A/N: I've had this idea for awhile now, kind of a prequel oneshot, but I decided to attach it to the arc of this trilogy b/c I discussed the idea of Gwaine's destiny a bit more in this story…

(Ch. 20) Annis didn't blink. "And I suppose I shouldn't be surprised after all that you'd ally yourself with Camelot, Gwaine."

"What does that –" Gwaine cut himself off. "So what now, Highness?"

(Ch. 24) "Gwaine," Arthur said. "What is it?"

"The queen was just telling me…" Gwaine began. Then blinked, and recognition of Arthur drew him back toward his usual attitude. "Something about my family. My father…"

Chapter 26: Their Sons' Fathers

The knight stalked through the corridors of Camelot's citadel, clenching his fists and his jaw, seeing the crackle of tension in the air around him tinged with red.

Damn Pendragon. Straight to hell, if they'd have him.

He wasn't completely sure where he was heading – not back to his quarters, his wife and children, not til he was cooled down again – but he was glad that those he brushed past left him alone, servant and knight and nobleman. Though really, he couldn't see how things could be made any worse by a confrontation with someone else.

Damn stubborn sonuva…

He stopped at the end of a long open gallery, just before shadow turned to sunlight. Gripping his fists like that would hold the hot liquid frustration-rage inside. Swelling up in his chest, pushing at the backs of his eyes… Stepping out to the sun would either pinprick those tears lose or dry them up in a salty crust at the back of his throat. And he didn't want that, he didn't –

"Geart!"

The knight looked up at the call of his name, saw his young friend jogging toward him across the courtyard, his cloak billowing behind his lanky frame. The younger man slowed, hopping up into one of the arched openings of the gallery wall, folding into a crouch and leaning on the stone. His grin was wide and brilliant through the short hairs of his unshaven beard-scruff, still sparse because of his youth, and his dark eyes were lost in the shadow.

Geart's heart twisted as if trying to escape the pang of missing his friend already. Of beginning to realize the enormity of what the young king he'd also called friend had taken from him.

"Bal – you're back," he managed.

"You said you wouldn't miss me," the younger man said, catching or intuiting something of his emotion, but attempting to tease him out of it.

"I didn't," Geart retorted. "But what about Gaius?"

"He didn't miss me," Balinor said, still grinning. "He'll never admit to missing me. And anyway, he said if he and Alice needed an extra pair of hands, with Her Majesty's condition, he knew a girl who could come. What was her name? Something like Honey, or…"

"How was the trip?" Geart said.

"Fine." Balinor's perpetual enthusiasm was a bitter-sweet balm to Geart's heart. Aside from his wife, the young sorcerer was one of the only people that dared his temper successfully. "Good. The mountains were cool at night, but the fire of the dragons more than made up for that."

"Feorre Mountains, right?" Geart said.

"Yes, through Merendra Forest. And if it wasn't spell memorization, then it was quizzing on dragon anatomy or genealogical recitations and my father saying, How can you sleep at a time like this." Geart couldn't help his smile; Balinor had captured the older dragonlord's deep rumbly voice perfectly. "Sometimes I have had it with the training, and I wish they would all leave me the hell alone." Balinor grinned. "The lords, not the dragons."

Geart took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Be careful what you wish for."

"Why?" Balinor said immediately, standing to the inside of the gallery. "What's wrong? Did something happen? What happened?"

"Uther," Geart spat, feeling the fire in his belly smolder up again. "And Nimueh. He's determined to give her everything she asks for, for that damned Isle of hers, and he won't listen to reason. I can't imagine why he feels like he owes them."

Balinor sighed. He wasn't privy to the king's counsel, but gossip trickled down even to the servants. "What did you do?"

"I told him exactly what I thought. That he was being a blind ass and he'd come to regret it someday. When he realized how indebted his son's kingdom was to these priestesses…"

"We don't know it's a son," Balinor said absently. He could say that because the news of an heir born or lost would be the first thing the dragonlord representatives from Camelot heard on their return. "You said that to his face?"

"And in council," Geart admitted. He believed a king should have – and appreciate – advisors and friends who told him the truth… but maybe he could have been smarter about how and when. He knew Uther was more on edge, the closer the queen came to her time of childbirth.

"Geart," Balinor breathed, his eyes widening. "What did he – you're not in the stocks."

"Not this time." Geart felt his lips twist, the hair on chin and lip bristling. "I have an hour. Pack my things – and my family – and take my opinions to someone who wants them."

