Chapter 7: Sarra (part 2)

"How did you know, Percival?" Merlin questioned. "You said, the wrong cup. How did you know?"

Percival didn't answer, but flicked a glance to Sarra; it looked involuntary, but she found both golden-haired king and dark Merlin studying her.

And Bayard, with a thoughtful speculation. "My lady, perhaps you could –"

A thick hand squeezed her upper arm too hard, and she was swung around into King Alined's fiercest scowl.

"Grandfather!" she cried out, startled and pained.

He released her immediately, and maybe because he hadn't intended to hurt her, or realized he could, and he was sorry. But the way he flinched, aware of the other kings, made her afraid he was still putting on an act for them. "You don't say a word," he growled. "You don't tell them a thing."

The pain in her arm throbbed in time with a sudden pain in her heart, and she didn't understand it. Because wasn't her grandfather, her king, always wise and just? Weren't his orders always for the right thing?

"You told me I would have to sacrifice for the good of our kingdom!" she said to him, backing a step away – it felt like the tight, hot sensation in her chest would ease to be a little distant from him. "You never said I would have to lie!"

"Shut up!" he hissed.

It felt like he'd slapped her.

"She's a child, and she doesn't know what she's saying," her grandfather insisted to King Bayard. Rounding back to her, he ordered, "Go to your room!"

"You said I wasn't a child anymore," she accused, not caring in the moment if she was behaving like one after all, embarrassing herself and him in front of the foreign men, royalty and nobility. "You said I was old enough to prove my loyalty."

"And I was wrong!" he flashed back at her.

Hot tears blurred the room, and she dashed them away with the heel of her hand.

King Arthur leaned sideways to Bayard. "Might I have a private word with the Lady?"

"Remain in the room," Bayard responded.

"No!" her grandfather nearly shouted, reaching for her again.

The dark-haired knight of Camelot stepped right in front of him, hand on the hilt of the sword in his belt, glowering effectively; King Alined swallowed, shrinking back.

The golden-haired king came around the back of his knight to her, and the sorcerer Merlin was at his elbow. She caught her breath, though both of them looked in control of their tempers, as if they were making an effort not to seem threatening to her.

"Think of Ally, sire," the sorcerer murmured, inexplicably.

His king appeared to ignore him, instead extending his hand to be offered Sarra's. "My name is Arthur, my lady."

She hesitantly allowed him her hand to kiss; his was big and hard, as most men's hands were, but his were gentle also. "Lady Sarra, Your Majesty."

"This is Merlin," Arthur continued, indicating his companion, and she nodded.

"Do you think you could step aside with us – just over here, not very far – and answer some questions?" The young sorcerer handed her a folded square of white cloth – fine, soft linen with lace around the edges that never came from one of his pockets.

She let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob – magic that was quick and practical and caring. Imagine that. She dabbed at her eyes.

"Yes, my lords," she managed, following Merlin as King Arthur followed her - and wishing to be taller.

"Oh, I'm not a lord," Merlin told her with a funny little smile that made his eyes twinkle. "I'm not anything, really."

His king made a rude noise, but said nothing, so Sarra felt she should contradict, "But you are, you're a sorcerer. And from Camelot. That's important."

"To your grandfather?" the king guessed.

Sarra ducked her head, not wishing to betray her loyalty.

Merlin said, "What about you? Do you have magic, too? That was your enchantment, in Percival's drink?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't meant to be Percival's. And I don't have magic. I guess it was maybe, something Trickler gave my grandfather to bring here."

"Hm." Arthur's mouth twisted bitterly, but his eyes were thoughtful. "Who was it meant for? And what was it meant to do?"

"It was meant for your sorcerer, my lord," she told him, with a shy glance for the younger man, his dark brows lifted in surprise. She felt her cheeks warm. "I don't know what it was meant to do. I was only told –"

She hesitated. No, she didn't want to betray her loyalty, but… her grandfather never protected Trickler or any of his knights the way this king did, when things went wrong. It did not feel like King Alined was going to protect her, either. So maybe she should act and speak in a way that did not betray herself.

"It's all right," Merlin told her kindly, brushing his fingertips down her sleeve in a friendly, supportive way that somehow seemed to give her courage.

"I was told, neither to scream nor to fight. But only, when you came to my room in the night after the feast, to allow you to do what you pleased."

Merlin gave her a puzzled frown. King Arthur, however, repeated his earlier oath with distinct revulsion and swung round to face the other men. Something about his realization seemed to trigger comprehension in his sorcerer; Merlin's expression shifted into one of abject horror.

