially. "They didn't understand, not when I haven't even entered a betrothal – don't look at me like that, you know Gwen was the one who wanted to wait –"

"One more month," Merlin said lightly.

"But they weren't offended, and suggested perhaps a nobleman or knight. Therefore," the king turned back to Lancelot, "I need to know whether you want to try your luck with Ally, or if I should add you to the list for Nemeth's choice."

"Sire, I –"

"Don't put it like that, Arthur." Merlin leaned down to snag one of Arthur's pages, and Arthur allowed it. "Ally will say yes." He shot Lancelot the very same sort of delighted smile he'd worn at their unexpected knighting ceremony, the day of Arthur's coronation. Proud of and glad for Lancelot.

He felt a little dizzy, himself. To be permitted – encouraged, to speak his mind and heart to his lady… Incredible.

"Is this your list of potential suitors?" Merlin added. "Who wrote it up? it's not done in your hand."

"Orryn helped," Arthur grumped. "No one tells me who fancies who unless they're actually asking permission to marry."

Merlin hummed, scanning the page. "Not Sir Peredur," he said, "he's in love with the baker's eldest. You might drop a word that you wouldn't mind his marriage to a commoner, Arthur."

The king snorted. "Duly noted. You sure you don't want to take this whole stack of paperwork, since I'm certain you want to be excused from the company, tonight, and blame me for it at the same time?"

Organizing his papers, Arthur pushed his chair away to stand – maybe intending to head to his desk, but he came to his feet facing Merlin. His former manservant, for his part, immediately reached to pin and position his ceremonial cape, tugging to straighten wrinkles in a professional, efficient – but still intimate manner, and the king simply stood and allowed. Lancelot courteously rose to his feet also.

"No, Orryn's solid," Merlin said, eyes on the king's right shoulder. "And I'll meet our guests from Nemeth tomorrow, I swear."

"I suppose you have a better reason than timidity, for avoiding them tonight?" Arthur said with provoking sarcasm.

A quick grin flashed over Merlin's face as he finished. "We heard rumors that Odin wants to steal the dragon's egg. I'm going to hide it in the ruins and leave an illusion here, just in case."

"There's always rumors." Arthur gave a hard sigh, but even Lancelot could recognize capitulation. "It's too dark to ride out tonight. Get some rest, Merlin, and go early. But back here in time for the banquet tomorrow night, on your life."

"Yes, my lord," Merlin said cheerfully. He took Arthur's papers from his hand, allowing the king to turn to the side table for his golden circlet – not as heavy or formal as the coronation crown, but necessary for the august company of another monarch. "Lancelot, I'll see you tomorrow? Better hurry down, or Gwaine will take the seat next to Ally."

Lancelot almost forgot his manners to turn his back on the king and open the door to leave without dismissal. But Arthur wore an amused half-smile, meeting him at the door as he pulled it open for his sovereign; Merlin crossed the room to Arthur's desk, never interested in acting on protocol, even if he remembered it.

"So," the king said, angling his shoulders as an unspoken request for Lancelot to walk with him as he headed down the corridor. The two guards fell in behind them, surreptitious and discreet. "I hope you'll forgive us for meddling in your affairs, Lancelot, but Merlin was convinced you both would end up unhappy if someone didn't give a little push – and he wasn't wrong, was he?"

"I would never have dared request her hand," Lancelot answered honestly.

"Any ideas how you'll present the proposal to her?" Arthur went on. "Merlin says girls like flowers, and it should probably be private, don't you think? Problematic getting a lady on her own without a chaperone for reputation's sake, though…"

A sudden thought hit Lancelot, and actually served to stabilize his whirling thoughts and emotions. Arthur was nervous, facing a similar situation himself. Imagine that; Lancelot almost let his smile show on his face.

He said mildly, "I expect I'll just wait for an opportunity to present itself. And bring her flowers after…"

After Alayna said yes. To him.

Lancelot shivered, and almost missed the last stair.

"I suppose you're right," the king said doubtfully. "Well, my friend, changes are coming again – and life is never going to be the same."

Change for the better, Lancelot could not but believe.

A/N: Refined by Fire was, in my mind, the story of Arthur's acceptance of Merlin's magic. And Released by Truth was the story of Camelot's reaction and moving toward acceptance. Renewed by Love is meant to be the story of the other kingdom's reactions… which means, probably long.

I've decided to tell it in a series of shorter tales that fit into the larger narrative, in five parts that also tell a love story, each – in the style of Tennyson's "Idylls of the King" – though this is by no means a romance, overall. There will be action, also. Each part will feature a chapter (or more) from both male and female pov for each couple – and we'll get to Arthur and Merlin pov by the end, I promise!

School is out, which means more free time for writing – yay! But I'm going for a week's vacation tomorrow, which means less time for writing… so I can't promise when the next chapter will be up. But, it'll be Ally's pov – and Merlin meets Mithian!

Merthian: I'm normally a Freylin shipper. But this story begins in-canon, and after Freya's death. And I also think Merlin deserves romance… so instead of creating an OC love-interest, or resurrecting Freya (and let's face it, it's never a good thing, in-canon, to have folks return from the dead), I'm going to try my hand at pairing him with Mithian… Feel free to tell me how I'm doing, as we go along!