"You're banished," Balinor said hollowly, like he felt his world was ending, and Geart cringed again at the hard truth of leaving, separation from his oldest and dearest friends. "Ye gods, I can't even… Have you told-"

"Gwaine! Don't run!" An authoritative female voice at the far end of the gallery interrupted them, and Geart closed his eyes momentarily before turning.

His little son, his own heir, came pelting down the gallery, gleefully disobedient to his mother's voice in his newfound ability to toddle faster than a walk. Geart could tell himself it was because the little boy loved his father and couldn't wait to be near him – but more likely, it was his companion.

"Hey, you!" Balinor said happily, as if it hadn't hit him yet, what Geart's banishment meant. He crouched, long arms extended to catch Gwaine, then swung him high in the air. Gwaine laughed out loud – a rippling sound that usually lifted Geart's heart from shadow to light – his long black curls flying back from his forehead before Balinor twisted to catch him seated on his shoulders.

"Is it true," Geart's wife said, striding toward them, their daughter clinging to her skirt and watching Geart from beside her hip. "Tell me yourself - you couldn't keep your mouth shut, and now we're banished?"

"Well," Geart said defensively, "if Uther wasn't such an arrogant pain-in-the-ass-"

"Treason," Balinor said plaintively.

"Doesn't matter anymore," Geart reminded him glumly.

"We'll talk to the king," Balinor proposed, holding Gwaine with one hand around each chubby ankle. "We'll get someone to talk to him. Maybe Gaius –"

Geart's wife huffed, waving a dismissive hand as her eyes sparked with temper of her own – understandable in the circumstances, losing everything through no fault of her own, and helpless to change anything. "I already spoke to Alice. Gaius says no one can help us. Uther's mind is made up."

"And that means he won't change it," Geart said, watching Gwaine pull tufts of Balinor's hair and grin at the effect. "If there was one thing I could change about our king, it would be that he could change."

"Maybe Her Majesty –" Balinor began.

"Already in confinement," Geart's wife interrupted impatiently. "If she doesn't send for me I can't speak to her, and what are the odds that she'll decide she needs to talk to me in the next… how long have we got?" Her hands were shaking.

Geart knew she was scared for all of them, for the future. He moved forward, taking her in his arms, feeling the tension in her body surrender, though slightly. "Three-quarters of an hour," he said softly into the mahogany-rich hair he loved. "Your jewelry, my armor, a change of clothes for everyone. My two horses…"

"I'll see that they're saddled and provisioned for you," Balinor spoke up. "You two can focus on everything else."

Because they all knew, Uther meant what he said and didn't ever retract an ultimatum or a deadline. If they weren't gone, they could very well be arrested, all of them. Uther wouldn't pretend not to notice if one hour slipped closer to two.

"Where will we go?" Geart's wife whispered, close to his ear, the only place she'd allow her worry to sound so desolate. "Maybe Godwyn –"

"No, we can't go to Gawant," Geart said, stepping back but keeping hold of her shoulders to steady her. "We can't ask Godwyn to offend Uther like that, taking us in."

"What about Nemeth?" Balinor said. "My father says Rodor doesn't mind opposing Uther occasionally, and he's got his heir already, you could –"

"No," Geart said. "We'll go to Caerleon. There's enough unrest there the king will be glad of my sword."

"Unrest?" She and Balinor spoke at the same time. Gwaine rocked and giggling incongruously at the back of Balinor's neck, and the gangly sorcerer reached to unfasten his cloak before it throttled him without thinking about it.

"Internal," Geart said reassuringly. "Nothing to do with Camelot."

"If that's what you think is best," his wife said, uncertain and unhappy. He nodded firmly, and she gathered her skirt with one hand and her daughter with the other. "Well, then. Nothing to be done. And we're wasting time here – come, sweetheart."

"I'll just be a minute," Geart called after them. His wife nodded over her shoulder, speaking downward to their little girl, but didn't slow.

"Her Majesty will miss your lady wife," Balinor said. "Maybe after the baby is born, she can catch Uther in a good moment, petition for your return…"

Geart pressed his lips together. "I can't expect that."

"I'll visit," Balinor promised. "I know I can't go with you now – your damn Knights' Code…"

Geart grinned ruefully, though probably the dragonlords had their own code of conduct to follow, even when it came to honor in punishment. "Don't worry about us," he told his young friend seriously. "It'll work out, or it won't, but… Bal, you've got to take care of yourself, now. Be smarter than I was, when it's your turn to take your father's place on the council. Don't make Uther an enemy with your – unyielding commitment to truth and honesty."