But only briefly, til he smiled at her deliberately – though with dismay still lurking in his eyes. "And did you have – any idea… what it was that I might've done?"

Vaguely. Something that she might have screamed at, or fought against. "Something magic?" she guessed. "Dangerous, or scary? And then you'd be in trouble…"

"And then he could demand your head," King Arthur said, with a cold sort of wrath that she was glad was not directed at her. "Or… any other part of you."

Merlin paled, and swallowed.

Arthur lifted his voice and said, "Alined, you utter swine. You absolute bastard. You'd use your own granddaughter so, to attempt to steal magic away from Camelot?"

He strode to rejoin the other kings. Sarra took one step to follow, but Merlin's hand – soft and light on her shoulder – stopped her.

"Let's just stand here," he suggested. "While they talk. Are you all right? You must have been so frightened, last night."

"I still am," she admitted, watching Arthur shove her grandfather's knights away from Sir Percival – then grab his forearm to speak to him seriously and low. "I thought I was old enough to be brave, and loyal, but –"

"You have been," Merlin said, and something unexpectedly earnest in his voice and manner soothed her – and made her want to cry, all at once. He wasn't – none of them were – what she'd expected. "You've been so brave. And loyalty to what is right and true is the most important loyalty of all."

She wasn't convinced, but watching the golden-haired king sling an arm around Sir Percival's broad shoulders to clasp him in a quick hard embrace, she was glad after all that he wasn't going to get in trouble.

King Arthur turned to speak to Bayard and Wolfrick – and it was only a moment before the Mercian king, with similar obvious disgust, was signaling his two knights to flank her grandfather as if he was to be placed under arrest – shock and concern were forgotten in the expression Sir Percival turned on her.

He looked like he'd been told he'd almost killed her in her sleep. Ten times worse than when he'd realized he was seated half-naked on her bed in her chamber.

Tears filled her eyes to have been part of doing this to him, and she shook her head. "It's all right," she whispered, though he was too far to hear her; she wouldn't raise her voice to interrupt the kings. "I'm sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did you, my lady," Merlin responded – not as though he thought she had been speaking to him. "But far too often, the consequences of evil deeds fall on the innocent."

She looked up at him wonderingly. His jaw was set, brows down and eyes dark as he watched the men.

"You have every right to seek reparations, Arthur," Bayard was saying. "I myself am inclined to consider alliances void if they were based on deceit and treachery and manipulation, and reject any attempts he makes in the future…"

Beside her, Merlin made a noise of protest and regret.

"But he is correct in claiming what is owed to the young lady in question, also. Female reputations so damaged cannot be restored, and she is of noble birth."

Sarra let her head drop, and stared at the toes of her silk bedroom slippers, willing any more tears to stay right where they were, and not to fall. Sacrifice and nobility, she thought. And now she'd have the reputation of a traitor for speaking the truth. It was her fault that her kingdom would not have Mercia or Camelot for allies – and Merlin the sorcerer would remain with King Arthur to strengthen his kingdom, while her own… crumbled, maybe? She wasn't sure what the consequences would be, but all those people in her castle and on the lands around, those were the innocents who would suffer.

She swayed, feeling a bit faint, a bit sick because her stomach was so empty; she'd been too worried to eat much yesterday.

But in the single blink of an eye, Sir Percival was kneeling before her, his sleeveless under-jacket still gaping where he hadn't buttoned it properly, her hand swallowed up in both of his. Also hard and callused, and also gentle.

"My lady Sarra," he said. "I am twenty-three years old, and I have never loved a woman. My father was a stonemason in the village of Wealworc. He and my mother and my two younger brothers were killed when our village was destroyed by raiders. I have been a knight of Camelot less than a year, and I cannot offer you more than this. But if I am acceptable to you, I am willing and happy to enter a betrothal. With you, that is."

She stared at him, astonished. Beside her, Merlin sighed – a sound of both regret and pride.

Elsewhere in the room, someone – Prince Wolfrick? – said, "If she isn't already betrothed to another."

Sarra wasn't betrothed, though she knew it wasn't uncommon for very young children, especially among the nobility, to be promised to wed one another someday. It was one of the very few things bequeathed to her by her father – an ordinary knight who'd caught the fancy of her mother, the princess and younger sister of Sarra's uncle, the crown prince and heir of King Alined. The right of choice, in her own marriage, though her grandfather had never seemed happy about that.

"I… I don't," she stammered, looking up at the kings.

Bayard, Wolfrick, and Arthur approached her; the other knight of Camelot and the two in Mercian blue prevented her grandfather from moving from his place, though his disgust and fury was so plain, she wanted neither to look at him nor to be closer.

"It is the best solution, my lady, if it is agreeable to you," Bayard said, and she had the feeling that he was trying to be gentle through his unfamiliarity with her, and stiff sense of ceremony.

"You will not find a better man or a truer friend," Arthur told her, placing his hand on Percival's shoulder; his kindness was natural and comforting. "You need not be wed for many years – not til you're ready – and if at any time you change your mind, it shall be completely without consequences, as far as we can ensure that."

Truer friend. She looked into Percival's blue-gray eyes and felt like a bird, waking in the springtime to flutter feathers and take wing. A friend that would be hers, to listen to her when she needed it and maybe pay her attention without being asked, spend time with her just because he enjoyed her company, specially.

She'd waited all her life for such a person. She could wait a few more years.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, this betrothal is acceptable to me."

Sir Percival looked at her a moment longer – not ecstatically pleased, because he was not in love with her like she'd seen knights in love with ladies – but content. And she was satisfied with that.

Gently he bent his head and raised her hand to kiss the back of it, and she wasn't intimidated by him anymore. She'd decided to trust him, and believed that it had been the right choice; he wouldn't hurt her if he could help it, body or spirit. And ten years difference in their ages was not so very great as it could be, after all. She smiled up at him as he stood – and he kept her hand.

"Should a date be set now, or decided upon later?" Wolfrick said.

"I think," Arthur said deliberately, turning to the two Mercians, "we require our knight's betrothed to be guarded by one we trust – and that is, no one now in Alined's court."

Sarra opened her mouth to protest, her grandfather's knights were all noble, and perfectly trustworthy, but the look of thoughtfulness on Bayard's face made her suspect there was more being said than she understood, and she snapped her mouth closed again.

"I would agree with you," Bayard said. "Who would you send?"

"Percival, obviously." Wolfrick raised his eyebrows, and Sarra raised her hopes. Arthur added, "The situation is unusual enough as it is, it serves nobody if they each marry a stranger in five years' time."

"And none will guard her better," Merlin said softly, smiling at Sarra in a way that made her aware of how very big Percival's fingers were around hers.

She herself was thrilled at the prospect of the big knight's immediate relocation to her own castle. She wouldn't have to wait to make friends; she couldn't wait to introduce him to the horses and the dogs and the falcons, show him the stream and the caves and the library – and maybe he could help her improve her archery? A little apprehension crept in, as she hoped he wouldn't grow bored or tired of her. Five years was a long time, after all. And would they then go to live in Camelot? Maybe that depended on whether her uncle or her grandfather was king.

"Sir Bors," King Arthur continued, "one of my senior knights. His home is very near the border, and his wife and family will appreciate a nearer station. And… Sir Kay."

"Oh, good," Merlin said immediately, though the significance of the name and title escaped Sarra.

"He will be your protection," King Arthur told Sir Percival, who gave a deep nod that was almost a bow, and looked pleased. Which pleased Sarra; at least he was not reluctant or disappointed to be re-assigned so swiftly without warning. Which said quite a lot about him, too.

"You will sign our alliances," Bayard said to Alined; it sounded very like an order, to Sarra. "And you will obey them perfectly, or so help me I will annex your kingdom. Arthur's three knights will be part of your court, to see that our terms are kept –"

"And so help me, if anything untoward happens to any of them, I will annex your kingdom," Arthur said evenly.

"And if you choose to pass the throne to your son, I pray he is a more reasonable and honorable king than you," Bayard concluded.

King Alined shrugged forcefully away from the two Mercian knights – who allowed it and didn't look offended or worried. King Arthur's long-haired knight did not look happy – but didn't say anything, either.

"After this morning's unpleasantness," King Bayard said, "let us take time for a late and private breakfast, some time to collect our thoughts, and reconvene after the noon meal. Agreed?"

"Agreed," King Arthur said.

Sarra's grandfather growled as if it chafed him to be told what to do.

But the mention of breakfast reminded her that she hadn't had any – nor yet dinner last night, or very much for yesterday's other meals. The strength of tension and worry deserted her; her vision went blurry around the edges and her knees gave out. She heard Merlin say, "Whoa!"

But the arms that caught her up were enormously muscled, rock-hard and gentle, and she blinked without surprise at Sir Percival's square jaw and bristle-short hair.