"Lie to my king?" Balinor scoffed sardonically.

"I'm not saying that. I'm just… I never thought Uther would turn on me. We've been through… so much together."

"You helped him conquer Camelot," Balinor remembered the fact as something he'd learned as a boy, not something he'd experienced personally.

"He's very jealous of his image, his reputation," Geart said softly. "More so, the more years he's king. He can't let anyone else see anything they might think was weakness. He's not going to put any one man before the kingdom's good as he perceives it, no matter how many years of loyal service that man has given."

Balinor reached up, pulling Gwaine off his shoulders and into his arms. "I'll be careful," he said, as Geart's son squeezed his neck with chubby arms. "You take care of this little warrior, and I'll see you soon."

"Sure you will," Geart said, taking his son by the middle, his hands enveloping the little body hips and ribs, and teasing his arms away from the young man who was friend to them both. "You promised to have our horses ready."

Balinor rolled his eyes, but there was a little grin showing in spite of his beginning beard. "Have it your way," he said. "But write, when you get where you're going to stay."

"I will." Geart began to back away, though it was tearing his heart in two in his chest.

Somehow Balinor, more than Uther, represented Camelot for him. The willingness to fight and die and defend that formed the camaraderie of the knights; the eagerness to learn that characterized scholars like Gaius and Geoffrey and Alice; the quiet humility of service, just doing what needed to be done for the good of the kingdom, of the common people. Balinor was all of them – noble, student, servant – and more. Magic, and dragons.

Everything Geart had sworn blood and honor to protect – and now his sacrifice was being denied.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and turned Gwaine's reaching, snatching hand into a baby wave. Gwaine made a defiant-whiny noise, bouncing in Geart's arm.

"When it's your turn," Geart called. "You better bring your wife and son to meet us."

Balinor made a rude sound. "That'll never be me. Can you imagine giving up the wild freedom of the skies for the responsibility of my own hearth?"

"What about your heritage?" Geart said. Because he always intended to pass his sword and title to Gwaine, and because Balinor was too good with Gwaine, never to have any children of his own. "No more dragonlords?"

Balinor waved his hand, stepping back up into the gallery arch, heading in the direction of the stables. "There are so many of us. I don't need to make more."

"You never know what destiny has in store for you," Geart called in reminder.

"Go pack!" Balinor returned. "We can say farewell in half of an hour!" Another wave, and a grin that at least looked natural at the distance, and the young dragonlord was gone.

"Ba!" Gwaine said mournfully, finally accepting his place on his father's forearm, clinging to his shoulder as he turned, and for a moment Geart relished the small warm weight, so trusting in his father to carry him, to protect and provide. He needed that right now, when he was not at all certain of that ability.

"Well, boy," Geart said to him. "So you'll not grow up in Camelot after all. And you'll not swear to serve Uther's son…" Melancholy squeezed its grip around his ribcage momentarily. "And you'll never see Bal's children learn magic, and…"

A single tear betrayed him. Geart swiped it quickly, squaring the shoulders that his little son still looked backward over.

So destiny changed. That was all right – a new life could be made, and he could still make sure that Gwaine was raised to a knight's honor and duty in another land.

He stopped short at the juncture of gallery and stair, gazing down an intersecting corridor. Uther had paused at the far end, also passing at that very moment. His expression gave nothing away, and Geart mourned the loss of this friend and king, too. Uther could be great, if he only… if he didn't…

Holding Gwaine in place on his shoulder, Geart bowed to his king for the last time. Perhaps fatherhood would change Uther.

The king nodded gravely to acknowledge him. Then turned his face away as if determined to forgot both the incident, and Geart himself, and continued on out of sight.

And maybe it was better to remember that Camelot was more than one man. She was all her citizens, altogether, myriad and diverse and balanced, and other kingdoms needed men committed to honesty and fair treatment, too. And if Geart's time here was done… so be it.

Gwaine drew back to give his father a childish frown of incomprehension, pudgy hands on Geart's bearded cheeks. Geart smiled tremulously and began to walk again, to quarters that weren't his any longer, and a family thrust out into the world, exiled. For now.

"For the love of Camelot," he told his son and heir. So they would trust to destiny to lead their path.

A/N: I think I like this a little better preceding this arc: Refined by Fire, Released by Truth, and Renewed by Love. Rather than just letting it lead into the series as we know it – yes Gwaine became a knight of Camelot and Merlin's friend, but if he died inadvertently betraying Arthur, who died too young, and neither of them knew Merlin… Nope. It belongs before this trilogy.

Hope you enjoyed!