"Shall I escort you back to your chamber, my lady?" he said, his voice deep and soft, with a note of humor that made her believe, she was forgiven for last night and this morning.

"I'll send a couple of my own maids to see to her comfort," King Bayard offered.

"When you're free, Percival, attend on me in my quarters," his golden-haired king ordered.

Her knight nodded, and Sarra's head spun to think, soon enough that would be her king also. She had the feeling Arthur was one to be proud of serving – and he'd never ask her to sacrifice her reputation, or lie. She felt like weeping with regret and disappointment, that she could not feel proud of her grandfather, perhaps trying to do what was best for the kingdom, but choosing means that were somehow less than honorable, that much she understood.

"I'll go with them," Merlin volunteered.

Sarra was happy with that, too, as no one objected; she let her head rest on Percival's shoulder as he moved to carry her from the room.

She felt lighter, to be gone from there, and tired now, too – but safe in a way she wasn't sure she had been since the deaths of her family. There was someone who cared for her and would look after her, and not just because it was their duty.

"Are you all right, my lady?" the sorcerer said.

She opened her eyes to see him duck to meet her gaze below Percival's square chin, as they walked the corridor. That wasn't duty asking, either, but genuine concern – Camelot must be a place well worth visiting, and maybe she would be happy living there, eventually. But footsteps behind them caught her attention, and she lifted herself in Percival's arms to peek over his shoulder at her grandfather's elder knight, Sir Hectyr, also escorting them.

Relaxing back, she sighed. "Only tired."

"And you, Percival?" Merlin said, sounding wryly amused.

He sighed as well, a great lungful of air that rocked her whole body in his arms as she rested against his chest. "This is – unexpected. But not… unwelcome, and if it helps Arthur keep the peace with Camelot's neighbors, then I'm glad to do my part. And – if you'll forgive me, my lady – it does seem like she needs someone to keep an eye out for her."

"The silver lining," Merlin said, and gave Sarra another smile that crinkled the skin by his eyes in an infectious way. "You are very fortunate that it was not I who drank that cup."

"Mm," Percival grunted. "Then it would have been war."

"At the very least," Merlin agreed cheerfully.

Sarra found that she enjoyed the free and easy way they spoke, as friends; the knight seemed to have no reservations trusting the sorcerer – who seemed genuinely to like the knight.

"If I'm not going to continue with you on this journey…" Percival hesitated.

"We'll visit in the spring," Merlin promised immediately. "And if Alined won't let you come for Lancelot and Ally's wedding, he surely will for Arthur and Gwen's."

"The king is betrothed?" Sarra said sleepily; that was gossip she hadn't heard yet. The other names weren't familiar either, but they sounded like people she'd like to know. Different than the cold, proper, patronizing ladies and daughters of her grandfather's court.

"Almost."

She liked the way Merlin's eyes twinkled. It made her wish she had a brother, but on the whole, she was glad Sir Percival was the one returning to her home with her as her betrothed. The way Merlin and Arthur spoke and acted, she had a feeling that separating them would not bring about anything good. And, Percival voluntarily rescued kittens from naughty street boys.

"What about you, though?" Percival said more seriously, shifting her weight slightly to climb a stair. Merlin didn't answer right away, watching the placement of his feet. "Have you made your decision? You said it might depend on…"

He glanced down at her, and she decided she was too tired to try to follow their conversation if she didn't know what they were talking about; she closed her eyes and let herself drift.

"If Alined hadn't demanded my execution, it would be my betrothal – or a lifetime servitude, maybe," Merlin said. "I mean, that must have been the goal – though you and I know that Arthur would never let that happen. And I couldn't leave Camelot – but to be the cause of Arthur going to war…" He trailed off. "I have the feeling, if I say yes to Nemeth, things like this won't happen. If I was already promised to marry another, and the potential for offending Nemeth was distinct…"

"I hope you can be happy, whatever you decide," Percival said seriously, and Sarra loved the way his voice rumbled in his chest with her ear pressed against it.

"You, too, my friend."

Maybe they didn't speak again, or maybe she did doze off for a few moments, but she opened her eyes when her body swung free of Percival's as he bent to lay her in her bed. It felt twice as comfortable as it had last night; she turned her head on the pillow to see Sir Hectyr and Merlin in low conversation at the door.

"Rest easy, my lady," her big knight told her, with a smile that seemed a bit sad, after all.

"Thank you, Sir Percival," she said, resolving that he wouldn't regret offering her betrothal, if she could help it.

"If we are to be wed someday," he said, "perhaps you could leave off the title."

"Oh, but –" she began to protest.

"That would honor me, rather than otherwise," he added.

She remembered his father had been a commoner, and that he'd grown up in a peasant village. Oh, he was going to be interesting to get to know. Nobility without arrogance. "Then, you might call me Sarra," she offered, "if we are to be friends."

This time, his smile chased the sadness from his eyes. "I will look forward to that. Sarra."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The courtyard was a blur of activity that morning. Her grandfather did not wish to stay, she was informed by Estyr her maid, who had orders to have her up and ready, packed and fed.

She worried just a bit that King Alined might try to leave without the three knights of Camelot that had been imposed on them by Bayard and Arthur, as her grandfather's punishment for the attempt he made upon Camelot's magic. She wondered if maybe Trickler was also going to be punished for the failure of the plan.

But evidently King Arthur's party was leaving this morning also. It wasn't hard to pick out Sir Percival amidst the crimson-caped knights, though she lost Sirs Bors and Kay within moments of their introduction. Probably she'd get to know them better on the trip, and in the weeks and months to come.

Sir Hectyr approached her, where she stood out of the way of the men and horses, on the lowest step of a stair that led to the top of the outer walls of Tamwyrth castle.

"Your grandfather is on his way, my lady," the older knight said, with a proper bow.

Sarra nodded – and jumped as Sir Percival appeared suddenly beside her, silent but attentive to Sir Hectyr. As he stood on the ground beside the stairs, her head came up to his shoulder; he looked younger from here, and not quite so big. Sir Hectyr acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head.

"I don't believe the king's farewell will be prolonged," Sir Hectyr added mildly. "And he will ride out immediately. Therefore, Lady Sarra, do you and your knights make ready to join us."

"The lady's horse is saddled, I saw to it myself," Percival answered, in the same formal tone.

Sarra guessed that the three strangers – but Percival especially – would be trying to get to know her grandfather's knights, opinions forming both ways. Friendships also, she hoped.

"That is kind of you, and much appreciated," Sir Hectyr said, with a hint of relief, and apology that she didn't understand.

Percival shifted his weight slightly. "Sometimes it is better, faster and easier, to do something yourself, than to wait on a servant and hope he does a good job."

Sarra couldn't remember the last time she'd seen a smile on the dour old knight's face, and it was gone so fast she wondered if she'd actually seen it this time, either.

"That is so," he said. "Maybe a noble would profit from the exercise of such practical knowledge – and many a commoner could not be taught the natural nobility of King Arthur's knights."

Percival returned the respectful nod, and Sir Hectyr moved away again, among the gray-blue tunics of her grandfather's retinue.

"That means he likes you," Sarra said to Percival. It felt a bit odd when he looked at her, knowing that this man, still an almost-stranger, would one day be her husband. "Oh, I do hope you like my home. The castle, and the people…"

"If he doesn't," a voice interrupted, "you two can run away to Camelot." She turned in astonishment to a mischievous grin under the short beard of Camelot's most boisterous knight. "And you, my lady, will definitely like it there."

"This is Gwaine," Percival said to her, and she remembered that his was the name Percival had spoken when he first woke in her chamber. A close friend, then. "Don't be alarmed by him, he's really quite gentle and sweet."

Sarra recognized the jibe, and snickered as the other knight rolled his eyes. It was surprising still to her, the relationship the knights of Camelot seemed to have, that they weren't stiff and formal and defensive with each other. Too concerned with honor to be genuinely nice.

"If that is true to any degree," Gwaine responded, poking a finger in Percival's chainmail-covered chest, "it is only because I've been spending too much time with Merlin. Speaking of whom, tell him you forgive him. He's got himself convinced he should have realized, about that cup of wine."

Sarra felt heat rise to her face, and the need to say, "I'm sorry about –"

Percival took her hand with a little frown, and Gwaine said easily, "Nah. If anyone should've, it should've been me. Acknowledged expert on wine, mead, ale –"

"No one will argue with that." It was the black-haired sorcerer Merlin, dressed simply but in cloth finer than that afforded to any servant, though without the ornamentation usually affected by the nobility, or any weapon or armor that distinguished the knights. "Gwaine, Arthur wants you at the stable."

"Did you tell him to hold his horses?" Gwaine joked audaciously.

Sarra was a little shocked at the liberties he so blithely took, but evidently this was both characteristic and tolerated. Gwaine reached his arms around Percival to slap his back heartily, and Percival returned the embrace without hesitation.

"Don't do anything that I would do," Gwaine told him.

"Never," Percival returned. "We'll see you, sooner rather than later."

"My lady." Gwaine twinkled a grin over her hand, and she felt warm inside to be so included.

"I made you these," Merlin said, as Sir Gwaine loped away. He held out a small leather pouch that clinked like it contained coin – only not quite.

Percival pulled the mouth of the little bag open to look inside. "You made these?"

"Well, not actually. I meant I spelled them, for protection." The sorcerer gave her an embarrassed-apologetic grimace. "I'm sorry, I don't trust your grandfather's sorcerer."

Or her grandfather, she thought ruefully, but it was nice of him not to say. "That's all right. I don't trust Trickler either."

His dark brows rose fractionally, and his smile quirked.

Percival said, "Cloak pins, good choice. But there are four?"

"One is for Lady Sarra," Merlin told him – and she supposed her astonishment showed on her face. "Well, you're one of us, now, my lady. I want to make sure you're safe, too."

"That's…" She had to wink away a tear, and clear her throat. "That's very nice of you." Almost amazingly nice, especially after the plot against him, that she'd been a part of.

Perhaps Percival caught something of what Sarra was thinking, or maybe he'd been looking for an opportunity to follow his friend Sir Gwaine's suggestion. Her big knight said, "Merlin, about that other night, and me drinking the cup that was meant for you…"

"I'm sorry about that," Merlin interrupted. "When I was enchanted, you… took such good care of me, making sure I was protected and taken care of –"

"You'd have done it for me," Percival said quickly.

Sarra hoped this was going to be a story he'd tell her – a sorcerer enchanted? – but her knight seemed embarrassed to be thanked.

"That's just it, though, I didn't," Merlin said, and she thought that earnest openness was characteristic of him. "It's a consequence of not hiding anymore, I suppose, that sometimes I'm going to be the target of an attack, rather than –"

"And that's my fault."

Sarra immediately spread her skirts in a curtsy, though Percival and Merlin only turned to admit King Arthur joining them. A silver ring winked sunlight from the hand he extended to lift her up.

"Please don't, that's really not necessary," he said to her. "Are you all right this morning?"

"Yes thank you, Your Majesty," she said, a bit breathlessly. "I slept better last night than the night… um, before, and…" Her face warmed again and she fumbled to a stop in confusion, not wishing to give offense. Percival's face was a bit pinker than normal, she saw with dismay. "It really, wasn't your fault."

"It was, in part." Percival said to his king and the sorcerer, "I thought later, I could have just, poured it out on the ground or something."

The king snorted, turning his sarcasm on Merlin. "What a wonderful idea. And why didn't you think of that either, when it was you drinking poison in my place?"

Sarra's brows rose. Another intriguing story; she hoped Percival knew this one, too. Camelot sounded an adventuresome place.

"In that instance, it was your cup that was poisoned," Merlin answered back, as if he and his king were equals. "Didn't matter what they put in it, pour out the wine and fill it with chicken soup, it still would have killed you if I hadn't –"

"Chicken soup?" Arthur said, his tone adding, That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.

"Sire," Percival said, interrupting Sarra's inclination to giggle, his breach of protocol both respectful and fearless. "King Alined is leading his party out."

"We won't delay you further, then," Arthur said, both of them immediately serious again. "Keep safe and well – one of Bors' sons can carry messages if you like. You've got Merlin's cloak-pins?"

"Yes." Percival turned to her, reaching big hands for her hips. "Jump, my lady." She did so, and he lifted her easily to the side-saddle of her mount, waiting just behind him.

"Have a pleasant trip," Merlin wished up to her, with another one of his twinkly-eyed big-brotherly smiles.

"You as well," she answered him, looking also at the golden-haired king. "Your Majesty."

He gave her a proper bow that thrilled as well as embarrassed her, and grabbed Percival's forearm in the grip of intimate comrades. "Take care of each other," he commanded, including Sarra with a glance.

"We will," Percival promised.

The king and the sorcerer stepped back, and Percival swung up into the saddle of his own mount, next to her. As they trotted out of the courtyard, she glanced back to see Merlin standing sideways to speak to the king, Arthur watching them leave. He lifted his hand to signal a final farewell, and Sarra waved back to him.

Take care of each other.

Percival gave her a smile as she faced forward, one young and one older knight wearing Camelot red falling in behind them, at the end of her grandfather's train. Sarra was glad to smile back, in the chill morning breeze and wan sunlight.

She'd never had anyone to take care of, before; she was quite looking forward to learning how.